Chapter 7 – Lily's Reply
A/N – A big apology for taking so long to update. I've got a world of excuses, but no, I'm not going to bore you with them. To make up for it though, I've decided to post everything I've got all at once. That's three whole chapters! Woo hoo! Well, actually, it's all I've got. Been in a bit of a slump lately, but anyway… Here they are. Hope you like them (and that they're coherent).
A/N 2 - Thanks again for the reviews! Oh, and, RV, thanks for the compliment… Me, an actress? I wish! Nothing that interesting, I'm afraid.
* * *
The two men sat on opposite ends of the long, rectangular dining table. Severus took a sip of his cold potato soup and grimaced. Oh, how he missed the much heartier fare at Hogwarts! His father liked his meals refined, and tasteless. The soup was a good example.
It had been ten days now since Bartho had flown away with his letter. The owl had returned a day later with no reply. So Severus waited, feeling more apprehensive with each passing day.
He'd barely touched his soup when Lurvey, the house elf came into the dining hall with the main course: poached sea bass with a side of steamed asparagus. The fish was drizzled with a pea green sauce that looked, indeed, like puréed peas. After serving both men their entrées, Lurvey bowed low, his forehead almost touching the floor and left the room without so much as a look from his master.
Severus toyed with the flaky white fish on his plate, moving it from side to side, before opting to spear one of the asparagus shoots with his fork. He nibbled the pointed end, nose wrinkling at the bitter taste, and then laid down his fork. He pushed the dish away.
His father looked up at him with a questioning look. "Done so soon?" he asked.
Severus nodded. "I'm not hungry," he replied quietly. Actually, he hadn't had much of an appetite since he'd come home. Part of the reason was the unappealing meals that were served at Linton House, but a bigger reason was his nerves.
The elder Snape eyed his son coldly. "Suit yourself," he muttered and turned back to his dinner.
Severus pushed his chair away from the table, and had just stood up when a tapping sound caught his attention. It was coming from one of the tall, leaded glass windows on the east side of the dining hall. He turned and immediately felt his stomach tighten. A large barn owl was perched on the windowsill outside.
He thought of Lily. Could this be her long-awaited reply? Quickly, he strode over to the window, and let the owl into the room. It flapped its wings and hopped inside, dropping a letter at his feet. Severus stooped down to retrieve it. The owl jumped back outside to the ledge and waited.
Severus picked up the letter, his hands shaking as he turned the envelope over and saw his name scrawled in graceful, flowing letters. Glancing at the owl, he absently muttered for it to wait, then walked over to the dining table and grabbed a dinner roll. He strode back to the window, tore the roll in half and handed the resting owl a piece of the bread. He turned his attention back to the letter, flipping it over and breaking its red wax seal. Without thinking he started to pull out several sheets of a buff colored parchment. They were lightly scented. He raised the letter to his nose and sniffed. Lilies.
His father cleared his throat, startling Severus. "What is it?" Mordemos Snape asked, peering at his son through narrowed eyes.
Severus looked up, and hastily began stuffing the letter back into the envelope. "Nothing," he replied a little too quickly.
His father frowned. "Who's it from?" he asked.
"N-no one," Severus answered.
His father sat back in his chair, a knowing look crossing his face. "Ah, so it's that 'no one' again, is it?"
"It's not…what you think."
"Is it now? Tell me, Severus…just what am I thinking?"
"That…she's…I mean…"
"Ah, a 'she' you say. So it is that girl—the one from the train station."
Severus stared at his father and realized that there was no point in lying to him. Mordemos would know. Somehow he always could tell when his son was deceiving him. "I…" Severus began.
"You fancy her, don't you?" Mordemos asked, his expression close to a leer.
Severus didn't reply.
"She is rather fetching, if I do say so myself. A girl like that… So young, and vibrant. I can understand your interest in her." Mordemos paused, his look calculating. He smiled. "You don't have to hide anything from me, Severus."
"But…but she's Muggle-born…surely…you don't approve."
"Certainly not!"
"Then…" Severus looked bewildered. What game was his father playing?
Mordemos picked up the cloth napkin from his lap and carefully dabbed the corners of his mouth. "If it's a summer dalliance you seek, I see no harm in it," he said evenly. "I was young once. I understand more than you think." He rose from his chair, and stepped back from the table. "But just remember, Severus…" His voice turned lower, more menacing.
Severus stared open-mouthed at his father. "Yes?" he breathed.
"Don't forget who you are. And what you are."
"I—I won't," Severus answered automatically, although he really wasn't sure of either of those two things.
"Good," the elder Snape said with a nod. He threw his napkin down on his half-eaten dinner. "Besides," he added in an off-handed manner, "you're already betrothed, Severus. It was all decided years ago. Whatever you choose to do with this girl is of little consequence, really."
And with that, Mordemos Snape swept out of the room.
* * *
Clearly upset, Severus rushed past his mother's portrait on his way toward the master staircase.
"Severus!" she called quickly. "Severus, what's wrong?"
At the sound of her voice, he paused and turned to face her. "I—" he began, too many questions rushing into his head at once. "He—he said I was betrothed. That it was decided long ago… Is it true?" He glanced up at Isabel Snape and when he saw her expression he knew.
Her eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a perfect "o" half-hidden behind her white-gloved hand.
"So it is true," Severus whispered.
His mother reached out to him from the portrait. "Oh, Severus, you have to understand…your father…he thought it best that you be settled with an appropriate girl…that if left to chance that you might…"
"Might what?" Severus snapped.
His mother recoiled. "I—I only meant…I mean he…we…we thought it best for you."
"But he doesn't care about what's best for me. You should know that." With his father there would always have to be an angle. Undoubtedly, there was wealth to be gained, another family to ruin. Severus glanced down at the now crumpled letter clutched in his hand. "Can it be broken?" he asked suddenly, looking up at his mother.
She shook her head, and he noticed her eyes were already starting to tear. "I—I don't think so," she replied softly.
Severus was silent for a moment. Then he turned toward the top of the stair, and headed for his room.
* * *
After the shock had subsided, Severus felt strangely numb. He sat on the edge of his bed waiting for his senses—his feelings—to return to him. But they didn't. At least not right away. Maybe, he thought, he didn't have any. Maybe his father had finally succeeded in crushing what little feelings he'd had remaining.
Sighing, he flopped back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He should've been angry. Outraged. So why wasn't he?
He sighed again. Maybe it was because it didn't matter. Perhaps his father really had done him a favor. Honestly, what had his prospects ever been before? Nonexistent. Exactly.
No girl had ever so much as looked his way. He was an ugly black beetle to be stepped on. His chances of finding someone—anyone—had been laughable.
Until Lily.
He raised her letter, still clutched in his hand, to eye level. But what were her feelings for him, if any?
He sat up again, easing himself back up against the headboard. Slumping slightly forward, he slowly opened the envelope, and pulled out the delicate, buff-colored parchment. There were three sheets. His hands shook as he unfolded them. The first page was badly crinkled and, he noticed, one of the corners was singed. Just a few lines scrawled in messy letters—not at all like the graceful script on the envelope—it was barely a note.
Dear Severus,
Slug! Troll! Earwig! I hate you!
Sincerely,
Lily Evans
Severus frowned. Well, he supposed he deserved as much. He should've expected such a response after the letter he'd written, but still… He scratched his head, then turned to the second page. The letter was longer, the writing neater. He began to read.
Dear Severus,
I still hate you, but considerably less than when I first received your letter. It's been a few days now, and I've composed myself. I've also re-read your letter several times. I no longer consider you to be a slug, or a troll, but you're still an earwig as far as I'm concerned, and I'm still angry.
I mean what person in their right mind would send such a letter, dripping with condescension, and even disdain? Have you a brain? I wonder. But being stupid is no excuse. At least, not for you.
I assume my being Muggle-born is the reason you object to your ill-founded feelings for me—as detestable as they may be. You're a snob. Plain and simple.
I don't know what I ever saw in you. I honestly thought you were different. But I guess I was wrong…
A while ago, I'd heard about your mother, and couldn't help but think…'how awful.' And you're always alone. Doesn't everyone need a friend? So I thought…
I just can't imagine how it must feel…
The letter trailed off unfinished. Severus exhaled softly, then flipped to the last page. It was dated the day before. The handwriting was again neat, and flowing, and… Severus sniffed the page—it was scented with her perfume! Puzzled, Severus read on.
Dear Severus,
At last, I'm thinking clearly. I was angry, as you can imagine, upon first reading your letter. Your tone…word choice… Inappropriate to say the least. But, finally, after reviewing it countless times, I think I'm starting to understand. Your feelings, however unwanted, are strong, and they're aimed—towards me.
In a very strange, utterly unconventional way, I'm flattered.
I even think I understand your struggles. You've been raised a certain way, just as I have. But I've been fortunate enough to have loving parents that have accepted and embraced me for who and what I am. I imagine that your upbringing has been vastly different from mine.
Our lives are miles apart, and yet I think, connected somehow. You may chalk it up to 'silly girlish notions,' but I call it intuition. Foresight. I've always excelled in Divination, you know. You may laugh at this, but I've seen you—in my dreams, in my life… I kid you not.
And I would've never thought of you, by any means, as the man of my dreams—and yet, somehow, you're in them. And they're not nightmares, in case you're wondering. They're…pleasant.
So, what to do? I'm as muddled as you seem to be. But at least I'm no longer angry. Let's come to terms with this—and with each other then. I still want to see you. But it's entirely up to you…
Being a modern woman, here's my proposal: I'll be at the "Fresh Start Café" down on Camden High Street this Saturday evening at eight-o-clock. If you wish, you can meet me there.
If, however, you choose not to come, I'll respect your wishes and cut all contact with you. And, yes, I'll understand if you don't speak to me in the hallways back at Hogwarts. Like you ever did!
Yours,
Lily Evans
P.S. – I've decided to enclose previous versions of this reply so you may truly understand how your letter has affected me, and the succession of emotions it has brought on.
P.P.S. – If you do decide to come, don't forget your Muggle attire!