Second Chance

The weeks and months that followed were some of the happiest moments of Severus Snape's life. Meeting Amelia Amarotti and Fireflash in the glen that afternoon had changed his life forever.

As a child, his best friend had been Lily Evans, but as a young adult he'd been careful to keep to himself, shutting off his heart in order to preserve himself from Voldemort's mind probes and the petty jealousies of the other Death Eaters.

Severus was perhaps the strongest Occlumency talent in Europe, maybe even the United States as well. He had needed to be to prevent the ever suspicious Voldemort from reading his thoughts and learning the deepest secrets of his soul. His shields were second to none and that alone enabled him to escape the ruthless necromancer's devouring of his mind.

The other Death Eaters had no defense against their Dark Lord, their minds were open books to him.

Not so Severus Snape's.

Snape allowed Voldemort access to his mind as would any loyal Death Eater, but he only let the Dark Lord touch the surface of his mind. He gave Voldemort what the other wanted to see, a perfect follower, believing heart and soul in the unholy cause, yet also one who was trusted by the other side. Voldemort was satisfied by what he found and never probed deeper, a good thing for Severus, who would have given himself away with his triple strength mindshields.

Thus he found it a bit disconcerting that Amelia could tell when he was lying, but he allowed that her empathic talents worked on a different level, and he had never learned to completely shield his emotions, especially from a master empath.

But being with Amelia was something he looked forward to, so he didn't regret that she could almost always tell what he was feeling. Normally, being so vulnerable would have frightened him terribly, but strangely enough, he trusted her. He sensed on some visceral level that she would never use her power to take advantage of him, or for personal gratification or to harm him. She had integrity and honor, was passionate and funny by turns, but most of all she liked him just the way he was.

Lily had been that way, accepting of the shy little boy he'd been. Amelia had that same generosity of spirit, as well as a bit more. She soothed the raw places in his soul caused by his guilt and betrayal of the Potters, all unknowing. But he would be forever grateful for it.

He knew she was aware that he had some wound upon his soul, something dark that he dared not reveal, but she never asked him what it was. She respected his privacy and did not pry and it was for that he loved her best of all.

Once, soon after he had met her, he had asked, "Do you ever wonder about the secrets men have in hidden in their souls?"

She had answered, "Of course, everyone does. But those secrets are not mine to know, unless the person chooses to share them with me. As an empath, I'm almost fanatical about personal privacy. I would never read another's emotions out of simple curiosity, or without their consent. The only exception I ever made was when I was tracking Slade, and it was a matter of life and death. But otherwise . . .I believe in the sanctity of the individual. You can do too much damage that way. People aren't toys, to be bent and shaped to an empath's will. Whatever secrets you have are safe from me, Severus."

"And if I said I had none?"

"Then you'd be lying. We all have secrets, my friend. Things we can examine only in the darkest part of the night, because we are ashamed and afraid. No one can ever be truly honest, it costs too much. Not even an empath."

But what would you say if you knew my secret? He'd thought later, alone in his house. I was once a Death Eater. I bear the Dark Mark of servitude still upon my skin. What would you think, little Dark Hunter, if you knew what I had been? Could you forgive me that? Even that? I think not.

Despite the dark secret that stained his soul, he truly enjoyed her company. She made him laugh, and that wasn't something he did easily. He had not known much joy in his short life, yet when he was with her, it seemed that was all he knew.

The second day after their initial meeting, he'd spent trying to come up with a curriculum and some kind of teaching methods, for even though he was a reluctant teacher, and had a good six months to figure out a plan, he wanted it out of the way.

Potions was mostly a hands-on experience, you learned more by doing than by reading. Oh, you could study recipes and memorize ingredients and definitions, but nothing replaced actually going into a lab and preparing a potion from scratch.

It was not an exact science either. Nothing with magic was. You could follow a recipe exactly and still come up with some unexpected result.

Though for the most part, the recipes that worked 99 of the time were the ones you learned in school. They'd been handed down for centuries and were almost foolproof.

Not that they couldn't be improved upon. He'd done just that in his Advanced Potions during his fifth and sixth years, when his instinct and knowledge of plants and herbs far outstripped the standard text they'd worked with. He'd also outstripped his teacher, Professor Slughorn, though he was careful to never boast of his potential. He preferred to let the results speak for themselves.

He'd always detested those students who thought they knew everything and who had to show off their knowledge every class by always having the right answer. All they knew were textbooks, inside and out, and sometimes the solution to a problem was not always the easy one, or the one everyone accepted. Sometimes you just had to go on instinct.

There had been plenty of times in school he'd wanted to snap at one of those know-it-all encyclopedias to just shut up and let someone else answer the question, you weren't the only student in the class. Sometimes you learned more from a wrong answer than a right one. If you never made mistakes, you could never learn from them, and if you always did the right thing, you didn't know how to react when something went wrong.

That had happened to several of his classmates, solid students who always received perfect marks, graduated and went on to perfectly good careers in the Ministry. They always knew what to say, how to act, and followed policy to the letter like perfect automatons.

But when Voldemort showed up, throwing a monkey wrench into their perfect lives, they were caught flat-footed, unable to respond. They froze, not knowing what to do in the face of such unexpected turmoil. Nothing in the manual had ever covered Dark Wizards threatening all you held dear, and all the textbook-perfect magic you'd learned in school wasn't enough to deal with someone who didn't follow standard rules of spellcasting, who in fact broke all the rules and used outlawed magic. They proved easy prey and they died still wondering why their perfect methods hadn't saved them.

This new generation of students could not afford to become complacent, following Ministry approved methods like sheep. No matter what everyone else in the wizarding world believed, Snape knew that someday Voldemort would return, or someone just like him.

These new students had to be prepared to deal with that eventuality, to fight dark magic effectively, or else they would die.

He knew, none better, what the dark side was capable of. He'd observed firsthand their methods, their utter disregard for any life save their own. They'd not hesitate to kill a child if that child got in their way, for all they cared about was their own agenda.

I have to teach them to fight, not just react, he thought. I'm the only one who can teach them what they need to survive. The other teachers are good, but they have no practical experience with dark magic. If only Dumbledore had let me teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, I could have prepared them best there, for who knows more about countering dark magic than one who almost became a Dark Wizard?

His mouth twisted. Ironic, really, that the very thing that makes me an effective teacher in that subject is also the very thing that prevents me from getting that position. Dumbledore doesn't want to tempt me, not if he can help it. Potions is safer than Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Even so, he could still make sure his students learned enough to combat the return of the Death Eaters. Disguised within the accepted curriculum, he could teach them antidotes and poisons, healing elixirs and counter-curses to revive those struck down by forbidden magic. Magic that skirted the border of what the Ministry deemed acceptable for apprentice wizards to learn. Yet learn it they must, or else suffer the fate of those other wizards, easy prey for an unscrupulous dark practitioner.

Half of those poor people died because they couldn't react fast enough to deflect a curse or hex, because none of them had ever been taught to expect the unexpected.

That had never been a lesson he'd needed to be taught. He'd learned that long before, victim of a father with an unpredictable temper and love of beer. The one good thing his father taught him was to be alert and quick enough to duck and run.

I have to teach that to my students. It won't be easy, I'm going to have to be tough on them, for they need to learn self-discipline, and that isn't easy to impose without help. How can I teach them that vital skill when I have only one or two hours a day with them? The only way to make sure they learn it is to ram it down their throats.

I have to become a blasted drill sergeant, hard and nasty, because what they're going up against is twice as mean as I am and one hesitation, one wrong move, will mean death.

They'll probably hate me for it, but in the end it'll save their lives, so I can't let myself care about that. I'm not a teacher to be my students' friend, but to teach them how to survive, he reminded himself sternly. Someone has to, and no one but me knows what we're up against. So be it. This is my penance. I'll do whatever it takes to protect the children in my care, even if hurts like hell. They'll never know, but I will, and that must be enough. Better that they're alive to hate me than dead for me to mourn.

With those goals in mind, he found outlining a curriculum ridiculously easy. The hard part would be getting Dumbledore to accept it. Or maybe not, for the Headmaster was no fool, and he would understand that extreme measures were called for.

But once he'd done that, he was free to relax. Free to enjoy himself for once. And what he wanted most was to talk more with that fascinating American witch, Amelia Amarotti.

Magician, he reminded himself. They call them magicians over there, because the name witch has bad connotations thanks to the Salem witch trials and such.

Whatever she chose to call herself, he couldn't wait to see her again.

One bite of her lasagna and he knew he'd just lost his bet. He'd never tasted anything so delicious in his whole life. It was so good he couldn't stop eating it.

Amelia watched him in amusement, he tried so hard to seem nonchalant as he tasted that first bite. But she could see the look of utter bliss in his eyes and it warmed her to the core of her being. She always liked a man who could appreciate her cooking.

She had sensed from the first that here was a man that had been wounded deeply in spirit, not once but many times, until it was a miracle he was not an incurable recluse or suicidal. She also sensed that here was a man capable of great passion, but one who had been either rejected by a woman or had an unfulfilled longing for one. He reminded her of an injured animal, one who kept to the shadows to hide his vulnerability, but who wanted desperately to venture out into the world again, if only he could gather courage enough to do so.

Someone—probably several someones—hurt you very badly, but I can help you if you'll let me,

she wanted to say. I can heal you, fill that empty space within you, if you'll only trust me. Poor Severus. Whoever she was, she missed out on a good man. Oh well, her loss is my gain. I hope.

"Well?" she queried gently. "Is it as good as I said?"

Snape finished chewing and sighed in satisfaction. "You win. This is the best meal I ever ate."

"And wait till you have dessert," Amelia said happily.

"Merlin's Beard! I don't know if I can eat another bite right now."

"Don't worry, Sev. I'll clean up and we can go for a little walk. By the time we get back we'll be ready for my chocolate cream pie and coffee."

"You really are an amazing cook, Amelia."

"Thanks. And I did it without magic too. Actually, my grandmother was a better cook than I am. She could make seven course feasts that were better than professional chefs. I only inherited a fraction of her talent."

"If you only inherited a fraction, your grandmother must have been a food goddess or something. Did you all eat like kings every night?"

"No, but we Italians do love our food." Amelia laughed. "We use only the best and freshest ingredients. But you'll learn all about that tomorrow, when you have your first cooking lesson, Potions Master."

Severus smiled. "I just hope you have plenty of patience."

"I promise not to whack you with a wooden spoon if you forget an ingredient," the Dark Hunter said impishly. "That's what my grandmother used to do to us kids."

"Thanks, Amarotti. Your mercy is greatly appreciated," he said dryly. He took out his wand. "You cooked, so I'll clean." He pointed his wand at the dirty dishes. "Wingardium leviosa!" The dishes flew over to the sink. "Scourgify!" A stream of soap flew out of his wand, the sink started running water, and the dishes began to wash themselves.

"I love cleaning spells," Amelia remarked, gesturing quickly. A broom flew out of a corner with a dustpan and began sweeping. "I used to use them all the time to get out of doing chores as a kid."

"Me too," Snape admitted. "I used to read a book while a neaten-up charm cleaned my room. It was the ultimate time saver. And since my mother was a witch, no one ever knew I was breaking the Underage Wizardry Restriction."

Amelia looked puzzled. "You weren't allowed to use magic as a child? Whyever not?"

"Not outside of Hogwarts. The underage wizard rule," Snape explained. "It has to do with using magic responsibly so Muggles don't find out about us. Didn't you have a similar rule?"

"About using magic responsibly, yes. That's why you weren't allowed to study battle magic until you were fifteen and then you had to swear an oath never to use spells on anything or anyone unless you were in peril of your life. And we were taught to never use magic where a Muggle might see, but to absolutely forbid magic outside of school, no. We have some Wizard Academies in the States, usually in the large cities, like New York, Chicago, and LA. But if you don't have the money to get in there—they're very expensive and exclusive—you study with the nearest accredited master magician. We still follow the old master-apprentice rule in most areas, with a master teaching maybe one or two students until they achieve master status.

"In my case, half of my family were masters, and all of them took turns teaching me."

"You must have been close to your family," Severus said, a bit enviously.

"I was, but sometimes it made it hard to learn something, since they each had their own ways of casting something, and they'd argue about it for hours. My Aunt Kathryn and Uncle Joe once got into an argument about the best way to transfigure a water goblet and didn't speak to each other for days."

"Who won?"

"My aunt, I think. She almost always won the arguments," Amelia replied. "My Uncle Andrea taught me how to control my empathic powers when they emerged, since he had them too, only mine were stronger than his ever were. Magic runs stronger in the female line than the male in my family."

She opened the door and stepped out onto the street, which was quiet for this time of evening.

They walked leisurely down the sidewalk, engrossed in their discussion. Several passersby winked knowingly at them, reckoning they were a couple dating.

"While it was fun having my relatives teach me for the most part, I never dared give them a hard time about homework or tests or acted like a smartass."

"I would hope not, otherwise you'd get more than a detention."

"That's for sure. I'd of been grounded for a month, or had my broom taken away, or something like that if I didn't turn in an assignment. As for answering back my teacher, well you just didn't disrespect an adult in my family that way. Was it like that for you too growing up?"

Severus hesitated for a long moment before replying. "I was only allowed to practice magic or discuss it when my father wasn't around. He was a Muggle and I think he resented my mother and me for being able to do what he couldn't. I never could figure out why the hell he married her, he knew what she was from the beginning. He was a miserable bastard for his whole life and he made our lives miserable too until he died."

He broke off abruptly, his hands clenching into involuntary fists. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. The last thing you need is to listen to some sob story from a man you barely know."

She placed a hand on his arm. "I don't mind. Sometimes you just need to talk and have someone listen. I've always been a good listener. Comes with being an empath, I guess. People naturally tell you what's bothering them," she shrugged. "As for not knowing you—crazy as this might sound, I feel as if I've known you my whole life."

"Impossible. We've only just met. And I normally don't babble on and on about my past to anyone. It can't be changed."

"True. But where we come from shapes us nonetheless."

"Only if we let it. I refuse to be the man my father was. He was never satisfied and he took his frustration out on us. My mother told me once that he'd married her because she was unlike any woman he'd ever known. But he changed, because what I remember best is how he was always on her back to do things like a normal person—without magic. He forbade her to work magic around him," Snape chuckled harshly. "Asking a witch or wizard not to do magic is like asking a fish to stop swimming. But he never understood that, or he didn't want to, or whatever."

"Did she ever try to tell him?"

"Once, I think, for all the good it did. I tried myself, once I knew I had magic in me too. He called me a freak of nature and backhanded me into a wall. That was the first and last time I ever brought up that subject."

"I'm no therapist, but maybe he resented you for having something he never could. Something miraculous and wonderful. Sad, really, that the only way he knew how to appreciate magic was by hurting his son."

"I could care less what reasons he might have had," Severus said heatedly. "They don't matter worth a damn. All I know is that he made my life a living nightmare until my mother and I left him. It was right after I received my letter of acceptance from Hogwarts." He sighed angrily. "Why am I talking about this anyway? I'm not the only kid to ever have a bad childhood and I sure as blazes won't be the last."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less."

He snorted. "It was a long time ago, Amelia. I'm not ten years old anymore, I don't need you to hold my hand."

"Don't you? Severus, everyone needs someone to hold their hand, no matter how old they are. There's nothing wrong with admitting you need someone to lean on. That's what friends are for."

She was right and he knew it. It made him angry, the way she was able to see into his soul, he was afraid of what she might find there. "Maybe you ought to take your own advice, Amarotti, and call somebody," he snapped, jerking his arm from her grasp and striding away from her.

She followed, relentless as a hound on the scent. "I am. That's why I'm here. To confront my own demons and move on. But I can't do that without help."

He averted his eyes. "I'm not a therapist."

"I don't need a shrink, Snape. I need you," she said bluntly.

"What?" He halted so abruptly she nearly tread on his heels. "Why me?"

"Because you understand what I'm going through," she answered, moving around to face him. "Only those who have been through hell can show another the way back. I need you as much as you need me." She put a finger to his lips. "Don't bother to deny it. We both know the truth. Now why don't we quit arguing and agree to help each other, okay?"

He looked into her eyes and saw what it had cost her to say that. Like him she was proud, but not too proud to admit she needed help. Even from a sarcastic sharp-tempered git like him.

"Okay. But I don't know how much good I'll be."

"You might be surprised. But together we can do anything."

"If you say so."

"I do." She linked her arm through his once more. "Now let's go back and eat dessert. You can't fight demons successfully on an empty stomach."

"I agree. That more of your grandmother's Italian wisdom?"

"No. That's because I'm a chocolate addict and that pie has a piece with my name on it. Yours too, if you'd care to join me?"

He hesitated for the barest fraction of a second before nodding. "As you wish. I'm a closet addict myself."

She laughed at that. "I'd never have guessed. Come on, Sev, before one of the neighbors realizes that pie's unattended and steals it."

"Over my dead body!" he turned around and began to run back the way they came.

Grinning, she followed, matching him stride for stride.

That was the beginning of their remarkable friendship, born out of the mutual need to heal from the scars of a stormy past and find hope and love again.

Most of their discussions began over food at first, since Amelia was determined to fulfill the terms of their bet by teaching Severus how to cook.

He proved adept at following the recipes, for cooking was similar to making potions in that respect.

"You're precise and you follow directions exactly," she remarked one day, while watching him measuring out spices for a beef stew.

"Something wrong with that?" He tossed a teaspoon of parsley in the simmering pot of beef stock. "Being precise is a prime requisite in my field. Otherwise you could end up missing an eye or a hand."

"Yeah, but even in potion making you can develop shortcuts."

"Only if you know what in hell you're doing," he argued. "Otherwise you're asking for trouble."

"You don't need to be so controlled when you cook, though. Cooking's not so much a science as it is an art. It's okay to experiment."

"What happens if I do that and it tastes terrible? Then all that time and effort is wasted."

"So what? You can't make an omelet—"she began.

"—without breaking a few eggs," he finished, rolling his eyes.

"Uh-huh. So don't be afraid to experiment a bit every now and again. Add a bit more garlic or some onion to this. What's the worst that can happen? That you'll have to throw it out? Who cares, Sev? In cooking, you always get a second chance."

"I wish life were that way."

"But it is. Life is one unending series of second chances."

"How can you say that? If the person you wronged or whatever is dead, that's it."

"Ah, but I never said you wouldn't miss one or two along the way. That's part of the risk you take, sometimes one slips by you. But that doesn't mean it was never there to begin with. You simply have to learn to see them."

"Then you honestly believe that everyone deserves a second chance?"

"Yes and no. I don't believe that one bad choice should condemn you for life," Amelia clarified. "We all make mistakes, the important thing is to learn from them and not keep repeating them. However, there are certain people, like the hardened criminals that I hunt down, that deliberately choose wrong, time after time, and those people deserve whatever bad things that happen to them. Like the serial killer who chooses, time and again, to take the lives of innocents. He's already used up most of his second chances and the only option left is to bring him in and put him where he can't do any harm."

"I see. So unless you're a stone-cold killer or a rapist or something, that person deserves a second chance?"

"Yes. If they truly regret what they did, they deserve a chance to set things right. You've heard the saying, life doesn't give second chances? I disagree totally with that. Life gives you plenty of second chances, but most times you either ignore them, miss them, or don't think you deserve them. But you still have a choice, and what you make of it is up to you."

"In other words, try not to mess up the way you did the first time. Makes sense, I suppose."

"But. . .you don't believe in it."

"No."

"How come?"

"I can't tell you."

"All right." Then she gave him another of those disconcerting stares and added, "Even you deserve a second chance, Severus, no matter what you think."

He stopped stirring the stew and gaped at her. "Are you reading my mind?"

"Nope. But I am picking up anxiety and nervousness from you, and I just put two and two together. Sorry, it's reflex, even with my shields up."

"I'll have to work on my control. After dessert, that is."

Within a week or two they were as comfortable with each other as if they'd grown up together. She called him Sev and he called her Amy. Normally, he didn't like nicknames, they smacked of familiarity and he liked to keep people at a distance. But he couldn't do that with Amelia, and when she called him Sev it sounded right, though she was the only one allowed to call him that.

Inbetween his cooking lessons he took her on short tours of London, both in the wizarding world and the Muggle side. They shopped at Diagon Alley and toured Hogsmeade. They visited all the typical tourist attractions, like Big Ben, Westminster Palace, and the Tower of London. They went boating on the Thames, pausing to speak to the local water sprites beneath London Bridge. They strolled through Hyde Park and fed all the birds there.

In fifteen seconds, Amelia had what seemed like every bird in the park at her feet, on her shoulders, even on her head. All of them were cooing and chirping delightedly, utterly besotted with the little magician.

Luckily, they were alone when it happened. Snape pretended to look shocked, but all of a sudden he burst out laughing.

"What did you do, cast a summoning charm?" he asked when he could speak again.

Amelia flashed him a rueful look. "No. Animals just love me. Now quit making fun of me and get some of them off of me. They're darling, but I don't want my clothes ruined."

"Actually, I think you look rather . . .cute and exotic," he smirked. "You could start a new fashion trend, the Living Bird Dress or something," he teased.

"Fashion trend? Cute and exotic?" she sputtered, waving her hands, trying to dislodge some of the sparrows and wrens perching on her shoulders. "Severus Snape, you're impossible!"

"Pity they're not peacocks, you could have a cloak."

"Very funny. Don't just stand there, get them off me."

"With magic or seeds?"

"Severus!"

"Okay. Okay." He threw some seeds in a wide arc on the ground and half the colony on Amelia dove at them.

Then he drew his wand and whistled a sequence of notes that sounded like bird calls and pointed the tip at the trees. The remaining thrushes, sparrows, and finches fluttered off of Amelia and settled in the branches, chirping enthusiastically.

"Hmmm. Looks like you need a bit of cleaning up," he muttered, examining her leisurely. Her coral-colored dress was splattered with bird droppings.

She groaned. "How bad is it?"

"Not too bad. I'll fix it."

He waved his wand over her and her dress was free of bird droppings and smelled freshly laundered besides.

"There. Good as new." he tucked his wand back inside of his jacket. "Does that sort of thing happen often? Because if it does, you shouldn't go near Kensington Park Zoo."

"Smartass," she growled, smacking him on the shoulder lightly. "I'm an animal magnet. I cast an aura that animals can sense and they feel calm and happy when they're near me. I've always been able to do it, even as a little kid. I wanted to be a vet before I knew I was a wizard. I used to heal all the injured wild animals that came to me."

"And you chose to become a Dark Hunter instead of a Care of Magical Creatures trainer?"

"Yeah. I love animals, but I was needed more as a Dark Hunter, so that was why I chose it. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but the stress really gets to you. Still, the pay's good, so that's some compensation. And for every dark wizard I nail, that's one less running about hurting people. In the end, it's worth it."

Severus admired her conviction and her sense of justice. It was something he wished he shared. Instead all he had was guilt and resentment and a burning hatred of Voldemort for being the author of so much misery.

One day, I'll be free of your shadow,

Snape vowed. When you're dead forever and roasting in hell, then my redemption will be complete. Until then, however, I'll cherish these moments with Amelia, because nothing good in my life ever lasts.

So how was that for a little romance? Please review!

Next: Amelia's birthday and Sev has a special surprise for her!