Part Six

Severus Snape's Journal, Late Saturday Afternoon

Sometimes I wonder what would have been different if my mother were still alive. I suppose it's because of seeing my father again that I'm even thinking of her at all.

I didn't know her very well. She died when I was four years old, but I remember certain things--she had eyes like mine and loved earrings that dangled.  I didn't know then that my mother was not like other mothers. I thought it was perfectly normal to watch her perform in her various plays.  Quite the actress, my mother--both professionally and privately. I never guessed that she was dying.

Would I have still turned out this way, had she lived? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I know that it does no good to dwell on it…yet I cannot help myself.

But mainly when I remember my mother, I remember what my father was like with her. He was always laughing, it seemed. He loved her--and for a few years, me as well.

Of course, good things never last. She died, my father fell apart, and I survived. My father didn't know what to do with me, it seemed. Oh, he made sure I had everything I needed--but he was never actually there if he could help it. I got used to it--there wasn't much else I could do.

I've mentioned before that I told him that I was a Death Eater. He knew--yet as far as I know, he never breathed a word of it to anyone else. And for years, I've wondered why, when he was so angry with me. What better revenge than to have me shut up in Azkaban forever? I've often thought about what I would say or do if I ever saw my father again, and all of my imagined scenarios culminated in that particular question.

And then it really happened.

I didn't ask him. I simply berated him and told him to leave. He did not say much, for his part. Perhaps I expected that. He was never very talkative around me. He took my verbal lashing, though he could hardly look me in the eye.

I didn't want to see him. I hate that he has dredged up so many memories. I will never forgive him for what he did. It is not in my nature to forgive those who wrong me as deeply as he has.

Severus lay on his back in bed after closing his journal, staring up at the ceiling.

He still hadn't gone near his quiz papers--perhaps he should consider it, as they were due in on Monday. On the other hand, he did not feel up to it at all. What could the students really do, anyway, if their quizzes were handed back late? Given the results of the few that he had chanced to look at, it would probably be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps he would get Delacour to take care of it.

He had spoken with Dumbledore briefly, and they had both agreed to keep the story as quiet as possible. He would probably have to speak with the headmaster again at some point, as well as Lupin, whom Dumbledore would probably want to assist in the investigation. For the moment, however, Severus had asked to be left alone--under the strict promise that he would not leave the school grounds.  He hadn't liked that, but he grudgingly agreed to the terms.

As it was, he could barely concentrate on lying still. His father's face plagued him every time he closed his eyes. And, of course, the small matter of someone trying to kill him.

Severus had gone through his mental list of enemies, trying to think of one that would be so bold as to attack him directly. There weren't many. There was Lucius Malfoy, who despised him, but he had a reputation to uphold--surely he would not risk a direct confrontation. Such a move would attract a lot of negative attention, and Malfoy couldn't afford that. A student, perhaps? No, that was reaching....or was it? And the Dark Lord could not have discovered Snape's treachery yet, or he would already be a pile of ash on the floor.

Then who was it?

One thing was for certain--he would have to figure it out, and soon. Severus had never been one to back down from a confrontation--and he wanted to confront the witch or wizard with enough gall to seek him out directly.

He got up from his bed, and crossed the room. It wouldn't do to spend all day lying here. He would have to grade those papers sometime.

Severus remembered something his mother had said when he was very small...

"The show must go on."

Yes, Mother, Severus thought, turning the doorknob. So it must.

                                        *******************************

"Hello, Mami," Mariela said cheerfully, as Pira Santiago opened the door opened the door to Snape Manor.

Pira's eyes narrowed at her daughter. "Maria Aurelia, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I got to leave early," Mariela replied, breezing past her mother into the sparsely decorated entrance hall. "And I thought I would pay a visit to my dear madre and the master of the house. Is he here?"

"Yes, he came home early also," Pira replied, furrowing her brow. "But--"

"Good, I need to speak with him about something," Mariela replied airily, hoping that her mother would not ask what. "Where is he?"

"I think he's upstairs in his music room. But hija, he does not want to see visitors now. He told me so when he came home."

"He'll want to hear what I have to tell him, Mami," she said. "Please, will you let me go see him? I don't want to get you in trouble, though. I'll tell him one of the other servants let me in--Clara, maybe. She's foolish enough to forget his orders, and you know he'd never tell her off for it."

"That's why we keep her in the kitchen," Pira grumbled. "Very well, go. I did not see you."


Mariela kissed her mother on the cheek. "Thank you, Mami."

She ran up the winding staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

                                         *******************************

Beethoven or Handel? Septimus mused, holding up two pieces of sheet music before his eyes.

He put both sheets down on the silent piano keys, and closed his eyes. He reached out, and chose one.

Beethoven it is.

Septimus began to play the Pathetique Sonata, allowing his mind to slip back into the trancelike state he entered when playing. It was his only solace at the moment...

"Murderer!"

Plink. Septimus swore under his breath as his index finger hit the wrong key. He hadn't made that mistake since he was a boy of eighteen. He'd thought he would be safe from his terrifying dreams here, but it was not to be.

Livia had called him a murderer in his frightening dream. Why? He had nothing to do with the attack on Severus, could not imagine doing such a thing. Apparently, someone else felt very differently.

No man should ever have to explain his dreams, Septimus thought, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Lately, sleep seemed to be the source of never-ending headaches for him.

He started to play again, trying to clear all thoughts of his disturbing dream and his encounter with his son out of his mind. The notes flowed smoothly and softly...

Knock. Knock.

Plink! "Oh, bloody hell," Septimus muttered under his breath. He rose from the piano-forte and strode over to the door. "Pira, I told you I didn't want to see anyone!"

"It's Mariela," came the voice from the other side of the door.

Damn.

Septimus sighed resignedly, and opened the door. "I'm sorry, Mariela, but I'm in no state to receive company at the moment. Didn't your mother tell you?"

Mariela brushed a strand of curly hair out of her eyes, avoiding his eyes. "Clara let me in. I need to speak with you, Septimus. It's important."

"Later, Mariela," Septimus replied stiffly, silently damning the maidservant and knowing full well that he wouldn't bother to reprimand her. He never did. "This is not a good time--"

"It's about Severus!" Mariela interrupted, her eyes narrowing.

Septimus frowned, and stepped back wordlessly to allow Mariela in the room.

She took a seat on the piano-forte bench, while Septimus paced around. How could Mariela know? Had she spoken to Severus? Had he told her about their argument in the hospital? Or the argument the night that he had left the manor?

God, how will I ever explain this to her?

"You already know he was attacked," Mariela said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I spoke to Dr. Carstairs at the hospital. You treated him."

Septimus nodded his head, continuing to pace.

"I was part of the law enforcement team at the site of the attack," she continued.

"And?" Was that his voice? It sounded so cold, so callous. Mariela looked surprised his tone as well.

"And, I thought you might like an update. Severus was released from the hospital earlier today. And Mr. Bertram was ordered to call off the investigation altogether."

Septimus stopped pacing. "What?"

Wait a moment--why does it matter to me? Severus wants nothing to do with me--he implied as much before. Very well, then. I shall do precisely what he wants.

He could feel his emotions shutting off, as they had when Livia died. As they had when Severus left home. The cool, aloof mask was slipping back into place once more.

"Apparently Cornelius Fudge himself ordered it," Mariela continued. "Though Bertram's convinced that someone else talked him into it."

Which wouldn't be difficult, Septimus thought in disgust. All one needed was the right amount of money and the right family name, and they could talk the Minister into anything. He paused by the window, clasping his hands behind his back, and glanced outside.

"Septimus?" she asked tentatively.

He jerked his head ever so slightly in her direction. "Yes?"

"I was supposed to talk to Severus today," Mariela said. "I'm still going to, Ministry be damned."

"This has nothing to do with any of us," Septimus replied sharply.

"What? But--"

"He left," Septimus snapped, whirling around. "You know that much, don't you? Severus isn't interested in us. He told me as much in the hospital. I see no reason to get involved with whatever trouble he's in now!"

"But he's your son!" Mariela cried, leaping to her feet. "Don't you care?"

Septimus did not answer Mariela, only turned back to the window. He could hear her footsteps, walking toward the door. He heard the creak as it opened.

I wish I could make you understand, Mariela...but there are some things I cannot tell you, or even your mother. It is best if this secret remains with me.

"I'm going to find out," he heard her say softly. "Because I care, whether you do or not!"

The door shut with a snap, and Septimus was alone again.

                                                **************************

"I must say, you did a very neat job of it," Lucius Malfoy remarked, as McKinnon poured him a cup of tea. "I gathered from the report that there wasn't a trace of a Disapparition spell."

"I didn't need one," Anthony replied, pouring himself a cup as well. "I saw that crowd coming my way, and I slipped off just before the officers came. No one was looking at me; they were all preoccupied with the flames."

"Very fortunate."

And it was, Malfoy decided. It could have very easily gone wrong. He would have to reprimand Lestrange as soon as he got the chance. Still, the idea of Snape fearing for his life was enough to pacify him. For the moment, anyway.

A ghost of a smile crossed Anthony's lips as he sat down at the small card table across from Malfoy. "Snape never even knew what hit him."

Malfoy allowed himself a slight smile, and chose his next words carefully. "Your father, I believe, would be very...proud." It really was a horrible sort of dramatic irony that Snape would die for a crime that Malfoy himself had committed.

But then, he decided, he had always had a flair for drama.

There was still the danger that Snape might suspect. McKinnon had told him all about his meeting with the Delacour girl, and his encounter with Snape. Malfoy couldn't pretend Snape was a fool, after all. That was the most difficult and challenging part of waging a battle, after all. Knowing one's opponent was paramount. And choosing one's battles was just as important.

McKinnon put down his teacup, and looked up at Malfoy with those eyes...his father's eyes. "Thank you, sir."

In times like these especially, Malfoy decided, I am grateful not to have a working conscience. A lesser man might have felt guilty. Malfoy only smiled, in his best imitation of a sympathetic manner.

He set down his teacup. "The remaining question is, what will you do now? Time is short, and Snape will be on his guard. You cannot afford to wait much longer."

"True," Anthony replied, his brow furrowing. "But I don't know..."

The note of hesitance in his voice was all too clear. Malfoy could not afford for McKinnon to have an attack of conscience now. At least, not until the boy had served his purpose...

Malfoy leaned across the table. "If you do not take care of this yourself, the Ministry certainly will not help you. And who knows just how long it will be before Snape kills again in the name of the Dark Lord?"

Anthony's mouth curved into a smile--and not a very stable one. "He won't live that long."

Silly, naive child, Malfoy thought, fighting hard to keep the wide smile off his mouth. If only people would not make it so easy for him to use and discard....ah, well. A man needed his diversions, did he not?

It would not be long now.

                                        ********************************

"It doesn't make sense."

Remus Lupin tossed his copy of The Daily Prophet back onto the coffee table. Not a word had been printed about the attack on Snape. It was strange--normally, it was the sort of thing that would appear on the front page. But there was nothing. He glanced over at his companion, who had been listening to his theories for the better half of the last hour.

"Of course it does," Sirius replied, as he picked up the newspaper. "Someone doesn't want this kind of news getting out. Probably Fudge--he'd want to keep events like this quiet. They tend to stir up suspicion, and that interferes with his state of denial." There was a decidedly cutting edge to that last remark. His face was more drawn than usual, his mouth hardened into a purposeful line.

At least that means he's taking this seriously, Remus thought, chancing a brief look at his old friend.

In response to the comment, Remus merely shook his head. "Dumbledore didn't seem to that Fudge was heavily involved, although I admit it's possible. This attack was vicious and premeditated. But who could have done it?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Sirius demanded hotly.

"Don't worry, I know it wasn't you," Remus responded, hiding a smile. "You were with me. But who else would have a motive for so bold an attack?"

It was Sirius' turn to glower.

"I meant other than you and I," Remus said, exasperated.

"Just a moment," Sirius remarked, leafing through the paper in search of the crossword puzzle. "Snape will be dead of old age by the time we finish going through all of his enemies. Why don't we start by finding out who couldn't have maneuvered the attack?"

"I suppose that's reasonable," Remus replied thoughtfully, as he crossed the room. Something had fallen to the floor beneath the cloak rack, he noticed. Though he might not live in the upper ten percent, he at least liked to ensure that his surroundings were neat.

Bending down, he reached for the small scrap of paper.

"What's that?" he heard Sirius ask.

Remus straightened, and stood up once more, still holding the scrap of paper. "It's the card that officer gave me."

Officer M.A. Chavez, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Maybe the officers had found something, even if they were keeping it hidden. And perhaps this woman would know something useful--a description, for example. In any case, it couldn't hurt to try.

He turned the card over in his hands, and glanced up at Sirius. "In the meantime, I have another idea."

                                    ******************************

"Professor Snape? I 'ave finished with zee last of zeese quizzes," Fleur Delacour spoke up hesitantly from her place in Professor Snape's office doorway.

Oh, please, let this be done soon, Fleur thought, trying not to tap her feet impatiently.

He did not even look up from his own pile of quizzes spread out on his desk.

"Very well," he said, his tone flat  "I've nearly finished mine as well. Just check the amount of belladonna in the student store cupboard, and then you may go for the day."

Fleur backed out of the office gracefully. That had been slightly less hellish than usual. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy her teaching duties--most of the time, she did. But Professor Snape's odd mood swings and mannerisms puzzled her to no end.

Today he'd been particularly strange. He had not snapped at her once. Snape had simply divided the work for both of them, and told her to go out into the classroom and grade the quizzes. Something was obviously wrong, but she couldn't imagine what. And despite Snape's current temperament, she did not dare ask him.

She stepped out into the dungeon, her footsteps echoing in the dank chamber. No matter how many times she walked through this room, she could never quite get used to it. It was just so...dark, so unpleasant. She had tried to redecorate on her second day there. Snape, needless to say, had put an end to that idea.

At the very least, Fleur could hold her own in Potions. She was talented, and she had learned much from Professor Snape these past few weeks.

But am I truly ready to take his place? After only a year?

It was not in Fleur's nature to second-guess herself. She made a decision and followed it through until the end. Still...despite her talent, she did not possess Snape's passion for his subject.

Suddenly she laughed aloud. 'Passion' and 'Snape'? Those are two words that do not belong in the same sentence.

"Delacour, are you still out there?" Snape barked.

"Er...yes, sir," Fleur called back, hurrying to the student store cupboard, and hastily unlatching the doors. She peered inside at the various jars and boxes. "Zee belladonna levels are fine for zis week, but we should restock soon."

"Good. You may go now."

"Thank you, sir."

She relatched the cupboard doors, and strode over to the desk where she had been working. Reaching for her satchel, she was suddenly distracted by a noise at the doorway.


The satchel fell to the floor, spilling its contents.

"Damnez-le!" Fleur cried, straightening up and turning toward the source of the noise.

"And a good day to you as well, Miss Delacour," Albus Dumbledore remarked, stepping over the threshold.

A thousand more curses raced through her mind, as she worked hard not to cringe from embarrassment. "Forgive me, 'eadmaster, I did not know it was you."

"Apparently not," Dumbledore replied, smiling pleasantly. "I am sorry to have startled you. Is Professor Snape in?"

Glad for a change of topic, Fleur nodded. "Yes, 'e is in 'is office...I was just leaving for zee day."

"I see. Goodbye, then, Miss Delacour."

"Goodbye, sir."

Dumbledore continued into Snape's office, while Fleur went about hastily gathering her belongings. In her hurry, she did not notice the small object nestled just underneath the chair...

It was not until she was outside the dungeon and halfway down the corridor that she reached into her bag, and noticed--

Oh, no. As the English say, 'bloody hell'.

Sighing, she turned back to the direction of the classroom. As tired as she was of that dungeon, she did not want to explain to Professor Snape why she had brought a hairbrush into his classroom. She had the sneaking suspicion that he would be even less sympathetic than most men.

She opened the door as silently as possible, and stepped into the classroom once more. The door to Snape's office was still slightly open, and bits of conversation drifted into her hearing.

"...must find what this is about..."

"...handling it well enough, Dumbledore..."

Aha! Fleur reached down, and plucked the hairbrush from its place on the floor. She slid it carefully back in her bag

"...tried to kill you, Severus!"

Fleur nearly dropped the bag in surprise as she looked up sharply, her attention fully arrested. Hardly daring to utter a breath, she moved closer to the door...

                                                *******************************

"Oh, really?" Severus demanded, his dark eyes flashing. "I hadn't noticed!"

Dumbledore's face showed no sign of surprise at his volatile reaction. Only the same worry that had been present when he had entered the office.

Brilliant, Severus. Absolutely genius. Snap at the man who saved your soul so many years ago, and who is doing everything he can to protect you now.  He sighed, and stood up from his desk.

"I...am sorry," he said, with the awkwardness of one not accustomed to saying certain words.

Dumbledore nodded, stepping closer.  "Severus, please don't mistake my concern as underestimating your strength--I can assure you, it is nothing of the kind. You are more than formidable. But with all the recent...events in your life....it would be enough to unravel anyone."

"Albus, I am perfectly....raveled," Snape said at last. Oh, Lord, did I really just say that?

"We must get to the bottom of this," Dumbledore said. "If you'll forgive me stating the obvious. Whoever attacked you--"

"--wasn't a trained assassin," Snape replied. "I've dealt with their kind before, and they aim to kill. This one didn't want to kill me. It was a warning."

"If that is the case," Dumbledore said gravely, "Then they will try again."

A dark, humorless smile crossed Severus' mouth. "Oh, I hope they will."

                                    *********************************

The small house-elf led Mariela into the entrance hall, after she had presented her Ministry of Magic credentials. With any luck, she would be able to see Severus as soon as possible.

She looked about the large room in unabashed amazement. She had never been inside Hogwarts, and she was surprised at how very different it was from the open, airy school she had attended in Spain.

Beautiful to look at, but I don't know how the English stand living in these mausoleums!

"Please wait here, miss," the house-elf said. "Professor Snape will be here soon."

The small creature hurried off, and Mariela was left alone.

I have to find out what's going on. I need answers. Who would attack Severus? And why?
Would he even remember her? It had been many years, after all. He might not even recognize her. Or if he did, he might just be as closemouthed as his father.


It seemed strange that, for all of Septimus and Severus' differences, they were exactly alike in their flaws. Both were proud as anything and twice as stubborn.

Mariela shook her head. These kinds of musings were not going to get her anywhere. Severus would have to face her. He would have to answer her questions.

She removed her cloak, folding it in her arms.

He had better answer her questions.

Otherwise, she thought, glancing around once more, I'm right back where I started.