SECOND CHANCE – the sequel
by Lady Memory
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.
All my gratitude to my previewer Duj and to my beta Sara. Many thanks to my kind readers and reviewers, especially to those who don't log in before leaving a message, and therefore preclude me a direct answer ;)
Sorry. I am awfully late. But please understand. This year I have had an entire month of vacation to spend with my family. So, my fingers haven't touched the keyboard for the whole month of August. I'll try to make amends by publishing a chapter now and another immediately after. Sorry again.
What happened in the previous chapter:
(thanks for the suggestion, Andrea :)
Scorpius Malfoy has delivered a message on his grandfather's behalf: Lucius is extremely ill and wants to ask Snape for his forgiveness before leaving this world. So, with a sudden decision, enveloped in a handkerchief and reduced in size, Snape travels by owl to Malfoy Manor. There he sees Lucius and Narcissa, and, moved by the couple's evident suffering and mutual love, he promises Narcissa to find a remedy.
But, after having a talk with Draco, Snape also discovers that Lucius is unwittingly carrying the germs of Stonicrucium, an infectious disease that the old man caught during his years in Azkaban and that is lethal for old or weaker constitutions.
Furthermore, Draco tells Snape that the only known cure – a potion created by Mediwizard Horatius Hobnook in 1525 - was lost centuries before. Accusing the Ministry of having neglected Lucius' wellbeing when he was in prison, Draco is not going to inform the wizarding society about the possibility of an infection.
Is the Malfoys' doyen definitely condemned? And how will Snape deal with the moral dilemma Draco's decision implies?
*************
Part XXV
The white softness wrapping Snape gently opened again, but this time he found himself in the Headmistress' office. Minerva McGonagall was staring at him, brows furrowed and an undecipherable expression on her face. Was that anger or worry? Instinctively, he crossed his arms over his chest, in the rigid pose he used to strike when he felt challenged.
Silently, Minerva disentangled his miniaturized frame from the fabric, and carefully put it on her desk. Her lips had tightened in a thin line, an alarming sign of her repressed tension.
The woman and the portrait locked their gazes, each one waiting for the other to speak. The silence became heavy.
"So, here you are," Minerva finally said, and, incredulous, Snape felt astonishment and even awe in her tone, rather than the scolding he was expecting.
"Scorpius told me you had left, but I couldn't believe it. Did you really go and visit Lucius?"
"I did," he replied, and braced himself for a discussion. But Minerva was still looking at him with eyes that were rapidly filling with tears.
"Oh, Severus," she sobbed and, disoriented again, he felt guilty for what he felt was released anxiety.
"I'm sorry," he murmured uncomfortably, "I should have advised you."
The Headmistress shook her head. "Don't you understand?" she asked, and a tremulous smile opened on her face. "You are beginning to break the walls of your prison."
He stiffened, trying to suppress the violent emotion he felt at those words. Their eyes met again, and he smiled wearily in return.
"All portraits can travel," he replied.
"But I have never seen one of them choose an owl to do it," she remarked. "Oh, Severus," she repeated, lifting her glasses to wipe her eyes, "I am so happy."
"I am not," he thought, while a mass of confused thoughts gathered in his mind again. Innumerable bitter reflections had arisen during his trip back to Hogwarts, as he had begun to envisage the difficulties of the task he had so imprudently sworn to fulfil. How many obstacles were still in front of him!
The last words he had shared with Draco once more echoed in his brain: Draco, and the terrible responsibility he had so resentfully thrown on Snape's shoulders.
"Do you realise what may happen?" The portrait asked severely, but Draco's eyes became chillingly cold.
"Don't put the blame on me! The Ministry condemned my father to Azkaban. It's not my father's fault if he got infected there. He didn't ask to be locked in that cell. What they sowed, they reaped."
That insolent reply unpleasantly reminded Snape of another scene, lost in the mist of time: a boy who was obstinately resisting the questions he was being posed, while watching his teacher and Head of the House with a defiant expression. Had twenty years actually passed since that night after Slughorn's party? Watching Draco, it seemed like only yesterday: same arrogance, same contempt, same foolish confidence.
The portrait reacted with irritation at the memory.
"Yet, Draco, you should understand what an infection may-"
"I don't care about the others! They never cared about us! Why should I worry about them?"
"They might accuse you of acting on purpose…" Snape replied impatiently before such obtuseness.
"They won't. I have taken my precautions."
"What do you mean by that?" The portrait asked, alarmed.
"The French Mediwizard." A spark lit in Draco's eyes. "He was the only stranger to the family to know, and he has been thoroughly Obliviated. Nobody else has entered this house. And my elf has been properly instructed. No witnesses, no knowledge, no accusation."
"You have planned everything, I see… except my arrival," Snape commented disdainfully.
Draco curled his lips in a cruel smile. "You are not going to speak, Professor," he declared slowly. "Because I'm not going to let you go back unless you swear you won't betray us."
"You can't ask me this, Draco."
"Why not?" the man replied. Then, with sudden violence, his fist hit the table where the portrait had been placed, making the frame swing unsteadily. "WHY?" Draco repeated with rage. "You let so many people ruin themselves in order to protect just one precious life! I'm not asking you for the impossible. After all, you are a portrait. Human beings are not in your care." A deep breath, then, in a calmer, dangerous voice, "I'm going to smash you into pieces, Professor, if you don't swear here and now."
"Would you like me to also take an Unbreakable vow?" Snape asked ironically.
"Just let my father die in peace! You asked if I realised what may happen. Well, did YOU realise? What about my mother, my wife, my son? Should our lives be definitely destroyed for a mistake we haven't committed?" Draco clenched his hands in increasing fury.
"Just let my father die in peace," he repeated forcefully. "Then we will leave the country, and you'll be free to reveal the truth."
The portrait sighed. "You forgot I promised to save him. I swore it to your mother, and I'll do everything in my power to keep my word."
"You really believe you can do something? You, a mere picture?" The contempt in Draco's voice and eyes was hard to stand. But, immediately after, the man quickly took advantage of Snape's declaration.
"Well, then I challenge you! Find a remedy, and you will save my father and those he might have possibly infected. Otherwise, there is no solution. Whether you accuse us or not, they will all be condemned!"
"Severus? Are you listening? Is anything wrong with you?"
Abruptly taken back from his unpleasant memories, Snape studied Minerva's face - so wrinkled, so tired - and she returned his look with the fond smile she reserved for him.
"How is Lucius?" she asked. Swiftly, Snape averted his eyes. Great Merlin, not now! How could he answer that question without betraying Lucius, without alarming her, and above all, without lying? He needed time to weigh the situation, but time was running out so quickly in the world of humans!
He returned her question. "Did you see him during Hogwarts' celebration?"
"Oh, I saw him for just a few moments, at the beginning of the feast. He looked very uncomfortable but, being a Malfoy, he hid it under his usual arrogant air," Minerva replied almost merrily. Then her brows curled in a pensive expression, and her voice became slow and grave. "I remember I noticed how pale he looked. And old. Even older than I am, I thought."
Only a few moments. Snape repeated those words in his mind and relaxed. A very short exposure, so perhaps the danger of an infection had been avoided. But then Minerva spoke again.
"I got to see him better later. I spent more than an hour with the members of the past Boards of Governors, and Lucius was the most insistent of them. He practically monopolised the whole discussion! At the end, the meeting had turned into a private conversation because, one by one, all the others left. Not very happy to be associated with him, I would say."
She paused, compassion clearly showing on her features.
"Lucius Malfoy," she mused, her eyes becoming sad again. "A man whose name meant power and adulation and richness…"
With a sudden shiver, Snape reacted to the chilling horror with which he had listened to her story.
"Minerva," he interrupted her abruptly, an intolerable agitation running in his fibres, "I need to speak with Mr. Bernardi as soon as possible!"
"Ber.. nardi?" She repeated uncertainly that uncommon name, evidently baffled by the switch in the conversation.
"The Italian painter you called to install my fax."
"Oh! Oh, yes, now I remember him. A fine young man."
Still surprised, she considered him with a worried look. "Is there anything you need from him? Has the trip perhaps damaged you?"
"I have a question for him," Snape replied curtly. "A very important question."
Old, sad, tired eyes watched him, suddenly alerted.
"I suppose you are not going to tell me, then." Her voice had become cold and practical, the suspicious voice he remembered so well from his final year as a Headmaster. Minerva looked pointedly at him, but he didn't lower his eyes.
"I will call him," she finally ceded.
*************
The night passed in agonizing slowness. Back to his room and to his usual size, Snape paced in his frame, while thousands of possibilities and objections surged, twirled and were discarded in a frantic examination. Now and then, he paused to look at the small number of books and parchments gathered in his bookshelves, and sighed in exasperation. He ought to find more materials, but how could he consult the much richer collection contained in the Hogwarts' library? He craved to perform an accurate search, but how could he ever hope to open and read the volumes that, at the moment, were his only source of information?
He needed to speak with Marcello Bernardi as soon as possible; however, he couldn't ask the Italian artist to paint the entire restricted section for him. Furthermore, even hoping that Bernardi could help him in those practical tasks, there were still too many unknown factors to deal with, too many gaps to be filled. He had spent nineteen years in the somnolent quiet of an office: what had the other potioneers discovered in the meantime? Teaching children and using old textbooks wasn't exactly the best way to keep oneself updated. He needed to ask other professionals, to create a staff of possible consultants, but without revealing them the truth… therefore probably hindering their efforts.
And all that work had to be done as soon as possible! Every moment could be the last one for Lucius' exhausted body. Snape finally sank in his chair and buried his face in his hands. How suffocating the bars of his cage were that night! And how demanding the choice that Draco had put on his shoulders!
"Destroy me, Draco, if you wish. But your action won't prevent the truth to come out, sooner or later. And then, how will you justify yourself? Are you going to make your son pay for misinterpreted pride?"
"Your word or your existence, Professor!" The man replied with cold determination.
A wand was lifted, and Snape smiled bitterly.
"I have already traded my soul for yours, Draco, in another existence. And you had been happy to leave that decision to me, that night on the Astronomy tower…"
The man froze. Then, with a sudden move, he threw the wand to the ground, exclaiming angrily with a strangled voice, "Will that memory always haunt my days?!"
A tormented look in his eyes, Draco grabbed the frame. With jerky movements, as if he were fighting against himself, he then took the handkerchief in which Snape had arrived and began to wrap it around the picture, declaring in broken sentences that matched his frantic gestures, "Go back. You are free. Go back to Hogwarts. Go back, before I regret my choice."
The fabric inexorably enveloped Snape in its muffling whiteness, yet he was still able to hear Draco add, "Our destinies are in your hands, Professor…"
The words continued to linger in Snape's mind, while the vision blurred and vanished away, leaving a biting pain in his heart. There was no hope to escape that agony. Being a picture meant no dependence on physical needs like thirst or hunger… but, for that identical reason, it also excluded the soothing relief that sleep could offer to his troubled soul.
With an effort, the wizard raised his head again. Slowly, his hands tightened in determination. Horatius Hobnook, a Mediwizard living in the sixteen century, had found a remedy to a horrible disease in spite of the empiric period he lived in.
Five centuries later, Severus Snape was willing to accept the challenge again and to be triumphant.
With a bit of hope.
With a bit of luck.
*********************
Chapter XXVI is finished. As soon as my beta send it to me, I'll post it.