Chapter 5 – Home
A/N – Sorry for the delay. This chapter had to have a major rewrite. It was bad…bad…bad… Anyway, thanks again for the reviews. Oh, and especially the cookie. I like cookies. Cookies are good.
A/N 2 – Just a bit of fun trivia for anyone out there (and awake). I borrowed/stolen/took etc. the name for Sev's Mom from a famous old book. It's one of my favs (besides "Pride & Prejudice," of course). Anyway, I'll share my cookie with the first person who can name that book. Fun, huh? Yeah right. Anyway, if you've read the book and know the character, it will tell you something about Sev's mother's character. Got it?
A/N 3 – Last one, I promise! Okay, just wanted to add that I finally got the first four chapters beta'd and have made some changes (none plot-related though) accordingly. So, if you happen to re-read any of those chapters and note changes, well, that's why. I've also erased those annoying author's notes. I'll reserve A/N's for the draft/unbeta'd versions, just so you know. Kind of gives it that "LJ" feeling don't ya think?
* * *
The Portkey deposited them within a block of their home.
"So, you say that she's 'no one' then," the elder Snape said. He still seemed skeptical of his son's relations with the obviously muggle-born girl they'd seen at the train station.
"Well, no one of any consequence, anyway," Severus replied carefully.
"Still," Mordemos Snape continued as they approached a stately, neo-classical, red-brick mansion, "she was quite striking—a beautiful girl, really. I can't imagine any boy not—"
"She's a Mudblood," Severus cut in abruptly.
His father looked thoughtful. "Yes, I supposed as much by the look of her parents, but still…"
They strode up a stone walkway, and climbed the steps to their home's impressive front entry.
"She's clearly beneath me," Severus said through clenched teeth.
His father pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered the house that had once belonged to his wife and her family. The wizard's dark Muggle suit transformed instantly into billowing black robes as he passed through the threshold. Severus followed, barely noticing the change in his father's attire.
The elder Snape paused in the foyer, gazing with satisfaction around the impressive entry; first he glanced down to the Italian marble floor, then he took in the intricately carved gold-plated crown molding, and finally his gaze swept around to the surrounding mix of French, English, and even Chinese furnishings, which all came together in a lavishly eclectic look. Mordemos smiled at his son. "Aren't we fortunate, Severus, to come home to such a comfortable house?"
Severus raised an eyebrow. Comfortable? Linton House was many things, but comfortable? He glanced at the expensive black lacquer chairs that flanked the entry, and the orange loveseat tightly upholstered in raw silk. None of which, he'd ever sat on. Comfortable? He shook his head. The only room in the house he'd ever felt at ease in was his own bedroom on the third floor.
"Severus?" his father said in a low, impatient voice, obviously awaiting an answer from his son.
The younger Snape cleared his throat. "Yes, Father, we're most fortunate," he replied finally.
Mordemos nodded and headed toward the grand staircase, which curved up to the second floor balcony. Severus followed, his eyes straying to a large portrait that was hung near the foot of the stairs. Its subject was a young woman with honey-blonde hair swept up in a smooth chignon. She wore a shimmering blue gown, and stared out sadly from the painting, as if she were a prisoner. Upon seeing Severus, however, Isabel Linton Snape's look brightened, and she rose from her seat.
"Severus," she called, waving a delicate, white-gloved hand.
Severus glanced up at the portrait, feeling at once joy and anger. The two emotions seemed to cancel each other out and he was left strangely empty. "Hello, Mother," he replied in an even monotone, barely slowing down as they walked by her picture.
His mother pressed her gloved hands against the edges of the gilded frame, and peered out at Severus as he passed. "I've missed you," she called after him, a desperate edge to her voice.
Severus looked straight ahead. "And I you," he said dully.
His father smirked, but said nothing, then headed left, towards his study. Severus hurried up the staircase, taking the steps, two by two, and pausing only briefly when he heard the muffled sound of his mother's crying.
* * *
His room was just as he'd left it roughly five months earlier. It was neat, and dominated by soaring bookshelves, which lined the walls and were all filled with colorful volumes. The books were segregated by subject, and then alphabetized by author. Severus shut the door behind him, and strode over to his desk, which was positioned between two of the room's four arched windows.
Gently, he set down Bartho's cage and opened the trap door. The owl hooted once, blinked, stepped out of his cage and immediately flew up to his roost up in a top corner of the room.
Severus glanced up at the owl, who was now pruning himself, and then lay his heavy satchel onto the desk. He wasted no time emptying the bag of books, and sorting them onto the shelves. When he pulled out a volume that he'd 'borrowed' from the restricted section of the Hogwarts library earlier in the term, he paused. He'd been careful when taking this one, replacing it with one of his first year textbooks magically transformed to resemble the borrowed book. It wasn't in his nature to steal, but he'd felt it necessary—in this case.
Ever since he was a young boy, the Dark Arts had always intrigued him. Maybe it was the power. Or the fact that it was forbidden. He wasn't really sure. More than likely, however, it was his father's influence on him. As much as he hated him, there was a part of Severus that admired Mordemos Snape.
A dark wizard like his father would've never been suspended upside down by the likes of James Potter or Sirius Black. They would've never dared. No one who knew him was stupid enough to cross Mordemos Snape. Severus paused in thought. Of course, Potter and Black were exceptionally stupid...
His mouth twisted into a bitter smile, which quickly turned upside down to a frown.
All of his young life, he'd never measured up. He lacked, as his father often reminded him, the 'killer' instinct. He was too much like his mother in the elder Snape's opinion. Of course, Severus, for the life of him, could see no resemblance to the fair Isabel. When he looked in the mirror, all he saw was his father.
Tall, and lanky, with dark hair, contrasting against his pale skin, he was an exact replica of Mordemos Snape. And of course he was a Slytherin like his father. The sorting hat had wasted no time in making that decision.
Isabel had been Ravenclaw, as had all of the Linton's before her. She'd been smart and beautiful…
Severus had often wondered how his father, dark-hearted, and looking as he did, could've ever attracted a woman like his mother.
Perhaps he'd had some help…from the Dark Arts.
Now, Severus thought, if only he could master them as well as Mordemos Snape.
No one would lay a hand on, or rather; point a wand, at him again.
Certainly not Potter or Black.
And, of course, he could have any girl he wanted.
Any girl.
But at the thought of this, he frowned. How empty it would be to gain someone's affections in such a way. And besides, in all honesty, there was only one girl who he could even think of, and she was sadly…
Unacceptable.
At the thought of Lily Evans, Severus frowned. He recalled her expression at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. How hurt she'd looked. But he'd had to do it. His father had already noticed her, and her Muggle parents. If his father suspected…
No, he'd done the right thing. There was no telling what Mordemos Snape would've done if he knew of his son's growing interest in a Mudblood. To his father, they were lower than house elves.
Severus shook his head, and began pacing the room. It was better this way, he told himself, if she hated him.
He stopped, jamming his hands in his robe pockets. But did she? Hate him?
Well, after what he'd said, calling her a 'no one,' she certainly wouldn't have liked him any better, now could she have?
It was for the best…for the best…for the best…He balled up his hands inside his pockets, and suddenly felt a slip of paper curled in one of his fists. It was the note Lily had given to him earlier on the train. He pulled it out, and looked at it, a surprised expression on his face. Carefully, he unfurled it, and smoothed out the edges of the parchment.
On it, he read Lily's address and phone number. For several seconds, he forgot to breathe. Then he inhaled sharply, squared back his shoulders, and strode over to his desk. He sat down in the hard-backed, wooden chair, still gazing at the note, as if transfixed. Then he pulled out his quill and a sheet of parchment from the bottom drawer. He began writing.