Billy
Severus fastened the silver buttons of his sober, well-cut black robes, and combed back his hair with a sigh. At least the shampoo he had brewed with bergamot and lime seemed to keep the greasiness at bay, but there was not much to do about his long, thin face and sharp nose. It would have to do. He left his chambers and climbed up the spiral staircase leading to the entrance hall, where he found Morag waiting for him – and gasped when he saw her.
An off-the shoulder emerald silk gown was draped elegantly around her slender figure, enhancing her curves and flowing freely from her waist to her feet. She had piled her copper hair in a tight bun, but a few loose curls rested on the nape of her tawny neck, and she was wearing a discreet silver necklace with a thistle pendant and matching earrings, not doubt lent by Minerva as well.
"Close that mouth, ye daft man, ye look like a carp oot of water," she giggled.
"You look exquisite," he breathed at last.
"Well, ye're quite handsome yerself, but then I guess I'm biaised," she smiled as she let his arm encircle her waist.
Together they entered the ballroom as the waltz started. Minerva, a picture of sophisticated elegance in burgundy dress robes, opened the dance with Horace. Morag grabbed Severus' hand and they followed suit. Severus could not avoid noticing the whispers and stares among the pupils, but studiously ignored them, focusing instead on his truly bewitching dance partner.
"I say, who is that woman with Professor Snape?"
"Isn't that Morag Duncan, the healer-witch who lives in Hogsmeade?"
"Duncan? Her name is Duncan? Hold on, she could be Maisie Duncan's daughter…" wondered Elizabeth McNichols, a slender sixth-year with honey-coloured hair and hazel eyes.
"Who is Maisie Duncan?" enquired Julia Cooke, another sixth-year.
"My Mam told me about her. The Duncans are a very proud witching clan from Sutherland, not too far from where I grew up. They specialise in healing skills, and they don't send their children to Hogwarts. They teach them at home instead, and it's usually the girls who end up being healers. I don't know what the boys do; some say the boys don't really get taught much magic at all, or that they're always Squibs. Maisie was a bit older than my parents and had an excellent reputation as a healer. But her clan kicked her out for marrying the wrong sort."
"What do you mean, the wrong sort? Are they the kind of people who want their family to remain pure blood? Was he a Muggle?"
"No, it's not like that. They don't mind marrying Muggles at all, but it has to be a Scot at the very least, preferably a Highlander. Maisie travelled abroad to learn healing practises from other countries, and she fell in love with someone in Uganda. You can imagine her family wasn't too pleased about it. In the end, they eloped, and the clan never heard from them again. No one knows what happened to them."
"How romantic! You're right, Morag Duncan could definitely be their daughter. She never talks about her family, though."
"Is it true she brought Professor Snape back from the dead after he'd been killed by You-Know-Who?" asked Elizabeth.
"Professor Snape was very badly wounded, and maybe he almost died, but no one can bring people back from the dead, not even Morag Duncan," remarked Julia. "At any rate, I don't think it was the killing curse. No-one can survive that."
"Well, someone in this very room survived it," said Elizabeth, pointing to Harry Potter, who was standing further with a small group of Gryffindors.
"Harry Potter survived because his mother's love protected him. I don't think anyone would do the same for Professor Snape."
"Morag Duncan might. I mean, have you noticed the way they look at each other? I hardly think Snape brought her along just because he wanted a dance partner."
"Ew. What does she see in Snape? I mean, he's ugly."
"I don't know", Elizabeth mused. "He certainly isn't handsome, but he has something – charisma, you know?"
"Ohhh, you got the hots for our teacher, have you?" giggled Julia.
"Don't be stupid, of course not. Just saying I can see some women actually liking him, that's all."
As Severus and Morag took a break from dancing, they were approached by a pale young wizard in Slytherin-green robes.
"Good evening, Professor."
"Good evening, Draco. How are you?"
"I'm all right. Professor, I just wanted to say… Mother told me what you did… what you did for me."
"I'll go get us some drinks, aye?" Morag said gently, squeezing Severus' hand before turning away.
"What did Narcissa say about me, Draco?"
"How you protected me the year before last. And… the vow you took."
Severus kept his eyes fixed on Draco, his face impassive.
"I guess I wanted to thank you, Professor."
"Professor Dumbledore is the one you and your mother ought to be grateful to, Draco. He asked me to look out for you. And… to end things, too," Severus answered soberly.
The young man lifted his eyes to meet his teacher's. "You mean he actually asked you to… you know… do what I was supposed to do?"
Severus nodded.
"But… why? Only to ensure I would not be the one doing it? It doesn't make sense!"
"If you knew Professor Dumbledore, Draco, you would realize how much sense it made to him. He did not want you to mar your soul in such a way."
Draco lowered his gaze for a moment, his fists clenched. When he looked up again, his eyes were brimming with tears.
"I'm so sorry, Professor," mumbled Draco. "I don't know what to say."
Biting back a snarky response, Severus regarded the young man. He was not at all unlike himself, he realized. He had been seduced by visions of power, of unadulterated magic and of glory, only to be utterly crushed once he had realized the horror of the human cost.
"It gets better, Draco," he finally said, not unkindly.
"Thank you," the young man replied. Then, nodding to Morag, who was deep in conversation with Professor McGonnagal, "She seems nice."
"She is a remarkable witch."
"It suits you, sir."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Being in love," Draco said with a half-smile.
"Are you being impertinent, Malfoy?" Severus snarled.
"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to be cheeky. What I meant is … you are lucky. I can only wish to meet someone that nice – only, I doubt I could ever deserve it."
This time, Severus smiled. "I used to think just that, Draco. Indeed, sometimes I still think it. Give yourself time to grow."
As Draco rejoined a group of Slytherins, Severus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had found the young man's honesty somewhat touching, and he realized there was someone he needed to have a conversation with. Glancing around the room, he soon spotted them: a thin, red-haired, freckled boy, a bushy-haired young woman, and the boy with untidy brown hair and bright green eyes. He walked up to them.
"Good evening, Miss Granger… Mister Weasley, Mister Potter."
They looked around and stared at him quizzically, then answered his greeting. The Weasley boy looked like he had inadvertently swallowed a slug. Severus ignored him and turned to Harry.
"Potter, let's talk."
"I am all ears, Professor," the boy said cooly.
Severus glanced at Harry's friends. "Privately. I just want a quiet word."
The green-eyed wizard frowned, unsure.
"It's all right, Harry," Hermione shrugged. She grabbed Ron's arm and walked away, silencing him with a frown when he opened his mouth in protest.
Severus crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on Harry's. "I haven't always been fair to you, Potter. I suppose you look so much like your father that I hated you from the word go."
"Yet you protected me from day one, out of loyalty to my mother, Professor. That counts for something." There was no warmth in the young wizard's voice, but no hostility either.
"Maybe. All the same, I wish to apologize for misjudging you. You have certainly lived up to your House's reputation. Many older, more skilled wizards would have fled."
"Who are you and what have you done with Professor Snape?"
Severus' mouth twitched as he repressed a smile. "Let's say a near-death experience changes a wizard."
"Only slightly," Harry retorted, staring back and not blinking.
"Well, I am still your professor, and you are still my student. You would do well to remember that when you address me, particularly in class."
"Yeah, you made that quite clear… sir," Harry shrugged.
"I wish you a pleasant evening, then," Severus said.
He turned to look for Morag, who was chatting animatedly with a group of younger students, regaling them with tales of Scottish folklores.
"But Brownies, though? Are they like our house-elves?"
"Och, I wouldnae try tae treat a Brownie the way ye treat yer house-elves – ye'd be in for quite a nasty shock in the morning when they've turned yer kitchen upside doon! And forget about leaving milk oot fer them – they dinnae like it. I dinnae ken how that daft notion came intae people' heid. It's whisky they're fond of. Only, if they've had a wee bit too much, stay oot of their way – ye never ken what they'll be up tae!"
As the evening wore on, the music changed to more modern tunes. The young healer seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly, but Severus felt somewhat out of place: socializing had ever been his strong suit. It was well past midnight when they returned to the cottage. As soon as they walked in, he pulled her close, burying his face in her neck. To him, her scent was better than the finest wine or the most sophisticated Firewhisky, and he longed to feel the velvety skin of her thighs against his cheeks. As her lips found his, her hands unfastening the buttons of his robes, he knew the same fire had been kindled in her.
Severus woke suddenly a few hours later. The young witch was tossing and turning next to him, a sheen of sweat coating her body, her face distorted as if in pain. He was about to shake her gently, tear her away from the nightmare, but let his hand fall back on the pillow. Against his better judgement, he muttered, "Legilimens."
He was standing on a stony hill overlooking a village. Heavy lead-coloured clouds where churning before him, like some lethal potion brewing in a giant cauldron. He could see and feel the tremors as blinding bolts of lightning criss-crossed the darkened sky. One bolt struck a building, somewhere down the slope. The vision blurred, then came back into focus: the storm still raged over the village, and an overpowering stench of burnt flesh assailed him as a barn was engulfed in flames. He heard a woman's voice scream, shrill with horror and despair, "Billy! Billy is in there!"
The vision faded into a pale grey morning, the charred remains of the barn silhouetted against the sky. He could hear the same women's voice, although it was now a whimper. "Billy… mah boy… mah wee babby…" Severus saw her from a distance, rocking a scorched body in her arms, and his throat constricted. "There, Rosie, let him go noo. It's over, lass," a man said, placing his hand on her shoulder. She made no reply. Tears traced streaks down her soot-covered face. Further down the road, a villager was talking to the firemen. "Lightening hit the barn, and her son went in tae save the lambs… the roof collapsed on him."
Severus' eyes snapped open and locked on Morag's. Her face was pale, her usually soft features stony, her jaw clenched.
"How dare ye," she hissed coldly. "How dare ye violate mah mind like that. Get oot of mah hoose."
"Morag, if you'd only…"
"GET OOT!" she thundered so violently that the water jug on the nightstand shattered.
Glossary
arenae/cannae/couldnae/daesna/dinnae/isnae/shouldnae/willnae/wouldnae – aren't/can't/couldn't/doesn't/don't/isn't/shouldn't/won't/wouldn't
aye – yes
babby – baby
doon – down
heid – head
hoose – house
intae – into
ken – know
lass – girl
mah – my
noo – now
oot – out
tae – to
wee – little
ye/yer/yers/yerself – you/your/yours/yourself