Chapter 12
How People Show They Care
For Professor McGonagall, there was a certain bittersweet element to her weekly meetings with her displaced Mr. Snape; though she could easily blame his gentleness on Hermione, she feared it was not completely true, and it made her feel somewhat guilty; hindsight was painful as one aged. The strange repetition of things in a different way was inevitable where Time-Turning was involved, but there was also a cosmic coincidence to it that she could not ascribe to as coincidence. There was no coincidence that was so perfectly laid.
Severus' boy did not say all that much, but when you could get him to speak, he spoke in a beautiful way, with a hesitant but inquisitive smile. He did not yet feel safety, but he seemed more contemplative than aggressive. Predictably, this boy did not need their help in protecting himself from this world. He needed help in learning how to open himself up to it.
He had said to her over one of their meetings that he was very appreciative of her Transfiguration abilities, being an Animagus.
When she had asked why, he had said as if it was the simplest thing in the world: "I was in my mind something I was not, and I could bend my magic to something I was not by controlling my mind, but I could never bend my magic to make me something I was not."
Most students said something along the lines of it being wicked, or whatever iteration there was of the epitome of greatness students were using, or what fun they might be able to have with it. There was rarely any philosophy to it.
Her mind floated back to the rest of the conversation.
"You know, I did not appreciate your father enough," she said to him, her eyes large. He had not wanted them to, but they had all been too happy to acquiesce with leaving him alone most of the time. "You are very," she searched for the word, "eloquent."
"Headmistress...might I ask...why does everyone keep saying that to me?"
She chuckled, "Probably because you speak very properly."
"Oh, I mean, no not that, though it's nice too. I meant why everyone says those things to me about my father? Is it the same reason they are...overly fawning about my adjustment?" Was there a polite way to say annoying the patience right out of him with incessant questions on how he was doing. He was doing, he'd keep doing, and he was tired of answering the masses.
"Because you might have been given his sarcasm but are a very smart and good boy, and nobody appreciated how hard and how alone he had to work for many years." She paused. "In the worst of it, he raised something like a sunflower in the darkness. He did a better job with you than most parents. You prove his goodness and all of our guilt. That is why they keep saying that to you and making sure you're okay."
He frowned. "Well, Professor, I'm no sunflower, even metaphorically, and I do not think I will be okay for awhile, but it is a far less dire state than I am used to, obviously, so it seems funny to be always asked." Perhaps she could encourage the lot to stop asking him?
"That's what people do when they care, Severus."
"They care because my father was a hero to them, twice. It's an obligation or a repayment...to him. To someone my father was before the dividing point in the timeline." It was clear the boy did not think it all had much to do with him and thus seemed overbearing or insincere. He came from a world that did not gush any empathy. "I know they did not know him."
He was a very bright boy and so she replied, "Do you think it should matter any less to Harry Potter that your father sacrificed his life every day, not for him in particular, but for his mother? Do you think he appreciates that less? Do you think such a sacrifice means less to any wizard in this world, because it was not for them?" She said it gently.
Clearly, the one thing the former Head of Slytherin had not been able to teach his son, it was to deal with and interpret emotions, especially positive ones; she had grown to realize they were much a rarity in his world, and for him something he had only ever shared with his parents.
His eyes fixed on the desk in thought for a moment.
"No, I suppose not." He paused and then added, "I still do not like being asked if I am okay all of the time. I mean, I think it fairly obvious I'm not, but nothing fixes the fact that I have to look at my mother, only she's not my mother, and has none of the memories that I share with my real one. Nothing fixes that - to all of you - my father died two decades ago, but to me it was only two months ago."
"If that bothers you so very much, how would you like them to show that they care?" Gryffindors had a a way of being far too blunt and impractical for most Slytherins, and she no less than the others. The boy was direct enough to simply tell her if she asked.
"Just that, Headmistress, show instead of ask, I suppose. Do as they are doing, helping teach me about this world." He put on a wry smile, "Lecture me on my marks and comments at the end of term?"
"I do not think you need to worry overmuch about that," she replied with a smile. "Your mother and your father were easily at the top of a number of classes when they were your age, and you had a different sort of motivation to learn than either of them did."
He grinned. He obviously knew.
If there was one thing she, and most of the staff, liked about him, it was that he would be completely captive to learning anything he did not already know. After his poetic praise of her ability to transform, their weekly sessions turned into some tutelage as well. While he was more advanced in many things, Transfiguration was not one of them. The more applicable what she showed him, the more he soaked it up, and that was gratifying for anyone, especially now that she did not teach classes. Plus, none could deny, the boy heavily needed socialization, and you could easily get him to talk about magic.
The boy had surely inherited the ability and intelligence of his parents…and their inability to resist academic discourse.
