Have Faith

Part One:

Midnight Mass

As the large, gothic school quieted down for the final time that year, Severus Snape slowly made his way over to his living quarters. His steps echoed along the long corridor, and as he passed, he flicked open Dumbledore's old lighter, so that the light of the flames followed him down to his room. Now every torch in the dungeons was out.

The large black grandfather clock in the corner chimed midnight just as he closed the door, taking an old fashioned, jinx-proof key and sticking it in the lock, not bothering to take it out. A sigh so heavy it seemed to carry the world escaped his lips as he tore off his cloak and vest, and undid the white shirt underneath. He fished around for a gray button-up muggle shirt, quickly exchanging the white one for this one. Then, he picked up a jade rosary from the table and with a bang, was gone.

Nearly two hundred miles away, in a relatively unknown town, a rather normal looking Snape emerged from the shadows of the town church, joining the miniscule amount of people, all night-owls, going to midnight mass. Apparently, his new potion was working. A few people had a mauve colored aura around them: Witches and wizards. He couldn't help but smile with satisfaction, an odd sight, before his normal frown returned, and he blended into the crowd.

Preferring to stick with his better acquainted, he sat himself down between a young warlock with a purple wristband and an earring in his left ear, and an old granny witch, who snuck a sandwich out of her purse halfway into mass. After communion, while everyone else kneeled on the bench and prayed, Severus knelt there and thought. He didn't really believe in Christianity, Catholicism, and all that. In fact, he was an atheist, as were most other wizards he'd met. But after he'd killed Dumbledore, he felt the need to do...something...to relieve his guilt, although it was Albus himself who ordered Snape to do it, what with the unbreakable oath and everything. Snape had told him he would gladly break the oath and die, but he had forbade it. He would never forgive him for that, and he would never forgive himself for obeying Albus Dumbledore one too many times.

He clutched the rosary in his pocket, praying to the god he didn't believe in. He knew what he'd do afterwards. He'd apparate around the world for a while, doing whatever, mostly thinking, before apparating back into his own room in time for breakfast. He barely ever slept anymore, and he was grateful that his last request to the former headmaster had been granted; to have his room free of that awful apparition restriction on the rest of that building. Mostly he used that liberty to confer with the death-eaters and such, but now that that part of his history was over, he used it to kill time.

Snape had undergone some serious changes when he came back a year later and explained everything to Headmistress McGonagall. Those old enough to remember the old Snape would recognize that his teaching, always somewhat jaded and spiteful, had nonetheless become worse, as he had seemed to have lost all interest in potions. In truth, that couldn't be farther from the case. When he first returned to teach, McGonagall had offered him the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but he had declined, thinking it would only remind him more of his slain friend. As it had turned out, everything at the school reminded him of Albus. He did love teaching, a little known fact, but it was taking him longer to adjust than expected.

That night he visted many countries and lands all around the world, each for about half an hour at a time. Some highlights were Egypt, China, Argentina, and Boston, Massachusetts. He apparated back home just in time for the eight o'clock bell to chime, and, almost as if planned, an owl land on his window sill. The Potions professor's eyebrows knit together, creating wavy lines in his forehead. He bent over the owl, a hand hovering over its head, unsure whether to pet it, or throw it back out the window. A normal post owl would just arrive at the Great Hall, so on one hand, whatever letter this owl was carrying might be very urgent, or very private. However, because he'd made so many enemies with death eaters recently, it could just as easily be a trap.

Finally, realizing he could not just stand there all day, and that he had classes to teach (although no one listened on the last day of school), he picked the small, all-black creature off the window sill, and reached for the letter. The message was in a Kelly green envelope, with a slightly darker stamp, depicting a clover and a broomstick. Snape vaguely recognized it as the emblem for the Irish Quiddditch League. He broke the seal and tugged the tinted orange paper out. It blazed with green ink that glittered and gleamed as though it was still wet. It was the expensive stationary kind.

Dear Mr. Severus Snape, or Prof. Snape, or just Severus

I'm sorry, I don't know your official title, but for the matter of this letter, I will call you Severus. I am sure you're not aware, as no one else is but Headmistress McGonagall, that Madame Hooche is announcing her resignation as of today, at the celebration tonight. But listen to me, sounding all formal, I can't stand it anymore, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, Severus! I'm going to be the replacement Quidditch teacher, and Head of Ravenclaw! (the teacher who is current head is resigning as well. That whatsername person...) This will probably all sound really weird to you, Severus, because You probably don't remember me that well, but I sure remember you! We'll both be back at Hogwarts again, just like old times...

Well enough rambling...I'm arriving in two days, And I really hope to see you again. God, it's been so long! See you then, Severus.

Love Always,

Silvestra MacMathan

Snape sat staring at the letter for a long time, breakfast all but forgotten. He knew he had heard that name before, but he couldn't remember where, his thoughts were muddled from lack of sleep and too many years since his adolescence. The murky image of a pale, freckled, pimpled girl with a stick figure frame entered his mind. What he recalled very clearly, though, is that by the time he had graduated, she was only a fifth-year. He blinked. He had no idea what to do. What if she started talking to him about something he didn't remember? She looked like such a fragile girl, too. At least, she had back then.

The clock chimed nine. Snape jumped, scrambled out of the chair tearing off his muggle shirt and donning a clean vest. "Oh bloody fuck, I'll be late!"

Sylvestra was really pissed. The new beater, Bernie McMahon, just spilt her ink all over her stationary, and her owl, which had just arrived. It wasn't so bad, Toad's feathers wouldn't be stained, but she'd still have to wash him. She was trying to get the poor bird into the sink when Bernie burst in on her, looking drunk. "M' sorry, Sylvy, really I am, I didn't mean to do all tha'...' He said moving up behind her.

She continued struggling with the bird. "That's great, Bernie. Hey--If you went out into the locker room, brought me back a towel, and then walked away—that would be a little slice of heaven." She could hear his hesitation, smell the whiskey on his breath, and feel his drunken amorous feelings all too well.

He tried wrapping his arms around her waist. "Aw, c'mon now, Sylv, no need to be that way. It's enough that we need to start training a new catcher this close to the world cup, no need to be upsettin' us any more..." He said. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, which meant he was too close.

"Watch your fucking hands, McMahon."

"Oh c'mon...a delicate little flower like you needs someone to proteck her...someone beater...like a strong..." He replied, his arms wrapping tighter around her, his hands falling on a very uncomfortable place.

And suddenly, her elbow connected hard with his rib. Shocked and in pain, the beater staggered back, tripping and falling in the toilet. She whipped around and pressed his head against the wall.

If there's one thing you have to learn about quidditch girls, McMahon, it's to not bleedin' fuck with them. You got it?"

Bernie cringed. She pressed harder.

"I asked you a question, Bernie!"

Bernie slowly nodded. She lifted him up and threw him out of the bathroom. Turning around and smiling sweetly, she said. "Now toad, where were we? Oh yes, your bath..."

Next episode:

Summer!