Part Two
During the Triwizard Championship last year, Severus Snape had considered Fleur Delacour to be a talented, intelligent witch--albeit vain and a little shallow. Definitely temperamental.
He tolerated her now, mainly because he had learned two weeks ago that he was going to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts post next year--after training his replacement.
The replacement being, of course, Fleur. He'd studied her transcripts of Beauxbatons, and spoken to her Potions Master. She'd do nicely for the job, provided she could stop looking in the bloody mirror for ten seconds.
And now here he was, waiting for her in his office, shortly following the start-of-term banquet. She was probably still off with that Weasley boy...Bill? He never could keep all those blasted Weasley children straight. It didn't really matter. As far as he was concerned, the combination of red hair and freckles automatically equaled trouble.
Finally, Fleur Delacour swept into his office. She wore robes of a bright blue that matched her eyes perfectly, and set off her silvery-blonde hair.
"You're late," Snape said.
"I am sorry, Professor," Fleur said breathlessly. One look at his face told her he wasn't in the mood for excuses. "You wished to see me, sir?"
"That may be why I called you to my office," Snape replied, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Have a seat, Miss Delacour."
Fleur sank delicately into the chair in front of his desk.
"Miss Delacour," he began, "We've already gone over what your work here will require. I asked to see you because I want to make sure we have an understanding."
Fleur looked back at him, her blue eyes blank.
"I don't tolerate any nonsense. None whatsoever. I run a tight class, assign a lot of work, talk fast, and I don't repeat myself. Your instructors at Beauxbatons have informed me that you are capable, but," a slight sneer played on the Potions Master's mouth, "Let us just say that I will believe that when I see it."
He distinctly saw Fleur's mouth twitch. He'd done it. He'd managed to hit a nerve. Then again, was that any surprise? Snape had been an expert at just that all his life. Trying very hard not to smile, he stood up. "I will see you first thing tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp. Do you understand?"
The Delacour girl nodded. Oh, yes, she was angry. She'd probably curse his name most of the time, but as long as she followed orders, Snape honestly couldn't have cared less.
"That is all," he declared, and Fleur swept out.
Now this is going to be an interesting year, he thought sardonically.
*******************************************
Anthony purposely left his living room window open that evening. The air was pleasantly light and cool, and his flat was so stiflingly hot.
Besides, since his parents' deaths, the endless hours that had passed in his bedroom before the other Aurors found him, he'd never been able to stand totally enclosed spaces for very long.
The air caressed his face, and ruffled his auburn hair. That was better.
Don't worry, Mum. Don't worry, Da. I'll avenge you.
The young man paced in his quarters, and nearly knocked over the packet of papers on the coffee table. The papers Malfoy had sent him. A plan was forming in his mind...yes, it was perfect. Or rather, the prelude to a plan. A visit to St. Mungo's was in order, he thought as he glanced over at the papers again.
He picked them up, and leafed through them one more time. Snape would die for his crimes. If the law wouldn't punish him, Anthony McKinnon sure as hell would. His whole world had been destroyed in that one night. There was no forgiving that sort of thing.
As Severus Snape would soon find out...the hard way.
********************************
The next morning, Severus Snape began his daily ritual wrestling match with the clasp of his cloak. The thing was old, but it had served him well on many occasions. It was discreet, plain, and--like nearly everything else he owned--black. Black was his preferred color, because it not only made a statement, but hid most stains quite effectively.
Damn thing, he cursed as the clasp escaped his long fingers yet again. One of these days he'd have to break down and buy a new cloak. A smirk flickered across his sallow features. He said that every morning, and he had yet to actually do it.
He had to admit that most of the value was sentimental. The cloak had been a gift from his father when he graduated from Hogwarts. Though he wasn't sure if that made much sense, either, as Severus was no longer on speaking terms with his father, and hadn't been for at least fifteen years.
Septimus Snape was a wealthy, respectable mediwizard. He was quite down to earth, at least compared to other pureblood wizards Severus was acquainted with. He wasn't haughty, or arrogant, or anything else most of the wealthy purebloods the Professor knew. He did, however, retain that old Snape pride.
The truth was, he'd never really known the man, even though they'd lived in the same house for years. One of the family maidservants, Pira, the Spanish witch who had cared for him since he was an infant--had told him how different his father was when his mother had still been alive. How much Severus acted like her at times.
Maybe that's why he was never around. Always at the hospital. Saint Septimus of the Lost Causes.
And then he'd become a Death Eater. Quite possibly one of the most idiotic things he'd ever done, though it had made some sense at the time. He was pureblood, he hadn't been fond of the Muggles and Mudbloods he'd been exposed to. And with his friends--or at least, those he believed to be his friends--he'd been accepted, for the first time in his life. Respected because of his abilities, and, as he'd believed at the time, his worth as a person.
Then he'd learned what being a Death Eater truly meant. Torture. Murder. All those things most were afraid even to discuss, Severus had seen firsthand. And, to put it bluntly, it had scared the living hell out of him.
One night, he came to a decision. He couldn't serve the Dark Lord anymore. And he went home, and told his father. What had he been looking for? Support?
In any case, it hadn't happened. His father had been furious to learn that his only son was a Death Eater--not giving him the chance to explain that he wanted to change. Septimus told his son on no uncertain terms that if he left the house, he never wanted to see him again.
And Severus had left. That was the last time he saw his father.
Dr. Snape was still alive, still working at St. Mungo's. He still lived in that same house, with the same servants.
In other words, my leaving changed nothing. Why am I not surprised? It was a depressing thought, to be sure, but not a surprising one.
At long last, Snape managed to fasten the clasp. Time to play his part again.
With one final tug on his faulty clasp, he started for his morning session with the Hufflepuff dunderheads.
*********************************
"What did you do this time?" Dr. Snape asked wearily, as he checked over the young woman's shoulder, which was covered for the most part in cuts and bruises. She tapped her feet on the leg of the observation table she was sitting on.
The woman, an attractive Spanish witch in her mid-thirties, shrugged--and winced. "I was running to catch up with the thief, and when I tackled him, I landed hard on the ground."
"More like your shoulder landed hard on the ground," Dr. Snape said wryly as he cleaned the cut.
"Ouch, that stings!"
"It should. That means the disinfectant is working," the doctor replied. "Stay still, Mariela."
Maria Aurelia, or "Mariela" Chavez did her best to obey. Working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as an officer, visits to St. Mungo's were practically routine for her. She was there at least once a week.
Her mother, Pira Santiago, had worked for Dr. Snape ever since she could remember, as a maidservant and caretaker for his son, Severus.
She studied the elder Snape. He was as tall as she remembered Severus being, and thin, with silver-streaked black hair that fell just below his shoulders. His face was lined, but no more so than most wizards in their mid-sixties. Still, there were dark circles under his eyes that led Mariela to wonder if Dr. Snape ever took a break from his work.
"How's the husband?" Dr. Snape asked as he finished bandaging her shoulder.
"Gabriel's doing fine," Mariela said. "And Tessa and Graciela are shooting up like weeds." Her daughters, aged nine and six, were notorious for their boundless energy.
"Children that age usually do," Dr. Snape said. He was smiling, but Mariela couldn't help noticing a sad, faraway look in his slate-blue eyes.
"You okay, Doc?"
Septimus nodded. "Fine," he replied, brushing a strand of silver-streaked hair out of his eyes. "It's just been a long day."
"Tell me about it," Mariela said with grin that made her amber eyes light up. She briefly pondered asking how Severus was doing--but she knew for a fact Septimus normally ignored the boy's existence. She wasn't sure of the exact events of the night, but Severus had left and she hadn't seen him since. Why am I thinking of him suddenly? I haven't seem him in nearly fifteen years!
Dr. Snape smiled. "I know this is completely useless for me to say," he said wearily, "But be careful, won't you? Your daughters need their mother."
Mariela held up one hand. "Officer's honor."
Dr. Snape rolled his eyes. "I'm going to hold you to that promise," he told her sternly, as she got up from the table.
Mariela waved--and winced. "See you later!" she called as she strolled out of the room.
Dr. Snape rolled his eyes again. "Hopeless," he said to the empty room at large. If there was a crazier witch on planet Earth than Mariela Chavez, he didn't want to know her.
He could remember the days on his family estate, when Severus....the elder Snape shook himself. Better not to think of his son, the way the boy had betrayed everything Septimus had ever worked for--not to mention the family honor. There were a lot of things Septimus Snape was perfectly willing to tolerate, but a Death Eater son was not one of them.
The boy was alive--though he wouldn't be a boy anymore, would he? He'd be....thirty-six in November, Dr. Snape remembered. Severus had black hair and black eyes--much like his Gypsy mother's.
So much for not thinking of Severus.
Livia Snape had been a descendent of the Kalderash clan, a tribe of Gypsies that had come to England in the early forties to escape Nazi persecution. Septimus often thought that Severus had gotten most, if not all of his spirit and his fire from her. It certainly hadn't come from him.
Oh, hell, Septimus, he thought in disgust. Livia's dead, Severus....isn't here anymore, and living in the past won't bring either one back. So get over it and get on with your life!
Dr. Snape picked up his clipboard, and started preparing for his next patient. Anthony McKinnon, he read. Where had he heard that name before?
****************************
Fleur Delacour was already there when Snape arrived at the dungeons that morning. "Good morning, Professor," she greeted him.
Snape barely nodded his own greeting. "You're on time" he commented. He sounded almost disappointed. "We're making Deflecting Draughts today." He handed her a piece of parchment. "The recipe is here. Copy that onto the blackboard."
Fleur took the parchment, and began to write on the board. Snape turned away from the student teacher as he watched the fifth-year students file into the room.
When everyone had been seated, Snape moved to the front of the room. The class immediately fell silent. Snape smiled inwardly--this was definitely one of his favorite things about the job.
"Most of you already know my assistant this year, Fleur Delacour," Snape said, with a dismissive gesture towards the silver-haired girl. "I am sure you will show her the same respect that you show me."
More than one snicker sounded at that, but they were silenced quickly under Snape's glare. And so the lesson began.
He was pleasantly surprised to discover that Fleur Delacour indeed knew what she was doing when it came to Potions. At least she had that much going for her. However, the males in his classes were experiencing either mass brain damage or the effects of Delacour's veela heritage. Possibly both.
"It helps if you keep your eyes on the cauldron, Finnigan," Snape said irritably as he swept past the Gryffindor's cauldron. The sandy-haired Irish boy was busy staring at Fleur, who was assisting Parvati Patil at the other end of the dungeon, causing him to drop a spoonful of crushed beetle powder on the ground. "Three points from Gryffindor."
Ah, the defeated look of anger and resentment on a Gryffindor's face. Snape's day was looking up already.
It had gotten off to a rocky start, because of the memories of his father and his other life (which was how he now referred to his pre-Death Eater days) haunting him. On his way to class, he'd taken ten points from Ravenclaw, fifteen points from Gryffindor (well, eighteen after Finnigan's) and five points from Hufflepuff before his mood had improved.
"Non, non," Fleur was saying to Parvati. "I mean, no, no. You must add the beetle powder after the bezoar, ozzerwise it goes woosh, like zis, you see?" The veela-girl sketched a mushroom cloud in the air with her arms. "I did zat in my third year at Beauxbatons, and Mon Dieu, what a mess!"
Parvati and Lavender giggled, and some of the other students chuckled as well. Snape felt his blood pressure rising.
"Delacour!" Snape barked. "Get up here!"
Fleur turned abruptly, her blue eyes wide. "Sir--"
"NOW!"
Fleur scurried up to the front of the classroom, half-expecting Professor Snape to pull out his wand and curse her on the spot.
Snape was quite annoyed. "Miss Delacour, I do not know how they conducted Potions lessons at Beauxbatons, but I do not permit idle chitchat in my class! Is that understood?" A nasty smirk played on his sallow features. "You don't have my job just yet, girl."
The French witch's ears reddened visibly, and Snape was pleased to see he'd managed to take her down a notch. "I am sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
"Good. Go to my office and get the spider's legs, then."
"Yes, Professor." Still blushing, Fleur left the room.
**************************
Since the Triwizard Championship last year, Fleur Delacour had been in contact with with Bill Weasley. Over the summer, they'd exchaged many letters (causing Fleur's mother to remark on the absence of their owl more than once). Now that Fleur was living in the United Kingdom and Bill had been transferred to Yorkshire, they were able to see each other more often.
Since the first time Fleur had glimpsed the oldest Weasley, she'd known he was different from anyone she'd ever met. All right, that was an overstatement--she'd realized it after talking to him. For one thing, he didn't fall all over himself for her. He treated her like a person, not just a mindless pretty doll.
That evening, the young couple sat outside the castle, in the courtyard. Dusk was falling, and the first stars were making their appearance in the sky.
"So," Bill said, leaning back on the bench, "How was your first day as Snape's apprentice?"
Fleur groaned. "Professor Snape eez very talented in his field, but--Sacre Bleu, what a temper!" She put the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically. "I do not know if I shall survive zee year!"
Bill laughed, and brushed a strand of her silver-blond hair out of her eyes. "You'll do fine, I'm sure."
Fleur smiled. "I am glad you are so sure." Bill's confidence was one thing she truly valued in him. He always seemed so secure in himself--something that Fleur herself had never felt completely, though to the rest of the world she presented a very different image.
"Seriously," Bill said, sitting up straighter. "What's the worst Snape can do to you?"
"With him, I am never sure! He is most unpredictable!"
Bill laughed. "That's the understatement of the year, but forgivable under the circumstances. What I mean is, if he doesn't kill you--and he won't--you have nothing to worry about."
Fleur rolled her eyes. "I wish I could believe zat! But it doesn't matter--I have a feeling zat no matter what I do, he will think me a lightweight."
"Are you?"
"No!"
"Well, then," Bill said, crossing his arms over his chest and raising one eyebrow. "There you go. You're not a lightweight, and you know that. That's what's important."
Fleur smiled, and her blue eyes lit up as she leaned in closer to Bill. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him. "We will see." she murmured, closing her eyes.
***********************
Night was falling by the time Lucius Malfoy left his office. It was nearly nine o'clock before he got home.
Reading the note in their bedchamber, Lucius found that Narcissa was going to stay the night with her family in Kent.
He made himself a cup of tea, and settled down in the study. Outside, the night was clear and cool.
And soon the night will once again belong to the Dark Lord, he thought, his handsome features twisting into a smile. The creatures of the night will rule even in the day--
And I will be rid of Severus Snape.
Ever since the younger man had joined the Death Eaters, Malfoy had known he wasn't truly one of them. And there was a rumor circulating that he was a spy for Dumbledore--though Snape himself claimed that his loyalty still remained with the Dark Lord.
Malfoy knew why the Dark Lord hadn't killed Snape already. If Snape was working for Dumbledore--well, he meant something to the old fool--and he'd make an excellent bargaining chip if worst came to worst.
And in the meantime, none of his other servants could get as close to Dumbledore as Snape could.
That just added fuel to the fire--the fact that he was sure the man wasn't with them, but he couldn't prove it......
But if McKinnon were to kill Snape--well, that would take care of the whole problem right there. And if McKinnon were to torture him first....that would just be an added bonus.
Enjoy your time while it lasts, Severus. You're a marked man, in more ways than one.
*********************************
Anthony McKinnon leaned against the tree trunk as he looked around the park. It was empty at this time of night, and all the more peaceful for it. He remembered the park near his old house, and how his parents sometimes took him there on weekends.
It wasn't that he hadn't been happy with the Revels. Henri and Marguerite were probably the best adoptive parents that an orphan kid could hope for. He'd even managed to convince them--and himself, for awhile--that he was a normal, happy child, who grew up without remembering the terrible events of his childhood. Or rather, the last night of his childhood. He had died that night--everything that he was had disappeared for good. Just like that.
You don't have to do this.
Yes, I do, he argued with himself, I have to deliver vengeance. If I don't, who will?
Malfoy could have been lying.
Ridiculous, Anthony fumed, Why would he do that?
He's a politician. Why else?And didn't you notice how eager he was to hand over that information?
Oh, shut up.
Anthony closed his eyes, trying to get his bearings together. Vengeance was necessary. The law couldn't punish Severus Snape. And how could he let a murderer walk free?
He couldn't.
Earlier in the day, he had gone to see Dr. Septimus Snape at St. Mungo's, under the guise of needing a checkup. The doctor had been a great help--although it was unlikely that the elder Snape knew this.
Dr. Snape hadn't said a word about Severus. But Anthony had noticed the way the man's shoulders had tensed when Anthony talked about his own father. And how he nearly dropped a glass when he asked Dr. Snape if he had any children of his own. That was enough to suggest to Anthony that the Snapes probaby weren't on very friendly terms. I can't imagine why, he thought sardonically. It was safe to assume that Dr. Snape didn't want to talk about the younger Snape at all. It was almost as though he were trying to pretend he didn't have a son.
Now what?
Anthony pulled the notepad out of his pocket, and looked over the notes he had written. Ideas, really, of what he could do to Severus Snape before he finally dealt the killing blow.
You don't have to do this.
Anthony sighed, and closed the book, stuffing it back in his jacket pocket.
Yes, I do.
(A/N: Thanks to the wonderful beta-readers at http://www.sugarquill.com for all their help with this story.)
