Chapter 12

Les Trucs Épuisants

Severus Snape sorted through the rolls of parchment, looking for one that was not likely to further upset his stomach. As he moved the students' essays round on the table, he continued to think through the exact sequence of events that needed to happen when he arrived in Kursk the next day. It was important to have everything well practised and organised in his head, so that if anything went wrong he would be more than prepared. Therefore, he would know if Igor deviated in the slightest from what he was supposed to do.

Yes, Nott. An intelligent Slytherin. Bound to be at least an E. The last two essays had received marks of Troll, which had been almost generous considering the dearth of any intelligent thought contained within. A grade of F for Flobberworm would be more appropriate. These children grew more useless each year.

By the time he had placed the last heavily marked parchment on the table to his left, Snape had thought of several items that would bear researching before he left the next morning. He was unspeakably tired, but that was of less importance. With a wave of his cramped, ink-stained hand and a tap of the wand tip on the table, all of the parchments flew into the air and vanished from his sight. He really did need a bath of Murtlap essence for his hand again, but he was too exhausted to want to bother.

It was late afternoon when Severus Snape trudged along the empty side street in his heavy, thick, woollen cloak that was both edged and lined with dark fur. Snape knew that he had enough energy left to keep from being recognised for another ten minutes at least. However, there was no possible way that a large fur hat and unusually heavy cloak would not make him conspicuous, but he did not have sufficient energy to Transfigure them and keep his facial disguise, as well. It was time to cast the Disillusionment Charm before he turned onto Wygracket. No one need know that anyone had visited his wife today.

His body ached with exhaustion and real physical pain. His injuries, though serious, would be healed easily enough when he got to the house. He had all of the necessary potions there. He was meant to be back at school tonight, but he did not know that he would go. There were excellent reasons why he should not visit his house, but return directly to Hogwarts. However, he had almost decided that he needed to stay away from the school. A clever man knew when he needed a temporary retreat.

After he had entered the house, Snape leant back against the door with relief. He had reactivated all the Security Charms and placed a new Monitor Spell on the front wall of the house, so he should be safe for the moment. He did not even remember the last time that he was this done in.

Snape peeled himself off the door and looked at the base of the stairs where he now realised that she was standing. He had never seen her looking as she did now—long blond hair flowing wildly past her shoulders and brushing against her arms in untamed waves, as her tiny wand hand was outstretched defiantly and her head thrown back with both determination and fear.

Her high-pitched childlike voice hardly wavered as she called out, "Who is there?"

Since he realised that she could not see him, he did not say anything for a moment. He could almost believe that she was going to attack her unseen foe, which intrigued him.

He tapped his head with his wand and felt the warm sensation of the Disillusionment Charm dissipating and the tickling of his nose stretching back into its natural hooked shape. "You may lower your wand, Patience."

"Professor! I…I couldn't see you. And you look odd."

The momentary sensation of dim respect evaporated and his habitual feeling of annoyance returned. "Disillusionment Charm." He knew that she was referring to his costume, but he did not satisfy her curiosity. "You may inform Wicket that I will stay to dinner, but I will probably return to school this evening."

"Oh. Yes, sir."

She looked sad, unlike the happy, excitable girl whom he had first inadvertently noticed as he perused the restricted volumes on blood theory that were coincidentally near to her friends' established table in Hogwarts' library. Even when she had returned from the holiday with bruises to hide, she had still displayed the inner joy that had been so incomprehensible to him. Severus Snape could not understand why it mattered, but the fact that she looked so completely cheerless appalled him.

"I will be upstairs." He walked by her as quickly as possible and forced himself to think about whether he ought to heat the sylvalla oil or not before he used it.

As he slumped against the back of his chair, Snape looked round his dining room at the dark walls that were covered in Prince family history. He hated this house. He had only accepted the inheritance because it would keep Gideon from getting it. His mind filled suddenly with dozens of nasty memories jangling against one another for prominence. Grandmother's screaming voice, himself sitting stone silent on the stiff chair in her sitting room wearing the most uncomfortable old-fashioned robes possible, constantly being drilled on archaic manners, only being fed "children's tea" since adult food was "too rich" for little boys…he only had one really decent memory.

Snape looked at his wife, who was apparently enjoying the soup course immensely. What were they eating? Some sort of mushroom thing. Delightful. Wicket knew that he did not like mushrooms unless well camouflaged. The house-elf must have taken the orders to serve her favourites very literally indeed. It did not matter.

That day, which must be almost 25 years ago now, had been the last time that Gideon had dared openly call him any names, but especially that particular one. Snape ground his teeth as he acknowledged to himself that few other words in the English language had the power to infuriate him so. Mudblood. He was better at hiding it now, but the humiliation of it still rankled. However, at least Gideon had learnt his lesson well. Too bad that he had not learnt it so well himself.

Snape had not wanted anyone to know. Even at eight years of age, he had understood the dangers of allowing anyone to know about his 'talent', since there were also such significant weaknesses attached. All magical folk were unable to withstand hen's root, however Promethians were susceptible to the poison in a far more serious way. Even a few granules would make a Promethian completely unable to control his magic and a sufficiently large dosage might make this state permanent.

Snape understood why his mother, acting upon his grandmother's orders, had fed him hen's root every day to build up his immunity. Taken dispassionately, this was a very wise decision. However, as the afflicted child who had endured years of neurological side effects until his Muggle father had found out and forced his wife to quit poisoning their son, Snape was unable to feel that there was ever sufficient justification for poisoning one's child.

Snape wrenched his mind away from this thought and allowed himself to remember Gideon's face that day. Gideon had screamed like a little girl when the circular wall of angry, roiling flames had surrounded him.

"Professor, what are all the carvings in here? Are they from a story?"

Snape shoved his soup bowl away and grunted before answering,

"Not a book, if that's what you mean. My family's history."

"Oh. Who is the man in the battle? The one with the staff."

"My ancestor, 14th century, Cormac Prince."

"Did he really do all that?"

Snape watched her little hand wave at the walls and sighed. "Yes, I suspect he did most of it. I've never troubled to find out how much is myth versus fact."

"What about the beast that he killed, the one that's also on that tapestry and round the house? I don't recognise it."

"Likely since it is extinct."

"Oh."

Snape reached across to the platter of ham that had just arrived, served her two slices, and then began to pile some on his own plate.

"It is a paxprey."

"Is it the family mascot then?"

"No, girl. Even my family wouldn't choose a paxprey for that." Snape waved his thin hand at her own and said acidly, "Wyverns, look at your ring, Patience." He watched her deeply flushed face as she glanced at her wedding ring and then looked back at her plate.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm asking too many questions."

"You always ask questions. Eat your food."

Snape slumped back into his chair and told himself that it was his own fault for coming here instead of going to Hogwarts. He would have to return tonight or else he would do something even more foolish.

"May I ask another question?"

Snape responded wearily, "What do you want to know?"

"You will be home for the entire holiday?" He could not tell whether her voice was hopeful because she hoped he would say no, or because she was truly that lonely.

"Not likely. I will probably come at Christmas Eve, but I will be away for a day or two after."

"Well, might I have Eva on Christmas Eve? You'll be here, so you can be sure she isn't doing anything that would upset you."

He snapped immediately, "No."

"May I go to visit her?"

"No." He could see her cheeks were now flushed with anger and sighed. Irritating girl. "You may have her on Christmas afternoon if I am here."

"Oh, thank you! You don't know how much I long to see her."

"Mmm." The fact that she was now radiating happiness caused Snape to avert his eyes and force his mind to think about what books he would take with him when he returned. Books and the esterophyr perhaps.

"May I decorate the house for Christmas, too?"

"Mmm." Christmas. What had possessed him to agree to return to the house for Christmas? He should go to Spinner's End. The house still belonged to him, despite being a miserable broken-down sort of place in which to live. Anything should be better than coming here to her, since he clearly could not control himself.

"Just a tree at least?"

"A tree?" Snape snorted with sudden amusement. A bloody Christmas tree. "Yes, fine, you may have a tree if it amuses you."

"Oh, thank you, Professor."

Suddenly the title to which he had clung for the past 14 years irked him.

"Don't you think calling me 'Professor' is somewhat ridiculous, Patience?"

He hated the words as they spilled out of his mouth, so he turned the anger on her with a furious glare. She looked completely bewildered.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I quit being a teacher to you when you left Hogwarts."

Since they both knew that he would bite the head off anyone who did not give him the respect of his title, Snape was certain that she was more confused than ever.

"I'm very sorry, sir. What would you like for me to call you?"

He snarled as he felt himself drowning. "You might try my name. It has worked for others."

"Yes, sir."

Snape regarded her with glittering black eyes full of fury and said only, "If you are finished with that, then ring the bell for Wicket."

As the pudding appeared on the table—did she actually like lemon syllabub?—Snape slumped once more into his chair and tried to tame his wild, terrifying emotions. By the time that she had finished the fluffy lemony cream, apparently not noticing that Wicket had known better than to serve one to him, they had both calmed sufficiently for him to speak again.

"You will need a larger allowance for this next month if you are going to do up the house for Christmas. When I return at the holiday I should have completed arranging an account for you, as well as settling the property."

"Oh."

"I am breaking the entail. It is a complicated process, but I expect to have it settled before the New Year. We will discuss the arrangements at that time."

He could see by the empty expression in her eyes that she had absolutely no idea what he meant. It did not matter. He had not expected her to understand.

"What else do you need besides, apparently, a tree?"

Patience thought fleetingly of several things and then said only, "Nothing."

Snape stood up and looked down at her. "That is ridiculous, girl. No witch is ever satisfied with nothing." He looked into her eyes for several moments, but all that he saw was something about new draperies and Crups. Satisfied that her real needs were seemingly being met already, Snape released her mind, walked towards the door, and held it open.