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Chapter Four
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Serapha Snape smiled as she approached the ornate gates of Hogwarts. A seer, she'd been diligently working against the fulfillment of a vision she'd had. She shuddered involuntarily. There was no way it would come about as long as she had breath in her body. She was making progress, though. While her son was stubborn -- and proving to be just as obstinate as she had expected -- he came by that honestly. Serapha Snape was as stubborn as day was long. Her late husband hadn't exactly been the soul of compromise either.

The very night that Severus had taken the dark mark, she'd woke screaming. The nightmare visions allowing her to watch as her only son wreathed in agony from the dark magic used to mark him as Voldemort's own. Thus had begun their estrangement -- though her son had never discovered how, exactly, they'd found out so quickly. Her husband had been livid. As righteous as the next pureblood, and as proud of his lineage, he had found the half-blood to be a puffed up, hypocritical upstart of the worst kind and had forbidden his family to associate with him in any way.

Severus' rebellion had been a slap in the face and Alamar Snape had thrown his son out of the house without so much as a by your leave. It hadn't been a pretty scene and had left lasting scars deep inside all of them. Nothing Serapha tried would ease the tensions between father and son, and she'd been torn between them, left with a bitter husband and grieving for the loss of her son.

She sighed as she approached the front doors to the school, bringing her thoughts back to the present. It was just as she'd remembered it. Hogwarts was the unchangeable icon in a forever changing world. It was strangely reassuring to be reminded of this, and she felt comforted by its very solid reality.

She almost giggled. She knew very well that Severus had probably burned the letters she'd sent, letters that had contained the names of several pureblood witches that would be eminently suitable -- in the eyes of the wizarding world -- as wives for a pureblood of the Snape line. It was funny really. She had constructed the list very carefully, knowing full-well that her son would find each and every one of them offensive in some way. Most of the witches on that list didn't have the sense the gods gave a flea, and none of them had *any* interest in potions, nor in the more serious issues facing the wizarding world. If he'd taken the time to actually look at it -- which, oddly enough, Serapha was certain he had -- he'd have known instantly that none of them suited him, even if he *had* been actively looking. It probably simply served to reinforce the idea that she knew nothing about him. Even the woman she'd had show up on her son's second winter visit had been a trial of insipid conversation that *she* had barely tolerated.

She still didn't know how Severus had managed to control that raging temper of his, nor how he got through that evening *without* insulting by sarcastic insinuation every tiny thing about the woman. Serapha was well aware of her son's reputation . . . well earned reputation. She was actually very proud of her son for that night. It had taken inordinate amounts of self control.

What Severus didn't realize -- she hoped -- was all the trouble she'd gone to, to find the absolutely worst matches she possibly could. If he did, all her efforts would be wasted; he'd know what she was up to. Contrary to what Severus should believe, Serapha knew quite well where her son's interests lay, and what would and wouldn't attract him. A Ravenclaw by nature, she hadn't spent most of her adult life living with, loving, and studying two Slytherins without learning a thing or two about subtlety and trickery. She still may not fully understand the underlying motivations of someone of Slytherin tendencies, but she *had* learned to work around, and through, the walls and assorted defenses they put up. Her son was simply a tougher nut to crack than most.

The door to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry swung open easily under her hand, and she stepped gratefully inside. It felt like coming home, odd that she should still feel that way after so many years away. She grinned crookedly. Everything *did* seem smaller, though. To her surprise, no sooner had the door closed behind her than Severus appeared from a side hall.

"Severus," she called out, heart swelling. She really hadn't expected him to meet her.

His back to her, he froze, his hands clenching briefly into fists before he slowly turned to face her. A faint smile -- obviously forced -- greeted her. "Mother," he said coolly, giving her a single regal nod.

Well, so much for that, she thought sourly. He hadn't expected her yet, after all. On the heels of that disappointment, however, she immediately noticed that he looked tired . . . soul tired. The lines around his eyes, and creasing his forehead seemed deeper than even last month. She frowned, her anger and worry at the double life he was leading roaring back to life. Sometimes, as much as she admired and respected Albus Dumbledore, she hated the man for what he was doing to her son.

Oh, yes, she knew about *that*, too. This time, however, she'd kept the information to herself. She didn't know, and didn't dare ask what had been the final straw for her son, but for weeks before his emotional breakdown, she'd become increasingly restless, shadow monsters stalking her dreams, leaving behind a unnamed, but very real fear for her son's life. The night his world had fallen apart, as with the night he'd entered into Voldemort's service, she'd dreamed. As she did so, she'd been torn between being grateful she couldn't hear what was being said, and desperately wanting to know. As she'd watched him silently run to Hogwart's Headmaster, and amid shame and tears, tell of what he'd done, she'd settled for being grateful she couldn't hear about the depths to which her son had fallen. No mother needed to know that. It was enough for her to know that he'd finally come to his senses . . . no matter the cause.

"You're looking well," she lied, smiling as she stepped toward him, slipping her arm through his and curving her fingers around the inside of his elbow.

He snorted, making plain his opinion and his knowledge of her small deceit.

She shrugged mentally. No matter. It was a mother's prerogative to compliment her children -- whether or not said compliment was true. She was glad to note that no matter his personal demons and preferences, he still automatically curled his arm in the age old gesture of a man escorting a woman. Sarcasm and anger could both be tolerated, to a degree, but manners -- or lack thereof -- told all.

"Did you take the time to look over the list I sent you, Severus, dear?"

"I did not," her son replied firmly.

**Liar,** she thought fondly, almost smirking. **Curiosity alone would have had you at least *look* at it.**

"You didn't even *glance* at it before you burned it, then?" she pressed. The startled look, swiftly hidden, that he gave her, told her she'd been right. She very carefully did not smile. Carefully rolling her eyes just the tiniest bit, she glared at him. "How can you select a proper candidate, if you won't take this seriously?" she asked sternly, then waited for the inevitable explosion. Right on schedule the arm beneath her fingers tensed, but to her surprise, he said nothing, merely quickened their pace. She, in turn, said nothing about the dreadful speed with which he was escorting her. Picking her battles was a lesson she'd learn long before he was even born.

It wasn't until he stopped in front of a truly dreadful portrait and issued the proper ward removal spells and uttered the password that Serapha realized where they'd headed -- Severus' personal chambers. She headed straight for the bookshelves that lined one entire wall of his sitting room as she politely ignored her son's actions as he rewarded the door, adding privacy spells as well. When he'd finished and moved to join her she turned slowly to face him.

"So, when *are* you going to begin taking this seriously?" she asked quietly, but firmly.

"Mother, I am nearly 40 years old, an adult. Surely, even you can see that I am old enough to decide *on my own* how I will, or will not live my life."

"What I see," she began heatedly, forcibly calming herself before continuing, "is a man who is refusing to live his life."

"I do not want," he replied sharply, his voice raising, "nor do I need a wife!"

She sighed. Evidently, she would have to bring on the hard sell. She'd hoped she wouldn't have to. "I had thought, given your decision to bury yourself here, that I was being overly generous in giving you such a large selection to chose from," she fired off the first round softly, waiting for him to verbally explode with righteous indignation. She didn't have to wait long.

" *GENEROUS!?* " he sneered, a growl edging his voice. "You're trying to destroy my life!"

She shook her head, calmly forging ahead. "I *could* simply have chosen a witch for you. That *is* my right. Then, where would you be?"

He froze in front of her, his expression blanking, hardening into a mask Serapha found she could not read. " *Father* has that right," he said coldly, flatly, "or he did before he decided he couldn't be bothered with me."

Serapha gasped, her chest tightening painfully. **Has?!** she thought, lightheaded, her stomach suddenly churning nauseatingly. Her sight of her son blurred as tears sprang into her eyes.

"Oh come now, Mother," Severus ground out, deep sarcasm and disdain filling his voice, "surely you at least know me better than to think *tears* will work as a weapon against me."

Rage of her own flared to life inside Serapha and she stepped forward slowly, invading her son's personal space. "I have never," she said with deceptive calm, "resorted to tears, my son, they aren't subtle enough. I'm allowing *that* piece of utter disrespect to pass, because I just realized how right I was. You *have* buried yourself here. You truly do not know the cause of my tears, do you?" Serapha paused, confused. "How could you *not* know?"

Frowning, Severus stared at her, his own confusion at the apparent change of subject clear. "What in Merlin's name are you going on about?"

"Severus, your father was killed two weeks after he threw you out."

"What?" he whispered hoarsely, paling alarmingly.

Her plans temporarily set aside, her own pain shoved down, Serapha switched instantly to mother mode. "Come, Severus. Sit."

**Before you pass out,** she added silently, guiding her shockingly compliant son toward the nearest chair. He sat without comment, not appearing to notice as she moved away. It didn't take her long to locate her son's stash of alcohol and she quickly poured him a healthy double dose. She held it out to him, not breaking the silence that had descended between them, but it wasn't until she actually placed it in his hand, however, that he noticed it.

He downed it at once, seemingly not caring about the fire that had to be burning his mouth and throat from the strong firewhiskey.

"He's dead?" he asked a moment later, sounding so much like the young teenager she'd last seen that fateful night.


TBC
Kiristeen
Feedback -- the food of the gods and muses. Definitely Craved. : )
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com


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