Chapter 7
"Unless you're here to tell me that what you said this morning was a sick joke, kindly get out."
Severus turned his back to the Headmaster, leaving only his glossy black hair visible from where Albus was standing. The old man was happy to see that the Professor could move much more easily, even if it had been to make a display of turning away from him the moment he walked into the room.
"There's no need for this childish behaviour, Severus. My decision still stands," Albus said sternly. "It is only two weeks before the term ends," he added in a placating tone.
"The answer is still no."
A very strong sense of déjà vu hit Albus. Only a week ago he'd had the same conversation with Sirius.
"Severus, when you came to teach at Hogwarts I gave you total freedom over the curriculum. You had your students brewing potions of a complexity that few Potions Masters would attempt themselves, let alone supervise an entire class of teenagers working on them."
"If there's a point, please make it," Severus said without turning.
"If you insist on going straight back to teaching the minute you're discharged, I will have a say in what your 'dunderheads' will get to attempt."
Severus turned slowly, anger and hurt glinting in his eyes. Dumbledore had seen that glint many times over the years but had not stopped causing it.
"A return to Jigger's days of indigestion potions and mouthwash?"
"If that's what it would take to make sure I won't be visiting you here again, or worse, then I will do it."
"Then you'd better start looking for a replacement."
The old man let out a heavy sigh. What had he expected? In all the years he'd known Severus, what indeed?
"Perhaps I'm the one who should start looking for a replacement," Albus said sadly.
The dark eyes narrowed. "What are you on about?"
"To be honest, I never expected to survive the war, Severus."
"Listening to Trelawney's predictions is never good for one's morale."
"I'm serious." He was. Partly. This was his usual frail old man routine that always worked on Severus. "It is better at times to quit while you're still ahead. I should not have let you go on teaching right after Remus died."
Severus flinched. "This accident could have happened at any time!"
"It happened now, Severus, and it isn't your fault. I should have foreseen it!"
Severus let his head fall back on the pillow. "Fine. You win. Until the end of term I won't set foot in a classroom."
"Would you also consider a change of setting?"
"I see. Once more you're trying to pack me off to Snape Manor."
"You should not let your family estate fall to ruin."
"Of course not. What will the future generations of Snapes inherit? Oh wait… there'll never be any! Trust me Albus, that wreck suits the last Snape just fine."
Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose. "It would do you good to go back even for a short visit. To make your peace."
"With the house? It's only mortar and stone, ugly furniture…"
"And memories. Just memories. They can't hurt you anymore."
Severus closed his eyes. "He wasn't such a bad father. Just wrong for me. Very wrong."
Albus had an entirely different opinion of the man who had taught his son all the Unforgivables by the age of six. All Albus had been able to do for the child was to accept him at Hogwarts as early as possible. Morten Snape had objected at first, but Dumbledore had threatened him with Azkaban. It had been an empty threat. Dumbledore had known perfectly well that nothing would have forced Severus to talk about the things his father had made him learn at an age when other wizard children had yet to touch a wand.
"I can't make you leave."
"I understand that," the younger man said wearily, keeping his eyes closed. "I'd like to get some rest," he whispered.
Albus bid his goodbye and left Severus' room.
**
"There's more skin-grow on the pillow than on your face at the moment!" Pomfrey said sternly.
The injured man turned to face her. The skin-grow was no longer a vivid blue, especially on his cheeks where telltale trails explained his red-rimmed eyes.
"What have you given me?" he asked harshly. "This isn't Tranquillus."
"You had an unaccountable tolerance to it, I'm afraid."
The thin lips curled up into a snarl. "An unaccountable tolerance?" he repeated.
"You know better than I that it is a controlled substance. Which means nothing when we're dealing with a Potions Master of your stature."
"That sounds an awful lot like an accusation," Severus hissed.
"I prefer to think of it as a warning," Pomfrey said quietly. "I gave you a Tranquillus variant. A certain loss of control over your emotions is an unfortunate side effect."
Another tear rolled down a blue-coated cheek. Snape had had a hard time keeping his cool during the talk with Albus. After the Headmaster had finally left him alone, the tears had started to fall and wouldn't stop.
"If you give me this witches' brew again," he spat, "I will not be responsible for my actions!"
Cold fury flashed in Pomfrey's eyes.
"Listen to me, you stubborn fool," she hissed. "You need to sleep to heal properly, and a calming potion is the only way. I won't release you looking like something out of a Muggle horror film! I will try to find another variant, one to which you will hopefully respond and won't have serious side effects. You're treading on thin ice here, Severus. I'll let you off this time, but if you endanger the children again by showing up to teach drugged up to your eyeballs, your student-torturing days will be over for good."
The man had brought his bandaged hand up over his face, his whole body trembling. "Stop… please," he whispered brokenly. He didn't have the strength to deny her accusation, and even though he had been perfectly sober when the explosion happened her words were bitter truth.
Pomfrey's tone softened. "I'm on your side. I always have been."
Snape felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, part of him wishing for an impersonal mediwizard who would give him just the bare facts, judge him, and report him. Not someone who would keep his shameful secret, stroke his hair then gently pry away his hands to clean his tear-soaked face. He kept his eyes closed as the mediwitch reapplied the skin-grow working quickly and silently.
"Sommeil would be a good choice," Snape whispered. "It has almost the same base as the Draught of the Living Dead but isn't as potent. It is not widely used in Britain, but from what I know, it isn't illegal."
"I'll keep it in mind," Pomfrey replied. "Now just try to relax."
Snape followed her orders for once. When sleep claimed him, it was heavy and mercifully dreamless.
The next afternoon Madam Pomfrey pronounced him fit to receive visitors. He remembered more clearly than he would have liked the fact that Sirius Black had been to see him, as well as Dumbledore but only after spending three days in the Infirmary did Pomfrey open his room to the general public.
He was still too blue for his liking, but he accepted the visit by Parvati Patil's parents and twin sister. When they asked him if there was anything they could do for him, he managed to stop himself from saying that the only thing he wanted was reassurance that they wouldn't let their Gryffindor daughter breed. He also held his acid tongue when he was told that Parvati and Dean Thomas were engaged and gracefully declined the invitation to attend the party, reassuring a tearful Mrs Patil that there was absolutely no reason to postpone the ghastly affair on his account. Sommeil seemed to be working miracles on his infamous temper.
Faced with the rare sight of a mellow Snape, Pomfrey decided to ask him whether he'd like to see Sirius. The misery Pomfrey had seen in Sirius' eyes for three days straight had softened her considerably, and in view of the Patils' visit, she could no longer use the excuse that Snape was too drugged to decide whether to see him or not.
"Why won't he leave me alone?" Snape murmured, closing his eyes.
"Because he cares," Pomfrey replied gently. "Because he knows what you're going through better than anyone."
Snape gave out a bitter laugh. "He knows nothing of what I'm going through. He was in Azkaban. He's not the one who wasted fifteen years that he could have spent…" with Remus. He swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters," he whispered.
"What should I tell Sirius?"
"Tell him to sod off."
