Saa naa. . . It's been a while, for which I apologize. And there is a goose outside our windows. Strange. . . At least this is a nice-sized section for you to enjoy. BTB, I forgot disclaimers on the last part for Eiluneth's songs. The first is one of my fav. Christmas carols, What Child is This? The second is a duet by Bing Crosby and David Bowie (the concept boggles the mind. . .) called Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth. Very nice to listen to, and fun if you get the intro. dialogue. Anywho, for those who don't know, the title for today translates to "In Wine, There is Truth." Make of it what you will. Oh, and I apologize if the final scene isn't quite up to par. The one in my head was a lot nicer, but it faded a bit and I wanted to keep the section a reasonable length. Well, that's enough out of me. Enjoy!
Ladymage ; )
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Listen for My Heart
Part 7 ~ In Vino Veritas
The school's population experienced a sudden drop as the Christmas holidays began. Eiluneth glanced around the table. Harry and Ron remained of the Gryffindors, a seventh-year Ravenclaw named Brigid sat reading a few chairs away, and a pair of Hufflepuff twins grinned at her. Most of the professors had let their hair down, so to speak, and were enjoying the food and party crackers, though Snape continued to glower at everyone from his seat at her right. Eiluneth gave a small mental sigh; she didn't care much for this kind of celebration, either. As soon as she finished her meal, she made her excuses and left the table.
She made her way absently through the corridors, her mind miles away while her feet followed the route she had learned after these few months. She thought of home, of her mother, father, and brother. Right now, her father and Tom would be off to chapel with the other men, while she and her mother stayed home to bake all the of the Christmas goodies. The reward was, of course, getting to taste all of the goodies and know which ones were the best before Tom came home and demanded his share. And, as always, they would make taffy, loads and loads of the caramelly stuff, with a big portion set aside just for her and her mother. Giggling, they would hide it in a cupboard in the kitchen, knowing that the men would never bother to search a room they avoided as much as possible anyway. Later, the two of them would take some out and eat it like popcorn as they put their feet up and watched movies on the telly.
And then Father and Tom would come home. . . Eiluneth shook herself out of her reverie to find herself back in her rooms, contemplating a wooden cabinet. Her fingers stroked the wood softly. Well, why not? she thought recklessly and opened the door. After all, it is neither fun nor wise to drink alone.
Snape himself left shortly after Eiluneth, feeling more than slightly nauseated at all of the sweetness and light that was being thrown at him. It was all nonsense, anyway. Everybody celebrated this holiday to get as much junk as they possibly could. Honoring the birthday of the long-dead, supposed savior of the world? Don't make me laugh, he thought sourly as he opened the heavy door of his rooms. Entering, he slammed it behind him with a satisfyingly solid thump. Now, this was an example of his ideal evening, he told himself. A large, plush armchair in front of a warm fire with a table laid out with a bottle of Napoleon brandy and a snifter. Perfect.
It was quite some time later when he heard a hesitant knock on his door. Can't the bastards let me alone one night of the year? he thought muzzily as he moved to open it. To his surprise, he found Eiluneth Pierce on his doorstep, clutching a bundle and staring at him with wide eyes.
"I am not," he said, in a dignified manner, "going up to the Astronomy Tower in a bloody storm (It was storming.) on the one holiday that irritates me the most. Thank you very much."
Eiluneth blinked a few times. "You're foxed," she informed him, surprise clear in her voice.
"I am not 'foxed,' as you so quaintly put it," Snape replied. "However, I imagine that I may be later on this evening and I would like to remind you that, despite popular opinion, I am allowed to celebrate my days off in whatever manner I so choose. So, good night, Miss Pierce." He thought for a few moments. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"Well, I-- I thought. . ." her voice trailed off.
"Yes? You thought--?" he prompted nastily.
"Well, I thought that nobody should be alone on Christmas," she finally blurted out.
Snape's face froze immediately. "I don't need your pity, Miss Pierce," he hissed and began to slam the door.
Just as quickly, Eiluneth stuck her foot in the doorway. "I meant me," she said, so quietly he almost didn't hear her.
"What?" He blinked owlishly at her.
"I don't want to be alone on Christmas," she said miserably. "I want to be at home, with my friends and my family. . ."
"So why not rejoin the merriment upstairs?" he sneered, leaning against the door-frame.
"That's not what I meant," she answered. "Christmas should be spent quietly, with people you know and l-- feel comfortable with. With good, close friends. They are having fun upstairs, but--she wrapped her arms around herself--that isn't something that includes me."
"Does that mean," he said slowly, "that you consider me a 'good, close friend?'"
"Aren't you?" Eiluneth queried. "You know things about me that few others know. I am your teacher and your colleague; you have shown me respect as both. I have come to--to respect you--your mind, your judgment. I trust you." She reached out with her free hand and took one of his. "And I thank you."
Severus watched her wordlessly for many moments, then silently let the door swing open. "Welcome to my humble abode," he replied, with not nearly as much sarcasm as he meant to imply.
"I probably shouldn't have, but I brought a--a contribution for our evening." Eiluneth held out the bottle she had carried from her rooms.
"Laphraoig. . . You show good taste, Miss Pierce," Severus said as he studied the bottle. One of the most distinctive--and most expensive--malts in the world.
She smiled, amused. "That's what comes from spending your evenings working at the village pub. There are always a few discerning customers."
Severus set the bottle down carefully next his own brandy and moved to get another glass. "You, a bar maid?" he questioned, amused in his own right. "The concept boggles the mind." He motioned Eiluneth to a chair, bringing her a brandy.
She thanked him with a smile. "Mmm, well, Mother owns the pub and it's the only one for quite a ways. So, on busy nights, I was always drafted into service. I can fetch and carry and drink and flirt with the best of them, Professor Snape."
The man took another long, studying look at his companion, who sat demurely sipping her brandy and still, apparently unconsciously, trying to blend into the shadows. He shook his head. It was impossible to try to picture her even conversing with a stranger, let alone flirting with one. And just as impossible to see her draining a pint of bitter with the enthusiasm of a working man. "I'll believe that when I see it, Miss Pierce."
"Really. . ." Before he could see her move, she was draped along the arm of his chair, her dress somehow moved lower to bare her shoulders and give him the merest glimpse of cleavage. "Now y'can't mean that, Professor," she purred near his ear. "And here I thought. . ."
His eyes widened and his pulse began to race as he observed this sudden and most unexpected change in her manner. "What did you think?" he asked her, his voice barely steady. . .
. . . and then she was back in her own proper chair, her neckline back where it was supposed to be and the retiring teacher he knew back in place. Except for the twinkle in her eye. "Now do y'believe me?" she asked.
"You're laughing at me," he accused, absently petting Silca, who came out of hiding to gently bite his chin. He looked down at the ferenicca. "And so are you." She nipped him again, with a slight hiss of laughter, then disappeared into the hole in the wall that marked her home.
"I'm laughing at the pair of us, Professor," Eiluneth replied. "A pair of fools, both of us. Neither what we seem, neither what we are." She stared moodily into the fire.
"Are you sure I'm the one who's drunk?" Snape questioned mildly.
"After one brandy? I doubt it," she answered with a half-smile.
"Then I suggest you have another," he said smoothly.
The moon was low on the horizon and the pair had switched from brandy to whiskey when Eiluneth, who had previously been sharing the silence with Severus, suddenly spoke. She was so quiet, it was almost as if she were a part of the silence itself. "Professor?"
"Mmm?" He pulled his attention from the low flames to her pale face.
"May I ask you a question?"
"If you like," he answered.
"Why do you treat--"
He cut her off roughly. "You want to know why I treat Potter the way I do. The question everybody thinks they know the answer to." He sneered.
"No." His eyebrow went up in disbelief. "I wanted to ask you, Professor, why you treat all the students the way you do."
He stared at her for several moments. "Well, then," he answered finally. "As I am feeling so very magnanimous this evening, I will give you the answer to both questions, especially since the first is implicit in the second. By all means, go to the desk drawer of the greasy-haired git and pull out the two photographs that lie within. Then bring them here and I shall explain the enigma that is Severus Snape."
She looked at him for several moments, her face unreadable, before rising and moving to the large ebony desk that sat next to the door. She found the two pictures quickly and gave them to the silent man, taking her place on the arm of his chair so she could watch as he turned the larger of them over.
It was a class picture from over fifteen years ago; Severus' thumb was covering the last number. A number of graduating Hogwarts students grouped together in their bright robes, some smiling, some scowling. The Slytherins, Eiluneth noticed, kept shooting dark looks at the Gryffindors. One in particular, one she recognized, ignored them completely in favor of glaring arrogantly at the viewer.
"This was my class, Miss Pierce," he said loudly, making the girl start at the harsh sound of his voice. "Let me first make one thing quite clear." He began to point at each student in turn. And with each jab of his finger. . . "Dead. Dead. Dead. Permanently crippled. Dead. Dead. Mentally destroyed. Dead. Alive, God knows how. Dead. . ." The litany continued on. Nearly all of the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs dead. A majority of the Gryffindors and a good half of the Ravenclaws. His entire class decimated by the wars that had followed so quickly upon their graduation. Eiluneth saw the smiling, happy, hopeful faces looking back at her and it was like a knife in her heart. All the happiness, all the hope, had been crushed out of those eyes. Even in the boy-Snape's eyes had been a light, an expectation, that she knew for a certainty had fled long ago.
"And that is the reason, Miss Pierce," Snape managed to startle her again and she turned tear-filled eyes to him before quickly returning them to the knot of Gryffindors on which his finger rested. "I'm sure school gossip has filled you in on my history with Harry's father and any other--little incidents." Sarcasm positively dripped from his words. "The Gryffindors were the darlings of the school. According to the professors and just about anyone else you asked, they were perfection itself. They were everything a wizard should be. They were the standard to which all of the other students were held and which none of us could attain.
"And that was a mistake. The Gryffindors felt they could rest lazily on their laurels, except for a few. . ." His fingers caressed the glass over a face Eiluneth couldn't quite make out. "The Hufflepuffs, after a year or so, quit trying. They contented themselves with little things and never believed they could ever attain the level of their adored Gryffindors. The Ravenclaws were the sensible ones, as they always are. They valued learning for its own sake and pushed themselves regardless. The Slytherins--" He clutched the photograph tightly. "The Slytherins sought to gain mastery in ways Gryffindors could not. One of these ways is Dark Magic. You have to understand, Eiluneth, that Slytherins are ambitous creatures. We want power, control, recognition of our talents. We want everything we can get, and when we found that kind of accolade was beyond our grasp, we sought a higher one.
"Contrary to popular belief, I do not now blame the Gryffindors themselves. They are what they are and they will always be so. I blame the teachers, the professors who caused this imbalance and did nothing to rectify it." His voice grew hard. "And I blame them now, Eiluneth, because it is happening again." Once again, he began pointing at faces, this time giving them modern names. James Potter. "Harry," Snape called him. Sirius Black. "Weasley." Remus Lupin. "Granger." Peter Pettigrew. "Longbottom." One more face. . . "Lily." He sighed.
"You give her no modern parallel," Eiluneth pointed out softly, carefully treading the fragile ground.
"She has none," he said simply. "You know the story, Miss Pierce. Everyone knows the story. And yet we are setting the stage for its revival. The pedestal has been erected and our fair Gryffindors are ascending its hights, once again leaving the rest to the dry dust at their feet. It is a dangerous thing to do, Eiluneth. A very dangerous thing. One cannot ignore Slytherins for long, deny them the praise they feel they deserve, without bringing highly negative consequences. I am perfectly aware I am being longwinded, Miss Pierce, but the end result is this: I am simply attempting to redress the balance. I cannot do much, but I can hope that my attentions will in some wise compensate for the lack of appreciation elsewhere. And, hopefully, minimize the damage that the Slytherins would otherwise effect on themselves and others. I do not want them repeating my mistakes.
"I do not want," he finished tiredly, avoiding her gaze, "to face all of the death once again."
And Eiluneth could do nothing for him, not even show her sympathy, for she knew it would hurt his pride. And Severus Snape was nothing if not proud in his own curious way.
"There is one in particular, I think," she said softly. "One death you mourn above the others."
"You are very perceptive," said Severus, his voice uncoloured by the expected sarcasm. "Yes, there is one. . ." He turned over the second, smaller photograph.
Within the gold frame sat a red-haired young woman, who beamed at the camera, her eyes full of love and hope, joy and anticipation. In her arms lay a tiny, dark-haired baby, who gazed out at the world with wide, curious eyes and a small smile.
He turned to the woman beside him. "Do you know what I see, Eiluneth, every time I look at Potter? I see his father. I see James Potter in every look, in every action, in every word that comes out of that boy's mouth. They say he has his mother's eyes, but that is the only part of her that I can see. Everything else, everything, from his hair to his the tips of his shoes, declares his paternity.
"'Lady,'" Severus quoted suddenly, "'you are the cruelest she alive if you would take these graces to the grave and leave the world no copy.'"
"Twelfth Night," Eiluneth replied. "Viola to Olivia."
"Correct." He gave a small smile. "Though I do not speak of what Viola was referring to. Lily Evans never was and never could have been considered beautiful." Eiluneth saw the snub nose, the stubborn chin, the large eyes that had been the woman-child's best feature and not only showed the love and happiness, but the will of iron behind it.
"You loved her," Eiluneth stated quietly.
"I wasn't 'in love' with her, if that's what you mean," he answered, staring into the fire, "but yes, I did love her. Not that I would know anything about the subject. At that time, though, she was the most important person in my world. I respected her, trusted her, admired her. She did everything that was asked of her and never complained. Not seriously, at any rate." Eiluneth saw a tiny quirk of his lips as he remembered some long-ago event. "She was muggle-born and flouted wizard convention when she felt it necessary. She never descended to the childishness of her companions, but she could hold her own with any of them. She was one of the few who dared to cross House lines. She was my greatest, my best, my only friend. She became the best woman I have ever known.
"And she left nothing--nothing!--behind to remind the world of her gifts, save a few old, tired memories, many of which have faded, or died with those who carried them. Her child knows nothing of her and has no part of her that would truly honor who she was.
"Do you dare now to question the why of Severus Snape?" he questioned her, suddenly, bitterly.
Eiluneth said nothing.