Lance and Severus

Upon returning to 13 Myrddin Street, Camden, Colonel Lance Snape discovered that his house was no longer unoccupied. A small gadget on his desktop, designed to protect the stationary army point and its inhabitants, displayed a small, green light in the general area of the upstairs bedroom. Severus had returned.

Feeling a little uncomfortable about his son having walked from King's Cross station all by himself yet again, as well as being glad not to have to take this evening's dinner all alone after all, the colonel stored a number of files he had been presented with by his wife's Healer earlier this day away in the highest shelf behind his desk. Not looking at them for another while would make the pain go away, so much was certain. It had been an uncomfortable visit once again, but at last some facts concerning Virbia Snape's death had become clearer to both men.

Their discussion had begun with Lance informing Healer McGonagall that his wife had stopped taking the mind-addling medicine her earlier healer had prescribed and that this fact had had no perceivable impact on her well-being other than she had been more awake, generally more alert, and most often in a considerably better mood than before. The Healer, in turn, had informed Lance that the symptoms would not immediately return, but that the confusion resulting from a lack of medicine might have been a reason why Virbia had confused one potion with the other. Lance had pointed out that the other potion (the deadly one) could not possibly have been in his wife's reach, meaning someone must have helped her obtain it from the locked potions cupboard in the office.

"Is there any particular person you suspect?" the healer had enquired, sounding concerned. Nothing but silence had followed. Because what would be the answer to this? Yes? 13 Myrddin Street, Camden, probably the safest place in the Southern part of the wizarding world, not counting the Ministry itself or St. Mungo's had probably been invaded by a total stranger who had happened to know his way around and randomly intended to kill the only person present? Or rather yes, because a thirteen year old boy could be easily misled and in this case not possibly estimate the outcome of his actions? How about yes, because somewhere inside, Lance was not entirely sure after all that it had not been himself who had forgotten to apply the locking spell on the potions cupboard the night before…?

"Severus!" the soldier called upon entering the hallway and a small, black-eyed face appeared on top of the staircase, between the door leading to Severus's room and its frame.

"Yessir!"

"Come down," said Lance quietly. "I have something to discuss with you."

Severus came. They settled down in the kitchen and a few flicks of the older wizard's wand provided them with hot tea and some sandwiches.

"So," the soldier said. "Had a good term, did you?"

"Yes, ve-very much so," said Severus hesitantly. "There weren't many lessons, though. Too many things happened."

"Because of the kidnapping, I presume," Lance mumbled, more to himself than anything. "Professor McGonagall would have been away most of the time."

"Yes," replied Severus quickly, glad that his father knew of the matter. "I didn't have all my remedials."

"Ah yes, your remedial Transfiguration lessons," the soldier remembered, feeling his eyebrows knitting together. "I shouldn't think you need them anyway."

Severus's face lit up.

"But better safe than sorry," his father decided, remembering the last time he had overestimated his son's mental capacity. "We'll see how the end-of-year exams go."

His son's face assumed a sullen expression again. Lance frowned. What was it that made it so hard to talk sensibly to the boy, he wondered. Severus was aware that he needed help with his work. He knew perfectly well that he was several months behind with it – had said so himself upon his father's investigation concerning last year's final marks. And yet, the boy never seemed to appreciate how fortunate he was to have so many helpful people around him. Remedial lessons with the deputy headmistress were nothing just any student could pride themselves to receive.

"You don't seem to enjoy these lessons," he observed. Severus shrugged.

"Professor McGonagall can be so strange sometimes. She keeps asking these questions…"

"That," the soldier cut in, "is the whole idea of a lesson. Really, Severus," he added, suddenly tired of having to once again defend what was obviously good for the boy's development, "you ought to stop complaining so much. There are so many opportunities you are provided with and yet, you seem to take not a single one of them."

"I do," came his son's hurried reply. "Honestly. It's just that she… she's so…"

"Careful now," said the soldier warningly. "I am aware that you are not incredibly fond of my old friend, but that does not excuse you from being polite and helpful. You are the one who benefits from these lessons, after all."

Severus scowled. "Not only me," he mumbled. His father put down his cup slowly, pointedly, his eyes narrowing just enough to make his opposite feel uncomfortable in his seat. It was a method, which always worked with recruits. And Severus was only two or three years away from attending basic training, of course.

The boy crouched. "S'ry," he managed, shrinking back. Lance nodded, not disapprovingly, observing that the boy at least knew his place. Severus had almost disappeared under the surface of the table now and upon realising this took considerable effort to come back into sight.

"I have been meaning to discuss something with you," the soldier said eventually, trying to rearrange his thoughts to focus on more important matters than his son's general behaviour. "Concerning your mother."

Severus's head flicked up as though someone had pulled it back. His eyes assumed a cautious, but nevertheless curious expression. He was absorbing every word now. "Mother?"

"Yes, Severus. Concerning the cause of her –"

The sudden silence took not only the boy by surprise. Lance Snape found himself trying to talk about matters that had rested for so long that he had nearly managed to forget all about them – and he failed. What a pathetic, pitiable situation. Caelian Lance Snape, an officer of the British Wizarding Army, and his voice failed him at the mere thought of his wife's soft, dark eyes – a single movement of her hands enough to make him change his mind about almost anything…

"I talked to one of her healers today," he heard himself say, slower than usual, and with a strange voice.

Severus's hands were clinging to his teacup now, his knuckles almost as white as his face. "Healers," he repeated dully, as though repeating the words would make them come to live. "Mother's healers?"

"For Merlin's sake," Lance said impatiently, "don't play stupid, Severus! You know that your mother went to several of them about her illness. Healer Jones, Healer Thomas, Healer Prince, as well as Healer McGonagall, the person I just went to see."

This seemed to wake Severus from his daze. "Eileen Prince?"

Lance's jaw dropped. For a second or two it seemed as though panic was about to numb is mind and cause a sharp, scathing reply, but his concentration and innate Snape stubbornness proved stronger. The boy could have heard the name anywhere.

"No," he therefore said, taking good care of giving his voice the air of finality. "Healer Septimus Prince, a renowned expert in the field of advanced healing potions. Not the best choice your mother has ever made in terms of Healers, but at least not a witch."

There was more silence. Lance could feel that Severus did not believe him. The boy's gaze went right through the layers of protection his father had built up around the two of them so carefully, trying to discover the deepest and most secret part of his father's mind – literally.

The soldier's reaction was an automatic one. His hand shot forward, grabbing his son's throat while giving him a sharp slap with the other. Both teapots fell, rolled off the table and burst in two.

Legilimency! How DARE you!

Then, it was all over. Lance stared at himself, his son still in his grip, the kitchen table a wet mess. The Daily Prophet was spread all over it and soaked with tea now. Severus's face was white and confused, and Colonel Lance Snape suddenly realised that a thirteen-year-old boy could not possibly have mastered one of the most obscure and complicated of all magical branches – Legilimency – especially not one who was this careless with his school work. He felt his hands open as though in a trance and Severus retreated, covering his cheek with a trembling elbow.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry…!"

Two deep breaths, eyes closed, mind free of all emotions. Lance knew how to deal with automatisms. He had fought for both, obtaining and getting rid of them as long as he could think. But he had never, as long as he could remember, lost his composure in a situation that involved Severus. He had chastised him, oh yes, but never in an uncontrolled manner. Never out of anger or rage. Lance threw a cautious look at the child before him The boy was no longer entirely in his control. He was growing up and, if he did not take good care now, Lance knew, could turn into an enemy as easily as a respectable member of the wizarding community. Snapes were always complicated, but this particular Snape was a special case. He was not, after all, from the same line as Lance himself… He required careful handling.

"It's all right, boy," he said calmly, motioning his son to resume his place, which Severus did without hesitation. "There is nothing for you to be sorry for. I misjudged the situation. Please excuse my harshness."

A confused pair of glittering, black eyes told him that this statement was at least as rare in occurrence as his preceding behaviour had been.

"Soldiers have automatisms," he thus explained, hoping he sounded sufficiently matter-of-fact. "They are sometimes triggered in situations where they are inappropriate. You will learn that soon enough once you have completed your first two years of training."

"I… yes, sir," was Severus's feeble reply. He did not seem to have recovered from the shock of living through an attack and an apology by his own father within the same five minutes. "I'm sorry for…"

"No!" cut the soldier in, rather less patiently than intended. " I am sorry."

There was more silence. Perhaps he should have let him speak. At least the boy was trying to be polite and willing to take the blame, but no… the decisions how to deal with Severus had been made years ago and could not be changed now.

"I believe we should continue this conversation – some other time," Lance eventually said, suddenly feeling no longer up to the task of talking about his wife's death, particularly, as the situation would have required another apology on his part. Severus nodded.

"Can… can I ask you something?" he said tentatively. Lance raised his eyebrows.

"Yes," he said, feeling that he could not very well deny this request after what had happened.

Severus took a deep breath. "I… it's not… I found this person in a book the other day… in the library," he stammered, obviously hesitant to pose the actual question, "and I was wondering… I mean… he seems connected somehow to m- to us… I can't place him…"

"What do you want to ask?" interrupted the soldier impatiently. Severus's shoulders tightened, almost touching his ears now.

"I… I was wondering… do you know anyone called… Tobias Snape?"

"That is NONE of your business!"

For the second time today, Lance felt as though he would much rather turn and leave the room than face his son's inquisitive mind. Just a moment too late, he realised that any other reply would have worked better towards his goal of inhibiting Severus's curiosity. That the denial of any straightforward response was usually the very reason for underage boys to keep digging until they found a satisfactory solution.

"There are much more pressing matters to discuss at the moment," he thus said, trying to think quickly and very clearly, "You have not handed me this term's grade sheet, I believe."

His son's face lost all colour at once. "I…"

"Don't tell me it is as abysmal as the last," his father said sharply, feeling much more at home with this kind of conversation. "Go on. I'll be most interested."

"Y-yessir."

When Severus had vanished to dig out the grade sheet from inside the vastness of his trunk, the colonel leaned back, took another deep breath and, with a flick of his wand, wiped away all the remaining tea on the floor and on the table. He then sat down and wrecked his brain about the matter at hand and what to do about it. A memory wipe? The most gentle and certainly the easiest solution, but the boy was bound to have revised hard for his end-of-year exams during the past days so there was a good chance that heaps of valuable knowledge would be erased alongside the memory of Eileen Prince, if Severus was obliviated now. No, there had to be another solution. Lance thumped the table impatiently and then sighed.

Let it be for now, something inside his brain told him. Why would the boy dig any further in this matter? He had no reason whatsoever to believe that Eileen Prince was related to him, nor, Lance knew, was there much material about her in the Hogwarts library after the unfortunate turn her life had taken. No, Severus's limited capacity was barely sufficient to keep up with his school work (not counting the subject of Potions, in which he excelled, for some reason). And keeping him occupied with school work was something Lance knew efficiently how to do.