Chapter 42: Acceptance and Regrets

Acceptance and Regrets

Sage did not even react to his uncle drawing his wand. He wasn't even surprised when he took a nosedive to the floor and skidded across it on his stomach, coming to a halt fifteen feet from where he had started.

"Acceptance, what makes you think that I care whether or not you accept this?" His uncle asked him as he turned him over onto his back with the toe of his boot.

Sage sat up, rubbing a scratch on his chin from the floor, and then stood. He didn't answer right away, he just stared at his uncle and allowed the man's eyes to penetrate him.

"Answer me," the man demanded finally.

Raising an eyebrow ever so slightly, Sage responded quietly, "I'm not sure, sir, because it is better than anger, hate, and defiance." He cocked his head to the side and added, "Given the situation."

The man's hand closed around his collar roughly, nearly knocking the air out of him.

"Do you wish to placate me, is that what you are trying to do?" He hissed.

Gasping and feeling his uncle's hot, angry breaths on his face, he hastily said, "That's not what I-."

But he did not get a chance to finish his sentence right away as Severus finally gave in to his frustration and anger and hit him hard straight across his mouth, sending him flying against the table behind him. Time was proceeding so fast that actions seemed more instantaneous than they really were. Before Sage could put his hands behind him and push himself off the table, his uncle was there, pinning him against the table with no where to go.

"Do I look as if I am going to be appeased by anything you have to say for yourself. This whole year, you have thrown nothing at me but empty words. Do I look like I am going to be appeased?"

"No, sir."

Sage's back strained against the pressure the table was putting on the small of his back and the pressure his uncle was putting on his collarbones than made him lean back over the table at some odd forty-five degree angle.

"Do you think I am so gullible as to believe that you have had this sudden epiphany and that everything has changed? That this change in your demeanor has nothing to do with what you know is going to happen? That you aren't simply acting this way because you think it will calm me? Do you think me that daft?"

His eyelids did not even dare blink as he stared into the cannons that were his uncle's eyes. Haste in reply was of the utmost importance if he wanted to get any word in edgewise without simply getting thrown around the room.

"No, it has nothing to do with either being gullible or daft-."

Sage did not have time to finish that sentence either before Severus had pulled him up from against the table, taken aim at him again, and sent him stumbling backwards into a large group of chairs. They tripped him up and his knees went over his head and he did a strange, certainly not purposeful, flip through the chairs, landing on his side and banging his head on the table. As he eyes caught the onslaught coming again, he had a brief thought to scoot under the table and to the other side of that barrier, to put distance between them. He decided better of it, though. Any attempts to escape or evade would not calm things down any faster. Instead he stood up quickly and backed up a few steps.

"At the end of last year I warned you, and I said I would not give you any more warnings, but I did, time and time again. Yet, you continue to take advantage of me. You do not even try to curb your mouth or your attitude the vast majority of the time. I told you it was a matter of life and death. But that is meaningless to you in your childish selfishness."

Sage didn't move or retaliate as the looming professor pushed him and smacked him successively as if he were accentuating each one of his points.

"But I could not help you, so I allow you time to help yourself. You do not improve, you get worse, completely disremembering everything I ever asked of you in front of the entire school. Even though I said that with one sign that you were digressing, the relaxed approach would end, I let you continue on."

Sage could feel the blood on the side of his head from where he hit the table. He could even taste it collecting in his mouth, from a cut had bitten into the inside of his cheek when Severus had hit him.

"Why did I allow you to continue even knowing the consequences to both of us? Because I allowed myself to be too soft, I allowed myself to care too much. I did not want you to experience any semblence to what your father and I went through. I should have stayed true to my words to you – that I would not be above putting you in your place if it meant that it would save lives, our lives."

Sage's entire body felt very limp, not because he was injured, because he really was not badly hurt at all, but because he had never realized the extent to which any of his actions affected his uncle. Things happening now did affect what would happen in the future. He had never understood exactly how upset and frustrated the man was with him, and how conflicted he was about what he should do about his ungrateful, conceited nephew. Sage was never one to think himself arrogant, but he could not escape the feeling that he never once really considered the immediate consequences to his uncle. He had not wanted his uncle to die, but that was not immediate. If his uncle did die, it would be because of something Voldemort did years later, not because of something he, Sage, did in his fourth year of school. His concern had only been with himself, and he suddenly feel aweful, sick, and disgusted with himself. It did not help that he had never been so aware of his feelings and emotions.

He suddenly became aware of the throbbing in his body and head, and also his change in position in the room. He had momentarily gone completely within himself and hadn't noted anything that had happened for a few minutes.

"Finally, when you digressed even further, I did not do as I said I was going to do, but instead I, together with the headmaster, send you somewhere someone could help you and guide you. And what does my defiant, prat of a blood relative do, but comes straight back after two-weeks without a good or concrete reason for his return – effectively throwing it all in my face."

"I didn't mean any disrepect by it," he managed to stammer out quickly.

"Of course you didn't, because Merlin knows you have not used any of that mess of matter inside of your head all year long! Sure as you did not mean any disrespect by this," the man said with a triumphant and harsh finality, as he threw a bag straight into Sage's face.

Sage did not need to look at it to know what it was as if fell into his hands, and he suddenly because very aware of what threw his normally well-controlled uncle off the proverbial edge of the temper cliff. The irony of it was that he had not touched the stuff in at least a month and a half.

"So now you do not have anything to say for yourself. I told you not to touch it again, after that fiasco last year, and you gave me your word that you would not. Any small beacon of trust I had for you, any at all, has been completely dashed to pieces. You cannot even listen to my judgement now, how will you ever be able to listen to it when your life and my life depends upon it. Explain that to me?"

His mouth was slightly parted, but he did not say anything, nor did he really have any intention to say anything. He had never considered his uncle's perception of his ability to do what he was told as having anything to do with his future or their future.

Truth be told, he had completely forgotten about the marijuana that he had in his room. He had completely forgotten about his promise to himself that he would come clean to his uncle about it; no, he had put it off more and more, because he was too apprehensive about what the consequences would be. Now the consequences would be much worse and that was his fault alone.

"I see you have finally learned how to keep your insolent mouth shut. Quite an improvement actually," he added sarcastically.

Sage dropped the bag onto the table to his left. His body felt like a rotting piece of meat, he felt so guilty and detestable. He was feeling multiple emotions so acutely, he had no idea which ones were there, although he was aware of how much they hurt. Much more than any of the cuts and bruises.

"Never-." Severus stopped, considering his words carefully. "I have never been ashamed to call you my nephew, until today. Last year you had a reason for doing this, that even I could understand no matter how inappropriate, but you had no reason, NONE, to continue. You may think that your actions do not matter, but I will not allow you to have such blatant disregard for yourself, your life, or my life."

"I know they matter now," he said to the floor, knowing that what he said did not make one bit of a difference.

His uncle grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer so that he could hiss, "It is a little too late for that now, I'm afraid. I taught you to be smarter than this, I raised you to be responsible, and I'll be damned if I see years of hard work burn to ashes."

If it were possible to feel even worse, Sage would have dreaded sinking down to that level, but there was no worse.

A different part of him was dying, a part that he did not mind to feel go, like he had over the summer. Until this moment, he had never known how much weight was associated with that part of him. He had not understood anything the way he should have. Now the piece of him that was self-concerned and self-defeating was what was burning to ashes. Knowing that it had been there for months was what made him feel horrid.

It was with that limp feeling and self-loathing that he allowed his uncle to give him the soundest, most severe thrashing he had ever dreaded receiving. Knowing in his heart that he deserved every bit of it.

Sage leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. He had stayed on the ground this time, sensing a certain terminality in his uncle's behavior. Severus was still fuming, his blood, no doubt, still boiling, but he had crossed his arms and stood still.

"We will discuss the consequences of that later," he said, pointing to the bag on the table. "I fully expect you not to be sitting around being pathetic anymore."

With that, the tall and threatening professor turned on his heel sharply and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

Sage did not move from his seated position on the floor. The load on him was just to heavy to lift up: emotions, thoughts, images, feelings. Instead of getting up, he wiped his cut lip on his sleeve, exhaled forcefully, and cradled his head in his hands, deep in thought. His elbows rested on his knees, and he ran his hands back and forth through his hair on the side of his head in a soothing manner. Perhaps he thought he could soothe away the guilt he was feeling and the pressure of all those emotions on his psyche.

There was a gash by his ear slowly dribbling blood down his cheek, as well as one by his eyebrow that made it look as if his left eye was tearing out blood. He did not care. He hardly felt it. Hardly felt any physical discomfort at all. The cut just inside his hairline was soaking a thick strand of his black hair that was falling just over his right eye. He swallowed distastefully as the blood that was collecting on the inside of his mouth, from a cut on the inside of his cheek, became overpowering. He fought the desire to throw up, but he would not have been able to throw up anyway, as he had been comatose in his Llywen for three days. Three days? Did that mean something? Was that saying something about his powers…perhaps a reawakening of sorts?

After a few minutes, he struggled to his feet, leaning hard against the wall. His clothes were covered in dust from the walls, floors, and furniture. He was more dazed than anything else; the intangible things like thoughts and emotions being of much worse a nature than the miniscule pain of a few cuts. He left the room without any care for his appearance, or thought that it might be wise to use a concealing charm first. He had nothing to conceal, not anymore.

So many people had tried many different things to get through to him and none of them had really worked. Now, in the span of four days, three things had combined that made everything all too poignant to him. Not only that, but he had very effectively alienated the two people he would need the most. His life was never devoid of irony.

The moment he stepped into the common room, everyone gasped at him, but said not a word and made no other noise. Everyone's eyes expressed shock, but no one much seemed to care. He avoided looking anyone in the eyes for fear that his legilimency skills would allow him to hear that they thought he deserved it, or their speculation of why it happened, or their damnation of 'that git of a potion's master'. He shook his head slightly and continued to his room, knowing that no one would persue him this time. He was not surprised when he felt slightly empty inside that no one would come to help him. A good, hot shower, however was welcoming and non-judgemental. That was where he headed.

The hot water was welcoming to him. The watched the drain as the pink-tinged water swirled and disappeared from view. He snorted, derisively; he wished his thoughts could be so cleansed.

He held his head under the water with his face down, blowing the water away from his mouth. His left hand braced him against the wall, the Dark Mark now showing clearer than ever.

When he felt himself sufficiently pruned, he turned off the water and murmured a drying spell. He got out clean clothes and a robe that was not covered in dust. He pulled on a white undershirt before donning his shirt and buttoning it up to the collar. He pulled on his trousers and ran a thick, black leather belt through the belt-loops. After he tucked his shirt in smoothly, he pulled his tie off the mirror it was hanging on, looped it over his head, and tightened it. He turned a grabbed his robes off the bed and fastened the clasp.

His reflection stared unmovingly back at him. For the first time, he felt severely out of place in Gryffindor scarlet and gold. He sighed deeply – who did they think they were kidding, he was no Gryffindor, certainly no Gryffindor.

His brow furrowed, and he stared back up at his face. There was a bruise growing between his eyebrow and temple. A few of the small gashes were still red with fresh blood.

He turned to the door, then, on a second thought, he turned back to the dresser with the mirror. After opening a small rectangular box, he picked up his wand and put it in the pocket of his robes – just in case.

Severus sat at his desk, his head in his hands, breathing shallowly and rapidly. His body was shaking slightly as he fought against himself – against emotion-laden memories from the past. He didn't notice Dumbledore's presence in the doorway, although he should have anticipated it. The man always had a way of showing up at his side when he was going through difficulties.

"Severus-."

The moment the words left the headmaster's mouth, a large glass jar blasted apart from one of the shelves.

"Merlin," the headmaster said. "Reparo," the glass jar shot back together and to its spot on the shelf. "Evansesco," the liquid dribbling down the shelves and onto the floor disappeared. "What happened, Severus?"

Four more glass containers shattered, spraying solutions and formaldehyde across the room. This time the headmaster left them the way they were.

The dark Potions master hadn't so much as moved a muscle or acknowledged Dumbledore's presence. Moments passed by. The headmaster knew better than to push too hard, especially with Severus in his present condition.

Finally, he spoke, without moving, "I can no longer do this, Albus."

The old man cocked his head, "Do what?" He expected a complaint about his dual role again, but he was not expecting what was said.

"Raise my nephew… take care of Sage, deal with him…"

The headmaster moved closer to him, but did not dare touch him.

"Severus, tell me what happened."

The man scowled darkly, heavily. The headmaster did not need to see the younger man's face to feel it.

"I hit him… hard. No, no I pummeled him, headmaster, and he let me do it. He did not so much as try to push me away. He did not even try to use any magic on me, any at all."

Another glass jar blew apart, as if a bomb had exploded within it. Severus growled.

"I see," the headmaster said, looking down at him with sympathy.

"I am becoming something I never wished to be, Albus, that I do not wish to be."

This time, the headmaster put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "Severus, you are not the kind of man your father was, and this does not make you any closer to being like him."

The man didn't answer that statement, but chose to let it pass by but not unnoticed.

"He is just so, so maddening that I feel as if I have no other recourse."

"Perhaps that is the case."

"Does that make it any more acceptable?" he asked scathingly.

This time, Dumbledore sighed and allowed the question to pass. "Do you remember your Rite of Passage, Severus?"

The man finally looked up, his eyes red, his skin more pale than usual.

"Yes, of course."

"Then you remember that exact same thing happening to you?"

"More than once, what does that matter? It changes nothing."

The blue eyed wizard leaned down closer to the professor's face.

"Do you believe that he would rather have it first come from you, or first come from someone that he barely even knows?"

Severus's upper lip curled and he shuddered deeply. He looked away for a few minutes, occluding himself as best he could. He found that these things were the hardest to push down.

"It did not make it any easier or better that it came from my father the first time, Headmaster," he answered quietly, his dark eyes shallow.

Dumbledore put his other hand on the younger man's shoulder, shaking his head slightly. "Severus, you were a little boy, you were abused. This is not the same thing. How old were you when your father first laid a hand on you like that?"

He shrugged, his lower eyelids pinching upwards, making his eyes narrow, "Four, maybe five, is the earliest I can remember."

The man released his shoulders, "Sage is sixteen, he will be of age in a few months. He could be dead in less than a few years. No matter what you did to him, Severus, it is not the same thing as what was done to you."

"I never wished to do that. I never wanted to do that to him and mean it."

He pulled away as the headmaster patted him on the shoulder.

"I daresay, this is more painful for you than it is for your nephew."

His normal demeanor fading away, he shook his head vehemently, "You did not see him sitting on the ground looking like a shell, as if he had almost completely dissociated."

"Are you angry with him because he did not make it easier on you by fighting back?"

"Of course not," he answered screwing up his face in disgust.

"Did you tell him why?"

"Of course."

"I cannot pretend to know everything, Severus."

Another jar burst. The headmaster cringed.

"I have not seen your wandless magic this out of control in years," he commented, "There must be many things that I do not know about."

"Granger told me that he's been smoking pot."

The headmaster's brow furrowed, "Smoking a pot?"

"The DRUG, headmaster, marijuana, cannabis…"

"Oh dear, again? I thought you had taken care of that?"

"I found it in his room, confirming what the girl told me. Merlin knows how she found out."

" No wonder you are so angry, rightfully so."

"Perhaps you were right, Albus, perhaps I put too many stringent demands on him, perhaps I set him up for this."

"Given that you then relaxed those demands and he got worse, I do not think that made a difference. Perhaps you should only have been less adamant about him guarding himself and not having close friends."

Severus frowned deeply, his eyebrows coming together, "I never told him or asked him not to have friends, in fact, I told him that I would not want that for him. I only cautioned him that at some point in time he may have to abandon those associations."

"I had not idea," the headmaster answered quietly, feeling slightly misinformed, "I suppose I assumed that you had said that because that is the way that has been acting."

"Perhaps you should have asked…" He said glaring.

"Indeed."

"I only made certain, very specific, impositions on his actions, and he managed none of them. I told him that we had to maintain our appearances and that he must listen to me and not talk or act inappropriately towards me. I told him that he must train seriously. He has done none of it, and I'm at my wit's end." The Mark was getting darker and this situation was not one he could explain away. If knocking some hard sense into the boy would allow them to survive the next six months when nothing else had worked, it should not feel this painful.

"He obviously did not understand the implications those rules had on the future: both yours and his. If I had known what was going on, I could have helped you, Severus. I would have kept a closer eye on the boy."

"I had tried to tell you that it was not simply depression." He sent the headmaster another death glare.

"The consequences of this prophecy have been prolific. I fear I have been paying too much attention to Mr. Potter. I have also been guilty of believing that Sage and Harry are more similar that they are. I believed that the gentle guidance that works with Harry would also work with Sage. I should have realized that you know your own nephew better."

"Sage and Potter are nothing alike."

A/N

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