Many thanks to JKR for the characters and the setting.
Thanks also to those who have expressed such interest and delight in this story. The comments and curiosity are deeply appreciated. I shall try to get more done. This chapter comes after three computer crashes and one extremely corrupted file.
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Bright, bright blue. Cerulean blue, like the lake. Both the sky and the lake were composed of unknown numbers of atoms, absorbing and reflecting only the bluest strand of the rainbow. A perfect, beautiful blue.
Perched high on the castle walls, Hana hooch regarded the sky and swung her feet lazily. Under this blue, noisy students milled in the courtyard before heading off to Hogsmeade. A few professors moved amongst them, ostensibly making the trip to replenish various stores and enjoy the afternoon away from the school. Not that the students required chaperones, but Dumbledore felt that someone was needed to keep a watchful eye. Some still doubted that Voldemort had truly returned, but the Headmaster was adamant. A careful watch would be kept.
As if the incidents of the last year were not enough for anyone. Four times, the Dark Mark had fouled the sky this summer. Hermione Granger's parents had escaped by mere luck from the evil. The quizzical Muggles were now living under the protection of Ministry wizards. Hooch could see Hermione below, gesturing with great excitement to the Weasley twins, her riotous hair stirred by the breeze. A pang struck her heart, for as much as she was grateful the girl's parents were spared, Hana felt envious that the same luck had eluded her.
The bruise on her arm had faded mostly, but Snape had not spoken to her again after the night on the tower. He skipped meals, and if he watched her fly in the mornings, he hid himself well. For her part, Hana had not tried to speak to him. Avoiding confrontation was not to her liking, and she used the time to pry as much information as possible from Dumbledore.
"He's not the one responsible for Misha's death," the Headmaster gently reminded her on afternoon, when her temper flared once again.
"That does not excuse him Albus."
"I'm not trying to make excuses for Severus, my dear. I only point out that he has changed from what he once was."
"But how much? And why?" Hooch paced the length of the carpet, hands behind her back.
"He has suffered much, Hana. More than I know, probably."
"Probably not enough."
"That is not for us to decide." Dumbledore's voice held a note of warning. "We are not judges here, nor are we meant to be."
Hooch turned away, unable to reply. Sometimes she wondered how much Dumbledore did know about the darkest years of her life.
Madwoman Trelawney's irritating mannerisms drove Snape away from yet another meal. Bad enough that Hooch was ostensibly ignoring him; he didn't want to spend an hour listening to grand predictions of doom flow endlessly towards his ear.
Ignoring the dull ache in his stomach, Snape settled into his chair in the Potions classroom and looked askance at the pile of papers awaiting grades. Assigning homework as punishment always ended up giving him a headache. Perhaps Dumbledore would let Filch reopen a dungeon room or two...
"You never did tell me your long story."
Cursing, Snape wiped up the spilled ink before it soaked the parchments. He furrowed his brow at Madame hooch.
"Do you not have any manners?"
"When did those become necessary with you?"
"As if you can not plainly see, I am working at the moment," he said dismissively. "Perhaps some other time."
She did not reply, walking up the aisle and planting herself with crossed arms on top of the first row of desks. The woman didn't have the slightest intention of leaving, Snape thought. He hissed, a sound that drove many a student into a dead faint.
"You aren't going to frighten me off like that Severus."
"Be gone witch. I have no desire to speak with you now."
"This isn't a time for your desires."
"Indeed, it is not." The sudden hard stare unnerved Hooch a bit. What he truly desired, she could not fathom.
Snape did contemplate his desires for a moment, the roiling storm within him delivering a clear picture of a frantic, pleading glance and the faint sound of his name. Banishing the dream, he steepled his long fingers and rested his elbows on the desk.
"You really don't want to know this," he said abruptly. "It's not a story you're going to understand, much less care about." Hooch stiffened slightly, and a combative tone crept into her speech.
"I'm not here for your opinions. I want to know what could possibly tempt someone to become a Death Eater."
The silence stretched between them, taut and heavy.
"Power," he finally answered in a low tone. "Power, and the idea I could give myself up to something larger than myself. Knowledge, the ability to go beyond the ordinary magics and do something that could shape history."
Hana opened her mouth, but Snape cut her off without noticing.
"I suppose too, it had much to do with wanting companions that respected me for what I was, and what I could do."
"You wanted friends?" she snorted incredulously. "Go join a bloody Quidditch team or a gardening club. You joined the Death Eaters for friends?!"
"Not all of us are so blessed as you," Snape snarled, fingers tightly clenched. "Do not trivialize what you do not know.
"I understand well how much hate and desire mingle inside. How one can burn for an ideal, even as on recognizes its flaws. How even a flawed ideal can be enough to hold. the ethics of my actions were not so important to me then. The ultimate goal was elegant enough to capture my attention, as twisted as it was. I wanted what anyone wanted, though it took a darker form."
"You sound like those Muggles that rampaged through Europe years ago."
"Perhaps," Snape laughed quietly. "Eugenics and all. Not such a bad description."
His amusement infuriated Hana, and she rose from the desktop to slam her hands down in front of him.
"All this death is so hilarious to you, isn't it? Did you laugh when you killed them?" Her voice rang shrilly over the stone.
"Sometimes."
Hana's temper snapped, and she grabbed Snape by the collar of his robes and pulled him upright, almost screaming.
"Damn you!"
The change in Snape was almost as startling. He slipped from her grasp and faced her stonily over the desk. The mocking look was replaced by glacial coolness.
"I am what I am, and not what I was. What I am now is certainly not a convenient target for your unresolved anger Hooch. You have your answer. Now leave me be."
He stepped towards the door, but she moved in front of him.
"I don't care if Dumbledore and the Ministry both believe you are redeemable, I don't care what kind of game you're playing."
"Well there isn't much you are able to do about it. Unless you plan on flying off to Voldemort and speaking with him directly about his wayward protege?"
Blanching but a little at the suggestion, Hooch held her ground. With a raised eyebrow, he continued.
"Never fear, I do suffer for my actions. There are scars that time will not fade."
"It is not enough." The words broke from her lips involuntarily. He nodded, and regarded her with a thoughtful eye.
"No, it is rarely enough Hana Hooch. Do you intend to make it so?"
The puzzlement in her eyes made him sigh as headed for the door.
"Believe me, it is within your power to do it."
Why had he been so foolish? Why did he say anything at all? What about that damnable woman unhinged him so easily?
Snape cursed as he swept through the corridors of the lower levels. Talking to Hooch would ruin him, or at least leave another scar. Angrily, he paced in his rooms in search of some demanding physical task that would leave him breathless and incapable of thinking too much.
From one of his shelves, Snape drew down a heavy case. It had been awhile since he last practiced anyways. In his youth, Snape's grandfather, a patrician man of the old generation, had taught him to fence. The gentlemanly art was drilled into him through grueling lessons in the West Hall of the manor every summer. Up, down, they went at it for hours and their reflections battled fiercely alongside them.
He hefted the fine blades one at time, and decided upon the saber. After careful inspection, he stripped to just his simple black trousers and balanced himself. Across the room and back, forward and retreat. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Thrust, parry, and riposte. Soon, Severus quit counting aloud and lost himself in the rhythm of the exercise. His breath and the flick of the blade were the only sound to be heard.