Anything by JK Rowling here I will not even pretend to own. How unlike me.
Note to Reader: This chapter is based on role plays from Neopets.com, and I am aware that I will have gotten bits and pieces wrong – how the memory deceives one – but the gist of it all is still there. Only the first piece of the chapter is from the point of view of the adults. I get bored with them after a while, I'm sorry. They're just not central to the story right now, while they do influence it greatly.
Another little note: It's official. Draco/Morag. I apologize in advance for my portrayal of Draco early in this chapter. He's supposed to be softened up by Morag's feminine wiles or some silly something like that. But I bet you people would never have guessed what Morag was up to when it came to Draco…! Not what you're thinking, I'm pretty sure. Or am I that predictable? I don't think so…
Thanks to: Shannon – yet again. This chapter starts how so many of your role plays seem to – in Snape's office, with him being his usual self – which is to say, completely unlike anyone else on the planet. The truth hurts. To Chrissie, without you, so many of these memories just wouldn't happen, simply because Lily influenced Morganna so much. To Jenni (I haven't a clue what your real name is, I just think of you as Jenni, or neshomeh-from-neopets), like Chrissie, your character-Jenni has been in memories.
Unlike most of my chapters, and the story itself, this chapter is dedicated. I'm dedicating it to my Granddad, who is never as bad as Morag's was.
-
Chapter Four: Memories
-
Professor Snape sat in his office.
It was dark, the curtains pulled and the light blocked out. On his desk were the usual sorts of things you expect to see on a desk. A picture of his wife, a picture of his three children, ink, quills, and parchment, students work to be marked, all sorts of things.
Professor Snape wasn't doing any work.
He wasn't looking at the pictures of his family.
He wasn't marking the students work.
He wasn't planning a new lesson.
He was remembering.
Remembering how Morganna protected her owl – even though the silly old thing had already knocked her out of a tree (twisting her ankle) twice. Three times! Remembering how Morag used to try and stick her toes in his mouth when she was a baby, just to get a reaction. Remembering how Morag trusted her parents, in everything. How Morganna smiled, how Lily laughed. How it was all turned upside down with a few short words. How they put everything back together, coped – and then Morag discovered the truth.
He clenched his fists, remembering the way that Jonathan O'Connell had seemed so calm, so in control, all the while, when he had wanted no more than to take out his wand and curse the prat to kingdom come. Remembering the way Morganna hadn't looked at him when she told Jenni about O'Connell. The way she'd said it. 'I was unhappy', as if she could possibly be happy then, after a run-in with O'Connell, followed by a guilt-ridden Severus.
Morganna should have done as he told her – divorced him, taken Morag, gone to safety. Away from him. Safety – but away from him. Morganna had refused, point blank. She had decided that the only way she was going was if he could look her in the eye and tell her he didn't love her anymore. He had been unable. And she had refused to go. Bravery had never been Morganna Snape's strong point, but she was doing her best. Never letting Morag worry, always keeping track of Severus. She'd tried to be the perfect wife and mother, with this ideal of who that was in her head that she never let waver.
Had he let her down? Would she have been safer if he had never married her in the first place?
No. It was unlikely that the life her father had in mind for her was any safer, probably more dangerous. Because Morganna's father, Maxwell Montaque III, was a Death Eater. The Montaque family had money, pureblood, and pride. Montaque had come willingly, gladly even. Back then, using his influence in the French Ministry of Magic, Montaque had attempted to gain a foothold in France for his master, Voldemort. In the end, he was given the Dementor's Kiss for his efforts, but he remained loyal to Voldemort throughout. Only his daughter Lacrimosa ever supported him, but Luci and Morganna had – like their mother Delilah – always been good actresses. Gerad had simply avoided the family home. If Morganna had gone home at the end of her seventh year – home to her family in France – then it was doubtful she would be at all safe. Severus did not know it, but her father had been arranging a marriage for her for some time before Severus came into the picture. Even Morganna had not known until the summer before her sixth year. She had defied her father, and refused to marry Marc Remillard. Had she gone home, her father would have seen to it that she married Jonathan O'Connell, Morag's natural father. Illegitimate children were only all right for the men in the family, was Montaque's firm belief.
-
Morganna too, was remembering.
How Lily was always there.
How James had always been nice to her. She'd never understood Severus's dislike for him, or Remus, or Sirius.
How she'd never let Severus blame himself.
Remembering Gailyn Dorau, the prat who had been 'pursuing' Jenni. Decidedly unwelcome in his advances. How they'd gotten back at him for it, using the charms of the veela to make him fall in love with Morganna's sister, Lucia Montaque.
Remembering how she'd never trusted the Divinations teacher who had mysteriously told her 'You will get your heart's desire – but it will come at a price'. How she'd finally understood the cryptic mystic's words at the end of her seventh year.
How she'd forgiven her senile old owl anything and everything, unwilling to let go of the one person who still remembered her sister Gloria – the sister she never knew, who had so shaped her life.
How that same owl – Gom – had let her down so many times. How he'd worked so hard to be worthy of her trust and affection. How he'd been the one who came and was near her when she was unhappy or upset, even back at home.
How her mother never said goodbye. How, when Morganna had pressed her nose against the window of the muggle car (a limo-something), her mother hadn't even turned around to look at her. To watch her go. To do anything that suggested she cared.
How her father never cared enough to say goodbye.
How her aunt had forced her to be Morganna, after a lifetime of being 'Maria' or 'Anna'.
How her cousins had ridiculed her for her 'silly name'. She'd told them it was traditional, and they'd laughed even harder.
How she'd never told her mother that she'd miss her.
How her father hadn't even given her a backwards glance when he gave her to Aunt Margolotta.
Morganna remembered, and a single, solitary, tear rolled down her cheek.
-
Morag stood by the lake. Unshed tears shone in her eyes, and she was pale in the moonlight. Stars glittered on the surface of the opaque waters, and Morag finally did what she had been refusing to do for weeks.
Morag Lillith Snape wept.
But she wasn't as alone as she thought.
Draco Malfoy was watching her. A few paces back, but in her misery she did not notice him.
For some time, Morag had been putting her plan into action. She had to turn Draco away from his family, from Voldemort – but before she could even attempt that, she had to bring him to a place where he would never betray her.
She had to make Draco fall in love with her.
It was almost too much to bear – because she cared about him, with all her heart. And she would know that she had manipulated him.
Draco, of course, knew nothing of her desperate plan. Morag had put her plan into action much earlier than she had intended – Thamala's presence made it a race against time. It was only so long until Miss Blake discovered what the Snape's labored so hard to keep concealed. And then all was lost.
So, she had been setting little traps for Draco. A mysterious smile, wafts of french perfume. A flower in her hair to accent the blue of her eyes, lightly touching his arm in passing. She had even been tempted to resort to the charms her aunt had made sure she learnt. But she hadn't. Draco must love her – that was true. That she must manipulate his emotions to the extent she was – that, too, was true. But she wanted for his emotion to be as real as it could be.
Like hers.
-
Draco stared at Morag for a long while.
She was so beautiful, almost glowing in the moon's soft light. He knew she was crying – and he knew that she hated any sign of weakness, especially witnessed weakness. His heart fought with his head, and in the end, his heart one.
Draco approached her.
"Lilli." He said it softly. She went still, and then turned.
It pained him to see the tears on her cheeks. He went to wipe them away, but Morag put up her hand to stop him. "What, Draco?"
"You're crying." He said. 'That's right, Malfoy, repeat the obvious. Make yourself look stupid.' He cursed himself inwardly.
Her blue eyes swirled to deepest gray and she stiffened. "What of it?"
Without thinking, he enfolded her in his arms. Though she was taller than her mother, she was still so much shorter than he, and her tear-streaked face was pressed against his shoulder. Morag stiffened, and then relaxed.
She hadn't been entirely surprised.
-
When Morag arrived (just before she would have been late) for Potions the next morning, Draco was saving her a seat – much to Pansy Parkinson's horror.
Morag sat next to him without a word, feeling Harry's stare in her back. Knowing that Thamala was only a few seats away, watching everything she did.
"Lilli," Draco started, but Morag held her finger to his lips.
"Shh, tell me later." She whispered, motioning for Draco to turn his attention back to the professor.
"Miss Snape? Do you have something to share?" Professor Snape asked mildly, looking at her.
"No, professor." She tried to smile. Cosmetics covered the fact that she hadn't slept last night, cosmetics and lots of coffee at breakfast.
"Good. Today our lesson is all theory – no practical." He continued. Neville Longbottom looked openly relieved. "You will be starting an essay on why we need both potions and spells, giving the pro's and con's of each, and will be looking especially at how we use these spells in defense."
"Professor?" Hermione's hand shot up into the air.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"How long does the essay have to be?" she asked.
"There is no set maximum or minimum, but I will not expect to see a single quill down before the end of the lesson." The professor replied calmly.
There were a number of groans around the classroom, but Professor Snape ignored them.
-
Harry watched Morag.
After a few minutes, Ron prodded him. "Are you just going to stare at the Snape girl all lesson?"
Hermione chimed in, "Harry, you really must start your essay."
"I am not staring at her, and I've already started." Harry told them.
"You're staring." Ron said flatly.
"And you've only put the title." Hermione was defiant. "Ron's right, too. You're staring at her. Right under her father's watchful eye. Malfoy's made it clear she's out of bounds, hasn't he? Think about something else."
"Hermione!" Harry almost shouted it, but managed to keep quiet – Snape didn't like people shouting in class… "I am not day dreaming about Morag Snape. I do not stare at her. She just…knows things."
"What things?" Ron interrupted.
"Things about my family. About what happened back then. She's got her owl – who was there, who likes to talk. I have old photos. She has her parents, who were there. I have my parents friends." Harry replied.
Hermione put a comforting hand on Harry's. "If it's that important to you…"
Before Hermione could finish, Ron interrupted with: "If it's that important, we'll kidnap the owl and make him tell us all he knows!"
Hermione and Harry tried not to fall about laughing.
The spectacle they were making of themselves attracted Thamala Blake's attention. Her sharp eyes rested briefly on Hermione's. Hermione froze, and looked away. Nobody had ever stared down Thamala before, and they weren't starting now.
Distracted by Morag's soft laugh, Thamala stared at Draco and Morag. Draco and Lilli, Thamala corrected herself in her thoughts. Morag wasn't Morag, she was Lilli to all.
But was she what they all thought she was?
Thamala thought she remembered something…
Note to Reader: This chapter is based on role plays from Neopets.com, and I am aware that I will have gotten bits and pieces wrong – how the memory deceives one – but the gist of it all is still there. Only the first piece of the chapter is from the point of view of the adults. I get bored with them after a while, I'm sorry. They're just not central to the story right now, while they do influence it greatly.
Another little note: It's official. Draco/Morag. I apologize in advance for my portrayal of Draco early in this chapter. He's supposed to be softened up by Morag's feminine wiles or some silly something like that. But I bet you people would never have guessed what Morag was up to when it came to Draco…! Not what you're thinking, I'm pretty sure. Or am I that predictable? I don't think so…
Thanks to: Shannon – yet again. This chapter starts how so many of your role plays seem to – in Snape's office, with him being his usual self – which is to say, completely unlike anyone else on the planet. The truth hurts. To Chrissie, without you, so many of these memories just wouldn't happen, simply because Lily influenced Morganna so much. To Jenni (I haven't a clue what your real name is, I just think of you as Jenni, or neshomeh-from-neopets), like Chrissie, your character-Jenni has been in memories.
Unlike most of my chapters, and the story itself, this chapter is dedicated. I'm dedicating it to my Granddad, who is never as bad as Morag's was.
-
Chapter Four: Memories
-
Professor Snape sat in his office.
It was dark, the curtains pulled and the light blocked out. On his desk were the usual sorts of things you expect to see on a desk. A picture of his wife, a picture of his three children, ink, quills, and parchment, students work to be marked, all sorts of things.
Professor Snape wasn't doing any work.
He wasn't looking at the pictures of his family.
He wasn't marking the students work.
He wasn't planning a new lesson.
He was remembering.
Remembering how Morganna protected her owl – even though the silly old thing had already knocked her out of a tree (twisting her ankle) twice. Three times! Remembering how Morag used to try and stick her toes in his mouth when she was a baby, just to get a reaction. Remembering how Morag trusted her parents, in everything. How Morganna smiled, how Lily laughed. How it was all turned upside down with a few short words. How they put everything back together, coped – and then Morag discovered the truth.
He clenched his fists, remembering the way that Jonathan O'Connell had seemed so calm, so in control, all the while, when he had wanted no more than to take out his wand and curse the prat to kingdom come. Remembering the way Morganna hadn't looked at him when she told Jenni about O'Connell. The way she'd said it. 'I was unhappy', as if she could possibly be happy then, after a run-in with O'Connell, followed by a guilt-ridden Severus.
Morganna should have done as he told her – divorced him, taken Morag, gone to safety. Away from him. Safety – but away from him. Morganna had refused, point blank. She had decided that the only way she was going was if he could look her in the eye and tell her he didn't love her anymore. He had been unable. And she had refused to go. Bravery had never been Morganna Snape's strong point, but she was doing her best. Never letting Morag worry, always keeping track of Severus. She'd tried to be the perfect wife and mother, with this ideal of who that was in her head that she never let waver.
Had he let her down? Would she have been safer if he had never married her in the first place?
No. It was unlikely that the life her father had in mind for her was any safer, probably more dangerous. Because Morganna's father, Maxwell Montaque III, was a Death Eater. The Montaque family had money, pureblood, and pride. Montaque had come willingly, gladly even. Back then, using his influence in the French Ministry of Magic, Montaque had attempted to gain a foothold in France for his master, Voldemort. In the end, he was given the Dementor's Kiss for his efforts, but he remained loyal to Voldemort throughout. Only his daughter Lacrimosa ever supported him, but Luci and Morganna had – like their mother Delilah – always been good actresses. Gerad had simply avoided the family home. If Morganna had gone home at the end of her seventh year – home to her family in France – then it was doubtful she would be at all safe. Severus did not know it, but her father had been arranging a marriage for her for some time before Severus came into the picture. Even Morganna had not known until the summer before her sixth year. She had defied her father, and refused to marry Marc Remillard. Had she gone home, her father would have seen to it that she married Jonathan O'Connell, Morag's natural father. Illegitimate children were only all right for the men in the family, was Montaque's firm belief.
-
Morganna too, was remembering.
How Lily was always there.
How James had always been nice to her. She'd never understood Severus's dislike for him, or Remus, or Sirius.
How she'd never let Severus blame himself.
Remembering Gailyn Dorau, the prat who had been 'pursuing' Jenni. Decidedly unwelcome in his advances. How they'd gotten back at him for it, using the charms of the veela to make him fall in love with Morganna's sister, Lucia Montaque.
Remembering how she'd never trusted the Divinations teacher who had mysteriously told her 'You will get your heart's desire – but it will come at a price'. How she'd finally understood the cryptic mystic's words at the end of her seventh year.
How she'd forgiven her senile old owl anything and everything, unwilling to let go of the one person who still remembered her sister Gloria – the sister she never knew, who had so shaped her life.
How that same owl – Gom – had let her down so many times. How he'd worked so hard to be worthy of her trust and affection. How he'd been the one who came and was near her when she was unhappy or upset, even back at home.
How her mother never said goodbye. How, when Morganna had pressed her nose against the window of the muggle car (a limo-something), her mother hadn't even turned around to look at her. To watch her go. To do anything that suggested she cared.
How her father never cared enough to say goodbye.
How her aunt had forced her to be Morganna, after a lifetime of being 'Maria' or 'Anna'.
How her cousins had ridiculed her for her 'silly name'. She'd told them it was traditional, and they'd laughed even harder.
How she'd never told her mother that she'd miss her.
How her father hadn't even given her a backwards glance when he gave her to Aunt Margolotta.
Morganna remembered, and a single, solitary, tear rolled down her cheek.
-
Morag stood by the lake. Unshed tears shone in her eyes, and she was pale in the moonlight. Stars glittered on the surface of the opaque waters, and Morag finally did what she had been refusing to do for weeks.
Morag Lillith Snape wept.
But she wasn't as alone as she thought.
Draco Malfoy was watching her. A few paces back, but in her misery she did not notice him.
For some time, Morag had been putting her plan into action. She had to turn Draco away from his family, from Voldemort – but before she could even attempt that, she had to bring him to a place where he would never betray her.
She had to make Draco fall in love with her.
It was almost too much to bear – because she cared about him, with all her heart. And she would know that she had manipulated him.
Draco, of course, knew nothing of her desperate plan. Morag had put her plan into action much earlier than she had intended – Thamala's presence made it a race against time. It was only so long until Miss Blake discovered what the Snape's labored so hard to keep concealed. And then all was lost.
So, she had been setting little traps for Draco. A mysterious smile, wafts of french perfume. A flower in her hair to accent the blue of her eyes, lightly touching his arm in passing. She had even been tempted to resort to the charms her aunt had made sure she learnt. But she hadn't. Draco must love her – that was true. That she must manipulate his emotions to the extent she was – that, too, was true. But she wanted for his emotion to be as real as it could be.
Like hers.
-
Draco stared at Morag for a long while.
She was so beautiful, almost glowing in the moon's soft light. He knew she was crying – and he knew that she hated any sign of weakness, especially witnessed weakness. His heart fought with his head, and in the end, his heart one.
Draco approached her.
"Lilli." He said it softly. She went still, and then turned.
It pained him to see the tears on her cheeks. He went to wipe them away, but Morag put up her hand to stop him. "What, Draco?"
"You're crying." He said. 'That's right, Malfoy, repeat the obvious. Make yourself look stupid.' He cursed himself inwardly.
Her blue eyes swirled to deepest gray and she stiffened. "What of it?"
Without thinking, he enfolded her in his arms. Though she was taller than her mother, she was still so much shorter than he, and her tear-streaked face was pressed against his shoulder. Morag stiffened, and then relaxed.
She hadn't been entirely surprised.
-
When Morag arrived (just before she would have been late) for Potions the next morning, Draco was saving her a seat – much to Pansy Parkinson's horror.
Morag sat next to him without a word, feeling Harry's stare in her back. Knowing that Thamala was only a few seats away, watching everything she did.
"Lilli," Draco started, but Morag held her finger to his lips.
"Shh, tell me later." She whispered, motioning for Draco to turn his attention back to the professor.
"Miss Snape? Do you have something to share?" Professor Snape asked mildly, looking at her.
"No, professor." She tried to smile. Cosmetics covered the fact that she hadn't slept last night, cosmetics and lots of coffee at breakfast.
"Good. Today our lesson is all theory – no practical." He continued. Neville Longbottom looked openly relieved. "You will be starting an essay on why we need both potions and spells, giving the pro's and con's of each, and will be looking especially at how we use these spells in defense."
"Professor?" Hermione's hand shot up into the air.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"How long does the essay have to be?" she asked.
"There is no set maximum or minimum, but I will not expect to see a single quill down before the end of the lesson." The professor replied calmly.
There were a number of groans around the classroom, but Professor Snape ignored them.
-
Harry watched Morag.
After a few minutes, Ron prodded him. "Are you just going to stare at the Snape girl all lesson?"
Hermione chimed in, "Harry, you really must start your essay."
"I am not staring at her, and I've already started." Harry told them.
"You're staring." Ron said flatly.
"And you've only put the title." Hermione was defiant. "Ron's right, too. You're staring at her. Right under her father's watchful eye. Malfoy's made it clear she's out of bounds, hasn't he? Think about something else."
"Hermione!" Harry almost shouted it, but managed to keep quiet – Snape didn't like people shouting in class… "I am not day dreaming about Morag Snape. I do not stare at her. She just…knows things."
"What things?" Ron interrupted.
"Things about my family. About what happened back then. She's got her owl – who was there, who likes to talk. I have old photos. She has her parents, who were there. I have my parents friends." Harry replied.
Hermione put a comforting hand on Harry's. "If it's that important to you…"
Before Hermione could finish, Ron interrupted with: "If it's that important, we'll kidnap the owl and make him tell us all he knows!"
Hermione and Harry tried not to fall about laughing.
The spectacle they were making of themselves attracted Thamala Blake's attention. Her sharp eyes rested briefly on Hermione's. Hermione froze, and looked away. Nobody had ever stared down Thamala before, and they weren't starting now.
Distracted by Morag's soft laugh, Thamala stared at Draco and Morag. Draco and Lilli, Thamala corrected herself in her thoughts. Morag wasn't Morag, she was Lilli to all.
But was she what they all thought she was?
Thamala thought she remembered something…