One Day at a Time

The Importance of Chess Pieces

The Death Eater attack I had been called upon to participate in had been the standard terrorize-Muggles, and I had gone mindlessly, numbly through the motions of causing chaos, as I had done dozens of times before. I arrived back late at night and angrily stalked through the quiet stone halls, desperately hoping that by some stroke of luck Sev would be patrolling the halls and I would see him. Alas, despite all my weaving through various halls there was not a soul to be found. That is, excluding the snogging fourth years who I immediately gave a week of detention to. Perhaps that was a bit unfair considering how close we were to finals, but it was far past curfew and I was in a rather foul mood. I crawled into bed that night, exhausted from the attack, and my only ray of light thinking that I would see Severus in a few hours at breakfast. Unlike his normal punctual self, though, he wasn't there.

"Did Severus already stop by for breakfast?" I asked Sprout in a would-be nonchalant tone.

"No, I haven't seen him. If he stops by, do you want me to give him any messages?" she asked, clearly hoping to be helpful.

"No. No, thank you," I immediately replied, aware that any message I had for him I would not want to be conveyed by another person. It struck me that I actually had no clue what I would say to him if I saw him. Somehow "Sorry, I picked the Death Eaters over you. Nothing personal, it's just the whole execution-as-punishment-if-you-miss-a-meeting sort of swayed me" didn't sound very romantic. I stayed at the breakfast table until the beginning of classes to be sure he was not coming to breakfast, at which point I, rather unprofessionally, sprinted towards my classroom and started the lesson ten minutes late.

I stayed in the Grand Hall for all of lunch, also, and my second attempt to catch Severus resulted in me being late to another one of my class periods. Him completely missing two meals in a row could not be a coincidence; I felt sure he was avoiding me. At the end of classes for the day, my feet dragged me down to the dungeons, towards Slughorn's old classroom. I saw the number of students streaming down the hallway increase as I approached what was most likely still the potions classroom. Judging by how loud my heartbeat was, my heart had taken up residence somewhere in my ear canal, and with every step further my feet felt as though they were being weighed down by larger and larger lead blocks.

I had just reached the doorway to the classroom, when I noticed Hermione also walking towards the open door. "Professor Colburn," she exclaimed pleasantly. "What are you doing in the dungeons?"

"Oh, uh, I just came to see Sev—erus. Professor Snape." It was awfully hard to concentrate on what I was saying when I was focusing just about all of my energy on keeping my heart from breaking my ribs with its frantic beating.

"You know, I just realized I forgot my textbook at my desk. I have to dash in and grab it; I can tell him you're here," she smiled pleasantly."

I tried to issue an insincere "Thank you" from my mouth, but the word was lost in my suddenly dry, constricted throat. I was about to see him, and I had absolutely no clue what to say. A million miles away I heard Hermione's voice from the classroom. "Professor Snape, Professor Colburn's here to see you."

A pause. It struck me: what if he did not love me? What if I was horribly misreading what he had said by over-analyzing it and twisting it to my own benefit? Or what if he no longer loved me after my implied rejection of him? I suddenly felt as though a bag of bricks was resting on my ribcage, and I had to struggle just to keep breathing. Then, from the classroom, came an emotionless drawl, each word quietly snapped out. "Very well."

I heard footsteps coming towards the doorway and my legs no longer felt like they had been chiseled out of lead blocks. Nervous adrenaline was pumping through my veins and suddenly I wanted to do anything in the world except see Severus. I sprinted down the hall and ducked into a secret passage that I had discovered a long time ago, while I was a student. The cinderblocks quickly swiveled shut behind me and I pressed myself against the wall of the dark tunnel. "Lumos," I muttered, my ragged breaths disturbing the dusty silence. I mentally cursed and wished that, just for a moment, I had that Gryffindor bravery. I sighed. No, brave was certainly not an adjective that could be used to define me right now, as I crawled down the tunnel to avoid a simple conversation. When I stepped into the main corridor it was deserted, and I breathed a sigh of relief. While tempted to go to the kitchen for dinner, out of an attempt to avoid Severus, I realized that I would probably be more likely to avoid him by eating in the Great Hall. True to my guess, he remained absent for the entire extent of that meal also.

I can't go avoiding him like this forever, I reprimanded myself as I paced the small confines of my quarters. We might as well clear the air before we unexpectedly run into each other, right? Because that's going to happen eventually. In a burst of bravery I strode towards his quarters and knocked on its door. Just as I finished knocking the same thought struck me as had earlier in the day: What am I going to say? This realization was accompanied by a surge of fear and another urge to avoid the conversation, but another thought leapt into my mind, one that tore at my heart, If I don't talk to him, he's going to think that I don't love him. The moment of decision as to whether to flee again or not had passed, for the portrait to his room was creaking open. The black-haired man swung the portrait open and looked down at me, his face an unreadable mask. "Liseli," he curtly greeted me with a nod of the head.

I opened my mouth, expecting words to pour out: a proclamation of love, an apology an explanation—something, anything. But nothing came and instead desperately I blurt out the first thought that went through my head, "Want to play a game chess?"

A slightly fazed look crossed his face before the emotionless mask quickly replaced it. "Very well. I'll meet you in your quarters once I find my pieces." With that he gently closed the door, leaving me to smack my forehead with my palm and silently exclaim, Chess? That's the best I can come up with? It wasn't particularly surprising that it had been one of my first thoughts, though. I had played chess an awful lot with my friends at Hogwarts, as it was a common Slytherin past-time.

I walked to my quarters and started searching the closet for my battered chess pieces. I muttered "Accio chess pieces" multiple times, but either they were too buried to move, or I simply hadn't brought them with me when I moved to Hogwarts. There was a knock at my portrait and I swung the door open to see Severus holding a small tweed bag that was making small movements; evidently he had not sprung for one of the more organized boxes for holding one's chess pieces. His eyes flickered over my shoulder and I followed his line of vision, realizing he was looking at the mess at the foot of my closet. "I was looking for my pieces," I sheepishly explained. "I think I must have not brought them with me to Hogwarts."

He gave me an appraising look before he slowly said, "I believe I have an extra set of pieces." I followed him to his quarters where he quickly located another small tweed bag. We set up the rather battered checkered board on a table and I unceremoniously dumped out the contents of the bag he had given me. I was expecting the dark brown, carved wood pieces to stand up, take their places and curse at me for not setting them down more gently. Instead, they just lay there in a heap, the many pieces lying on top of each other. I waited another moment and blinked at them uncomprehendingly. They were neither moving nor talking; it almost seemed as though the animating charm cast on them had worn off.

I looked at the black-haired man sitting across from me at the table and said, "I didn't know the charm could wear off."

Severus's eyes flickered to the unmoving pieces and then back to my face. It almost seemed that he hesitated for a split second before saying, "They were never charmed."

"They're Muggle pieces?" I said, confused as to why on earth a pureblood would bother owning non-charmed chess pieces.

"They were my father's," he said shortly.

"Oh, your father collected Muggle objects?" I tilted my head questioningly. It seemed like that wouldn't be a very respectable past time in most pureblood circles.

"No, my father was a Muggle."

I almost burst into laughter. Purebloods couldn't have Muggles as fathers. It was uncharacteristically silly of him to say something like that, and I suddenly realized with a widening of my eyes that he was serious. Severus had a Muggle parent? Not even a Muggle-born wizard, but just a plain, simple, non-magical Muggle. "You're—you're Muggle-born?" my words echoed disbelievingly.

His eyes narrowed. "My mother was a pureblood. Eileen Prince."

I was still blinking disbelievingly at him with round eyes. Okay, so he was a half-blood, not Muggle-born, but I was still shocked; I had spent the whole school year positive that he was a pureblood, and there was that tiny despicable voice in the back of my head whispering, "You've always said you're fine with inter-blood relations, but were those sentiments sweet-sounding nothings or were they sincere?" My mind seemed to have reached a block and instead of further contemplation I stubbornly stated aloud, "But you're a Death Eater," almost attempting to defend my previous assumption.

"I'm aware," his eyes were glittering dangerously, now. "I'm surprised I didn't realize you were a liar sooner. You pretend to not care about blood purity but I should have realized you did when you kept assuming I was a pureblood—why would you devote any time to thinking about others' blood purity unless you cared?"

"I—I d—on't…" I trailed off, my attention divided between defending myself to the man in front of me and on silencing that nasty, self-doubting voice that said "You always thought that you would never fall in love with someone who wasn't a pureblood. Other people can have interblood relationships, but not you, your blood is pure."

Severus roughly started gathering his chess pieces to leave. "I'm sorry if my blood isn't good enough for you," he added in a whisper so cold that it felt like an arctic wind was blowing through the room and freezing me to the bone.

I stared at him, shocked. That frozen sentence sounded familiar, so familiar. It felt like a hammer to the chest when I remembered where I had heard it before.

I was sixteen, and had just returned to Howarts after a wonderful Winter Break. I had spent Christmas with Regulus at Grimmauld Place, and my parents were excitedly talking with Mr. and Mrs. Black about the prospect of marriage. Regulus and I weren't so sure about marriage at such a young age, but there wasn't anything set for us to argue against, yet. He hadn't returned from break in quite the joyous mood I had, though, and there was something very gloomy about the way he approached me on our first day back.

"We need to talk," he stated and then, without any further prelude, "My parents say I can't date you anymore."

A knife to the heart. It couldn't be true. "What? Why?"

Regulus's voice sounded numb, and his gaze remained unblinkingly unfocused. "You're not a pureblood."

My eyes became as wide as Galleons. No. I had to defend myself against such—such accusations. "I am too a pureblood," I breathlessly, hopelessly stated, knowing that such a label, while easily, passionately accepted by all members of my family, had every reason to be worried about others' scrutiny.

"Damn it, Liseli! Don't lie to me!" he snapped angrily in a pained voice. "Your Great-Grandmother was blasted off of my own family tree for marrying a Mudblood."

"I am too a pureblood," I repeated, rage building in my blood. Rage at Regulus, at my ancestors, at the cruel trickster that fate was. "The last non-wizards and non-witches in my family were my Great-Great Grandparents."

"You know the saying," he hissed, "A few drops of mud ruins the whole brew."

Regulus hit the ground, a bloody gash across his cheek. I had cast the spell lightning fast, without a single thought crossing my mind, except a single sentence, one which I screamed at him now, "I'M SORRY IF MY BLOOD ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!" He held a hand to his bleeding cheek and looked at me more with shock than anger. Without another word, I spun on my heel and walked away, scalding tears beginning to carve their way down my face.

Regulus and I had eventually reconciled, even though we remained only friends for the rest of his life. After all, if I had refused to be friends with any pureblood elitist, I would not have had a single friend in the house of Slytherin.

But that was then.

And this is now, as they say.

And now a Slytherin who was not a pureblood elitist was sitting across the table from me.

Now a man with less purity of blood was looking at me expectantly with coldly, dangerously glittering eyes.

Now Sev's stated sentence hung in the air, and his cold tone could not have contrasted more with mine when I had screamed that sentence over fifteen years ago

I'm sorry if my blood isn't good enough for you.

Whatever mental block I had, had suddenly vanished. With my only thought to prove this to Sev as quickly as possible, I leaned across the table and, in the split second before I closed my eyes, I saw Sev's eyes open ever so slightly wider, as though unsure or surprised by what I was doing. I knew what I was doing, though, and my lips quickly brushed against his. He looked at me with a dumbfounded look plastered across his sallow features as I nonchalantly started arranging my Muggle chess pieces. "Severus Snape, I don't give a damn if your blood is less pure than mine," I briskly informed him.

"I see," he said hoarsely, and the corners of his lips twitched into a genuine smile.

…

A/N: First off, to let all of you know, updates should now be coming every other day. As always, reviews/opinions are greatly appreciated :D. Also, is Liseli's blood status clear in this chapter? Trying to describe it from the unreliable-first-person-narrator perspective proved to be a bit difficult. (On a random note, Liseli's great-grandparents who were blasted off the Black family tree are intended to be Bob Hitchens and Isla Black, since her mother's maiden name, shown on her tombstone many chapters back, is Hitchens.) As a final note for this chapter, an enormous thank you to Mark Darcy, Mywaychan, gothicflower, tibys and angelofire for reviewing!