Chapter 9: Letters and Lessons
"I think I'm going to be sick", Ginny murmured somewhere behind Harry.
"Then get a grip on yourself", her brother hissed back at her. "You can't leave now. You move and they'll notice us and we'll have hell on earth, if they find us here."
Harry had to agree with his friend and he turned around to nod at the pale girl apologetically. When he met Ron's eyes he was startled to find a fascinated expression on his best friend's face. Could it be that Ron was enjoying this?
No, he had to be mistaken. Ron despised Snape like every Hogwarts student who was not in Slytherin – with the possible exception of Percy Weasley – but he was of a too good-hearted nature to seriously wish anyone ill.
Besides, Harry had to admit to himself that, despite feeling sorry for his teacher and being shocked by the headmaster's unexpected behaviour, he wanted to find out the rest of the story as well. Even if it meant that he wouldn't be able to hate Snape anymore. At least not with the same vigour.
Inside the bubble the familiar Hogwarts grounds had returned. Snape was sitting in the Great Hall at the Slytherin table, lost in a book, absentmindedly nibbling at a piece of toast.
"You'll never grow, if you keep eating like that", Goyle informed him, munching heartily on an enormous piece of pancake dripping with honey himself, taking up most of the space on the bench.
"Don't disturb him", laughed the honey-haired girl beside him. "He's reading up on our Defence Against the Dark Arts homework."
She reached across the table, inadvertently knocking over a pot of sugar, and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.
"Lucius was right, you are a good catch. With you in our house I'll never have to do a single piece of homework myself anymore until I leave this blasted place."
The younger boy smiled at her. After a moment's hesitation he reached inside his schoolbag which lay on the floor beside him, rummaged through its contents and after a few seconds produced an elegant mug, formed liked an opening lily and set with shiny pieces of something that looked like dragon skin. He offered it to the girl shyly, giving her an embarrassed smile.
"I know it's a little late, but … Merry Christmas, Narcissa."
She accepted it gracefully, looking at the present in silent wonder and granting the boy one of her most beautiful smiles.
"It's incredible, Severus! Thank you. I feel very honoured."
She turned it around carefully, admiring it from all sides, before she got up.
"I'd better take this up to the dormitory before someone breaks it."
With a nasty look at Goyle, who had just knocked over his glass of orange juice for the third time in a row, she rushed off, clutching the mug protectively against her chest.
Lucius Malfoy had got up from his place at the far end of the table, settled himself beside the slightly flustered boy and looked at him curiously.
"Wasn't that the Christmas present you made for your mother in Transfiguration? You told me you chose an especially fine turtle to make it."
Snape kept flicking through the book resting against a pitcher of milk in front of him and didn't look up.
"I didn't feel like giving it to her after all", he muttered. "And I don't think she would have appreciated it the same way that Narcissa does."
Lucius leaned onto the table, placed his head on his folded arms and glanced at his young friend from the side.
"I may assume then that your holidays were far from pleasant?"
His question was answered with a shrug and a surely involuntary little sigh.
"I'll try to get you over to our place for the summer holidays, Severus, I promise. At least for a couple of weeks. All right?"
There was compassion in the older boy's voice and a considerable amount of concern. He kept glancing at his quiet neighbour until dark eyes finally met his pale blue ones and a grateful smile crept across the child's face.
"That would be fantastic."
They nodded at each other once more before picking up their bags and heading towards the door. Halfway there Snape's heavy shoulder bag slumped down his arm and crashed onto the floor, spilling out its contents. Cursing silently under his breath he bowed down, stuffing books, quills and parchment back inside. As he straightened up again a shadow fell over him and he spun around.
"No need to be anxious, Mr. Snape, it's just me, and I'm running a little late myself."
Minerva McGonagall smiled down at him, her thin lips curving upwards ever so slightly. There was less grey in her hair and a few less wrinkles around her eyes, but apart from that she seemed unchanged to the undercover agents on the stairs. There was an amused touch to her voice when she added:
"I'm surprised, however, at your choice of words, young man. I can't imagine you learned those expressions in our honourable halls. Nevertheless, we should hurry up. There's no use in both of us being late for class. I'll be generous, though, and give you a head start so you'll have a chance of reaching the classroom before me."
She gave him a playful shove against the back, adding a motherly "Off you go!" when to her surprise the boy flinched and drew a sharp breath, obviously in pain.
"What's that, Mr. Snape? Did you get hurt?"
She was already reaching towards his neck, trying to pull down his collar there.
"It's nothing, Professor", he answered hastily, squirming unsuccessfully to get out of her reach.
"I fell off my new broom when trying to fly it for the first time and hit the branches of a tree. Nothing serious, really, I'm just a little bruised still."
By now she had managed to take a glimpse at his neck and shoulders, nearly strangling him while tugging at the collar of his robes and shirt, and took a sharp breath as she saw the angry red marks shining on his pale skin.
"A little bruised! "she exclaimed, her voice shocked and slightly angry.
"This is more than a little bruised, child! And I'll eat your new broomstick if those marks were caused by branches."
She grabbed him gently by the shoulders and turned him around to face her, ignoring his scorn and defensively raised chin.
"Who did this to you? Another student? Mr. Malfoy?"
"Lucius would never do something like that! He's my friend! If he had been there …"
He quickly shut his mouth, apparently shocked by what he had let slip, and stared at his shoes instead of his teacher, effectively hiding a very distressed expression behind a curtain of black hair.
"Very well, Mr. Snape. I'll take you to the hospital wing now, so that Madame Pomfrey can have a look at your back and maybe ease your pain a little. You are excused from Transfiguration today. And afterwards I think you should have a little talk with the headmaster."
With that she led him off to the hospital wing, keeping his little hand clasped in hers, shaking with silent anger. He didn't try to struggle or argue.
In the hospital wing Madame Pomfrey was equally shocked by the state of the child's back, stroking his cheek compassionately ever so often while taking care of the whip marks as well as several bruises and an apparently cracked rib. The boy endured all this without a word, staring blankly at the wall and ignoring any questions the nurse asked.
She was just closing up the last of her many tubes and pots when Albus Dumbledore entered the hospital wing, a concerned look on his face. He walked up towards the tiny figure and sat down at the foot of the bed cautiously, helping the boy to put his shirt back on with a steady hand. Snape didn't look at the old wizard, but his lower lip was trembling slightly and his hands grasped the seam of his shirt in a tight grip.
After almost a minute of silence Dumbledore said quietly:
"Your father was not one of my students. He was educated at Durmstrang, as far as I know. Your mother, however, was one of my children. Ravenclaw as far as I remember."
The silent figure beside him didn't answer but kept staring down at his own hands, which were still working nervously on the cloth.
"I only ever met your father once", Dumbledore continued, "when he picked up your mother after her graduation. She seemed to be very much in love with him and I really endeavoured to be happy for her. However, to be honest, I didn't like the way he looked at her, the way in which he spoke to her. He has a hot temper, your father, doesn't he, child?"
Still the boy wouldn't be tempted into answering. His eyes, however, were fixed on the headmaster's face, daring him to go on talking. The old wizard accepted the dare.
"Children need boundaries and rules; I know that as well as anybody else. Sometimes punishment is the only way to teach a child that crossing the line will inevitably have consequences. Beatings, however, will never find my approval as an adequate means of education. No human being deserves to be whipped, beaten, kicked or to be physically mistreated in any other sort of way. Especially not a child."
He risked to lay a hand on the boys arm and was rewarded by seeing the slender frame relax slightly.
"I will send a note to your father, asking him …"
"No!" There was panic in the child's eyes as well as the voice, all calm fleeing his body instantly.
"Please, sir, there is really no need. It's not the way you think. We were just … it was … he's really not like that."
Tears of desperation started to gleam in his big dark eyes as he clasped the headmaster's hand worriedly.
"It will never happen again, I promise. Please don't write to him" the boy pleaded.
"I really don't think you can promise something like that, child", Dumbledore replied calmly. "Because it's not up to you. Don't worry, I will be very subtle and discreet, your father will never know what caused me to write that letter. I will mention your excellent results here at school and require after your mother, no subjects to be concerned about. Leave it to me, all right?"
The child didn't even look remotely reassured but clung to the headmaster's arm instead as if preventing the old wizard to leave the hospital wing forever would solve the problem.
"Please, sir, you don't know what he's like. He will know. He always does. He knows everything."
Dumbledore gently freed himself.
"Nobody knows everything, dear boy. And everybody should be ready to learn a lesson once in a while."
With that he left the hospital wing and a shuddering Severus Snape who sat on the tiny bed, his back rigid, his eyes opened wide in fear, scratching his arms mechanically with his fingernails until the skin cracked open.
He has done the right thing, Harry thought. Of course he has. If a student is being mistreated by his parents, he as the headmaster has to interfere. How many times had he himself wished Dumbledore show up at Privet Drive and have a good long talk with the Dursleys. This letter would surely change things for Snape.
A little relieved he kept on watching as the hospital wing disappeared and the Great Hall was again to be seen inside the bubble.
Supper was obviously just over, for there were empty pots, tureens and plates everywhere and students were talking animatedly about Quidditch, homework and the coming Hogsmead weekend. The plate in front of Severus Snape, however, seemed untouched and the boy stared unhappily into space.
"Cheer up, Severus", Lucius told him. "Dumbledore wrote that stupid letter more than a week ago. If your father had been angry, you would have suffered the consequences by now."
He smacked the boy against the shoulder playfully and grinned. Snape sighed and gave him a half-hearted smile in return, finally picking up his fork and listlessly poking at a baked potato. Suddenly a swishing sound was to be heard as dozens of owls in many different sizes swooped into the Great Hall, carrying various packages and letters.
"Finally they made it through the storm", exclaimed Narcissa cheerfully as she caught a huge catalogue and an edition of Witches Weekly, which had nearly landed on her empty plate.
A tiny dark owl was fluttering above the crowd, obviously looking for the owner of the square little package she was carrying. Finally she scooted down and landed right in front of Snape, holding out her leg so he could untie the string with which the package and a letter were attached. The boy's face had turned a shade of pasty white as he loosened the cord with shaking hands, accepting both package and letter. The owl took off again.
Slowly, as if dreading something terrible, he opened the letter and read the short note.
Have you already forgotten our lessons again?
Never rely on others to help you.
Never tell your father what to do.
Maybe we should add another lesson, and just so you will remember it better this time, I attached a little reminder to this letter.
Lesson number four: Never admit weakness. You never know who might get hurt by that.
His whole body was trembling as he reached out and opened the parcel. The lid came off easily and inside lay, on a delicate but bloodstained silken scarf, a female finger, the nail painted bright red. Biting back tears of anger and frustration the boy packed both letter and parcel into his robes, stood up slowly and walked out of the great hall with steady steps. Outside, out of everyone's sight, he started running down towards the dungeons and into the Slytherin common room. He scurried to the boys' bathroom, dashed into the nearest cubical and started throwing up violently.