Hi,
Sorry for the long wait, I had to re-group now that finally the quarantine is over and needed time to establish a new routine. Hopefully, the chapters will flow again about every ten-ish days. Thank you for your patience! But Please! What shall I do to get a review? Sorry if I sound needy, but you know, reviews are the only feedback to get and ... well, I'm healthily open to feedback. Please.
Anyway HP is still not mine.
Chapter 22. That wizard in the attic
The silver glittered in the rays of the artificial sun, the smell of the ancient tomes filled the air with comfort, and Severus stubbed with fervour till he felt the hilt hitting his chest.
He was ready to throw himself into the darkness or the light, whichever came to get him, but aside from a dull pain where the knife's hilt hit him – nothing seemed to happen.
Severus glanced around in shock, but the sight of the library didn't change. He looked down and moved the knife. He saw no blood, not even a tear on his robe—only the hilt of the silver knife strangely broken in his hand.
"Studying Master should think twice. Mistress wanted thinking, Studying Master will do thinking. Dead men think not."
Severus jerked his head up and stared at the grumpy old house-elf. It sat on the edge of the workbench holding up the knife's blade. Suddenly it was hard to feel anything but the frenzied bumping of his heart, and Severus flopped down by the bench. His shaking legs couldn't support him, his hands began a crazed trembling, and the hilt of the knife fell on the stone floor. Gods, he didn't mean that! He didn't mean that at all!
He thought of his promises, his newfound curiosity about life, flashes of scenes rushed through before his eyes, all picturing something he already thought to do. Talking to Lucius about Draco, asking Aberforth about all those mad things he'd uttered some nights before, strangling Umbridge, hearing where Hagrid might have been, beat some sense in the Potter-boy… and find out something about Beauxbaton and her garden… what that might have been?
Holding his head in both hands, he shook with ragged breaths like a marathonist before the line.
"I didn't mean to…" – he whispered.
"Master says so, Guild believes. Master gave convincing impression."
Severus looked up, surprised by the elf's voice, and the creature had the nerves to flash him a wide grin, flicking the blade in the air and making it disappear with a snap of his long fingers.
Strangely, that grin didn't enrage him, it rather hit him with its absurdity, and Severus found himself beginning to chuckle. It was all beyond any sense of reality, and as the elf's grin widened, his chuckles became wilder and louder until he sat on the stone floor of the most incredible library he has seen in his life, and his head rolled back to give way to his laughter. He had to close his eyes against the warm rays of the artificial sun and laughed like only children do, with all noise and breath coming from his stomach, or even deeper, the roots of his heart.
It took time before he recognized the tears falling from under his lashes and even more time before his laughter turned to sobs. He hugged his arms around himself and tried to keep upright, not that it mattered. The house-elf had already seen worse from him than anything he could come up with as he proceeded to give out whatever he could.
Freaking bloody bat of the dungeons, indeed! Oh, damn them all! – he thought with a modicum of self-reflection as his sobs toned down to sniffs.
"Guild, I… I am completely… and utterly screwed up. I should thank you… I guess. Although… I don't know if you did right."
The elf jumped off the workbench and took a step closer to look into his eyes.
"All studying masters screwed up. Better knows. Worse fails."
Severus' eyebrows ran up with surprise. How many might Héloïse have taught? Did this little fellow know them all? Whatever his life could be closed up with these tomes? Probably the most literate house-elf he has ever seen. Did he just praise him? In this state? Must be off his crumpet.
"Master wants to know if Guild did right, Master imagines Young Mistress finding Master's body on floor." – Severus swallowed against the sudden hit of guilt. Strangely it felt hard to pull his glance from the elf's big, rounded eyes. "Master knows enough to write his own letters. Mistress knows, Young Mistress knows, Master knows not. Master has knowledge and brain but fears of himself. Master should study Master, not books. Mistress knows. Mistress helps. Healer doesn't heal. Ill men heals. Healer helps. Master washes and shaves and thinks tomorrow. Guild tells not if not asked."
Staring at the old house elf, Severus realized he probably just had the telling-off of his life, and astonishingly it didn't even felt wrong. How on the bloody freaking earth did all souls of this house seem to go without judgement in a world containing hardly anything else at all?! – the question had to wait for some time because the elf popped away, and he knew he would follow his advice.
He had his hot bath and shaved as he was ordered to, not missing the irony of owing a house elf a life-debt, much less heeding his advice, but otherwise had a blissfully empty mind. He didn't even need to Occlude; emotions seemed to become already washed out of him with those shameful but liberating tears. He felt younger than usually during the school-year and calmer than he probably had the right to after such a dramatic afternoon. Eventually, he tried to make good of Héloïse's demand and failed epically in the process. When he somehow gathered himself from the floor and left the library, Severus already had a grim feeling he would attempt to disuse his Occlumency again. Not tonight, though.
The fresh black robes waited for him again on his bed, and Severus only thought about his misgivings when he began to button up his attire. What would Beauxbaton say when he appeared for dinner? She had no way to know he listened to her words or regretted his own. What could she have said to her grandmother? Did they question the elf?
Trying to summon his reserves of bravery, Severus walked into the dining room, but his anxiety proved unnecessary for the witches were encompassed in their own world of drama and hardly gave him a mind more than a welcoming nod from Beauxbaton and a smile from Héloïse as she gestured for him to sit as the first course appeared on the table. Their discussion sounded like an argument going on for a while.
"That's just the easy way out, Sage, I can't see what harm it could cause, and it's such a simple question." – Héloïse dismissively waved her hand before gathering her utensils. "Maybe you already told me, and now you're prepared to do it because I already knew how to help you."
"Grand-mère, you won't confuse me into revealing the future and don't play on the time-loop. I don't buy into it now and won't even if we repeat this conversation a million times. The spell makes no alternate realities for me to ever indulge you."
"Pish, I only asked about the robes. You're obviously teaching. That's a school robe the blind could see. So is it potions? Don't you tell me Polla affected you more than I did?"
"No."
"No she didn't, or no, you deny me an answer?"
The young witch looked amused, and she smiled with childish mischief.
"Maybe both?" – she offered, peeking at Severus. However, he could not offer support, feeling still out of place.
"I might forbid you to visit Polla and close away your cauldrons." Héloïse threatened without much gravity.
"You've never done such things. Stop trying."
"See, you might have already told me so I could support you."
Sage stared down at her plate with a long sigh.
"I did teach potions," – she admitted shaking her head. "Are you contented now?"
"What do you mean you did? Those you arrived in were still school robes. What do you teach in your present time?"
"History of magic," – she answered, rolling her eyes – "and you should stop prying into the future."
Héloïse dismissed the warning like she never heard.
"History, you say? So when has Beauxbatons authorized these robes? We should adhere to tradition! You would be wise not to forget this, especially if you dare to teach history!"
"I do respect tradition, grand-mère."
"I have to believe you. What else could I do? But these robes…"
"I don't teach at Beauxbatons. Are you happy? Please now-"
"No, I cannot say the least, I am not happy about it at all! Did we establish a new school? Was it worth it? Is your friend a visiting scholar?" – the old witch's gaze alternated between her grandchild and Severus.
Beauxbaton's features changed from annoyed to vengeful.
"I left France" – she disclosed in the lightest of tones with a slight pull of a shoulder.
Héloïse put down her knife and fork and stared at her granddaughter for long seconds.
"You did what?
"I already advised you, and I can only repeat it," – Sage glanced up with the sweetest smile – "you should not pry into the future, grand-mère."
Héloïse's features resembled Sage's so much in her earlier annoyance, Severus could not help but began to find their exchange amusing. Clearly, the witches had a similar set of skills for a fight; he only hoped to preserve his neutrality.
"Oh, please, don't you try to school me! I could ask a seer or better your aunt's new demiguise-"
"Aunt Polla had a demiguise?"
"You must have forgotten. She acquired it not long ago. It is supposed to be a surprise when you visit her in two days."
"I would never forget something like that. She must have never shown me. How did she come by a demiguise? I thought it was illegal to trade them!"
"Come on, we are talking about your aunt here! It's more surprising you can't remember. Are you sure about the spell not creating alternative realities?"
"Quite sure," – Sage grimaced.
"Well, if you are… So this war of yours must be something. I hope you're confident about it."
"Grand-mère!"
"Don't you eye me like that, I'm only asking. Are you confident it is worth you abandoning your home?"
For Severus' cautious entertainment, the young witch's eye sparked up dangerously before she arranged her features into a sassy smile.
"Not at all, I take part in it only for the endless fun and pleasure. Having heard all your stories about the destruction of Paris, I don't have to be afraid anymore that I will be worsted by you and won't have sufficient anecdotes handy to regale my descendants."
"Oh!" – Héloïse raised a cocky eyebrow that put her granddaughter's smile to shame. "Are those a thing then when you came from?"
"I refuse to continue this conversation."
As Sage tossed her utensils on her plate, Héloïse gracefully lifted hers.
"You avoided my earlier question," – the elderly witch carried on in a chatty tone. "Why ever would you leave France?"
Severus caught Sage's glare above her clenched teeth and was relieved her mood had nothing to do with him.
"Obviously, dear, this is an issue, you have to admit. I have every reason to hope all this" – Héloïse gestured around – "is not left unattended. You look well in your thirties. Shall I presume I am still alive?"
"I will give you no answers," – Sage crossed her arms.
"As I thought. So being currently deceased, would you please ensure me that at least someone takes care of my belongings as you seem otherwise occupied?"
About this point, the conversation broke through Severus' thick layers of unforeseen calmness, recalling his first impression about the extensive garden outside. He peered at Sage, but the witch was preoccupied, reining in her frustration.
"As you seem well within your abilities to currently annoy me, I would say you are currently alive. However, let me just point out that you will have no more belongings in the unfortunate but inevitable case of your eventual demise. Those all would become my property. Let me just add, including a bunch of hidden letters to a certain man named Pierre and seven – seven! – advanced potions books you somehow failed to show me before my exams!"
"Oh, really? Well, I guess I will surely have my reasons…"
"Grand-mère! Pierre?"
"Let's not wander off the point, dear!" - Héloïse waved a frivolous hand and offered Severus some wine. He didn't have enough courage to refuse it at the moment.
"When am I supposed to arrive tomorrow?" – Sage forced her tone back to politeness.
"Early by dawn. You know Mira doesn't like to travel, so we arranged the first possible portkey for you."
Sage's eyes darkened with the sudden shielding of her mind, but her grandmother couldn't see that, for the witch turned her face towards Severus to escape her notice. She covered her mouth with the crystal glass to hide every possible grimace too. Details that couldn't escape Severus' notice. Trying to keep his mind open and deny himself the comfort of shoving most of his surfacing emotions out of the forefront of his mind made him vulnerable to the witch's pain.
"Then I guess we should take cover as soon as we may," – she went on in a surprisingly light tone.
"Stern already made your beds in the attic." Héloïse conceded.
Severus glanced between the witches with confusion.
"Stern?"
With a wicked glint in her eye, Sage was quick to reply.
"Oh, one of grand-mère's house-elves. You will adore her special skills in naming our elves just the same I do. You already know Guild, now Stern usually works out with our plants. They are brothers. Guild and Stern."
It was hard to maintain polite nonchalance.
"Sounds like easy to remember," – Severus risked an answer.
"Oh, I'm sure it is! – Sage took a suspiciously long sip of her wine – Especially when you realize the elf you already saw in the kitchen is Crantz, with a sister occupied in our townhouse, comfortably named Rose."
Severus coughed up his wine.
"Rose and Crantz and Guild and Stern?"
"Well, don't you find it lovely?"
"Sage, my dear, if you are finished entertaining our guest with unimportant and improper household matters, would you call for the dessert, please?"
The evening's conversation speedily twisted from this point downwards to an inevitable clash of the witches. Still, for Severus' genuine surprise, about an hour later, they said their goodnights as if nothing could lessen the affection he knew they felt for each other. The most remarkable thing was he couldn't detect any hard feelings on either side when he and Sage ascended the stairs to their room in the attic.
One more thing he never anticipated was that their quarrelling had eased his mood beyond reason. Living through such an afternoon, it normally was unimaginable to feel any kind of comfort, at least based on his former experiences. Not here, though, in a house where all he had ever learned about reason and emotion didn't seem to apply, and two arguing witches didn't prove annoying but comforting. To say he was astonished didn't begin to describe his mood. Astonished and tired as a dog.
The attic was warm and, even after the obviously thorough cleaning, a little dusty. One room next to the owlery with a small lavatory completed with a washing basin was jammed between the two. The mixed scents from the gardens and the smell of feathers and dust from the owlery combined here and the setting sun's rays painted the flecks of dust golden and silver as they swirled in the rare draft when they opened the door.
The house elf made two beds on opposite sides of the open window that faced the door, and they found light curtains hanging from the ceiling to give each side some privacy. Under the window, Severus found the last three tomes he had perused in the library on a large desk, and there was also a small table with two chairs closer to the door. Sage's first move was to change hers into a comfortable armchair, which she moved to her side of the room.
She immediately kicked off her shoes, pulled her feet under her skirt and curled up to watch the clouds, bathed now in various colours, through the window. Severus had to think she followed some old habit she must have had growing up in this house. It was much harder for him to find comfort.
Severus had no clue how to behave in such proximity to a witch – alone; even less of what she might expect him to say or do, and felt too tired to calculate how much he was suddenly out of his depth. Standing by the door or in the middle of the room felt lame and pathetic, but he didn't want to sit on his bed either. The chair didn't seem inviting, and he didn't want to copy the witch and transfigure it as soon as he arrived. That would be disrespectful. It was too late, and he was too fatigued to study. What do others do when cornered like this?
He desperately wanted to act normal, so eventually, he sat on the only choice of a chair. But where to look now? Not at her, that seemed indiscreet; not at the bed that seemed presumptuous and just wrong… the desk. Would she think he wanted to work some more? Merlin, he only wished to fall asleep!
In Severus' limited experience, witches were genderless most of the time. Colleagues or students. When it was worth noticing a witch as a female, she usually was paid entertainment or expressed her wish to be noticed. Like Narcissa.
Severus' thoughts wandered to Cissy and her ways. When she first made herself clear about her intentions, ten and some years ago, he had almost jumped out of his skin by surprise, but it was unmistakable. She kept visiting him, and it was always easy to talk to her while they watched over Draco and his toy cauldron or his magic builder. He enjoyed those times enough to put a container in the Spinner's End living room for those blasted colour-changing cubes! It still felt pathetic, but it never occurred to him that whenever Cissy invited him to their home Lucius was away. Having someone for an intelligent conversation with minimal reason to bite his tongue was awesome.
One day she came alone. Even her greeting was different. From that day on, Severus always knew what she wanted, only judging by the way she greeted him at the door. Cissy was gentle when she touched him, but rarely did so. That day she didn't offer her hand, she caressed his cheek instead, and as soon as he closed the door, her kiss continued that caress flawlessly. Strange, but their first kiss didn't seem a first kiss at all. It was only natural to lean into her embrace. By that time, he was used to the way she moved or talked.
When he realized what he was doing and jumped back, Cissy took his hand and told him in clear terms what she wished for and waited for his consent. Of course, she had it, without a thought. At least without a thought until she left, then Severus had spent about a week figuring out what this whole affair had been, and she was wise enough to stay away.
The first time having dinner with only her and Lucius for company ought to have been awkward, but Narcissa came out to greet him in the hall and not Cissy. That simple. Narcissa held out a hand, Cissy caressed his cheek. Severus found it easy to distinguish them, and they had kept meeting ever since with varying frequency.
Narcissa was Lucius' wife, but Cissy was his friend whenever she felt like it. A tender, understanding, patient friend with burning sensuality. She never hurried and never let him down. She had her habits and didn't fancy diversity, but she was reliable when she had time for him.
Suddenly Severus realized he was fanaticizing about Cissy Malfoy's touch sitting in a darkening room with a very different witch, and his cheeks heated in embarrassment. His treacherous body made it clear it remembered, like he needed such assurance, especially in company! Bugger, Merlin, like this witch in that armchair wasn't tempting enough!
Severus wrapped up all those inadequate thoughts and was to shove them to that conveniently hidden corner of his mind when–
This is exactly what Héloïse wanted him to stop, did she? To hide his thoughts from himself. She wanted him to face who he was and who he has been. The past nearly crushed him not long ago. Could it be that his present wasn't even better? Gods, what a lecher! How many times did he use his occlumency to maintain his illusion that he was a decent man at all? Obviously he wasn't. Reprimanding himself was not as efficient as swiping away his thoughts, but it was something.
Severus rubbed his face with exasperation. Occlumency is way more than built-up protection, it's a lifestyle, dammit, and why is it bad to school oneself into the behaviour one found more advisable than his natural instincts?
"You look out of sorts, you must have heeded her advice," – he heard the good humour in Sage's voice but couldn't share it.
"You share her belief I should leave my guards down" – Severus grumbled - "so obviously neither of you understand what it means."
"She's not an easy master, I give you that" – the witch admitted. "However, she's not an overly skilled Legilimens, and we don't read each other in the family, so you're safe, don't worry."
"Safe indeed!" – Severus harrumphed.
Like an attack of a skilled Legilimens was the worst thing to happen to a man with wandering thoughts and disgusting memories!
He jerked his head to retort, and her sadness hit him. Of course, she lost a sister and a beau to this stupid rule. How could she not regret that? Then a quick breath and even in the spare light, he could see the shift in the colour of her eyes.
It was only too easy to know she swiped all those thoughts and memories that bothered her away to an unvisited depth of her mind, maybe under entwined branches of some flowering bush at the edge of her bloody maze.
"See? There! Just like that, you maintain your peace of mind, what good it does to deny the same from me?" – He saw Sage taking a breath to reply to him, but he wasn't going to listen to her calming words, it was unjust, and the witch should answer for that. "You thought about your cousin, that one that died. You thought about not prying into her mind. You probably even thought you could have saved her, or you could have avoided the whole problem just by examining her mind and that of your beau's with alacrity and intent, so they might had never known!
You think of it every now and then, and you hate the thought, you hate you lost her and hate to think you could have avoided it, but there's nothing left to do. So you put all those feelings and thoughts in the deepest depth of your mind, only annoyed to see them resurface and shove them deeper next.
Why am I denied? Why? Do you or your precious grandmother think I have nothing to regret, or would you just enjoy watching me subjecting myself to your stupid game of intentional masochism? No sane man-"
"Oh, stop ranting!" – The witch straightened in her armchair, ready to fight. "I pretty much doubt you're not acquainted with intentional self-torture. And yes, you uncovered the reason masterfully. We love to watch you suffer, that's why I dragged you here. So do your job and suffer through it because I know you divide your thoughts by what you deem their worth. She thinks you shouldn't do that because you constantly judge yourself doing so. There are who think you shouldn't be judging yourself but learn acceptance-"
"I can readily see how very well you accepted your own faults and past, you-"
"The fact that I'm broken is not an acceptable reason for you not to heal if you can. You will never be master of yourself if you deny who you are, so how would you fully master your magic?"
"I don't deny anything. I never did!"
"Then you cannot possibly have anything to surprise you if you just try to do what she asked."
Severus watched her with annoyance and frustration but also with growing sympathy. After his words, the pain was rolling off the witch in endless waves, and he had no shields up to avoid them.
Maybe he hated what they wanted from him, but that didn't change the fact he did it again. He tactlessly hurt a friend in his frustration and pain. Why the hell could he never learn? The pang of guilt was so strong it propelled him from his seat till he walked all the three steps the room allowed. He shouldn't be in a position to hurt a witch like her, damn Albus Dumbledore but he was right. The witch should have avoided him at all costs. He was a horrible friend; he has always been.
"We shouldn't be friends." Severus silently said with great regret.
Feeling he apologized and commiserated, even admitted all his unspeakable faults, Severus was quite surprised when the witch climbed out of her armchair and disappeared to her side of the room, pulling the curtain to cover her, mumbling "Go to hell you jerk!" just loud enough for him to hear clearly.
Losing all hope to understand the witch or to mend matters at all, Severus silently wished her goodnight – which must have also been a mistake for aside of a loud huff he got no reply – and retreated to his side of the room. He finally reached his bed when a candle lit behind the witch's curtain and he could see her lean shadow fumbling with a rug.
The sight was homey and calming, even knowing she was mad at him. The sudden longing for something – he couldn't even name what – was disturbing to a level he was itching to rebuild all his boundaries and clear his mind like he was used to doing. Perhaps this was Héloïse's real purpose. To make him face the number of thoughts he was hiding. Or to make him face what a jerk he was, not that the thought was new, a lot would share the sentiment.
The lean shadow on the other side of the curtain took off her robe. First, Severus wasn't even sure if he saw it right, but his heartbeat quickened, and the sight managed to clear his mind of all thoughts without reinforcing his occlumency. The lean figure fidgeted with her skirt till it dropped soundlessly, revealing the backside he had secretly admired for months now and two legs he only wished to see better.
The witch untied her hair, unknowingly fuelling Severus' guiltiest dream. That long time daydream came back upon him with a force that cut his breath short.
Beauxbaton combed out her hair, and he couldn't turn his eyes away, no matter whatever guilt he was sure he would feel within minutes for this. The shadow turned and sat down, putting something aside, then her hands grabbed the hem of her underdress. The eagerness he waited for the garment to lift was a shame.
"Beauxbaton, you might want to blow out that candle" – he silently said.
"What?" – Her angry voice soon turned embarrassed. "Oh!"
The next moment the room went dark, and Severus began to count his breaths to calm down. It didn't work. He could still hear her.
Some garments rubbed against the rug. Her bed gave a silent creak. Her breaths came too quickly, maybe some sudden stroke of needless shame? She had no reason to feel ashamed. It was all his fault; he should have warned her much sooner or not at all… He listened as her breathing calmed then became even. It was strangely musical. It occurred to him that this was the first time he heard a woman sleep.
Too tired to think and too aroused to fall asleep, Severus decided the witches had no way to know what they asked of him, and, with a quick, practiced move, cleared his mind to fall into an unconscious and dreamless sleep.
Only to wake what felt like the next minute with the most offensive wood of the decade in a room bright with the morning lights and all the noises a tiptoeing witch could cause. Severus looked down on his body and fell back on the pillow, rolling his eyes. Damned bloody candle – how was he to show up like this?
Severus peeked out by the edge of his curtain and calmed down a bit. Beauxbaton stood by the window, and she looked as if all her attention was engaged outside. A small blessing. He made his way out and tidied himself for a day he wasn't overly enthusiastic about.
An unknown elf turned up with a breakfast tray for two, but the witch didn't join him. Whatever she thought, Severus had a better chance if he had his strong coffee to cope with it, but she didn't seem inclined to talk either, just stared out of that blasted window. What the…
Then he heard it too. Voices of young girls, playful and happy, melted with Héloïse's now well-known alto. She was staring at her life as it used to be and watched what she couldn't have any more. Familiar with self-torture indeed, he knew it was not right.
"Beauxbaton," – he tried, but the witch was quick to cut him.
"You can spare your spiteful remarks, it's hard enough without them."
It was clear her words were coming from last night.
"I didn't mean to make you feel worse."
"Yeah, I keep telling this to myself since I know you," – she replied without averting her eyes from the window and whatever she saw outside. "Maybe you need no friends, but I'm not overloaded with cordial company either, and I just can't go without it with the same ease as you do."
She stopped and watched something intently for a few seconds. Severus joined him by the window, curious about what she might have found so engaging. Two girls, the older maybe about ten years old, hugged Héloïse and chatted so quickly it was a wonder neither knotted her tongue.
"Do you seriously believe, Beauxbaton, that I never had another life in mind?"
"Well, you don't make anyone think you ever had," – she finally peeked at him, but her eyes suddenly widened, and she turned with an impulse to face him completely. "You are a shameless cheater, Severus Snape! You just rebuilt all your walls overnight!"
Severus didn't even try to hide his annoyance.
"And here I was supposed to think no one reads one other in this house!"
He tried to step aside, but the witch grabbed his wrist and turned him back to face her.
"I don't need to read you to see that!"
She was standing so close he could count her lashes, and Severus made a practiced move to swipe away the urge to stare at her lips.
"I don't build back every aspect," – he tried after clearing his throat, but he went on and cleared his mind of all thoughts too, when the witch stepped even closer.
Unfortunately, it was not lost on her.
"What can you possibly fight against even now?"
Severus shook his head in disbelief. And people say women intuitively know everything. The witch couldn't miss the point more thoroughly. He took a slow, calming breath.
"Beauxbaton, there are few things I'd like more than to be your friend… I…"
Sage reached up to his face hidden now behind his hanging hair to garner his attention. As if she had to.
"Then why…?"
Feeling her touch, Severus focused on his breathing to keep it even. If she wanted to make thinking impossible, the witch was on the right track.
"You deserve a good friend…" – he silently told her. "Better than-"
"Oh, please, don't come and tell me this undeserving, self-reproaching bullshit, it's like I heard Albus of what I should think of myself!"
"You have no reason-"
"Do you really think? You said yourself, I could have saved Mira! I am the witch making the Dark Lord killing off her enemy! I even finance his atrociousness! Hell, he found me even a worthy ally, I should-"
He couldn't listen to it anymore. All she babbled about he already thought through a thousand times and found unimportant compared to the one he knew she was. Severus absently took the witch's hand and didn't let her turn away like that. He had no idea what he might have done had she not began to speak.
"Lucius said you had ample friends in the past. You always liked Iris, did you not?"
For seconds he could only stare. "Iris?"
"Well, he implied…" – she suddenly seemed so shy it was tempting to have a deep look into her memories, but yet he resisted the urge.
"Lucius hardly knows what he might have been talking about."
"Really? He said he supported you on the… on the revels… He implied you had a lot to forget…"
Her words were like a slap on the face, so much he almost heard the snap. He let Sage's hand abruptly go and took a step back.
Shiny bastard, of course, he had to stir the shite, the solemn-faced idiot! To think he wanted to help him with his son! Severus rubbed his face, momentarily forgetting about the witch's presence.
"No, Beauxbaton, whatever he told you both to further his ends…" – he looked up at her and tried to regain his control. "I had nothing to do with your cousin. Ever. I didn't even talk to her until a few months ago. Neither anyone else like her kind, and especially not at the revels."
"You can't mean to tell me you never made other friends but him?"
But him – it felt so out of place, although he could not deny there was a hint of truth in that. Lucius took him up initially, even had fought for him in the House. Then came Avery, the classic case of bad judgement, and Mulciber, who could have turned out better, that was true. The witch uttered Lucius's name with uncommon spite. It felt like he already had a similar conversation twenty-some years ago, and as chance could have it, now another witch asked him to defend his choices of friends. Were all those choices really that deplorable?
Obviously. All choices he made just put him into shame, but one.
"I did have a friend, but she was nothing like your cousin," – he silently told her, feeling miserable even at her mention. "She wasn't a Death Eater."
Sage searched his face tilting her head to the side as it was her way when deep in thought.
"Did you mess it up?"
The same witch who couldn't see the forest from the tree just minutes ago was now so much spot on it was nearly laughable. He nodded.
"Somehow I can't find it surprising" – she smiled. "Was it long ago?"
Her voice was reassuring, full of acceptance, but couldn't ease him into discussing Lily any longer.
"That doesn't matter" – he finally said and walked out of the room.
The owlery was dim-lit, dusty, and smelled of feathers and the remains of last night's hunts, but it was the only choice for some solitary until they had to hide. It was moderately interesting to see Sage's younger self from the window but appalling to even imagine meeting her and her cousin. As far as Severus was concerned, they were not overly different at the moment to all those dunderheads he repeatedly was exposed to every September when the chatty first-years and their serious attention-deficit arrived at Hogwarts.
It was good to think of even Hogwarts and the chatty kids – anything else but what has just transpired inside the room. His intentionally low-level occluding let fragments of sentences and sensory memories surface unrequested, disturbing his attempts to find peace of mind.
He never spoke about Lily, not even as little as to mention she existed. Like he never told anyone about his parents or childhood. Why couldn't his usual rules apply lately?
Severus stared at a sleeping screech owl as if it knew the answer.
Everything melted together from past and present, Lucius's unrequested meddling, lecherous thoughts about Iris – and also not only about Iris – where did they land him? This attraction he maybe began to feel for Beauxbaton had no reason to prove less dangerous. His housemates' idiocy should have been plain to see from the beginning. He swam then with the flow, is he any different now?
Severus told himself to face the truth. He was a sucker for attention and kept choosing wrong. His father was right. Dumbledore was right. He was an ugly and vindictive man, with nothing to balance the scales. Once a death eater, always a death eater, he couldn't escape… Suddenly he realized, those were Black's words. And Mad-Eye's.
Disturbing.
Remarks of people he wholeheartedly hated mixed up with the words of– but actually, he hated his father too. And he remembered with clarity that before, he also hated the headmaster. As a child. A child betrayed.
The realization was so shocking as if his heart skipped a beat.
He accepted judgement from anyone if they happened to say even remotely similar his father told him. Why?
Lily used to praise his understanding; she relied on his knowledge until she learned to gather her own. Cissy said she admired his calm power – whatever she meant. She said ridiculous things about radiating and being strong and such… Beauxbaton celebrated his talent, applauded his way of thinking, perseverance and problem-solving.
However, his feelings preceded their compliments. He liked them for being what he saw they were. Just like Lucius supported him because he always believed in his value, way before even a word about the Dark Lord, in first and second year. Avery and Mulciber didn't like him for the Dark Arts but for his cautious jokes and flawless homework, even if Lily never believed that. Iris hated him right now, but she respected him as a powerful wizard, he saw in her mind she did.
Most of the judgement he kept hearing in his ears as loudly as his own thoughts came from people he would never care to listen to – how did he fail to observe this before? Beauxbaton said he should not judge himself like she didn't judge him. At the moment he didn't know if he was the one who judged himself so badly or were those voices and ghosts of his past he hated. Why was he so attached to such ghosts? Beauxbaton is right, he shouldn't listen to them!
But it was impossible.
If he let himself proceed… What was there to guide him if not those silent voices he relied on to keep himself on the good track? He was already responsible for horrible things... He was a sinful beast – at least he always carried the threat of becoming one. He had to suffer. It was a cornerstone. He couldn't lose that!
Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind, Severus attempted to calm down before returning to that room. All these musings should wait for a more opportune time.
While he was away, Beauxbaton returned to the window as if she was glued to the spot. He still believed she shouldn't do that.
To avoid thinking, Severus sat by the desk and occupied his mind with others' thoughts, continuing his studies. By midday, the house-elf he saw in the morning returned with another tray for two. Neither of them thought about using the opportunity.
The kids must have returned to the house because Severus couldn't hear a sound from the gardens, and Beauxbaton retreated to her armchair reading some old composite on the use of dragon-fire in rapid heating in experimental alchemy. He doubted she could grab a word of it with the amount of peeking towards the window.
Nicholas Flamel ranted in a letter written to one of Héloïse's ancestors about St German's and his crowd's absurdities.
Only half more day and a night to waste in this manner, and he would be rid of the danger to compromise Beauxbaton's younger self and the rules of time. The witch's uncharacteristic silence was getting on his nerves.
An unknown scholar, some Garmasius Linnen, recited Soranus's augmented works on Diocles and compared it to Dioscordes's Materia Medica in a letter discussing herbalism and potion-making. He even attempted to draw some parallelisms with Hildegard of Bingen's Causae and Curae, a daring endeavour.
Severus's attention would have been engaged if Beauxbaton didn't give up her attempts in her armchair and rooted herself again by the window. Enough is enough! Severus' fragile patience gave place to silent seething.
At the end of Germasius's letter, he found four sheets of potion recipes attached, surprisingly most about Propugnation against garden pests and vermin. It was surprising why these pages didn't show more use in a house with such extensive herbarium.
Sounds of happy chatter reached them from the portico and driven by an impulse, Severus called for Beauxbaton to check out the recipes. Anything but an additional hour of watching the witch stuck in her thoughts. It was insufferable!
"Nice" – that was all she could utter after reading through the lists, and Severus finally lost the rest of his patience.
"Do you mean the one with the leeches or this other against the garden gnomes?"
"Both, I guess," – Beauxbaton seemed ready to take up her post at the window again.
Oh, not that, you don't!
"Then I suggest you choose because we won't brew them both" – he said as light a tone as he could muster but raising a challenging eyebrow.
Her dumb expression was entertaining enough to go on with his stupid plan.
"I'm sure one of the elves of yours can get here a usable cauldron, or would you rather transfigure one? I can lend you my quill."
"Are you out of your mind? There's no way to make a decent brew in a transfigured cauldron. Have you even passed your finals? What a dunderheaded amateur -" – it was plain to see the second when the witch realized he intentionally railed her. "Are you having your fun? Well, I give you a cauldron, you bastard, here," – she reached up and unhitched her necklace to free a miniature cauldron. "Engorgio."
A lesser man would have grinned with satisfaction, but Severus played on.
"What good does it do if you cannot use it? Both recipes would need a wide range of ingredients."
Now fuming, Beauxbaton reached into her pocket and presented a small satchel.
When she enlarged that too, even Severus' brows shot up in surprise.
"Are you always walking around that loaded, witch?"
"Everyone has a travelling kit, don't give me that face!"
"You're delusional. These are worth half a dozen brews!" – He searched her robe with suspicious eyes. "What else do you have there?"
"As if I would show you," – she sneered, and began to match her "travelling kit" to the demands of the recipe. "We are short of spider legs,.."
"I wonder how hard it will get to find some in an attic."
"…lacewings,…"
"Being that prepared, you should have thought about those."
"Oh, Mr. Know-it-all, I wonder where you keep your spare lacewings!" – she snapped impatiently.
"Between Knottgrass and Murtlap where they belong. Come on, Beauxbaton, this is ridiculous. Why would you carry a shelf in your pocket?"
"Habit."
"Excuse me?"
"I kind of had my brewing done out of school," – she sighed. "If someone had an inkling for less-authorized potions, it might come in handy, and I guess I just got used to it."
"Less-authorized?"
A short measuring glance into her eyes, and Severus quickly grabbed her satchel and turned away. Withholding the protesting witch with an elbow he sorted through her collection of ingredients.
"Merlin's cocky chest-hair, witch, these are mostly for mood-enhancing, mildly psychedelic, maybe a retardant… and enough for-" – Beauxbaton ducked under his arm and retrieved her satchel.
"These are innocent ingredients; if you have ideas looking at them, it's none of their fault!"
"Ideas? I didn't talk about semi-legal potions! What do you brew to yourself on your solitary nights?"
"Tea" – she said that with so much finality, he had to chuckle. "I told you it's just an old habit. I must have left it in my pocket."
"And did it refresh itself?"
She turned away with a pull of her shoulder and re-read the list.
"We need rose bugs too."
Severus couldn't stop himself.
"Sure. Or lucid dreams. Maybe even cheek-fume, what do you say? I haven't had that in years."
"There's nothing wrong with cheek-fume, but I doubt I would want to smoke it up with you. You seem to be in an unbearable mood as you are. And there must be some rose bugs in the garden." With that, she hurried to the window and pulled her wand.
Severus joined her quickly and was relieved he saw no-one nearby.
"What is your plan?" – He cautiously asked her, but it seemed he already pushed Sage too far.
"Accio rose bugs," – she whispered with excitement, and they had to dive for cover when a bunch of bugs volleyed on the windowsill.
"Could you be more specific, witch?" – Severus grumbled.
"Could you be more co-operative?"
Half-regretting trying to drag her out of her misery Severus pulled his wand to summon exactly eight lacewings and not more when Beauxbaton interrupted in an irritatingly pedantic voice.
"You know, you should have listened to grand-mère, then you had your magic roaming free and just collect what we need without too much effort."
"Not much on your part," – he replied, annoyed. Did she really have no idea how much it cost him to have his guard even moderately down?
"Oh, this is not about me; it is you who should learn" – she cried out on that self-assured tone he despised the most. "Come on, let your magic roam and get those lacewings for me!"
"It's not about you, so I should do it for you? Beauxbaton, if your logic had a bigger flaw, we could name it after the Nile."
She only waved a dismissive hand.
"Riding on words! Will you do it or not?"
By some unfathomable reason, he obliged. This time he felt the connection between his magic and the barriers of his Occlumency. His eternal guilt and pain didn't mix well with the physical temptation he felt in the witch's presence, but his magic was more effortless to direct than ever. The whole experience was disconcerting. Thankfully it seemed Beauxbaton calculated on it.
"Good," – she purred – "now the lacewings."
Her voice felt as if it licked his skin. Severus shook his head to get rid of the sensation.
"Lacewing it is…" – his magic presented them with exactly eight lacewings, delivered gently on the windowsill next to the rose bugs. Beauxbaton stood so close to him when she gathered the loot, he could distinct her hair's scent from that of her skin. "I should never have agreed to this." Severus mumbled.
"You're doing great," – she smiled up at him from way too close, but the guilt was still stronger than the longing. "What about I let you have the fun of it? Don't pull it back, I'll be glad to just watch."
Despite the bickering, Severus found the witch's offer gallant. Or was it her enthusiasm and praise that worked on him again? It didn't matter. His mixed emotions fluently gave place to joy and vanity as he ignited a fire under the cauldron, and – already memorizing the recipe – he summoned the ingredients in the right order to wait, levitating above the small desk. The cauldron began its dance with the levitating flames, and he hardly heard the witch's horrified gasp while he got to the job. Distantly he was aware Beauxbaton repeatedly called his name, but his work consumed him until…
…after hearing a few distant steps from outside, the door opened ajar, and a curious ten-year-old witch peeked through the breach. Her expression turned amazed as she took in the room abuzz with an unknown wizard's magic. Severus could hardly keep to his bearings enough to avoid an accident this time. For young Sage, seeing him like this was trouble enough. Their eyes met for long seconds, and neither could move or turn away. Severus frantically searched his mind for anything he could tell her, but the young witch turned with sudden haste and bolted down the stairs.
Severus paled with anger, extinguished the fire and let all sink down safely on the table before he turned with dangerous silence to question the witch. He could hardly recognize the mess though that became of her. A pile of a robe and auburn hair shaking soundlessly on her bedcovers.
He wanted to berate her; he wanted to put her nose in her mess like he would have done with a stray cat, no matter if she shook or hid, but as he stepped closer, she lifted her head, and it was clear he didn't need to do any of those. There was nothing else in her reddened eyes but tears and sheer panic. It took time to notice she furiously tried to whisper between her sobs.
"I forgot… I'm sorry… I forgot… Grand-mere didn't… I didn't… I'm sorry…. so sorry…" - The witch he secretly celebrated for her right mind now reduced herself to a bundle of sobs, crying like a child, and, honestly, Severus preferred nothing to do with that.
Stepping toward the window, young Sage's voice hit him.
"Grand-mère, quelqu'un est dans le grenier !"
Without his magic pulled back, Similoquato-charm came as easily as to wish to understand her.
"Who is that man?" – the girl demanded under the window.
Héloïse sounded thoroughly taken aback:
"You should not pry, dear, I have warned you, have I not? Now I need to punish you for crossing me again. Have I not told you, you were not allowed to climb the stairs?"
"You have, I'm sorry," – the young voice lost some of its enthusiasm, but it didn't last long. "You should punish me, punish me right now! I will not deny anything, and I will suffer through anything you want."
"Sage, honey, you are speaking nonsense again. One guest in the attic, and you ask for worse than what you deserve! You simply made a mistake. It was not right. The privacy of a guest is-"
Severus began to hope Héloïse will smooth all out when the young voice cut in on a audaciously.
"I want to know what he knows!"
"Dear?"
"I saw him. He is a wizard with no wand. I want to be like him! I take all punishments, and I won't complain. I even promise not to make a fuss ever again. I really won't! Teach me what he knows!"
Judging by the short pause, Héloïse must have been similarly shocked by her demand like Severus felt. Eventually, the witch answered with obvious practice.
"Sage, dear, of course, you will learn. You are going to school. Beauxbatons Academy is the perfect place for curious minds such as yours. You will-"
"No! Don't lie to me!" – the girl's voice trembled with emotion. "He had no wand! You and Auntie keep telling me I will do my magic when I get my wand, but he lost his! I want to do like he does! I want to learn. Teach me! You teach me; I need no school!"
Her voice was curiously at odds with her earlier vowing not to ever make a fuss again, but Severus thought he could understand her feelings. Understand and fear them.
"Sage if you want honesty, I can give you that." Héloïse's voice was stern enough even for Snape. "You are not like him. His magic never really bound, unlike for the rest of us."
"What does that mean?"
The old witch sighed, but it was obvious she wouldn't deny her the answers. Severus thought she might have better done so.
"In a young witch like you, magic flows endlessly. Boundlessly. But you can't direct it the way you should. You are too young to focus, to pour your intentions into the flow before you get your wand. Raw magic can be dangerous, so you train to use your wand. You need to learn to focus and direct your magic. Your wand, and the incantations you learn, will bind your magic to a reality you can easily understand. To something safe."
"Why is his magic not bound?"
"I don't know, Sage, and I doubt there's anyone to tell. He is not the only one, but it is rare."
"I will never let my magic bind to my wand."
Severus jerked his head, alarmed, and glanced between the witch crumpled on her bed and the window. He always imagined her somewhere between a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw, but this insane boldness was off the scale even for a Gryffindor. Héloïse couldn't possibly approve of such madness!
"I forbid it, child! You have no idea what you're talking about. You will have your proper training and become a powerful witch as you should. Powerful but proper. I will not tolerate argument upon that."
"I want to know what he knows!"
"Sage!"
"I want it!"
Severus glanced toward the witch again. Had she also had a habit of stomping her feet?
"You either teach me, or I will ask Auntie," – he heard the voice through the window. It was demanding and completely conscious of the threat.
"You wouldn't dare to…"
"I would. I don't want to ask her, though. I want you to teach me. But if you don't, I will know what to do."
"Your father would never consent it…" Héloïse sounded troubled, but Severus thought he knew already what was to come.
"I don't care about telling anyone."
After some seconds of what felt fatal tension, Héloïse bowed to her grandchild's insane demands.
"On one condition," – she said coldly and determinedly – "and if you fail me, I will have my hands off of you."
"I will not fail."
Héloïse laughed at her self-assurance. Obviously, it didn't change much over the years.
"You can never, under no circumstance, not even in a case of life and death… you can never tell Polla."
"I love you, grand-mère. You make it all so easy!"
Severus closed the window on the young voice's untamed enthusiasm but could only stand rooted with shock until he heard Beauxbaton's sloppy voice.
"I never failed her."
She tried to swipe her tears away when he turned to her, and she sniffed inelegantly.
"Forgive me, I forgot it was this year. Grand-mère didn't begin to teach me until after my first year, and even then… we never talked about you again…" Her renewed sobs hashed her words together, and Severus stepped closer to make out her whisper. "I would have never forced you… unknowing… I would have never made you to…"
Not wanting to sit on her bed, Severus got down on a knee to look into her eyes.
"Beauxbaton," – he forced her attention and tried to search her eyes for any sign of falseness. "Did you learn all you have taught me because you wanted to be like me?"
"I didn't even imagine it was you," – she began after a shy nod. "I remembered someone way older than what I saw you when we met… In Iris's memories, you seemed similar to the man I remembered. Similar enough to take courage and trust you. So similar, I believed you may be worthy of being the one whom I pass on what I got. I never thought I would see him again. I never thought I could repay him. For a long time, I wanted to thank him… The wizard in the attic.
So I tried to assist you for the sake of a stupid girly dream. I really tried my best. But you see… I wasn't even sure you were real – that other you. It was long ago, and I wove a whole halo of dreams around that man – you… That man is not exactly you, you know. That you is different for me. I have never talked to him, I have never known him… then I walked in on you, and you blew up your cauldron… but then I already knew you…as you are. And this you was a real man unlike that other I once had seen… Does this make any sense?"
"You are insane," – Severus said softly but with feeling.
Still, there was no falsity, not even a hint of her usual deceiving ways. Severus was sure the witch was completely honest, and with a snap of a finger, all weird facts and questions about her fell into place. His greatest trouble about her has always been understanding her reasons.
If he had a galleon for every time he asked why, why would she help him, why would she care, he would have needed a new vault at Gringotts. Well, here's the answer he wished for: because she was nuts.
Albeit she was an honest idiot with skill and knowledge. He bid farewell any reservations about trusting her completely on the spot. The sense of connection was overwhelming, impossible to express any other way than hugging her.
It was a hug of true friendship and complete acceptance.
At first.
Then Sage melted in his arms like he has never felt a woman given over to him. In his limited experience, there was nothing even similar to holding her. There were no thoughts, no boundaries, only her soft presence. It filled his senses.
Severus's arms moved, and he unconsciously caressed her back, her hair, and he got as good as he gave. Gently, never breaking the embrace, their arms moved, comforting each other, stroking all over each other, they leaned together to a point their foreheads touched. They breathed together, touching, watching each other's eyes, not even aware of how heady the experience was for both.
When the tension was unbearable, he kissed her with open eyes, not to miss a fragment of the moment until she moved against him, their bodies touched fore and aft, and Severus lost the rest of his coherence without a trace.
Passion closed his eyes, he could only hear his blood pumping in his ears while tasting the witch, holding her as close as he possibly could. He wished he already melted into her. Every second outside her mind or body was a waste of time! Still, to caress her tongue with his, to breathe in her breath was so sweet he almost forgot his name.
There was nothing anymore, but the rhythm of their small moves and instinct rushed through the breach reason abandoned. Severus tugged the witch to himself with sudden force, dived deep in her mouth till she gasped for air –
He was not dead!
Not dead at all if he heard her short breaths, hitching, if he felt the small tremble along her spine… Instinct never agreed to what his conscious mind allowed. It wanted no suffer, it wanted him to feel, to have, to win… And instinct ruled now without opposition to mild it and the witch blissfully obliged!
She obliged for far too long before she attempted to loosen Severus's grab about her.
"You are to stay" – he breathed, snarling with the force of his emotions, and pulled her back close enough to feel all her curves, close enough for her tight to feel his desire throbbing against her. "Stay!" – he hissed and kissed her again, now demanding, not wanting to lose what he had just found.
Sage's caressing fingers on his face broke his moment of abandon passion. Her touch was so soft, so gentle he had to give in. She changed the rhythm of their kisses, softened his raw emotions; her clumsy pecks on his lips diverted his attention.
This witch had nothing of the practiced temptress' touch he was used to. Her tongue and fingers caressed with tentative affection, with honesty he has never felt in an embrace. He suddenly realized how different she was to others he knew, and how sacred was the moment she gave him. Reason had to return to show respect and patience, and Severus gradually pulled away, slowly sobering from his earlier fervour.
This attraction could only hurt Beauxbaton, just like his hopes and dreams hurt Lily and eventually killed her. His father would have preached him a full sermon and reprimand him for paying back for Héloïse's hospitality by heating on her grandchild. Merlin, to call him a jerk was the least!
"Forgive me," – he breathed into Sage's ear, hiding his face in her hair.
"If you say now that you're sorry, I might break something," – she answered with an anxious chuckle, but it only reinforced his guilt.
"I wish I could say that, but-" – Severus pulled back entirely and looked in the witch's eyes. "I am honoured by your friendship, you-"
"Severus," – Sage tried to lure him back, her hands reached up to his face again, but he gently took her wrists.
"You deserve better, Beauxbaton."
Her voice carried her hurt as she cried out: "I'm the one to judge that!"
Severus stared into her eyes and felt something cold closing out the warmth he saw there. Determination. Because she had no idea…
"No," – he simply told her, and walked out of the room, leaving Sage kneeling on the floor by her bed.
Severus didn't return from the owlery before he saw the last bird departing for that night's hunt. By the time he re-entered the room, Beauxbaton's curtain was closed, and the room was quiet.
The next morning he knew the exact moment when the young girls vanished with their portkey by the way the witch's shoulders sank by the window. He wordlessly left the room and went straight to the hidden library, calling for the elf as soon as he crossed the door.
"Guild, I need your services. In case I lost my mind again – "
The ugly old house-elf shook his head slowly and grinned encouragingly.
"Studying Master will do fine. Guild watches over. Studying Master does thinking."
So he did. Following his recent train of thoughts at the owlery, Severus opened up all barriers of occlumency shielding his mind. He examined all memories and feelings with masochistic precision to understand the impact of others' opinions on the way he thought about himself and his circumstances.
Beauxbaton's relentless nudging to dig into his childhood finally made sense. He found he followed anyone who even remotely resembled his father, either arguing against their opinion, or easily accepting any kind of gibberish whether it came from the imbecilic Marauders, the Dark Lord, or as it happened, from the headmaster of Hogwarts.
He argued with Tobias all his life through others because he never dared to argue with him. And he searched for women to enforce his mother. To complete her with a sense of humour, with a sense of care, with physical openness, because she never argued her husband for him. They couldn't stop quarreling, driving one another to madness, but never for him!
As much as Severus detested Tobias Snape, he eventually had to accept his mother wasn't better. Beauxbaton instinctively thought she at least once stood up for him, but this was not the case. Lily stood up for him, but he resembled too much his father and drove her away. This was not about the Dark Arts; Héloïse had ample proof his research was not that one-sided.
His inherent fault was by birth indeed, but he doubted it had anything to do with Tobias being a muggle. He was born insignificant. Negligible. Because probably he wasn't supposed to get born in the first place. Proving utterly worthless for his father as a child with magical abilities, thus not belonging to his world only completed the picture, rounding up his being from irrelevant to useless.
And he listened to all who thought of him the same.
The next endless days didn't see Severus in the dining room, nor anywhere else around the house or the gardens. Guild served him in the library, and he tried to make sense of the pain and hurt that surrounded every thought. It was a battle against hopeless misery with sobs and rage and shaking with frustration, but eventually, he found a way to calm with his guards down.
He had his worth sometimes. Lily saw it. Cissy borrowed it. Lucius enjoyed it, and Dumbledore used it. And he would be useful for Beauxbaton, finding a way to keep these gardens together if he only had a chance in this war. Because she deserved it.
It was far not happiness, contentment, or hope. But it was calm. Acceptance of being screwed up for a life without being at fault of it and accepting the fact his faults came from this truth. Liberating, in a sense.
Also it cleared up what he fought for. Let the old schemer believe in his ways and lies, he didn't fight of grief. He used to, but it was more than a decade ago. He fought for himself, for his own worth that Lily once believed in. He fought so she would be proven right. She, and all those other small handful of people who shared her beliefs despite his beginnings.
Did it make it easier or better? Not at all. But his magic pulsated around him, ready to listen. He didn't want to rule it anymore or to command it. They worked together. In complete trust, as they were similar. Severus, his magic, and his potions. None of those had polarities. Their intent determined if they were good or not. A complete merge with the truth of the world. Because it was true without falsehood that which was above was like which was below and which was below was like that which was above to accomplish the miracle of one thing: despite all and any pull of various powers to the contrary, he was alive. He had no light without shadow, but no shadow without a glimmering light.
He was the true Alchemical Unity.