Patching Things Up

"What do you think you're doing?"

Dad's voice startled me so much I dropped the pair of sneakers I'd been holding and spun around, nearly tripping over my suitcase and falling flat on my behind. Which would not have been a good thing, given that it was still sore. "What's it look like?" rose to my lips, but mindful of what had happened when I'd shot my mouth off before, I wisely said only, "Packing."

"To go where?" he queried, one eyebrow arched in disbelief. He was standing in the doorway of my room, looking a good deal calmer and less menacing than he'd been ten minutes ago. He was still wearing his black Hunter clothes, which were what he usually wore now while teaching. They consisted of a long sleeved black shirt with the Hunter magehound crest on the right side-a dog tracking a set of clawed footprints, embroidered in gold thread--and black pants and boots. The outfit seemed casual, but it actually made Dad look commanding, as if he ever needed help with that. Sometimes he wore a long cloak over it too.

Now he was eyeing my half-full suitcase with something approaching alarm. "Fireflash isn't expecting you for another week," he informed me quietly. "So you needn't be in a rush to pack. Unless you're packing for a different reason, son. Plan on running away like a spoiled brat?" There was a scornful note in his voice at that last statement.

I flushed in spite of myself. "No!" I snapped, then swallowed hard and repeated in a much more respectful tone, "No, sir. I don't want to go anywhere, but . . .after what I did . . .I thought you'd want me to leave, so I was just . . ." I trailed off awkwardly, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. I couldn't look at him and so I glanced away, fixing my gaze on my desk, where I'd dumped out my books.

"You thought I'd tell you to get out?" he repeated incredulously. "Of all the . . .you can't really think I would ever . . ." He took two steps into the room and shut the door. "Sit down, Gavin. And look at me, please." He indicated I should sit on my bed, and I obeyed, hope fluttering like a newborn moth in my chest.

The suitcase was between us, but Dad ignored it for the moment, dragging the chair from my desk over and placing it across from me. Then he sat down and gazed at me with one of his penetrating stares that seem as if he can read my mind. "Why would you ever think I'd send you away, Gavin?"

"Because you're sick of me," I told him honestly. "I keep screwing up and everything and you spanked me, so . . ."

He sighed. "Gavin, you're my son. Maybe not by blood, but nevertheless you're my child and I would sooner cut off my leg than kick you out of my house, no matter how much you aggravate me sometimes. All children argue with their parents, and all parents lose their temper with their children and punish them, but that doesn't mean it's the end of their relationship. D'you understand what I'm saying?"

"You still want me even after I made you mad enough to wallop me?" I clarified, hope fluttering madly inside my chest.

"Yes, scamp, I still do want you. And always will, no matter how mad you make me. I love you. Nothing will ever change that, Gavin Snape." Our eyes met and I saw that he wasn't lying, he truly meant it.

Tears welled anew in my eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad," I sniffled.

"As you ought to be. I've never been addressed with such disrespect in twenty years of teaching, mister," said Severus sharply. Then he continued in a softer tone. "However, I owe you an apology as well, for losing my temper and punishing you while I was angry."

Now it was my turn to gape. "Huh? You're sorry you spanked me?" I'd never in my life ever heard of such a thing. Ferrous would have rather been tortured with hot irons rather than admit he was wrong to anyone, much less the devil spawn child he was forced to raise. Yet here was my father, who'd been perfectly within his rights as both parent and teacher to punish me, actually apologizing to me for it.

His mouth twitched into a sardonic smile. "In a way, yes I am. I promised myself long ago that I would never punish my children while I was angry, because I could hurt them more than I intended. I broke that promise today and for that I'm sorry, Gavin."

"But I deserved it," I found myself saying.

"Yes, you certainly did," he agreed. "But I still spanked you in a temper and that's something I regret. Probably as much as you do, I'd wager. Which brings us to the reason why you acted the way you did. What possessed you to speak to me that way, Gavin Snape? Not that there's any excuse for your behavior, but I'm curious as to what prompted this outburst. What have you to say for yourself?"

"Uh . . ." I squirmed guiltily. "I don't know."

"You don't know? You just woke up this morning and decided to swear at me?"

"No! I just . . .you see I'd planned on hanging out with Drew and Nick this summer and stuff and going flying and to the beach with Scout. And you promised to teach me some Defense spells and I really was looking forward to that. When you said I had to go with Fireflash, I just . . .it made me upset and I guess I, uh, overreacted."

"I'll say," Dad shook his head. "How many times have I told you that you need to control your temper and watch your mouth, son?"

"Too many times."

"This kind of thing is exactly why I think it best if you go and study with Flash for a month or so," Severus continued. "Uncontrolled emotional outbursts like that are dangerous, Gavin, especially now when your magic is awake and responding to them. How many times have you set something on fire when you were angry, Gavin?"

"A lot, I guess."

"Too much, and next time the consequences could be even worse than a spanking. Next time you could burn down the house or set me on fire."

I stared at him, horrified. "Dad! I'd never hurt you! I wouldn't!"

"Not intentionally, but you could. A firecaller has that potential, Gavin. The potential to do great harm. You know that. I knew when I made you my apprentice that you had a great gift, and in order for you to master it, I was going to have to be hard on you, because with great power comes an even greater responsibility. But even I never knew how difficult it was going to be raising a firecaller."

I hung my head, feeling unaccountably guilty. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so much trouble."

"It's not really your fault," he sighed. "You were born with the gift of fire, Gavin, and all you can do is accept it. And learn to control it. Use it, before it uses you. That's why I'm sending you to Fireflash, since a dragon has mastery over fire as well. That was never intended as a punishment, or a way to get rid of you, if that's what you were thinking. I want you to be safe, child, and right now you're a danger to everyone, sorry to say, especially yourself." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Arista thinks that part of the reason you're so angry and irritable all the time has to do with your firecalling talent. It's the nature of fire to burn and smolder, to flare up and blaze, and therefore it encourages violence. Most firecallers have short tempers, which makes them dangerous unless they know how to control their gift. Fireflash will teach you what you need to know, he's had more experience than I have playing with fire." A half-smile quirked up his lip as he said that last.

"That's for sure." I was vastly relieved to be so utterly mistaken about his intentions. And also very ashamed that I had allowed my temper to run away with me. "I'm sorry I called you . . .uh, you know. . . ."

He nodded. Then his eyes narrowed and he said, "And you're going to be even sorrier, that much I can promise you. Because now you're going to write I will never swear at my father again 300 hundred times, and you've lost your broom too for a week."

I groaned, even though I'd known that was coming. Taking away my broom was one of the worst punishments he could give me, worse even than a spanking, in my opinion.

But he wasn't finished yet. "Last but not least, I owe you two minutes with a bar of soap." He summoned the dreaded bar with a snap of his fingers.

"B-but Dad!" I cried. "You spanked me already."

"That was for your disrespect. This is for your filthy mouth," he said implacably. "Come here."

"I'll never do it again. Promise!"

"I would hope not. For your sake," he frowned, then grabbed me by the wrist and holding me firmly by the elbow, marched me down the hall to the bathroom.

I really wished I'd never gotten out of bed this morning.

* * * * * *

Some ten minutes later I was sitting at my desk, writing lines. My tongue still felt like it was coated with that awful soap, even though I'd rinsed my mouth out ten times afterwards. I'd be lucky if I tasted anything other than soap for the rest of the day thanks to my smart mouth and Dad's old fashioned discipline.

Next time . . .wait a minute, there wouldn't ever be a next time if I was smart, I vowed. And Severus Snape didn't raise any dumb kids, I thought resignedly, writing determinedly. I shifted a bit on the chair, my bottom tingled, but the sting was almost gone. Now it was my hand that was sore, from writing this blasted sentence over and over in my best handwriting with a quill.

I sighed, paused to rub and stretch my cramped fingers, and swore I'd control my temper and my tongue if it killed me. This was one mistake I would never repeat, by Merlin's purple underwear!

By the time I'd finished, dusk was falling outside my window and my stomach was staging a rebellion. My hand felt as if it were going to fall off but I had the lines done and that was all that counted.

I turned it in to my father as he was setting the table, dinner tonight was meatloaf and roasted potatoes and I was hungry enough to eat a whole cow. If only my hand could hold my fork, that is. I winced as I gripped it and of course my dad's falcon-sharp eyes noticed.

"Let me see your hand, Gavin."

I extended my hand to him, knowing it was useless to pretend it wasn't hurting. He gently cupped it, then began to rub each finger with a circular motion, using a firm but gentle pressure. I whimpered, for it hurt at first. "Sorry, but it'll be better in a bit," he soothed.

I gritted my teeth. But in another second my hand wasn't hurting at all. Dad's massage had worked like, well, magic. In fact, I wasn't at all certain he hadn't used some magic on me. I flexed my fingers experimentally and smiled. "It doesn't hurt," I gasped. "Did you use magic on me? I didn't know you could heal like Arista." My sister could heal someone just by touching them, she had a most incredible gift, far better than mine.

Dad chuckled. "No, I didn't use magic, just an ordinary old-fashioned massage. Magic isn't the answer to everything, you know. Now eat before it gets cold."

I didn't need to be told twice, I picked up my fork and dug in. Maybe this day wasn't quite so bad after all. I was relieved to know that though I'd been an abominable child, my dad forgave me for it. That too was a new experience for me.

For all his piousness, Ferrous had never gone in for forgiveness much. Or at all. He was an Old Testament Catholic, and preached relentlessly the eye for an eye doctrine and the old maxim "spare the rod and spoil the child". I'd cut my teeth on that sort of thing, and the concept of forgiveness was a foreign thing to me for the most part.

Even more so was the concept that I was deserving of such forgiveness and understanding. I'd had it pounded into my head since I could walk that I was a wicked child, a freak that could use magic, and for that I was going to hell. Not the sort of thing that makes you think you're worthy of anything at all.

But Dad's hug before I went to bed that night reassured me that all was well between us again. True, I was still grounded and the Windstorm was off limits, but I could sleep without guilt clenching my stomach now. Forgiveness. It's one of the most powerful forces in the universe, greater than any fire I could summon.

Little did I know that I would test the power of forgiveness and my father's love to the limit that summer.

So what did you think of their little talk?

Next: Arista visits and gives Gavin some good advice concerning their father. Thanks for all the reviews!