Trading My Sorrows

By Shadow Ballad

Genre: Drama/Spiritual
Pairings: None so far
Timeline: AU fifth year, Sirius Black has been pardoned and is the DADA assistant to Lupin
Warnings: T for violence and some language. This is a story detailing a person's conversion to Christianity, so it will contain religious themes. If this offends you, please do not read and then flame me for offending you. Reader, thou hast been warned. : )

A/N: I'M SO SORRY THIS IS OUT SO LATE! Also, thanks so much for the reviews for last chapter! Each one brightened my day. I'd also like to thank those of you who pointed out to me that free will is also a reason why bad things happen in the world. I really feel like a fool for having forgotten that one. : ) Thanks much, guys::gives hugs:: I hope to rectify that little omission eventually, since the concept is very important. Thanks to all for your patience, and understanding that this story certainly won't be perfect. : )

Enough blabbing! Thanks to Ominous Voices, my very patient and super-angelic beta! And now, to the fic! ; D

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Chapter 9: The Potions Master's New Clothes

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I keep trying to find a life
On my own, apart from You
I am the king of excuses
I've got one for every selfish thing I do
What's going on inside of me?
I despise my own behaviour
This only serves to confirm my suspicions
That I'm still a man in need of a Saviour.

In the Light, 1991 Sparrow Song/Andi Beat Goes On (Admin. by EMI Christian Music Publishing) (BMI) All rights reserved.

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"Well laddie, have you any more questions for me?" he asked as he neared the younger wizard and fell in step with him. Snape kicked a pile of autumn-coloured leaves out of his path, watching as the red and yellow shapes took flight in the strengthening breeze.

"Just one, for now," he replied, hitching up his pants.

"Splendid," said Lawrence happily. "Ask away."

"How far is it to that bloody tailor?"

Lawrence chuckled at that. "Actually, it's just a few minutes' walk down the path. Do you think you can walk that far?" he added teasingly.

Snape sneered at the pastor and shoved his hands into his pockets, attempting to hold his trousers up without looking like a fool in the process. "I can if you can, old man," he said. Lawrence smiled back, and the duo continued walking down the path, the wind tossing their hair about wildly. About a dozen stone buildings appeared through a clump of trees, but the two men stayed on the main path, walking behind them instead of passing through their midst. Snape kept his hands firmly entrenched in his pockets, absently fingering the bottles of potions ingredients. As his fingers ran along the smooth glass and crystal phials, he realised that he relished the thought of teaching Lawrence how to brew the healing potion he had completely ruined. It was about time he did a bit of teaching instead of so much learning!

"There it is. Let's go inside and get you settled," said Beckett a few minutes later, pointing at something ahead of them. Severus, who had been contemplating whether or not to enter full Potions Master-mode when teaching Lawrence to brew the potion, glanced in the direction he was pointing. A small two-storey building sat atop a small knoll ahead of them, nestled in a grove of both evergreen and deciduous trees. The words "Madam Bradley, Tailor" were written in peeling green paint on an old, faded sign not far from the structure. A few fire-coloured leaves littered the roof and lawn and swirled merrily about in the breeze.

"Come on," said Lawrence, flashing him a smile and setting off up the short flight of rough-hewn stone steps.

Snape watched him go, grunting to himself in exasperation. He couldn't fathom where Beckett got the energy to be so bloody cheerful all of the time, though he suspected part of it came from how much sugar the man consumed. It was a wonder the man didn't have rotten teeth. Oh well. If I can deal with Albus, I can deal with his personality clone. He huffed and followed after Lawrence.

Dirt and leaves crunched beneath Snape's boot heels as he ascended the stairs. Another chilly gust of wind nipped at his skin, bringing with it the fragrant scent of pine and whipping his hair about his face. Several strands lodged themselves in his mouth. He brushed them away with an irritable shiver and glared at Lawrence, who stood with his hands akimbo as though the cold didn't bother him a bit.

Snape shivered again and grumpily decided that the pastor was simply too stupid to feel cold.

"Exactly what is it about Kilterbury that attracts storms all the bloody time?" he groused as he approached his companion. Ominously dark clouds had replaced the docile ones from earlier that morning. They drifted across the sky in dark grey clumps, blocking out a bit of the sunlight.

Pastor Beckett merely shrugged unhelpfully as he and the Potions Master walked toward the shop's entrance. "It's the northwest Highlands, Severus. Wind and storms are all normal here." He glanced at the sky and frowned a little, his brows knitting together. "Let's go inside before it decides to rain, eh?" he added, increasing his pace and reaching the door first. He held it open for the Potions Master. "After you," he said politely, his smile returning full force. Severus very nearly rolled his eyes – the man was far too eager to please in his opinion – and stepped inside the shop.

And quickly back-pedalled out of it in absolute horror.

"Oof!" exclaimed Lawrence as Snape rammed into him. He felt the pastor grab his shoulders to keep from falling and had to grab the door jamb to stop himself from toppling over too. Perhaps Gert's comment that he looked too thin had some merit to it. "Is something the matter?" asked the older wizard from behind him after both had regained their footing.

"It's pink," said Snape flatly.

Bolts of pink cloth sat in a corner to his left. Shelves next to them sported all sorts of pink lace in various shades. An accessory stand next to the shelves held pink buttons, pink sequins, pink rhinestones, and pink whatever else women liked to adorn clothing with. A rack to his right held pink robes, pink shirts, pink pants, pink jumpers, skirts, and even trousers. Crystal brooches displayed on a pink velvet-lined display case sparkled in the light from the many windows, and a delicate rose scent permeated the entire room.

He just knew he was going to be sick.

He tried to take a step back, but Lawrence clamped down even harder on his shoulders. "You can't judge someone by their favourite colour, you know," he said, steering Snape inside. "It's really not going to kill you."

Severus snorted to vehemently contest that point but let himself be shoved inside anyway. The sooner he entered, the sooner he could get new robes and then leave. Beckett released Snape and wandered over to look out one of the windows, wrinkling his nose at the shelves of lace as he passed them. The Potions Master rubbed his abused shoulders and glared at his friend's back as the pastor crossed his arms and began to hum softly.

Snape leaned against the closed door – the point farthest away from anything pink in nature as he could get – and crossed his arms over his chest moodily. Where is the bloody tailor? he thought, tapping his foot impatiently. He glanced around the shop again, noticing a doorway with pink beads strung in front of it in lieu of a door. She's probably behind those ugly things, watching us fidget with discomfort at being forced to come inside such a feminine shop.

Well, watching one of us fidget, at least, he amended sourly, scowling over at the other wizard. Despite his disgusted glance at the lace earlier, Lawrence seemed oblivious to his surroundings. Snape didn't recognize the tune he was humming but suspected that it was a hymn. He looked so peaceful and calm standing there, humming and gazing out at the beautiful Scottish countryside in the midst of its change from summer green to autumn gold.

Snape suddenly felt incredibly jealous of the pastor's peace of mind and calmness of spirit. Those two things had eluded him all of his life: first, at home with his father and the man's fickle, often violent moods; then at school, with the Marauders and their interminable pranks; next, with the Death Eaters and his stint as their Potions expert; and finally, as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. He sometimes indulged himself in imagining a life free from fear and worry. More often than not, though, he forced himself out of his daydreams with a caustic pessimism that had characterized most of his adult life.

After all, such things are not meant for people who have done the things I have done.

And yet…no matter how many times he told himself that, he still couldn't help but want them.

Snape sighed, his earlier irritation fading to melancholic contemplation. If he asked Lawrence from whence his peace of mind came, the man would probably say something akin to "Why, from God, of course." Pastors were wont to say such things, after all. Especially that one, thought Snape, smirking inwardly a little. He recalled the bitter old man in the park, railing against Pastor Beckett and how he was always saying that God was a God of love.

The inner smirk faded, though, as the wizard also remembered the pastor's obvious distress earlier at having admitted that he toiled with the very idea at times. Snape could not help but wonder why Lawrence had decided to share such a painful memory with someone he barely knew.

"Severus? Is something the matter?" asked Pastor Beckett mildly, concern lacing his voice. Speak of the devil, Snape thought, looking up from the spot on the stone floor he'd been unwittingly staring at for the past moments. The pastor had left his window and now stood a few metres away from Severus, next to the display of crystal brooches.

Snape shrugged and opened his mouth to reply when, from behind the curtain of pink beads hanging in front of a doorway, someone entered the room. He half-expected to see some half-insane twenty-something girl jump out at them, but got quite a surprise instead.

"I apologise for the delay," said the elderly witch in a firm, high-pitched, slightly nasally voice. Long knobbly fingers reached up to adjust circular gold-rimmed spectacles, and light blue eyes peered at the two men. Her wispy white hair was caught up in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, a net of light pink beads fastening it in place. Robes a delicate shade of rose draped her thin body elegantly, and she held a wand in her left hand. "Oh. It's only you, Pastor."

"Hello, Madam Bradley," said Lawrence amiably, crossing the room and proffering his hand in greeting. The elderly witch grasped it for as long as propriety dictated, then let go and turned her gaze onto Severus, who hadn't budged a millimetre from his spot against the door.

"Who's that?" she asked.

"Ah, yes! I'm afraid I didn't introduce my friend, Mr. Severus Snape. My apologies," said Lawrence, giving a self-deprecating chuckle and gesturing needlessly in Snape's direction, as the old woman already had him pinned under her blue-eyed scrutiny.

"Good morning," said Severus stiffly, feeling a bit uncomfortable as her eyes slowly travelled up and down his lanky form. Her eyes met his, and after reflexively strengthening the shields on his mind, he met her gaze squarely.

She harrumphed. "I expect you're here to get new clothing? Those are awfully large on you." She turned her intimidating gaze back onto the older wizard. "One or two sets?" she practically barked, waving her wand. A moment later a sheet of parchment and a self-inking quill whizzed into the room, floating to a stop in front of the elderly tailor.

"Two, please," said Pastor Beckett. Snape huffed a little at that, caught yet again between feeling embarrassed and grateful at Lawrence's generosity. He didn't say anything, though, knowing it would do no good. If Beckett was hell-bent on buying Snape clothing, who was he to argue? He'd just find a way to pay the infuriatingly helpful pastor back later and settle the debt in true Slytherin fashion.

Madam Bradley harrumphed and wrote the number down. "Colour?" she asked, glancing up over the top of the parchment.

Lawrence glanced questioningly over at Snape, who lifted an eyebrow and gave him a what-do-you-think? look. The pastor rolled his eyes and turned back to the witch. "Both black, please," he said politely, then mouthed 'how incredibly boring!' at Severus as she wrote the colour down and scribbled a bit more.

"You total is 10 galleons, Pastor," she said briskly a moment later, fixing the older wizard with an expectant gaze. Snape couldn't help but feel relieved at the price. He had expected something much higher, in the range of at least 25 galleons. Briefly he wondered if the woman was giving Lawrence a discount, but a second glance at her hawk-like expression as Lawrence dug out a small sack from his pocket and counted out the coins into her waiting hands disabused him of the idea.

"Wait here," she ordered once all ten galleons had been counted out and given to her. Beckett nodded meekly as she left the room in a flurry of pink robes.

Snape glanced over at the pastor, eyebrows raised high. "Is she always like this with customers or is it just my lucky day?" he drawled.

Lawrence gave a small smile. "Always," he said, twisting the money bag into a little ball and stuffing it back into his trouser pocket. "Ah well." He then turned and faced Severus, who could tell the man was dying to ask him what was wrong and then help Snape fix it. He must have been a mind healer in a past life. To his credit the pastor didn't say anything, just made himself comfortable leaning against a sturdy, wooden shelf stacked with pink bolts of cloth.

Snape shrugged again and sighed, thinking that he might as well spit it out and get it over with. "I was just thinking about what you told me in the park," he replied as nonchalantly as possible. Inside he thought, Oh, I was just sitting here, very jealous of your peace of mind and wanting to ask you where it came from, but knowing what you would say and not liking the answer because at the moment it doesn't seem possible for someone like me to be forgiven, even though earlier you said I could.

To his surprise, Lawrence flushed slightly and fiddled with his glasses. "Were you really?" he asked, then sighed. "I'm afraid I overwhelmed you with a great deal of theological speculation, and even then did not present all aspects and viewpoints." He looked up and gave Snape a self-deprecating smile. "I apologise for my complete lack of good judgement."

Snape had stopped listening the moment he mentioned other 'aspects and viewpoints.' "Do you mean to tell me that there are more reasons why God allows suffering in the world?" he asked incredulously, raising both eyebrows slightly.

Pastor Beckett nodded, now looking very sheepish indeed. "Yes. Actually I should have told them to you first and saved the others for later, since you might understand them much better." He blinked. "Then again, perhaps not, considering –"

"Would Mr. Snape come here please!" barked Madam Bradley as she re-entered the room, the beads clicking against each other as she passed through the curtain. A measuring tape, parchment, quill, and a small round wooden stool floated behind her. She flicked her wand once, and the stool obediently drifted in Snape's direction, falling to the stone floor with a heavy thunk. Then, her eyes never leaving Snape's, she pointed at the stool silently.

He scowled at her, feeling very much like a small child ordered around by a nasty old aunt, but reluctantly obeyed and mounted the stool. The tailor then Summoned her measuring tape and began to measure Snape's shoulder width, waist, hips, and leg and arm length. The self-inking quill scratched against the parchment, recording the measurements. She harrumphed when finished, told Snape he could get off of the stool (an order to which he gladly complied), then magicked her things back behind her. "Wait here," she ordered again, disappearing through the pink bead curtain once more. Her entourage of inanimate objects followed in her wake.

Severus watched her go, liking the old crone less each time she reappeared. He hitched up his pants and returned to his position in front of the door and glanced at Lawrence, who seemed to find the brooch display utterly fascinating. "So. What are these other 'aspects and viewpoints' you mentioned?" he asked grumpily, his irritation at the tailor needing to manifest itself somehow and choosing to do so in his voice.

Lawrence looked up from perusing the brooches, holding one gently in his hand. From Severus's viewpoint he couldn't quite make it out, but it looked like a bird of some sort. "I would rather not discuss it here," he replied mildly, ignoring Snape's gruff tone. "Later."

The Potions Master grunted. "That's what you said last night when I asked you to explain more about holy magic," he said, crossing his arms and trying to convince himself that he did not sound like a whiny child.

"Did I now?" asked the pastor, blinking. "I thought I mentioned that I had some books you could borrow."

"You mentioned that as well."

Lawrence gave him a little smile. "Then I suggest that when we get back to the church, you read some of them. They know much more about holy magic than I do. I'm certainly nowhere near an expert, you know."

Snape gave Beckett a pointed stare. "Oh, no. When we get back to the church, you are having a Potions lesson," he said silkily, smirking as his words wiped the smile clean off the pastor's face and replaced it with a look of pure horror.

"I thought we'd established that I am dangerously incompetent at Potions?" he said, eyes wide and brooch completely forgotten.

"Do you want gold or silver buttons on your robes?" Madam Bradley asked briskly, suddenly poking her head through the curtain and glaring into the main room. "Put that down!" she snapped at Beckett, who jumped and immediately placed the brooch back onto the display, eyes still wide at Snape's declaration of a Potions lesson. Snape wondered how she even saw the glass object in his hand to begin with.

"Silver," he snapped, meeting her glare with his best classroom sneer. They both glowered defiantly at each other for a few moments before the witch harrumphed and disappeared back through the bead curtain. Snape lifted his chin in triumph and then glanced back at Beckett, who had relocated to an empty space of wall and was leaning against it.

"You seem to be forgetting that I am a Potions Master," he said to him. "If I am there to help you rectify errors in brewing, I'm sure you will brew the potion correctly."

Lawrence gave him a very dubious look. "I'm sure you can fix brewing errors, Severus," he said, "but you can't fix 'stupid.'"

Severus raised a slender eyebrow at that proclamation. "Indeed," he said dryly. "You also seem to forget that I have been teaching Potions to idiot adolescents for over ten years. I have dealt with problems similar to yours before. I have one such problem in my fifth-year class right now, as a matter of fact," he added, suddenly remembering that he had fifth-year Potions on Mondays in the afternoon. Ye gods. Thankfully I'm here and not there, he thought sardonically. He ignored the niggling feeling of guilt that said he ought to be in his classroom instead of in a tailor's shop.

Beckett still looked unconvinced, but appeared to be warming to the idea. "Really? How exactly do you help students who routinely blow up their cauldrons?" he asked, straightening from leaning against the wall.

Snape opened his mouth to answer, but realised that he didn't strictly help Longbottom; it would be more accurate to say he yelled at him and derided the boy's every effort. He liked to think Longbottom brought it upon himself – after all, one simple act of stupidity in Potions could get a person killed – but suspected the 'scorn and sneer' technique probably would not work very well on Lawrence.

"Your clothing is ready," said Madam Bradley, sparing Snape from having to make up an answer. "Come back here and choose one set to change in to, and I'll put the other in a bag." She then fixed Beckett with a stern gaze. "Touch nothing," she said as though talking to a particularly naughty child.

He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Of course," he said meekly, giving her a small, embarrassed smile. She harrumphed and made a sharp gesture at Severus, biding him come. The tailor then disappeared back through the beads, fully expecting him to follow on her heels.

Snape snorted in absolute disbelief. "It's a miracle she has any customers at all, if the way she treats us serves as a general indicator of her usual hospitality," he sniffed.

Lawrence shrugged and leaned against his little section of the wall, the light from the window shining on his dark brown hair. "She's not very fond of Englishmen or anyone with a drop of English blood, you know," he said, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets and giving Severus a quirky half-smile. "It's as if she can smell it running through our veins."

"I thought you were Scottish."

"Only half," the pastor replied, sighing as though this was the world's biggest tragedy.

"If you would, Mr. Snape," came an annoyed, nasally voice from the other side of the beads.

"In a moment," he snapped, glaring crossly at the curtain and hoping she could see his less-than-pleasant expression. Lawrence could be a doormat and let her treat him disrespectfully, but Snape sure as hell was NOT putting up with it.

He then crossed the short distance to where his friend stood, digging the ingredients out of his pockets as he walked. "Here," he said, shoving them into Lawrence's hands. "Don't you dare drop them to get out of your Potions lesson," he added, gazing down his hooked nose at the shorter man.

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Beckett angelically, shoving the bottles into his own pockets. Snape gave him one last pointed stare before striding across the room and forcing himself to walk through the pink bead curtain. He absently brushed off his turtle neck as though the curtain had soiled it and took a quick look around the new room.

Columns of fabric shelves lined the walls on three sides, each bolt of cloth snug in its own little cubby. An entire wall had been devoted to tartan of all kinds, including, Snape noticed with disgust, pink tartan. The old woman was fairly obsessed, it seemed. A small desk sat in front of one of the shelves, covered in needles, pins, thread, a measuring tape, several stacks of parchments, and a stand of self-inking quills.

One of the large shelves suddenly opened inward and Madam Bradley entered the room. The tailor harrumphed when she saw Severus and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "about time." The Potions Master levelled her with his best classroom glare, but she merely shrugged and conjured a brown paper bag with a swish of her wand.

"Your robes are in the room behind me. You can change in there," she said, pointing a gnarled finger needlessly over her shoulder. "Tap the shelf once with your wand to close it, and twice to open it. Do not go up the stairs." She gave him a sharp look and then shoved her way through the curtain into the main room, no doubt to keep a sharp eye on the other wizard in her shop. Snape watched her go, feeling a little sorry for Lawrence for having to stay in a room alone with the old harpy. His trousers slipped a little off of his hips, reminding him what he was supposed to be doing. With a sigh he squeezed through the little opening between the door-shelf and its neighbour and into the chamber.

A flight of old stone stairs dominated most of the room to his left, and a worktable with two sets of well-cut black shirts, trousers and robes lying on it dominated the right. Three windows above the table allowed whatever sunlight the clouds weren't blocking into the small room. It's more like a closet than anything, thought Snape as he took his wand out of his left sleeve and tapped the shelf once. It closed almost soundlessly, creaking a bit as it sealed him off from the rest of the ground floor.

The Potions Master laid the bag and his wand next to the robes, then took off his cloak and extricated himself from the turtleneck, glad to finally be rid of it. The cool morning air stung his skin, and he shivered. Apparently Madam Bradley hadn't heard of heating charms. He quickly slipped on the nearest new black jumper, noting its thick wool texture and snug fit with satisfaction. It would certainly keep him warm, especially in this storm-ridden place. He took off his old trousers and put on the new ones. Hmm. A little too form-fitting for his usual taste, but the robe would solve that problem. He slipped the garment on over his head and did up the seven buttons on the front, absently noting the Celtic knot work decorations on them. She may be an old harpy, but she does excellent work, he thought sardonically.

Snape walked around where he could, revelling in the feeling of pants that actually fit properly. Now that his skin was blister-free, wool felt quite nice against it. Satisfied, he picked his wand up and flicked it at his borrowed clothes and the other new set – it looked much the same as the one he had just donned except that the robe had many more silver buttons down the front, and the pants had a few buttons down the sides near the ankle. The two piles of clothing instantly folded themselves neatly. Severus picked them up and placed them into the bag, putting Lawrence's clothes on top. He then refastened his cloak, picked up the sack and tapped the shelf twice with his wand. It creaked and groaned a bit as it opened into the fabric room.

He heard voices as he walked briskly into the chamber, absently tapping the shelf one more time. He then used his wand to brush the curtain aside instead of walking through it. "…do something about it," said Madam Bradley snapped as he stepped into the main room, slipping his wand back up his left sleeve. The rose scent assaulted his nostrils as he re-entered, making him scowl in displeasure. Apparently it only haunted the front room, as the others had not smelled that way at all.

The scene before him, however, made him smirk. The elderly tailor had backed Pastor Beckett into the corner by the door (or he'd backed into it himself to get away from her, one or the other). "I will see what I can do," he said politely, giving her a nervous smile and fiddling with his glasses. She harrumphed and opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment Lawrence saw Snape and a look of pure delight crossed his face. "Severus!" he exclaimed, relief flooding his voice. "How do you like your new robes?"

"They are fine," said Snape neutrally. Madam Bradley whipped her white head around to glare at him, as if looking to see whether or not he meant it as a compliment. He just raised an eyebrow at her and sidestepped around her frail body, joining Lawrence by the door. "But I am afraid that we have an appointment to keep elsewhere, so if you will excuse us…" he trailed off, flashing the other man a pointed look.

Beckett got the gist immediately. He turned and gave Madam Bradley a slight bow, then proffered his hand. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said graciously as she snatched at his hand, shook it a few times, and then let go.

"Hmph. Good day to you," the old woman replied, spinning on her heel and marching back through the pink bead curtain. The strands clicked against each other and swayed for a bit before straightening out once again.

Beckett gave a 'ces't la vie' shrug and then opened the door for Severus, who couldn't quite complain this time as he had a bag of clothing in his arms. As the two men left the tailor's shop, Snape noted that the sky had darkened quite a bit and the wind had picked up a great deal to match. It didn't sting his skin as it did before, though, a fact for which he was grateful.

"Exactly what 'hospitality' did she show us?" he groused as they descended the stone steps and walked down the dirt path back toward the church.

"I just said it to be polite," said Lawrence patiently, holding a hand over his eyes to protect them from the dirt swirling about.

"Why? She did not deserve such courtesy!" said Snape, adopting the same stance after a bit of grit got into his eye. He hissed as he dug it out with a potion-stained fingernail and blinked a few times.

Beckett shrugged and gave Snape a little grin. "Well, as my mother used to say, 'Yer only here a wee while – so be nice,'" he said, affecting an even heavier Scottish accent than his usual brogue.

Snape returned the little grin with a little sneer. "One of these days that niceness of yours is going to – ack!" he exclaimed as something suddenly landed on his right shoulder. He caught sight of scraggly dark grey feathers before the bird began viciously biting his ear. "Argh! Get off of me, you bloody chicken!" Snape cursed, swiping at what he knew was Lawrence's mangy owl.

"Thaddeus! Come here, you silly creature!" exclaimed Beckett from somewhere to his left. The owl gave Snape one last bite and then took off, hooting angrily at him before circling about and landing on Lawrence's left shoulder. It shifted its bulk about to gain balance in the strengthening wind, giving Snape a yellow-eyed glare during the entire process.

The Potions Master glared back, shifting his clothing bag to his left hand and reaching up to gingerly touch his bitten ear. His fingertips came away wet with blood.

"My deepest apologies, Severus!" said Beckett, reaching up and stroking the owl's feathers soothingly. It hooted happily and began to preen the pastor's hair. "He's usually a very good-natured owl, you know. Here, let me," he added as Snape made to take out his wand and heal the bite on his ear.

Snape snorted but let the other wizard do as he wished, since it was his bloody bird that made the small wound to begin with. Beckett withdrew his own wand, came to stand next to Snape, and then whispered a spell, tapping Snape's hurt ear with the tip. The Potions Master felt a tingling sensation as the skin knit back together, then reached up and wiped away the blood.

"Thank you," he said, just as Thaddeus leaned over and bit him on the nose. "ACK!" he exclaimed again, automatically reaching up with his free hand to hold his nose. He glared into the yellow owl-eyes, wishing like hell he could punch the thing off Lawrence's shoulder and seriously considering using the clothing bag to do so.

"THADDEUS!" snapped Lawrence, giving his familiar a very stern look indeed. "Get back to the church this instant!" The owl hooted and took off from its master's shoulder, giving Severus a very dirty look as if it were Snape's fault the scruffy animal had chosen to bite him. "And no treats for you tonight, either!" Beckett added, pointing a stern finger at the bird as it circled above them. Thaddeus hooted again before taking off in the direction of the church, wobbling a bit in the breeze as it flew off and disappeared behind a clump of deciduous trees, green leaves intermingled with leaves the colour of autumn fire.

"I am so sorry!" said Lawrence remorsefully, turning to Snape and healing the bite on his nose as well. "Did you not give him an owl treat before sending him off with your letter?"

"I didn't notice any in the tower," Snape replied gruffly, wiping away the blood from his nose and wiping it off on a nearby tree trunk.

Lawrence blinked at that. "Really? I usually keep a little dish up there for him…Ah well. That explains his attitude." He gave Snape an apologetic grin. "I truly am sorry."

"So you've said," said Severus, rolling his eyes and shifting the bag of clothing to his right arm. "And you can prove it by brewing the potion more or less perfectly," he added, smirking as the pastor paled slightly.

"If you say so," he said with a little gulp as they continued down the tree-lined path. "I'm warning you right now, though: I am a complete disaster at Potions; you saw what I accidentally did to my bedroom this morning!"

Snape waved his hand dismissively. "That will not happen as long as I am there to watch you and guide you through the brewing process," he said confidently. A thought then came to him, and he gave Beckett a sly, sideways glance. "Besides, if you blow me up, you'll never know if I would have ever become a Christian or not."

Lawrence blinked in surprise. "Ah. Well. When you put it that way…teach me not to blow up my cauldron and guests, O Master of Potions," he said, giving Snape another of his cheeky idiot grins.

Snape smirked at him. "Oh, I shall," he said smugly as they entered the park area. "When I'm through with you, you'll be able to brew that healing potion as well as the average fifth year."

He'd find out later how terribly wrong that statement was.

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A/N: Hello! I am soooo sooooorrrrryyyy this came out so late! I absolutely had NO free time this quarter at college. This is the very last time I take 17 units, that's for sure. Next quarter I'm up for 12, which is the minimum, so I'll have lots of time to write. : ) … Theoretically…

I'm still not sure I like this chapter – it's completely different from what I had originally written; poor thing's been sliced and patched back together so many times – but it needed to be posted. So, this is a sort of "I'm still alive and so is this fic" sort of chappie.

There will also be some major edits coming up in most of the previous chapters. I feel like an idiot for forgetting that, at the beginning of OoTP, Bellatrix is in Azkaban, not frolicking free all over the UK wreaking havoc as she pleases. So, that is going to change ASAP. Chapter 7 is also going to be a lot different, since I discovered that the kids do in fact have Potions on Mondays during fifth-year. Lol. I need to do more research: )

Anyway, finals are coming up, so wish me luck there. My grandma is also healing from a surgery due to complications from past cases of breast cancer, so prayers for her are appreciated. Spring break is coming up, so for a week I might 1) write or 2) catch up on sleep. Hopefully it's more of 1 and less of 2, eh: )

So…yah, that's pretty much it, really. I hope someone is still interested in reading, despite my 3 month hiatus. I'll try to promise that that won't happen again, but nothing solid. It just might. But I won't ever give up on this story!

I'll shut up now.

Cheers,

Ballad