Author's Note: This is the last chapter. Please, please, if you liked this, leave a review giving me your thoughts on the chapter or the entire story/series, particularly if you have been reading this far but never reviewed. It is vital for me to know if there are people interested in this story, particularly the non-canon parts. I am not planning a continuation any time soon, but one never knows. If enough people tell me they would follow Severus into fourth year and beyond, I might be tempted.

Enjoy!

The Broken Promise

When the sun had set behind Camden's grey skyline and the hallway at 13 Myrddin Street began to assume a soft, orange tone because of the day's last light falling in from the Muggle-side windows, the fireplace in the living room cracked three times and the previously empty house suddenly filled with voices. The female one spoke softly, urging the other two on and, seconds later, Lance Snape appeared in sight, leading his old friend into the hallway and towards the little staircase to the first floor, which was extendable, depending on how many children lived in the house at a given time.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was wearing a dark blue travelling cloak and her wizarding boots made sharp, determined noises on the wooden floor beneath her. She looked altogether quite serious and determined. The boy, Lance's son, trudged a few feet behind her.

"I cannot see why you will insist on using Severus's room," the soldier said while the three of them were swiftly ascending the staircase. "Our living-room was always good enough…"

"I have my reasons," said Professor McGonagall sharply and turned round the corner.

The room, a small, rectangular chamber, had one side opening to Muggle Camden, while the other window permitted an excellent view on "Pettigrew's Potions Powerseller" in the wizarding half of the district. It was extremely tidy, albeit a little dusty for a lack of use. It was very perceptible that Severus had spent the last six months not here, but in his dormitory at Hogwarts. Snapes had a traditional aversion against House-Elves, and Lance, of course, spent his entire time in Africa during the months when Severus was not at home. There was no one left to clean.

Minerva sat on the room's only chair in front of a dark, wooden desk upon Lance's indication. Severus took a seat on his bed and the soldier remained standing. The situation had an official feeling to it and a certain tension was clearly visible on both Snapes' faces.

The deputy headmistress put an arm on the desk beside her and let her gaze wander through the room, taking in this book or that – and some pictures, which Severus had obviously painted and hung up himself, though, she suspected, not without his father's consent.

"I am sure," said the soldier now, predictably pressing the question of her unscheduled presence under his roof, "the interior of this room cannot be of so much interest to you to justify the long journey from Hogwarts."

"Ah, yes. The long walk to the fireplace in my office and out of your living-room one," nodded Minerva without lifting her gaze from Severus's book shelf. "Straining."

The silence was necessary. She wanted him to feel that something was wrong, Minerva realised. Theoretical knowledge was a wonderful thing as long as it had some relevance to real life situations. Lance's theoretical knowledge told him that a teacher's presence in his house had to be his son's fault. His feeling, eventually, would tell him that his old friend's presence and choice of room and silence meant more than that.

"You, ah, have seen this room quite often, of course," said the soldier in an attempt to fill the silence. "You will know it quite well."

The boy's head lifted, for the first time today, glancing in his teacher's direction. … Never in his father's.

"This room used to be your father's when he was young," Minerva explained calmly. The boy was not to suffer from the silence, Lance was. "Though there were other rooms. For his siblings. Five of them, do I remember this correctly, Lance?"

"You do," confirmed the man. "Though there were only three of us in later years."

"Ah yes, your brothers' deaths…" Minerva said, gazing out of the window now. The younger Snape looked more confused than ever. "I am sure you told your son about them?"

"He knows some facts," Lance replied firmly. "That ought to be enough."

Minerva decided to allow another silence to descend. She threw interested looks at the wardrobe in the corner, where she assumed Severus was keeping not only clothes, but also the rest of his few belongings – possibly even toys. Lance remained motionless for a long time, arms crossed, leaning in the door frame. Then, after what seemed an eternity, he moved away from the door, which closed behind him with a little thud, and seated himself beside Severus on the bed. The boy's eyes widened for a second and his entire body became rigid, but other than that, he made no sign that he had noticed his father's approach. Minerva observed both Snapes' uneasiness with interest. Lance was reacting the way she had hoped, his son the way she had feared.

Severus had recovered greatly after the headmaster had spoken to him several nights before, of course. The signs were unmistakable. The twitching had left his spidery body almost entirely and during the end-of-term banquet she could have sworn that he had flipped a cocktail cherry in the general direction of James Potter, entirely unprovoked. (Surprisingly, the Gryffindor Pureblood had not reacted with prompt retaliation as usual, but had simply watched the other boy with a thoughtful expression on his face. Well, presumably even Potters grew up at some point.)

All in all, the signs had been good. That he was now reverting to his state of utter defensiveness supported her theory that it was Lance, mostly, who was causing the fear in his son. Not Potter, not Black, and not the school's rigid examination system, surprising though it had seemed when realisation had finally dawned on her.

"I like the decoration," she said finally, feeling that she had stretched the silence long enough. "Particularly the pictures. And the not as grey tapestry. Very different from how it used to be."

"Used to be?"

For the second time today, Severus raised his head enough for his eyes to show. It was a sign of great interest that he dared speak at all, she realised, watching instant regret for his words spread on his face and his body return to its previous, recoiled position. She had picked his curiosity, Minerva knew, but the boy's desires came second today. Anything she said had to be double-checked for its effect on Lance first.

"Yes, Mr. Snape," she therefore said calmly. "Last time I was here, this room still belonged to your father. We were…" (she exchanged a nanosecond's side-glance with Lance) "…friends at Hogwarts."

"I didn't know," whispered the boy, still not daring to meet his father's eyes, but fixing his gaze on his shoes. His hands were clinging to the mattress as though his life depended on it, his breathing very quick.

"You need not know everything," said the soldier firmly. Severus fell silent at once.

"But some things," Minerva intervened, "can be helpful to know. I believe that Severus would benefit greatly from hearing about your own time in this room, Lance."

The soldier frowned.

"What are you talking about?" he snorted impatiently. "Are you asking me to recount the days of my early youth to make Severus improve his working attitude?"

"This is not about Severus's academic achievements," said Minerva quietly. "As I am sure you are aware, Lance."

"Then what is this about?" replied the soldier harshly. Minerva realised that they had reached a point where his patience was so strained that he might snap any minute and end the conversation before it had even begun. "You have come to talk about Severus, have you not?"

"Among other things," Minerva told him. "Tell us about this room, Lance. Please."

Several lines had appeared on her friend's stern face. He was fighting with himself, she realised, his desire to be helpful and polite was clearly clashing with Snape fathers' inability to show their human side in front of their growing sons. She folded her hands and waited.

"The room... used to be a little smaller," the soldier said eventually, his voice raw, his choice of words blunter than usual. "My bed was… over there," he pointed, "and the desk was… the same. Yes."

"What about the walls?" said Minerva softly. "Any pictures?"

"Ah, no," replied the soldier formally. "My father would not permit leisure time activities of this kind. We did not draw."

Severus had gone a little pale in the face. He was still on edge because of his father's physical closeness, but he had lifted his head again and was following his father's words with increasing interest.

"There was a family picture next to the window," the soldier remembered, getting up to touch the wall above Severus's desk with one, massive hand, yet barely making contact. "It was renewed every year. Very regularly, except when… except after my brothers' deaths. We had a new one taken straight away that year. Father was very particular on that one."

"I can imagine," Minerva mumbled. Lance, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten all about her presence. He was pacing up and down the room (effectively crossing it in less than three steps) apparently lost in thoughts. He stopped, after a short while, in front of the wall next to the bed, where Severus had hung up an early picture of a vaguely human-shaped stick figure with long, black hair that was grinning all over its round face, waving what looked like a minuscule wand in one hand. The soldier's expression was motionless, his fingertips touching behind his back. Severus looked more apprehensive than ever. It was only now that Minerva noticed a tiny, ripped-off bit of the tapestry directly underneath the drawing. On closer investigation (she stood up as well now) it appeared as though a second piece of paper had been put up underneath this one, but taken off in a hurry. A jolt of excitement surged through her like a bolt of lightning. This was it! The piece of confirmation she had been looking for.

"Interesting," she said as calmly as possible, putting her hand on Lance's upper arm. "The same place, the same purpose, would you not think?"

He pushed her away. Severus jumped and retreated. Minerva, on the other hand, caught herself and returned to the place near the soldier's broad chest once more, hands on her hips, glaring up at him from below.

"I remember," she said firmly, as though telling Severus what this was all about, but really watching her old friend's every reaction, "a piece of parchment hanging at this very place, Mr. Snape. – Oh, don't look like that. I don't remember yours, obviously, though your expression gives me a last confirmation that my assumption is right. No, I remember the first piece of parchment that hung here before you put up your own, although in your father's youth he would not have dared rip it off."

She gave the soldier a meaningful look through her square glasses and took his arm again. He turned and pushed her away once more, gently, but with resolution.

"That will do, Minerva," he said, his voice suddenly officer-like, not permitting opposition. Minerva shook her head and took out her wand.

"It won't, and you know it. – Accio parchment!" she then said without taking her eyes off the soldier.

Severus's school trunk gave a small jerk, then sprung open and the desired object zoomed into Minerva's hands without delay. She took a few steps away from her old friend, out of his reach and towards the incoming light from the window, holding the parchment up for inspection, to read the words she had hoped never to read again. There were nine short sentences only, nothing more, nothing less, precision in the most typical of Snape manners.

"Father is always right," she read aloud, keeping the parchment demonstratively far away from her body. "No talking back. No shouting. No humming or singing. No banging doors. No leaving my room at night. No entering the downstairs bedroom. No being late at mealtimes. No lying."

There was a short silence in which Minerva lowered her hand with the parchment and took a deep breath.

"Why," she said eventually, when neither the soldier nor his son would speak, "you replaced 'no fooling around' with three new ones. How inventive. I expect it makes you think that you are not at all just copying your father's behaviour at the height of his cruelty, doesn't it?"

Lance crossed his arms and finally turned away from the wall.

"We should discuss this somewhere else," he said darkly. "I did not expect that you would make a scene like this – perhaps I should indeed start visiting you regularly again to increase my chances of estimating your overly emotional reactions correctly…"

"Make a scene?" Minerva replied, calmly, she found, and very rationally. "I am not making a scene, Caelian. I am reminding you of a conversation we had several years ago when your wife was pregnant – at the shore of the Hogwarts lake. Do you not remember that conversation, Lance?"

"In the office, perhaps," the soldier suggested, but Minerva blocked his way out.

"Here," she said. "In front of Severus. This isn't about you any longer, Lance. This is about him. About his well-being. It is about time you were confronted with his reactions to your imperfection, Lance. And you will see that they are the same as yours in the same situation!"

"We had this conversation," said the soldier impatiently, building himself up in front of her, exactly, she suspected, as he would have done with a recruit. "You are going to try and prove to me that I have turned into my father. You are going to tell me that Snapes are generally too strict with their children and I am going to tell you that it is absolutely none of your concern how I decide to educate my son. You are going to ask me when a slap is going to become a belting, and where the difference between a belt and a cane actually is, with no personal experience whatsoever in this particular matter..."

"Oh, I don't have to ask, don't worry," hissed Minerva. "I've had the pleasure of witnessing exactly how much of a Brutus Snape you turned into, rest assured…"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" snapped the soldier indignantly. "Don't talk nonsense, Minerva. You always pretend to know…"

"Oh, do I?" Minerva began, but stopped herself suddenly, catching Severus's wide, horrified gaze. His lips were moving, his hands curled into the blanket behind him. She felt her determination threatening to leave. Not now, however. This needed to be done. Some things needed to be said, despite all anxiety…

She suddenly understood Severus's words without hearing them, reading what she expected the quivering lips to say: "You promised…"

But the decision was made. It was the only way Lance would understand. Minerva heaved a deep breath, lowered herself onto the chair in front of Severus's desk again and threw an apologetic look in the direction of her student.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Snape, but sometimes it is necessary for us to voice even the things we are uncomfortable about…"

The boy seemed unable to speak. All the better. He would understand – when he was older.

"Lance, sit down," she said firmly. "I need to tell you something."

Severus, looking as though he was going to jump up in protest any moment, used an extraordinary amount of effort to keep himself in his place. Minerva had to keep herself from admiring the Snape's typical self-control, remembering at what price it was bought. Snape senior lowered himself to the bed again, without an immediate reaction from his son for a change, and crossed his arms.

"Well?"

"You know," said Minerva quietly, carefully weighing every word against other options now, "I was actually going to talk to you about all this several days ago, but your son convinced me not to. Can you imagine how?"

Severus was moving his lips again. His forehead gleamed of sweat now. Minerva ignored him, as did his father.

"I shall be taking lessons with him," said the soldier, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"A few days ago," Minerva recounted unflinchingly, "your son left the safety of the Hogwarts walls to run away. It didn't happen for the first time, but that's neither here nor there. When I found him, I discovered quite a bit about your… choice of educational methods."

"I told you, I would…"

"Yes," said Minerva impatiently. "I know that you told me, at the time, that you thought boys needed some discipline. And, believe it or not, your son shares this view."

Lance threw an approving side-glance at Severus, who looked startled, but slightly less on edge all of a sudden.

"I expect you are going to tell me next that you hugged and kissed his rule-breaking away that day and that this was why he eventually followed you back to the castle…" began the soldier, but Minerva would not let him finish.

"He did indeed follow me," she said. "With quite some distance, I have to say, but he did agree to return. He even agreed although I had told him I was intent on talking to you. Presumably, he thought I would forget about it, as I have far too often in the course of the school year."

"And you did," guessed the man.

Minerva could have sworn she heard an 'if only' from the direction of the boy, but his father did not move, so she decided that it had probably been a hallucination.

"No," she said, "because something happened that changed my mind."

"And that would be?"

"When we reached the edge of the forest," Minerva recounted, "we suddenly met you."

The soldier blinked. "Beg your pardon?"

"We met you," Minerva repeated. "You were standing a few feet away from your son, looking down at him with what I'll take the liberty of interpreting as disgust."

"I don't…"

"You grabbed Severus's neck," Minerva continued, quite forgetting her student's appropriate title, "dragged him to a nearby tree, summoned a cane, and started beating him until he screamed. It took me three attempts to find the spell that was necessary to free him because I would neverhave suspected that you, Caelian Lance, would be your own. Son's. Corporeal.Boggart! You know, I expect, that Boggarts only physically attack their victims, if they are feeding from a concrete memory, not a potential danger…?"

"There really is no need for this…" the soldier began, but his face had gone a little pale.

"And do you know why, after freeing your son from the beast, I decided to oblige to his pleading of not letting you know what his Boggart turns into?" snarled Minerva. Her rage suddenly took control of her entire actions. "Because he convincingly conveyed to me that this would result in –"

BANG!

For a fraction of a second, something feeling like thick, cold liquid enclosed Minerva's mouth and nose and she choked. As though through a veil, she saw Lance jump up, whip out his wand, and perform several basic defence spells around the three of them, his head whirling this way and that in search for the sudden attacker. It was only then, apparently, that he took in his son standing next to the bed, clutching his black wand with two trembling hands, looking out of his mind with rage and fear.

"You promised not to tell...!"

Minerva tried to speak, but realised that she could not. Her body was rooted to the floor by the liquid, which, at the same time, had bereft her of all speech. Against her will, the Transfiguration teacher was momentarily impressed.

Without delay, Lance flicked his wand at the boy, catching Severus's in his left hand as his spell disarmed him.

"Howdare you?!"

He pocketed the wand and slapped his son in the face, who pressed against the wall, unable to escape the situation, unable, it seemed, to continue his chosen course of action.

"You are underage!"

Another flick took care of the defensive spells.

"This will have consequences!"

Another slap, then Minerva felt herself being released from her student's spell. Aching with a sudden pain springing from her heart and lungs, she sunk to the floor, but was caught and pulled upright again by the tall soldier, who picked her up like a doll, placing her squarely on Severus's bed. All the while, he reproached his son as though the incident had triggered an automatic script.

"No magic between terms and outside of classes! What do you think you are doing? You could have killed her! You ought to be expelled! If you think that being out of Hogwarts means the school rules do not apply to you any longer, you'll see where that gets you. I'll teach you to -"

"Lance," said Minerva weakly. "Fear…"

"There is no need to be afraid, Minerva," said the soldier gently, his voice suddenly turned down like a wireless. "There was no attacker, just my foolish son…"

"No," interrupted the witch. "Severus…" And she inclined her head slightly, indicating the direction where the boy stood, pale-faced and trembling. He did not have a wand. This was the moment.

"He does this," she whispered, "for fear of beatings. Nothing else. He would never attack me if he didn't think my words were going to land him in the office. He never attacks anyone at school unless he thinks he'll end up being beaten either way."

"Nonsense," said the soldier harshly. "He doesn't have his anger under control. It is common with Snapes -"

Minerva got up, slowly at first, then more steadily. The pain had gone as quickly as it had appeared in the first place. She took a deep breath, hesitated, just a moment, and then, deciding that it was for the greater good, marched towards Severus in two large strides.

"Anger?" she asked calmly, placing a cold hand around the boy's warm neck, who jumped back at first, but squealed and stopped fighting at an instant when her fingers closed around his vertebra. Instead, he began to shake and curled his fingers into the fabric of his robes. Within seconds, he was the small first-year again, who had gone to pieces in his first Transfiguration lesson. Within seconds, he was Severus the child who had always, always suffered from receiving remedial lessons in a teacher's office. Minerva grit her teeth and glared at her old friend in unconcealed disgust.

"This is anger to you?" she hissed, pressing Severus down some more, who whimpered and clutched his backside in horrified anticipation. "This, Caelian Lance Snape is a neck automatism. This is exactly what you were like in the same situation when you were your son's age. This isn't a pubescent phase he is going through. He has been trained to fear a neck grip by the physical and emotional impact of your beatings!"

There was a small pause. The room had suddenly gone very quiet, what with all the shouting and the noise of spells gone.

"I realise that now," said Minerva softly, letting go of the boy's neck at last. "Far too late. And I want you to put a stop to it before Severus goes the way of your brothers and tries to kill his father in a reaction of self-defence. I need you to help Severus understand his situation and yours." She put an arm gently around the quivering boy, who seemed close to tears now, still struggling against the memories that had clearly just passed before his inner eye. "Please, Lance," she said urgently, her voice back in school mode. "You must trust me on this one. These rules are not going to help your son become a better person. They are going to drive him insane. And even if you don't punish exactly as your father used to, don't you see that the effect is still the same? Don't you think that Severus deserves better than a constant fear of being sent to the office?"

Three hours later, Severus was sitting in the living room, a blanket round his body, looking quite peaceful and alone. Professor McGonagall had said goodbye rather reluctantly and the situation had normalised. Against Severus's expectations, eight o'clock had passed without retribution for his earlier behaviour and now, a kettle with hot liquorice tea was standing on the fire in the small kitchen, his father busy preparing some food.

When he re-entered the living-room, Lance Snape looked several decades older and very worn. He had changed out of his red uniform into a more homely set of wizarding robes – a rare occasion these days – and something in his general behaviour had changed from official to sunken, as though the soldier inside had gone for a little holiday trip.

"Are you feeling better?" he enquired while placing Severus's cup in front of him, settling down in the other armchair.

The boy nodded mutely. At some point, he understood, his father had made the decision of treating his son's earlier outburst like an illness. They had spoken about decisions, Severus remembered. His father and the professor had discussed education and control, power and purpose. Some agreements had been made. The professor could be quite persistent if she wanted to be.

"You realise, of course, that there is a great deal of responsibility involved for you with these new arrangements," said his father now, the tea cup at his lips. "Your teacher seems to think that you are old enough to be treated like a grown-up."

"Yes'r," said Severus, cautious, but not uninterested.

"It is understood, of course," continued the tall man in a persistently calm, and very firm voice, "that you are still going to obey any order without questioning. Explicit rules or not, you will not be permitted to talk back to me or behave like a sullen child in any other way. Understood?"

"Yessir," replied the boy. It was not a question.

"Well then," said his father quietly. "Let's try one more time, shall we? Make sure that you aren't... how did Minerva put it... dependent on these rules any longer?"

Severus gulped, but nodded. In a small pause, both Snapes sat up in their seats and gazed at each other as though one was about to sacrifice the other to an angry deity.

"What are the rules?" the soldier asked, more in his usual voice than before.

Severus felt his fist clench on their own accord and tried to sit on his hands to keep them from shaking. Another automatism, the professor had explained. The reaction to a voice. Severus knew exactly what she was referring to.

"There... there is only one rule," he whispered against all instinct, using all the determination he could muster to try and shut out the memory of his most recent beating. To his great surprise, his efforts were rewarded with full success for once.

"Which is?"

"No questioning authority," whispered the boy. - The professor had given in on the keeping of this one only reluctantly, he remembered, and only because his father had insisted. No rules, no deal. There needed to be something to cling on to. Severus quite agreed. He had been astounded, to say the least, that rules were negotiable at all.

"You are a good boy," said the soldier softly. "Quite apt at overcoming old habits, I must say. You remind me of your uncle, my late brother, quite a bit."

Severus remained silent, aware that this was probably the greatest compliment his father had ever voiced in his life.

Yet, something was nagging him. Something had persistently appeared and re-appeared in his mind ever since the professor had named her most important demand: honesty. The moment would pass, he realised, and perhaps never again was there going to be as big a chance of getting a truthful answer concerning the Prince question out of the unbendingly authoritarian man.

"Father," he said in a smaller voice than intended, "may I ask you a question?"

"I assumed you would," replied the soldier, not for the first time feeding Severus's assumption that there was more to his father's mind-reading skills than Dumbledore gave him credit for. "There is a price for Minerva's way of dealing with this matter, and I told her I was willing to pay it, if she insisted. I said I would go all the way or not at all, so yes. You may. But I have to ask you first, Severus, is this matter really so important to you? Are you sure youwant to know?"

"If you're my father? Well, yes, I suppose..."

"You are my son," cut the soldier in. "For reasons far beyond the limited logic of biology. And you are your mother's son." He hesitated just for a second. "And she would be proud of you now – as am I."

There was more silence and some drinking of tea. Severus felt his eyes water again – of something other than fear this time, but managed to pull himself together. For a long time, neither of them spoke. The room was lit only by the flickering light of a small torch beside the door. Severus stared in its centre – and smiled.