To his amazement, Severus awoke on Saturday morning to find that it was nearly ten o'clock and he had slept through breakfast.
He sat up in bed, and saw a tray on the small table across the room; when he got out of bed in his nightshirt and went to investigate, he found, next to his coffee and porridge, a note in bright green ink: Enjoy your lie-in! AD.
Under the note was his post – including, finally, a note from Lucius.
Very much regret cannot make it to Hogsmeade this weekend. Yule Feast plan remains inviolable. Shall I perhaps stay two nights if Dumbledore will have me …? L.
Only after a few seconds did Severus recognise the unexpected feeling spreading through his stomach: it was relief. Yes, if he was absolutely honest, he didn't really want the excitement of seeing Lucius today. He was too drained from the awful week and the last thing he needed was to be awake all night with Lucius in a stuffy room at the Three Broomsticks, terrified Rosmerta or a house-elf would discover his presence. He only hoped Dumbledore had not recognised Lucius's handwriting, which he was undoubtedly familiar with, when he'd sent up Severus's post.
Anyway, now he had a much emptier weekend than he'd planned – though, orders or no orders, he would certainly continue to do a little work on the coconut ingredients, which were just plain interesting. But today – he filled his cup from the coffee pot and went barefoot to stand at the window – today was a crisp bright day, and he was going to spend it exactly as he liked.
An hour later, breakfasted, dressed in warm robes, and satisfied with his fifteen minutes of Occlumency practice, he was striding up the glen behind the castle, heading into the hills. He walked quickly, though already out of breath from lack of exercise, and when he reached the top of the ridge he was rewarded with a view of another glittering loch and some scattered snow on the peaks beyond.
He stood there, breathing heavily, enjoying the cold air on his cheeks. His mind was a little softened with tiredness, but he felt quite well, better than he had done for a long time. He could imagine spending a few happy hours chewing through a complex Arithmancy problem; he almost wished there was one that needed doing.
He could see now, with rest and a little distance, that Dumbledore would not have sacked him. That he had expected it was due only to his paranoia and anxiety, his old familiars, which crept back whenever he was foolish enough to stop regular Occlumency practice. Now he remembered that Dumbledore didn't punish people if he thought they were suffering: it was his creed. If he wanted to leave Hogwarts, either he would have to do something much worse (and even carrying on an affair with Lucius probably wouldn't count), or else he'd have to resign.
Dumbledore had always been more lenient than he'd had any right to expect. Years ago the old man had spoken of helping Severus to readjust and heal after his somewhat unsettled childhood and adolescence, and the years with Voldemort. 'It will take time, Severus, but I do believe that one day you will be able to enjoy your life.' Severus had made some retort, but he was honest enough to admit he'd hoped this would one day be true – and to admit now that the long-awaited readjustment had never happened.
He thought back to what Dumbledore had said last night about Lupin. Lupin too had suffered, had repeatedly lost control of his own body, all his friends had been murdered or turned into murderers, his life had been utterly destroyed – and yet he had recovered, he was cheerful and kind, and inclined to forgive. He seemed for some reason to like Severus: Severus Snape, who had gone from the cleverest student Hogwarts had seen in years (McGonagall's words, many years ago) to a damaged, lonely, angry man, crouching for twelve years in the only place he felt safe. Lupin must be insane to want to get close to that – or perhaps it was just typical Gryffindor naivety.
A pair of ravens flew across the wide open space in front of him, croaking to each other. He felt a sudden inclination to seize a broomstick and fly after them, to enjoy the vast quantity of air, perhaps to swoop down low over the loch and skim the water at speed. He had never learned to do that.
Then again, perhaps Sirius Black was – he turned and saw even from this distance the Dementors gliding around the castle's turrets – perhaps Black was out here somewhere, hiding in the heather, or just down the hill in a crevice, waiting for a good angle to hit him with a Killing Curse.
He looked around, and gave a bit of a shiver. The hills were so quiet. He should go back. He would miss lunch if he didn't get a move on. With a final glance round at the empty hillside, a final deep breath of cold air, he began to descend the hill again towards the school.
The rest of the weekend passed in a kind of peaceful melancholy: reflective, a little sad, but not agitated. He continued to prepare the ingredients for the new dose of Wolfsbane, distilling and re-distilling the glacial water on Saturday, and on Sunday grinding the poppyseed very fine and spreading it on a board to dry out.
After dinner on Sunday, somewhat reluctantly, but mindful of Dumbledore's orders, he took a book to the staff room and installed himself in a corner with a pot of tea. Flitwick, Sprout and Hooch were already there, and all greeted Severus without the slightest sign of surprise. As he sat down to read, he heard Sprout talking about the Longbottom boy, who had apparently done something impressive in her lesson, almost worthy of his parents. Then he was absorbed in A Comparative Guide to European Plant Oils, Their Respective Histories, and Their Uses in Modern Potion-Making, 1609-1952.
For more than half an hour he sat in the warm chair reading, his mind at ease, almost enjoying the hum of conversation behind him. He only looked up when the door opened and Lupin and McGonagall came in.
McGonagall was not quite so tactful. 'Severus!' she said with clear astonishment. 'To what do we owe this rare appearance?'
Lupin, next to her, was looking slightly uncomfortable – presumably he too remembered Dumbledore's little lecture of Friday night – and Severus felt his face go warm. 'Merely enjoying a comfortable chair by the fire, if that's not too much of a mystery to understand,' he sneered.
'What are you reading?' Lupin asked him.
He held up the book so Lupin could read the spine.
'Catchy title,' Lupin said. 'Is it as gripping as it sounds?'
Severus grunted, and the two Gryffindor teachers went over to join the others, house-elves rushing to put additional plates of cake and pots of tea on the table before they had even sat down. He went back to his book, but something kept him more conscious of Lupin than he would have liked. The werewolf was talking comfortably and amusingly, relating the story of a long-ago encounter with Nicholas Flamel which Severus could not help listening to. The others clearly liked him and had welcomed him quickly into the fold, laughing at his stories and telling him about the various idiotic and cowardly things his predecessor had done. No doubt Severus's attention was being confused by the knowledge that this book on plant oils might provide some help with the Wolfsbane. But if someone were to test Severus on the pages he had read since Lupin had come in, he would have scored very low.
Then Sprout's voice said, 'Right, Filius, Minerva, time for chess?' and he heard Flitwick enthusiastically agree. Severus gave up trying to read. He kept his eyes on his book, and even turned pages at random intervals, but listened hard as they set up the chess board and began a game. Conversation resumed between Hooch and Lupin, but the other three had fallen silent, except for regular murmured commands from Sprout and Flitwick to their chess pieces, and an occasional 'Hmm' from McGonagall, who seemed to be watching.
After a few minutes he heard the sound of breaking porcelain as a piece was smashed off the board by its capturer; then a second time. It sounded like they were trading pawns. Then McGonagall's voice: 'I think you may regret that,' though which player she was talking to wasn't clear.
When, after another couple of minutes, he heard Flitwick say, 'Oh, that's very interesting,' Severus threw away his pride, got up, and went across the room; he took up a position standing beside McGonagall's chair, looking down at the board. The feelings that came when he saw the chess pieces, the close combinations in the centre of the board, the tension between two pawns – well, he was able to observe himself more calmly now he'd started practising Occlumency again, but it was still a powerful brew, a peculiar mixture of excitement and grief. He had not played at all for more than two years, and not seriously for eight, and that was – no, he wouldn't think about that. But straightaway he could sense all the complex tugs and shadows the pieces cast on each other; he could even see, as he suspected Sprout hadn't, a tiny threat brewing in the form of a queenside pawn. Two small hourglasses stood to one side of the board, one containing white sand and the other black. As Flitwick and Sprout alternated turns, the sand fell out of each hourglass, showing how much time each player had left. He observed that Flitwick had much less time than Sprout: if she could do enough to make him hesitate, it might be enough to win.
Then Sprout moved her king one square in the wrong direction – not a terrible blunder, just a small mistake. McGonagall sucked in a breath between her teeth, and Severus found himself giving a 'Mm' of wordless agreement.
'I wish I had the faintest idea what you're commenting on,' he heard Lupin say – and, looking up, Severus realised that both Lupin and Hooch had stopped talking, it must have been several minutes ago, and were also watching.
'Someone once gave me a chess set,' Hooch said, 'where all the pieces were on little brooms, and they all hovered above the board, and if you captured something then your own piece would fly up, like this' – she gestured – 'and do a loop-the-loop or something.'
'Oh, I'd love to see it,' Flitwick said, before he was shushed by Sprout, who was concentrating hard. By now the board was half-empty, and surrounded by porcelain shards and dusty: they were heading towards an endgame. Severus found he was almost tingling with longing to play – or if not to play, at least to keep watching others play, for as many hours as they kept it up.
As if reading his thoughts, McGonagall looked up. 'Would you like the next game, Severus? Or we could set up a second board?'
He managed to keep his voice cool. 'I have no desire to comprehensively embarrass myself, thank you.'
'But you're a terrific chess player,' Sprout protested, turning from the game to look at him.
'That is even more untrue now than it was a few years ago.'
'You can play against me any time you like,' Lupin said wryly. 'I assure you I would pose no threat whatsoever.'
'You did promise me a few games,' Flitwick said, 'so you can't back out.'
'Not here,' Severus said. 'In your office. Or mine.'
'We didn't specify,' Flitwick said, casually waving his bishop across the board to checkmate Sprout's king. 'You are in my debt, and I say a minimum of three games in my office so you can warm up a little, then a minimum of three games here.'
'With the fixture times to be posted on the staff noticeboard,' added Lupin, raising laughter from the others.
'I will grant you the three in your office,' Severus said. 'Now I believe the Deputy Headmistress has the next game?'
Flitwick shook his head in amused exasperation, but McGonagall and Sprout were already swapping chairs, so he said nothing and reset the board and the timers for the next game. Severus summoned another chair and sat down next to them.
As the silence of concentration fell again, Hooch excused herself to go and check on the Ravenclaws. Lupin did not, as Severus had expected, use this moment to take his leave too, but said a quiet goodnight to Hooch and continued to sit and watch – well, exactly what he was watching wasn't clear, if he had little knowledge of chess, but he stayed anyway and thankfully made little disturbance.
Anyway, after a few minutes, Severus almost forgot Lupin was there, forgot everything except the complicated twists and weighing-ups in his mind as he analysed the game in front of him. It was so familiar, and so precise: he could sense, without needing to explain why to himself, that McGonagall was going to win. But also laid over everything was the shadow of another board, another room far away, a Muggle radio playing something soft and intimate, and a man opposite him, whose serious face suddenly looked up and broke into a grin –
No. This would not do. Then was then, and now was now, and chess was still chess. He would learn to separate them, that was all.
McGonagall was tightening the noose on Flitwick's king; suddenly she moved a rook into a bold sacrifice and it was clear the end was coming. Flitwick's sharp eyes flickered over the board for a minute or so, and he made a couple of moves that were obviously stalling for time. Then he cheerfully offered his hand out to her. 'Lovely playing.'
'Thank you,' McGonagall said, shaking his hand briefly. She had an air of calm which Severus had rarely seen in her; apparently playing chess pacified her usual anxiety.
'So have you all played since childhood?' Lupin asked.
'Yes, I think, if I can speak for all of us,' Flitwick said. 'I was at a tiny school in Wales, and they had a Charms teacher who also taught chess in the evenings – I benefited enormously from him, as you can imagine. And Minerva and Pomona both had parents who taught them, am I right?'
McGonagall and Sprout nodded, and explained: McGonagall's mother Milena, and Sprout's father Tiberius, had been their first teachers.
'And Severus was a member of my chess club when he was a boy,' Flitwick said, 'but you had played before that, I think?'
Severus nodded. 'My chess career has been somewhat patchy.' He didn't elaborate. He had learned from a book, of course, as he'd learned almost everything in his life. His parents hadn't had a chess set at home, but for hours in his room he'd studied positions, openings, endgames, and by the time he'd arrived at Hogwarts he was already one of the best players there, despite never having played an actual game of chess. But Flitwick's chess club had been a short-lived pleasure. The older Slytherins – Walden Macnair, the Lestrange brothers, even Lucius – were beginning to take notice of him, and at the beginning of fourth year Severus had left the chess club and begun to study the Dark Arts instead, desperate to make his way in the world.
'Didn't you have a playing partner in London for a while?' Sprout said, characteristically not minding her own business. 'I remember, you were always extra-sharp when you came back from the holidays.'
'Yes, I did.' Same old Slytherin training: don't hesitate, don't elaborate.
'Oh yes, I remember that too,' Flitwick said. 'Remind me of his name, was he a chess club alumnus like you?'
'No,' Severus said. 'He was actually – he grew up in Russia.' Best not to say he was a Muggle. Absolutely imperative not to say his name.
'Ah, I see,' Flitwick said, apparently not noticing his discomfort. 'What about you, Remus, I take it you don't play?'
Lupin shook his head. 'Unfortunately I have long passed the age when I might be able to pick up that sort of thing,' he said. 'But I can sit and admire your skill even with my limited understanding.' He glanced at Severus as if he were about to say more – or perhaps to ask more – but remained silent.
'I've an idea,' Flitwick said. 'I'll cast the Privacy Charm so Minerva and Pomona can't hear us, Remus, and I'll explain the next game to you as we go along. Unless Severus has changed his mind about playing? I can easily look out the second board for us.'
'Clearly you are determined to prove to witnesses how out of practice I am,' Severus retorted, 'but I can assure you my determination not to play is far greater.' He ignored Lupin's grin of amusement.
Severus went back to his rooms having almost – almost – enjoyed himself. Listening to Flitwick explain even the simplest principles of chess strategy to Lupin had been surprisingly soothing. He didn't often have the patience to listen to anyone else talk for long periods of time, especially if it was information he already knew, but Lupin had asked good questions, and neither of them had asked Severus to participate, which was exactly the way he wanted it. Between the commentary and the game itself, his mind had been completely filled to the brim, not needing to think about anything else.
He locked his bedroom door behind him, then went into his cupboard, and from a high shelf brought down a flat rosewood box, fixed shut with an ornate clasp. Even to hold the box was – difficult. By the time he'd placed the box onto the table he was starting to shiver slightly. He undid the clasp, unfolded the hinged lid, and lifted out the beautiful chessboard, which was rosewood inlaid with walnut and ivory squares, its base covered with green baize. In the box under the board were the chess pieces.
At the first sight of them he got up suddenly and made a circuit of the room, pausing at the window and looking out into the wintry darkness. Took a deep breath. His heart was pounding. Then he went back to look at the pieces.
There they were: the black rook missing some of its battlements; the white pawn that had replaced a lost one and didn't quite match its brothers; the chip on the black queen. He lifted the queen out of the case and sat it on his open palm, feeling its weighted base, staring at it.
'Pyotr,' he said. The Russian name, its dark vowel, and the black faceless queen, clenched a powerful fist of longing in his chest. He sighed, replaced the queen, laid the chessboard back over the top, and closed the rosewood box gently.
