Part XVII

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling, who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.

All my gratitude to my betas and previewers DementedLeaf, Xoxphoenix and Morgaine_Dulac. Many thanks to all my kind readers and reviewers.

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Part XVII

That morning, Severus Snape woke up curled on a wooden bench. He raised his head and blinked, surprised to see an unfamiliar, yet also strangely familiar, scene before his eyes. The mountains were shining in the distance, a gentle breeze was stroking his hair, and the sunset had changed into dawn. Suddenly, he remembered everything and looked around, anxiously searching for Lily. But she was nowhere to be seen and, for a moment, fear tightened his heart. Then, he noticed the little picture still hanging there. Could that mean that she would come again to visit him?

An immense hope ran through his fibres. Lazily, indulging in that soothing feeling, he got up from the uncomfortable position he had held for the night and yawned, stretching his arms... when his gaze unexpectedly met Minerva's smiling eyes.

The old witch was considering him with great tenderness, and he stiffened in embarrassment, trying to find something to say. But Minerva was quicker.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" she exclaimed joyfully. "How are you feeling today, Severus? I know you had visits yesterday."

He blushed. How did Minerva know? But, above all, what did she know? However, her smile didn't seem to hide any second intention. It was a nice, friendly smile, and he felt reassured.

"Ah, er, yes, it was effectively an interesting afternoon," he replied, looking at the buttons of his cuffs with exaggerated attention.

Minerva tilted her head.

"I'm glad," she replied. "Hermione Granger... well, I should say Hermione Weasley, but I still can't associate her with that name, even after so many years that she's been married."

She stopped to shake her head in disbelief, then took a deep breath and resumed her talking. "Anyway! Hermione, as I was saying, told me that the two of you have had a nice conversation. At least, she was evidently pleased. And I know that Harry was here too."

Her voice softened. "I'm glad he finally came to speak to you. I had the chance to exchange only a few words with him just before he left."

She glanced at Snape in expectation, but he was still busy with his cuffs.

"How annoyingly uncooperative your buttons are this morning!" she considered lightly, and he blushed again and finally looked at her. But now, it was Minerva's turn to look lost in daydreaming.

"It has been such a wonderful day!" she murmured. "Having them all here again... It was as if time had never passed."

She sighed and, once more, she was again her practical self.

"So, as I was telling you, I have spoken with Hermione. She has found a very brilliant solution to help you with grading the parchments. Being raised in a Muggle family could be an advantage for a clever wizard or witch, these days. I have to admit that sometimes Muggles can be incredibly creative in their solutions, and Hermione always was a–"

"An insufferable know-it-all," Snape muttered, raising his eyebrows in exasperation. She frowned at his words; then she unexpectedly burst into a happy laughter. Snape too felt a smile widen upon his face. He tried to scowl, but it was simply impossible. Joy was so infectious that morning!

"So, what did she say?" he insisted, crossing his arms.

Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, Minerva resumed her talking.

"I'll tell you in a moment. First, you will be kindly asked to leave this picture for a while. This request seems to be a bit repetitive lately, don't you think? But this time you will be allowed to stay in another picture and enjoy the show. A master painter from St. Mungo's is coming today to make a special addition to your tools."

"That is?" he asked, a little concern tingeing his voice. What had that damn girl, no, woman, suggested?

"Ah, er, the name is... is..." Minerva looked confused for a moment. "The name is fax. F-A-X."

She smiled at his puzzled expression and continued with a didactic tone, "Hermione told me that it was invented at the end of the last century, and that the Wizengamot has agreed to allow its use in special occasions. Hermione also said that it's employed at the Ministry to communicate with other countries: it's faster, simpler and surer."

She stopped her enunciation to look at him.

"A... fax?" Snape repeated slowly, and she nodded in expectation.

"I wonder how it works," he continued, furrowing his brows. But he wasn't really interested. Again, he glanced at the little frame in front of him and then turned his head with a guilty expression, afraid of having betrayed himself.

Minerva smiled fondly.

"Well, Severus, I must leave you now, but the painter will soon be here, and he will tell you what you need to know. And don't worry. Your lessons have been suspended till tomorrow morning."

"That's very kind of you," he replied and lowered his head in a goodbye, happy to have a chance of losing himself once more in his dreams.

She had almost reached the door when she suddenly turned and said, "Oh, I nearly forgot! Thank you for the wonderful surprise."

"Surprise?" He awakened in panic. "What surprise?"

"Ah, come on, Severus! I'm old, not stupid. Who else could have suggested such a nice celebration? Thank you, my dear, dear boy."

Her eyes twinkled with tears. "Have a nice day."

She left before he could answer: but really, there was no need, and he felt again a great peace entering his heart.

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The painter arrived in the early afternoon. He was an energetic, good-looking man in his thirties with a mane of ruffled brown hair, a pointed beard and incredibly brilliant blue eyes. He smiled at the portrait, then introduced himself with charming informality. The name sounded foreign like his accent and, for a moment, Snape was tempted to ask for more details. But he was still too dreamy to begin a conversation and, on the other hand, his visitor seemed impatient to begin his task.

As Minerva had announced, Snape was asked to leave his frame and enter another picture. From there, he watched the painter conjure brushes and a palette of magically changing shades: in a few seconds, evoked by precise taps of the wand, an assortment of creative tools was displayed on one of the little desks. Soon the man was absorbed in his work, so Snape forgot his questions and wandered in the pictures on the walls, looking in happy beatitude at the different scenes around him. He was feeling so elated and so young, so incredibly young!

His heart was dilating with the same cheerful expectation he remembered of his teenage days, the same lively excitement, the same hopeful joy. Once more, he relived his encounter with Lily, savouring every single word that she had said and adding those precious moments to the loving memories treasured in his heart.

The little empty portrait was continuously attracting his gaze. Would Lily come again to see him?

Please do! He prayed in his mind, and the words almost blurted out in their intensity. After all, he didn't ask for too much: to see her, talk with her, hold her hand, perhaps even dare to kiss her lightly on her cheek... A shiver crossed through his body at the very thought, a prelude, an anticipation of new joy to come. It was only a hope, but it was so blissful! Closing his eyes, Snape took a deep breath, losing himself in the enchantment of his dreams: the illusion of happiness, the crumbs of happiness... yet, they meant a whole paradise to him.

"Professor Snape, it's finished!" the painter called, interrupting this meditation, and obediently, Severus entered his frame again. The smell of magical paint was stinging, but it didn't feel too disagreeable to his nostrils.

And then, he saw it on his desk. The machine. The contraption. The fax. A plastic structure coloured in grey, with buttons, lights and other mysterious protuberances. Absent-mindedly, he touched it, trying to figure out how it would work.

"Be careful! It's still fresh!" an alarmed voice warned him, but it was too late.

"Darn!" the painter exclaimed, yet there was no reproach in his voice, just an amused, sympathetic tone. "Now I'll have to retouch you both."

Embarrassed, Snape looked at the marks he had left on the object. His fingertips were grey like the fax's upper cover, and the painter smiled at his confusion.

"No problem, Professor! Please raise your hand and stand still."

Snape held his breath while he felt the delicate strokes of the brush tickle his fingers, and the new paint adhere and become part of his body.

"Thank you, Mister...? I'm sorry, but I didn't understand your name," he confessed, a bit uncomfortable.

"Marcello Bernardi al vostro servizio!*" The man promptly replied with a nice smile. Now that they were face to face, Snape noticed the painter's simple but refined elegance and his aristocratic features. The man seemed to understand and enjoy the portrait's curiosity.

"Yes, I'm Italian," he added with a bow. "Many master painters who work at St. Mungo's come from my country. Italy has a long-lasting tradition and a great reputation in the artistic field. So, we are proud to promote our art in other countries."

Snape nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Bernardi," he said, trying to imitate the sounds he had heard.

"My pleasure!" Bernardi answered. "I am honoured to have been of help. I was still studying at the Accademia di Arti Magiche* when Voldemort was destroyed."

His eyes became grave. "I know the role you played in that war."

Embarrassed, Snape tightened his lips and watched his fingers again.

"Is there anything else I can do? Want me to refresh you?" the painter gently asked. He was evidently used to such requests from portraits. "I can give you richer colours, if you like."

For a moment, Snape was tempted. He furtively looked at the mirror in his picture. Why not? Now that Lily was here, why not?

Then, he understood the futility of that change. She had already seen him and found him "handsome". But she had never been his and never would be. He took a deep breath, feeling the first drop of bitterness enter his recent happiness.

"No... no, thank you!" he finally replied, a bit more harshly than he would have liked.

"Ah, come on!" the man insisted, then winked in complicity. "There must be some nice portrait in this castle."

Bernardi was more or less his age, and his words were friendly. Yet, for a moment, Snape felt oddly resentful. He wished that he could be living again and that he and the woman he had for a moment hoped to impress could be magically brought back in time. Emotion made him frown, and the painter, who was watching him attentively, became serious.

"I'm sorry. I have been indiscreet," he apologised, abandoning his amused tone. Then, he advised, "Please wait just another five minutes, Professor, while I cast the enchantment on the real fax. Then, we will test both the machines."

Sidetracked, Snape watched the man open a box and take out a perfect copy of his painted masterpiece.

Again, Bernardi smiled.

"See? It's easy! You insert the parchment here, then click the button. The sheet passes through here, comes out there and, at the same time, a copy will arrive in your machine. Same procedure when you want to send something out. Don't worry, the two machines are interconnected, so there is no possibility of mistaking the recipient, unless one of your little rascals here enchants the copy in the classroom. However, I'll put a triple-shield protection. They'll need to be very, very skilled to break it."

After a few moments, the man finally announced, "Ready! Let's try!"

The painter took a piece of parchment and wrote something on it. Then, he inserted it in the fax and pressed a button. Astonished, Snape saw a parchment slip out from his machine.

"Take it, Professor! It doesn't bite!" Bernardi encouraged him.

Snape took the parchment. The words said "Marcello Bernardi, Maestro Pittore". He watched them in awe. They came from the world, the real world. An immense emotion overwhelmed him, as if a ray of sun had found a passage through a wall of bricks. He took his quill, then paused to consider it with a bizarre, lopsided smile. What a contrast! The bare simplicity of a feather against the technological wonder of a mechanism made of so many little parts.

Finally, he took the parchment and wrote "Severus Snape, Potions Master". Then, he sent the message back with disconcerting easiness.

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Author's note:

Just a little explanation: personally, I hate OCs, so I try to use as many canon characters as possible when writing a story. But sometimes it's impossible, which was exactly the case at this point in the story. I needed a painter, but no canon character seemed suitable for this job... in my opinion, of course. So, I decided to invent one and, while I was inventing, I thought, "why not offer a tribute to my country of artists?"

But there is also a more important reason to make the painter an Italian. You will discover it in the next chapter ;)

Translation of the Italian words:

"Al vostro servizio" means "at your orders"

"Accademia di Arti Magiche" means "Accademy of Magical Arts".