Chapter 35. * g * After having an almost overwhelming response from people yelling at me not to put Sevvie in Azkaban, I may end up being beaten to death. . .or praised highly for keeping him out. . . And. . .Big News. . .*drum roll* . . . I HAVE AN ENDING!!!! Lol! Sorry, I make stories up as they go on, and never seem to know what is happening next. . .but now I know, and am very happy! More angst to come. . . garnished with a sprig of humour. . . Thanks to all the wonderful people who review regularly, i.e., Ruby Rose Edwards (Glad you corrected yourself. . .* G *), Ambrosius, Hanakin, Priestess of Avalon, Blonde Ditz (thanks for the plug!), Pervert Bitch. . . and then thanks to Sleepy Tee and Dianne also- I know you're out there! And, of course, thanks to Naomi, to whom I am greatly indebted! YAY! More fantastic fics are out. . .Naomi has finally done something smut free (so far ^_^) The Dark Side of the Road. . .for all Marauder fans out there. Go read!! Alysun. Never Again. Draco's rage did not diminished in the least as the day went on. In fact, if anything it had increased. He had been late for Transfiguration, which amazingly, MacGonagoll had over looked, and sat himself down in his usual place between Crabbe and Goyle. As she turned to make notes on the board, Draco hissed angrily at his two sidekicks. "Why didn't you get me up?!" Crabbe hung his head, but Goyle, the slightly dimmer of the two, whispered back, "You told us to leave you, didn't 'cha?" Draco glared. Damn! Of course he had. . . It all seemed so long ago . . . well, they were back with him now. "Not any more," he muttered to them, as MacGonagoll turned and began to explain the complex notes that they had supposed to have taken down. ~ * ~ After they had left Transfiguration they had a free period; Potions classes had been cancelled, Draco noted. Not being present at breakfast, he didn't know what had happened. Goyle, once again, showed his stupidity. "What d'you fink 'bout Professor Snape at breakfast, den?" he asked, and received a mighty whack in the shins from Crabbe. "Stop bein' so stupid! 'E don't wanna know 'bout Professor Snape, d'ya, Draco?" Crabbe said, supportively. Unfortunately for him, it was not what Draco wanted to hear. Before he could open his mouth to speak again, Draco had spun round and slammed him against the corridor wall. It took quite an effort, what with being shorter and not as strong as Crabbe, but he had the Element of Surprise. "DON'T mention the "S" word!" he hissed, a manic glint in his eye. Crabbe's eyes widened. "Wha'?!" he said hoarsely. "The "S" word!" spat Draco, "Don't say it. EVER! Understand?" "Wha' word?" "Snape!" Draco snarled, and let go of Crabbe, and resumed the walk down the corridor. The two followed, feeling glad that Draco was no longer suicidal, but worried that they were now stuck with a raving loony. "What happened at breakfast?" he asked, not looking back, but keeping a considerable pace. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged nervous glances behind Draco's back. Goyle explained. "Well. . .err. . . Professor Snnnn. . .a-hah, er. . .Professor. . . You Know 'Oo, was taken way by da Minister, woss name. . .Fudge! Yeah, Fudge. . .came in at breakfast," he managed, sweating with the effort of being tactful. Draco appeared not to notice, but nodded curtly. They reached the Slytherin common room. After uttering the password, and pushing open the doorway, Draco led the way in, glowering openly, prepared for the hostility. The noise of chattering students stopped. Every single person was watching him, openly staring. "What?" he asked coldly, and turned to go up to his dorm, not waiting for a reply, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. No-one stopped him. The next day wasn't so bad. His fellow Slytherins seemed slightly more relaxed around him, though they learnt quickly not to say anything about Snape, after three fifth years were taken away to the hospital wing. And that was without the help of Crabbe and Goyle. The rage was still there. It would ALWAYS be there. How dare he use him like that? The bastard. . . ~ * ~ Dumbledore sighed, and massaged his temples, trying to ease the most recent headache that had come on. The previous day's events were creating a lot of paperwork. On his desk in front of him were shafts and shafts of parchment, cluttering the normally tidy surface. Names, dates, paragraphs of past history, all sorts of mostly useless information resided in the mess. Fudge had notified him earlier that day of the possible dates that the trail could be held on. The earliest date was two weeks away. Would he be able to get everything ready by then? He fervently hoped so. . . for Severus's sake, he hoped so. . . He looked down at the list that had come with Fudges dates. It was an indicator of the people wanted at the trail to be witnesses. He read it through again. They wanted. . . any former lovers. Madeline? Would she count? Mike had died in Azkaban long since; he hadn't been a Death Eater, but had been found guilty of making sport of Muggles. Dumbledore couldn't think of anyone else who Snape had 'seen' in his past. Someone from Draco's Potions class. . .this, Dumbledore presumed was to see if Severus had made any. . . improper advances on Draco in the classroom. It was proving difficult to find an unbiased member of the group. . . Dumbledore fished another list off the table top. It was a copy of Severus's register for the Gryffindor/ Slytherin Sixth Year class. A lot of names had been crossed off. . .Draco's, Crabbe's, Goyle's, Harry's (his had been the first to go), Ron's, Neville's (a close second), Pansy's, Lavender's. . . in fact only two remained; Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger. After one last hesitation, Dumbledore dipped his quill in the inkpot, and scratched out one name, leaving him with at least one witness for the impeding trial. The other witnesses that the judge wanted present, was a relation, and someone who had known Severus all his life. . . Dumbledore intended to go for the later himself, but was unsure who to recruit for the other one . . . as Severus had said, he had been pushed out of his family at the age of fifteen. . . There was nothing for it. Dumbledore stood up and moved over to the black display cabinet, where he dragged a huge book from underneath it. The title "Apperation Directory R- Z," was written in gold on the midnight blue cover. Straightening up, he placed it carefully on his desk, and started to flick through until he reached the "S" 's. He stopped at "Snape, Cydas", and copied down the co-ordinates onto yet another bit of parchment. Taking the Apparation co-ordinates, he left for Hogsmede. ~ * ~ After Disapperating out of Hogsmede, and Apparating to the co-ordinates he had previously looked up, Dumbledore found himself way out in the country. Looming up above him was what could only be Severus's birthplace; Snape Mansion. It was a Mansion too; it had a vaguely Georgian look about it, the tall, dark windows, the huge double doors that was the main entrance, the gates and all. . . Sighing resolutely, Dumbledore set about the task he had set himself. Meeting the parents. He looked at the formidable wrought iron gates uncomprehendingly, until his sharp eyes stopped the bell pull on the far end. He pulled it. Nothing happened. Still, nothing happened. Dumbledore sighed, and tapped his foot impatiently. At last, he could make out a small figure of a house elf, running frantically up to the gates. At long last, he thought. He hadn't time to spare standing out in the cold, so to speak. The breathless elf, poked its head through a gap in the gate and squeaked, "What is you wanting, sir?" Dumbledore favoured the elf with a smile, as he smiled to himself. He could not but help to find these creatures amusing, if stupid. "I wish to see you Master," he said. The elf looked uncertain. "Is you not having an appointment, sir?" "I'm afraid not, though assure you, it is urgent, and very much in the interest of your master," he said, hoping that this would be enough to persuade the elf to let him in. The elf, however seemed to be in the depths of indecision. He dithered, as though wondering whether or not to go and tell his master about the strange man wanting to see him. "As I say, it is most important. I can only apologise for the lack of appointment," said Dumbledore again, pushing the elf to believe him, and open the gates. It worked. The elf gave a little sigh, as though knowing what would happen if he had got it wrong, and tugged open the gates. After holding them open, just wide enough to let Dumbledore through, the elf let go, and they gate slammed shut, barely missing the hem of Albus's robes. "This way, sir!" squeaked the elf, and took the led down the long drive way. As Dumbledore walked, following the skittering elf, he let his mind wander, and he mused on the purpose of having a long drive way. Were they merely to tire out ones guest, so that they would be easier to manipulate? Just for decoration? Or was it along the lines of, the longer the drive, the higher up in society you are? If that was the case, the Snape's would be somewhere near the top. . . After a while, the expanses of well kept gardens became two lawns, one on the left of the drive, one on the right. Directly in front of him lay Snape Mansion, in all its glory. After a momentary pause to admire the scenery, he followed the scampering elf. Inside the Mansion was unsurprisingly dark and gloomy, though plush; the carpets were thick in the darkest of forest green. The walls were also green, but slightly lighter in colour. As his eyes acclimatised to the gloom, he noticed the swords, dagger, spears and such like that was mounted on the high walls. So this is where Severus grew up. The elf had left him by this time, off to inform Cydas and Seneca of his arrival. Familiar though Dumbledore was to the upper aristocracy, he felt strangely out of place in this dark, sinister place, with its bloody relics of war and fighting memorabilia. Out of place was not something that he was used to; even on his rare visits to Malfoy Manor, he had felt more relaxed, the air of mystery and foreboding much less there than here. There was no sound other than the dark, dank, oppressive silence that ate time and spat it out, leaving the hall as a timeless entity, a second lasting an hour, and hour lasting a minute. Dumbledore didn't know how much time had passed when the elf hastened back top him, eyes wider than ever before. "Master Snape is wanting your name, Sir!" he squeaked, panicky. It was obvious that Snape senior was as hostile as his son. It was also clear that he would not let Dumbledore come in any further on hearing his name. Damn. "Tell your Master that my name is of no importance; the message I bring is, however," he said cryptically. That would surely catch Cydas's attention? The elf stared, uncertain of what move to make next. Dumbledore felt desperately sorry for the poor thing; he knew that after he left that it would be punished for letting him in without appointment. He considered a word of apology to the creature, but decided not, and merely stared at it, as though expecting it to have left long since. Taking the hint, the elf dashed off, to deliver the new message. Dumbledore was left alone again in the corridor, feeling inappropriate. . .and then he realised what it was. In the eyes of the Snape's, he wasn't good enough. Which was why he was so out of place. Which was why they had shunned Severus so easily. Which was why time didn't seem to pass in the dark hallway. Not good enough. He shivered inside, knowing what he was up against, and realising that his trip had already been pointless, without even seeing Cydas or Seneca. The elf skittered back into his sight. Exhausted and breathless form his rapid relaying of messages, and uttered, "Mas. . .ter. . .will see. . . Sir, now. . ." between gasps for breath. "Very good, " answered Dumbledore, mentally preparing himself for the Snapes. After two flights of stairs, he began to see why the elf was so tired. Four flights, two landings and a secret passageway later, the elf finally dew to a halt, in front of a forbidding black, wooden door. It knocked three times, and a cold, clipped voice from within the chamber uttered a single word; "Enter". There was no exclamation at the end of the word, indeed the voice sounded like it needed the word 'exclamation' explaining to it. . . It was a voice that drew Dumbledore back to his own school days. . .he had never been a model pupil- good grades but got up to easily as many pranks as the Weasley twins. He had often been called up to the Head Master's office, where he had been severely reprimanded, by a voice not so very unlike the one he heard now. Mentally shaking off the nostalgia, he followed the elf through the well oiled door. Inside was considerably lighter than the dark hallways, but the décor no more cheerful. The wallpaper was a distinctive shade of grey, the carpet and curtain hangings a deep, jet black. The midday light streamed through the window, making it seem almost gloomier in contrast to the outside world. World indeed . . . the Mansion was like a whole different universe in comparison to anything Dumbledore had ever experienced anywhere else. And it wasn't a universe he liked. The gigantic room was sparsely furnished, holding only a desk, a floor to ceiling wall long bookcase, and a desk. The desk was in the centre of the room, directly in front of the window, shadowing the figure that sat, hunched over, in front of it. Dumbledore heard the elf dismiss itself, and close the door behind him, leaving him alone with the silent silhouette of a man. As the door clicked shut, the man said in an a voice like a winters breeze, "Take a seat." Dumbledore walked across the large expanses of black carpet silently, intimidated by the sheer. . .sinister, oppressive. . . there were no words he could find for it, but it was there, making him feel small. Was it any wonder Severus was so reluctant for company after this bizarre setting for a childhood? He sat in the chair, feeling about twelve again. There was a pause, that Dumbledore's host left a second or so too long, throwing him slightly off balance, mentally. "So. The elf said you have important news," the tone was not unlike Severus's, thought Dumbledore briefly. The only difference being, Severus would ask for his visitor's name at least. Than again, this man can afford to be careless. . . Dumbledore realised that he was in the presence of a man who would and could kill him easily, and no-one would ever know. . .no- one knew he was here, after all. . . Once again, he shook himself mentally. "Indeed. Though it is, I admit, more of a request of you," he said. Once again, there was a pause that went on for longer than necessary, and was broken suddenly. Dumbledore suddenly saw what he was trying to do. Psychological warfare! He would have smiled, if it hadn't have been so inappropriate. Well, now he knew, it wasn't going to work. . . "I see." A question wrapped in a statement. He was pushing Dumbledore to talk freely, trying to fill the ominous gaps. "Good," answered Dumbledore. He wasn't filling anybody's gaps but his own. This silence left went on for an eternity, both men staring at each other, maintaining eye contact, and never looking away. . . Dumbledore took the opportunity to study the man who had brought Severus up in more detail. There was no doubt that they were related; they bore the same Jewish, hooked nose, sallow face and sunken eyes. His hair was as black as his sons, but slicked back, shorter, out his face, showing his dark eyes. The eyes. . .the biggest difference between him and Severus. Severus's were dark, deep and empty, showing no emotion, a blank wall preventing anyone from reading his thoughts. His father's were also dark, but with out the depth. The shone with a cold light, judging as though they had the power of a god, berating and condemning with no feeling what so ever. He didn't need hide his feelings. He didn't have any. The silence ended abruptly. "I will not pretend not to know who you are, Albus Dumbledore, nor why you are here. But I strongly advise you to turn around now, go back to you're school, and pretend you've never set foot in this place. If you do not know what happened in the boy's past, then I won't tell you. If you do, then you should know better than to come and try and beg for him." Again, no feelings, no emotions. Dumbledore looked at Cydas in the eye, trying to find some lee way, some weakness in the man that might aid him on his quest. There weren't any. "Does Seneca agree?" he asked, trying a different tack. "My wife agrees with everything I say, and you would do well to remember that," the voice betrayed nothing. "No matter what you like to think, Severus is still your son," said Dumbledore. There was a flash of burning anger in Cydas's eye now. "I have no son!" he snarled, upper lip curling in a manner much reminiscent of Severus. "That is a lie, Cydas Snape, and you know it as well as I do," said Dumbledore coldly. Why was the man so angry over something as unimportant as this. . .? There was a quiet knock on the door, breaking the silence left by Dumbledore's accusation. "Enter," Cydas said again, not moving his eyes from Dumbledore's face, not trusting his guest for a minute. Dumbledore, not daring to avert his gaze from Cydas, heard the door open and close, followed by the rustle of silk robes as footsteps crossed the room to stand by Cydas. Seneca. She was tall, elegant and slender, long dark hair falling around her waist. Her skin was white, her eyes set like sapphires, burning blue out of the pale recess of her face. She laid a slender hand on her husband's shoulder. Severus obviously had his mother's figure. She turned her blue serenely onto her husband. "An elf said we had a visitor. Can I be of any use?" he voice was deep, quiet and controlled, quite the opposite to her husbands cold, curt tone. "He was just leaving," said Cydas, not looking at his wife. "Of course," she purred, and looked up at Dumbledore. "Shall I show you the way?" she asked. "Thank you," answered Dumbledore, knowing it would be futile to try and talk to Cydas any longer. Maybe Seneca. . .? She glided across the expanses of carpet to wait by the door for him. "Thank you for seeing me," said Dumbledore coldly to Cydas as he stood up. "But I fear I merely wasted both your time and mine." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and followed the elegant, silk clad figure out of the room. Just as he reached the door, the cold voice stopped him, "Oh, and Dumbledore?" Dumbledore turned. "Don't come back," Cydas said, and turned back to his paperwork in way of a dismissal. Dumbledore nodded, and left with the gently smiling wife. She closed the door, and led the way down stairs at a steady, gentle pace. "You must forgive my husband's abruptness," she sighed, "he still can't believe Severus turned out the way he did." Dumbledore fell into pace beside her. "How did you know that was what we were discussing?" he asked, mildly surprised. "I was listening from behind the door," she told him calmly. Dumbledore was taken back. She smiled at him lazily through her long lashes. "Oh, don't worry, Albus, it's the only way I hear about things. . .you don't mind me calling you Albus?" "No not at all," he answered. What an existence! An unapproachable father, and a mother who listened at doors and seemingly cared about no-one or nothing! Is it any wonder Severus is the way he is?! Did she care about Severus though? Should he ask? Fortunately, she solved his dilemma for him. "He was so upset at the time," she emphasised. Then added, "Poor thing." "Who?" asked Dumbledore, "Severus or Cydas?" She gave a deep, appreciative chuckle. "My, my Albus. . .we are presumptuous today, aren't we? I meant my husband, but it could also apply to my son, I suppose," she said, sounding vaguely amused. Dumbledore smiled, then nodded. "You do care about Severus then?" he asked. He knew was being presumptuous, but he had to be. . . he needed answers. Seneca looked sharply at him-the first sudden movement she had made. "Oh, of course I care," she said silkily. "Why else do you think I had him disinherited?" Dumbledore stared. What the. . .?! "Sorry, I don't quite. . .?" he said through his confusion. Her suddenly surprised face melted back into her normal, genteel smile. "My apologises. . .I am not making myself clear enough," she murmured, "How well do you know my husband Albus?" she asked, turning down a corridor that Dumbledore knew for certain that he had never been down before. He felt distinctly uneasy; Seneca's vaguely flirtatious manner making him uncomfortable, the fact that he was in a strange (in all senses of the word) house, in a corridor he was unfamiliar with making him want to reach for his wand. As though reading his thoughts, Seneca laid a cold hand on his right arm- his wand arm- and smiled again. Through his discomfiture, Dumbledore noticed that she never showed her teeth as she smiled. "Don't worry," she reassured in an almost motherly tone. Dumbledore nodded dumbly. "You were saying how well you knew my husband. . .?" she prompted. He dragged himself from his thoughts. "Hmm. . . I can't say I do. I assume he must have gone to Durmstrang or some such like, as I can't recall ever teaching him. His bloodline is one of the oldest pure blood wizarding lines in existence, and he is very high up in the world of the aristocracy; so high he is almost unknown by the . . .a-ha. ..common, for want of a better word, people," summarised Dumbledore briefly. Seneca's smiles held a dreamy touch to it now as she went on to explain herself. "Very good, Albus, "she purred, "Very much as he likes himself to be seen. And it is also a reality," her nose flared delicately as she shared an in joke with herself. She went on. " The Snape bloodline is, as you say one of the oldest pure blood lines still around. He is very . . .proud of this. . ." she spoke slowly, but not uncertainly. Her quiet, slow, confident tone was gentle and soft, held a dreamy quality to it, but didn't quite hide the sharp intellect that the woman obviously had. She went on. "Yes, very proud. . . maybe too proud. He wishes for the line of Snapes to go on forever, but sees the end approaching. Poor Severus. . . he was too young to see that. . . " she broke off with a small sigh, betraying her impatience for those who didn't understand what they needed to. Impatience for fools. Another Severus characteristic. "When Cydas found him and the boy together, he recognised the potential end of the Snape line - or at least his part of it. He has a brother and three nieces. I think they're trying for a son," she waved an elegant hand, showing her disinterest in the matter. She went on. "So he tried everything to get the poor dear set straight, so to speak," she smiled slowly at her own joke. "And when it didn't work, he resolved to marry him off anyway, on the basis that he would grow out of it. Or maybe he planned just to kill him off. I can't remember," she equivocally. Dumbledore felt that nothing would ever surprise him ever again. The coldness of human nature sometimes. . . "So I said that it would be less inconvenient just to disinherit the unfortunate soul. Which it was, of course. Murder's such a messy business. . ." she dropped the mention of murder into the conversation casually. Now, why did she say that then? Dumbledore wondered. She sighed again, and led him through another doorway, into a room. What on earth?! Thought Dumbledore. She was supposed to show me out. . . "Sorry, but where have you brought me?" inquired Dumbledore, looking around the deserted room. It had obviously been a bedroom once, some time ago. Dust lay thick on the furniture. It the centre of the room was a huge four poster bed with drapes of heavy midnight blue velvet. The carpet and curtains were the same colour, though the walls were lighter. It appeared to be a running theme throughout the mansion; curtains, carpet, drapes one colour, the walls lighter. The was a huge bookcase on the left wall, but it held nothing but dust. The wardrobe door hung open, but held only a pair of dusty shoes. The occupant of the bedroom had obviously long since left. The room seemed to have been left un-cleaned from then onwards. "This?" said Seneca with an eloquent wave, "was Severus's bedroom when he was a child." Having said all that she wanted to, she sat on the end of the bed. The sheets were dishevelled, left un-made. She crossed her legs, deliberately, batting her long, dark lashes at Dumbledore. Even through the rush of horrified realisation that she was making passes at him, Dumbledore couldn't help but notice how attractive she was; her pale, heart shaped face, the intelligent bright blue eyes, shapely figure. . . He stopped himself. This was Severus's mother! He couldn't. . . She couldn't do . . . Had she no integrity?! "This is a very lonely house," she injected into the pregnant pause. "I can imagine," answered Dumbledore, and moved on quickly. "Sorry, I must ask to leave soon. . .there is a meeting up at the school which I simple can't afford to miss. . ." Seneca smiled seductively, and shrugged her robes half off her shoulders. "But Albus, we could have so much more fun. . ." When he didn't join her on the bed, she stood up and padded over to him, stopping about three inches from him. The fact that a married woman was making suggestions in her son's room, with her husband in the house- although in a place as big as this, he supposed it didn't matter that much- made him sick. He had to get out before things got out of hand. . . "I'm sorry, I can't. . ." She cut him off with a deep kiss, her tongue forcing it's way into his mouth, her arms wrapping themselves around his waist, holding him securely.

Caught off guard, he pulled away, shocked. "I have to go, " he repeated, dazedly, pushing her away gently. She was so beautiful. . .So willing. . . He shook his head, trying to clear himself of such unwelcome thoughts. He stepped back, away from the woman. He turned and made to leave the room, not daring to look at the figure in fear of losing his self control. Her hand caught his shoulder, forcing him to stop and turn to look at her. She looked hurt and desperate, a distressed, raven haired beauty. "Albus, please. . ." she begged. Not daring to speak, Albus shook his head, left the room, closing the door behind him. Outside, he closed his eyes and took deep, calming breaths. He opened his eyes, and, feeling a little calmer, turned and fled from the room. He wandered randomly until he was sure that she wasn't following him, and Disapparated back to the safety of Hogsmede.

~ * ~ Out of the shadows, the figure of Seneca appeared. She smiled an amused smile. Drawing her wand, she sent a summons her husband, who joined her almost immediately. "How far did he go?" he asked. "Not far. Not far enough to be of any use, anyway" she said, her voice mellifluous. She was stood behind him, and as she talked, she wound her arms around him adoringly. "Damn." "Quite. We will have to tell Narcissa, darling." "Mmmm. You can do it, I don't think I want to see her reaction." "Awww. . .poor sweetie. . ." she said playfully, and kissed her husband's ear. "Alright, but I still say you should have let me kill him," she said and bared her fangs. He smiled affectionately and turned to look at her, sliding a welcome arm around her waist. "Next time, honey pie, next time. . . and then maybe even Severus, if Narcissa's plan doesn't work." She smiled. ~ * ~ Dumbledore sent an owl to Madeline, who replied that she would definitely come and be a witness for Severus. He had decided that he would pass on the relation. Instead, he went down to the library and looked up "Vampire Inheritance," a book covering everything about vampires. Including vampire parents. He stopped at the relevant page. "For a vampire child to be born, then both parents must be vampires themselves. The result of a human/vampire couple is merely a pale child with slightly prominent canines and an aversion to daylight." That was Severus alright. Thank gods. In the bright sunlit Library, the whole episode seemed distant and totally surreal. Meeting the parents. He shuddered. Never again.