Part XVIII

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.

*************

Part XVIII

"Severus Snape, Potions master."

Marcello Bernardi watched the piece of parchment and grinned, shaking his head in amazement. Then, he put it in his pocket.

"Nobody will believe that in Siena!" he affirmed and winked at Snape. "Well, you opened a new path, Professor. You can be proud of yourself. Now, we just need one of your students to test the machine."

As if answering this request, a boy appeared under the frame of the door. Albus Severus entered quickly, then stopped in awe before that imposing stranger. Bernardi waved a hand.

"Come in, come in, please!" he called cordially; then, he glanced at Snape. "It seems that we have an answer to our prayers," he declared, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.

But Snape didn't share that joyful reaction. On the contrary, he felt strangely irritated. After the encounter with Lily, he had closed himself in a blissful shell that excluded any other intrusion. The arrival of the painter had already been a rather annoying interruption, though indubitably necessary. But little Al's visit – a circumstance that he would have welcomed with joy only a day before – was definitely filling him with a sort of exasperation.

Bernardi greeted Albus Severus with warm cordiality. "Hello, young man! My name is Marcello Bernardi, and I'm only a poor painter, so I need a student to test this machine. Would you like to help me?"

"Well, thank you, sir," Al replied, frowning at that weird accent. "I'd be glad, but I came here only to speak with Professor Snape."

"Of course! But would you mind helping your professor with this new device? See, you will be the first in your class to use it," the painter offered.

The boy curled down his lips. "This is not my class," he said curtly.

"Oh!" The painter scratched his head, a bit confused at that news. "Well, okay, it doesn't matter. Your help is wanted anyway. It's easy, you'll see. You only need to write something and then send it through the machine. I'll explain it to you."

Few words of instructions followed this preamble, and finally, the reluctant Al inserted his parchment.

"Perfetto!" Bernardi exclaimed as soon as the message reached the portrait.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Snape more composedly replied.

"Potter?" Bernardi lifted his brows at that name, considering the boy with new interest. "Perhaps a relative of the famous Harry?"

The boy brightened in pride. "Yes, sir," he answered. "I am his son. His second son," he specified humbly.

"Davvero! It's a honour, young man. I come from Italy, and your name is famous there too."

Al didn't look too impressed. He was evidently anxious to speak with Snape, so he just nodded distractedly.

The wizard perceived this nervousness and began to feel worried. Thankfully, Bernardi seemed to realise their need for privacy, and announced that he was going to collect his things. Snape appreciated this tactful retreat, especially when the painter went to the opposite side of the room to take a look at the other paintings. The portrait watched the child, and his impatience rose. What other problems were threatening to spoil his joy?

"Well, Mr. Potter?"

The boy was evidently uneasy.

"I am here to take the picture," he whispered.

Snape felt his painted self freeze.

"T-the picture?" he almost stammered. He hadn't thought of such a catastrophic possibility!

Lowering his head, Al insisted. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I must send it back home. What if Dad should notice that it's missing?"

I'm sure he already has, Snape thought bitterly; then, he clenched his fists in rebellion. No, he would not renounce that soothing comfort his second life had so unexpectedly offered him! The painter was busy reordering his tools, and Snape instinctively turned to him.

"Perhaps Mr. Bernardi can help," he ventured. How he hated being so powerless!

The man raised his head. "Yes, Professor?"

"Is there a chance..." Strangely, words failed him. But before he could find his voice again, Al had already begun to explain.

"I need to send that picture home," he said, indicating the little frame. "It's my grandma's, but now she's away. She went to meet Professor Snape in secret, and then she probably decided to go visiting the castle. She had told me she would enjoy a tour. But I need to have her back and send the portrait home before Dad notices that she's missing."

The painter looked at Snape, who had paled and unconsciously tightened his hands while his private matters were so candidly exposed.

"Your grandma, you said?" The man asked softly, and a sudden understanding diffused upon his face. The look that he cast at Snape was now full of compassion, and the wizard returned it bravely, feeling embarrassment and hope clash in his heart.

"No need to say anything else," Bernardi said quietly. "I'll prepare a copy."

With a quick snap of his fingers, he conjured several little pictures, each one featuring a different background; then, he displayed them in front of the boy.

"Here," he said with a smile, "these are paintings I've made for a special occasion like this. Now, as a present for your grandma, choose the one that you think she would prefer."

Al widened his eyes in surprise and admiration.

"You are fantastic!" he exclaimed, and he dedicated himself to the choice.

Bernardi watched Snape and smiled, crossing his arms.

"Privileges of being part of the guild," he said nonchalantly, and the portrait felt a sudden wave of gratitude.

After a few moments spent in thoughtful meditation, Al lifted a beautiful view of a balcony. The window behind it had splendid chiselled gratings in Moresque style, but the most impressive detail was a superb cascade of flowers surrounding the balcony and falling in gracious waves. They looked so vibrant and lively that it seemed possible even to perceive their fragrance.

"Ottima scelta!" the painter exclaimed and immediately translated, "Great choice!"

He took his wand and murmured a spell; then, he touched both pictures, the one on the wall and the one still lovingly held by the boy.

"Here," he said. "Now those two paintings are connected. Your grandma can enter the one she wants. But she must return to this room first. So, let's remove the old picture and hang in its place the one that you chose. This will be a nice surprise, as she doesn't know that there is a new beautiful home waiting for her. And you can send the original to your dad."

"Thank you!" Al was radiant. He turned to look at Snape with such disarming joy that the dark wizard felt an intense shame for his previous selfish attitude. The painter bowed jokingly and went back to his table. The boy and the portrait looked at each other; then, Snape cleared his throat and said, "Is there anything else you would like to ask to me?"

"Yes, sir. Can we begin our lessons?"

"I'm afraid it's impossible, young man," a new, unexpected voice interposed, startling them both.

Another man had entered the room, and the portrait recognised Professor Finlay, Flitwick's temporary substitute, one of the few colleagues who hadn't been Snape's student. The wizard, a tall, bespectacled man with fluent white hair, smiled nervously.

"I'm sorry, Professor Snape, but the Board of Professors has received a complaint. We cannot allow a single child to take private lessons from you. A special class has been selected for your course. All the others have Professor Zabini to teach them, and they must rely on him."

He turned to look paternally at the boy. Albus Severus was staring at the man with two immense eyes. Snape displayed his best scowl.

"A complaint? From whom?" he growled. Who dared interpose?

Finlay hesitated. He was evidently uneasy and tried to soften the news. "I'm sorry, the name is confidential. But I'm sure you understand, we cannot allow this... this partiality. It would be unfair for his schoolmates."

"Very well," Snape finally ceded, thinking that he would find a way to solve the situation, and added menacingly, "I reserve the right to speak with the Headmistress."

"It's your right, of course," Finlay acknowledged in relief. "Have a good evening."

But surprises weren't still finished. Another man entered the room while Finlay left it, and the two wizards nodded in greeting, crossing under the doorframe.

"Mr. Zabini!" Snape exclaimed, his voice hardened by a cold anger. He hadn't seen his colleague for a long time, but he was more than sure that his fellow Slytherin had played a significant part in that last mean trick.

"Zabini?" a surprised voice asked. The painter went again under the picture and addressed the newly arrived.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation, but I couldn't avoid hearing your name. Are you Italian? Perhaps of the Zabini family from Emilia?"

Zabini frowned and considered the man.

"To whom have I the honour of speaking?" he asked coldly.

"My name is Marcello Bernardi, and I am an Italian master painter. I came here to work in St. Mungo's." In his excitement, his foreign accent was even more evident.

Zabini relaxed and considered the man with new respect. "Then I'll be happy to reply. My father died when I was a small child. I don't even remember him, and my mother never told me much about my origins. They divorced almost immediately, so I suppose she preferred to forget him. You say that there is an Italian family with my name?"

"Yes, a very powerful family, whose home is in Emilia, in the North East of Italy."

The painter was examining Zabini closely, but the wizard didn't seem annoyed. On the contrary, he too looked very interested in his interlocutor and ended by asking politely, "I would be glad to exchange some words with you then when I am finished. Would you mind waiting for me?"

"Of course not. I'll go speak with the Headmistress and wait for you in the Great Hall."

Smiling, the painter turned to Snape.

"Professor!" he greeted. "It has been a pleasure!"

Then Bernardi winked to Albus Severus.

"All the best to you and to your dad," he wished. "And let me know if she liked the surprise."

The painter went out, and Snape breathed in relief. For a moment, he had feared that his secret would be revealed by that so extrovert nature. Then, anger came back in cold waves. Zabini was watching the boy with inexpressive eyes.

"Please, Potter, I need to speak with Professor Snape," he ordered quietly, and Snape nodded. He too didn't want the boy to witness that encounter.

Obediently, holding the precious picture to his chest, Albus Severus left. Zabini waited till the little figure had definitely disappeared and turned to the portrait.

"I have reflected a lot during these days," he began awkwardly.

"I'm glad you are still able to use some of your basic functions," Snape replied coldly.

"I see you are enraged with me," Zabini went on obstinately. "But there is no reason. I'm here to apologise for what I said in our previous meetings. I have decided that I have been unfair in judging you. After all, it wasn't your fault. You were beholden to Dumbledore. And you paid your choice with your death. I'm sure you didn't mean for us to suffer."

A pause followed, in which the man seemed to be fumbling for words.

"I need a friend," he finally declared.

"A friend or an ally?" Snape retorted mercilessly.

"It needs a Slytherin to understand a Slytherin. You are right, Professor," Zabini admitted. "I need an ally, possibly somebody as wise and powerful as you are."

"And do you expect me to believe these sickly declarations after the last announcement I have been given?" the portrait snarled.

"Which last announcement?" the man protested.

"Don't lie to me!" Snape exploded in fury. "Would you pretend you have nothing to do with this complaint about my private lessons?"

"Oh, that!" Zabini exclaimed, looking immensely relieved. Then, his expression changed again into something indecipherable. "I don't like tattle. But as a sign of the honesty of my intentions... the complaint came from James Potter, Professor. I know you won't betray me."

James Potter? A flood of anger invaded Snape's heart, immediately followed by a cold sensation, the premonition of something unpleasant to come. He had neither seen nor spoken to the boy after the incident, as preparation for the anniversaries had absorbed most of his attention and he had gladly plunged into that opportune diversion; so, in spite of the promise that Albus Severus had so gently extorted from him, the wizard had let his good intentions slip to the very bottom of his list, and now they were surging again before him, challenging him like resentful ghosts.

Zabini crossed his arms, awakening Snape from his trance.

"You see, Professor," he said, and his voice sounded surprisingly meek, "I'm tired of fighting. I have spent my whole life fighting against my destiny, and I have always failed. I need a reprieve."

Taken aback by that disarming attitude, Snape frowned and considered the man. Those words had stirred the strong feelings of loyalty the wizard had always felt towards his Slytherins, so often despised or discarded because of their ambiguous legacy. Hadn't he witnessed far too many unpleasant episodes in his own previous existence? And wasn't Zabini's life a blatant example of how that injustice was still persisting? Although, the portrait realised with a shiver, Snape himself had contributed to his students' disgraceful outcome.

As if perceiving the emotions behind the silence, Zabini raised two hopeful eyes. "I will do everything in my power to support you here in Hogwarts, sir," he offered. "As you said, we both are Slytherin, and once you were my Head of House."

The portrait hesitated, still suspended in doubt: there was something obscure in the man under the frame, something hidden carefully and very deeply. But Zabini had always been the most secretive of his students, respectful in a distant, rather cold way, and Snape remembered it well. So, trying to better focus his thoughts, the portrait narrowed his eyes while indefinite memories ran through his fibres, restraining the words on his lips.

Zabini was positively worried now, and the struggle with his pride made him flush violently. "Professor, please, I'm sincere. I've admitted I have made a mistake. Why don't you allow me to make amends?"

But Snape still kept silent. He was frantically weighing the many questions that were unfolding in his mind like an origami. Zabini seemed to have changed. But what were the real reasons behind that change? Was he really as sincere as he sounded? How to deal with a man whom Snape didn't trust completely yet he felt he had failed? What would that so pressing request of help imply?

And while the portrait searched for answers, more considerations followed. The complaint about his lessons had obviously been James' revenge, but also the consequence of Snape's skipped promise. In another time, the wizard would have reacted in fury at that challenge; now, he was feeling troubled. Soon, Albus Severus would discover the truth. What would his reactions be? How would the portrait justify himself? Millions of doubts and worries clashed in his soul. Silence became heavy, and Zabini misunderstood its meaning.

"No hope, no trust, no mercy for me, Professor, not even a word?" he asked bitterly. "Should I deduce that you reject my offer since you refuse even to speak to me?"

He stopped and swallowed, fighting back his emotions.

"Forgive my intrusion," he declared curtly; then, he bowed and turned to leave.

Torn between doubt and compassion, afraid that his last chances might slip through his fingers, finally Snape reacted. "Mr. Zabini! Blaise!"

As soon as he heard his name, the man stopped in his tracks, waiting, yet still poised to flee. His head turned slowly while his brows arched in a mute question.

Snape inhaled slowly. "Wait," he whispered. "Let's discuss this better."

*************

When Zabini left, the portrait and the man had sealed a very Slytherin deal that suited them both. Snape had promised to support Zabini, and in return, the actual Potions master would allow Albus Severus to join Snape's classes. Of course, there was always the unknown of James Potter to solve, but the portrait felt reasonably sure that he would find a way to handle the boy and reconcile both brothers with him. So, the situation could be defined satisfactory, with the exception of a small, insignificant detail: Snape wasn't satisfied.

The wizard paced nervously in his frame. His conscience was beginning to trouble him, and what was worse, he had no arguments to counteract its attack. Soon, he sat behind his desk again and sighed deeply, hiding his face in his hands.

He had traded Albus Severus' happiness with Zabini's safety, pretending to be acting for the sake of them both.

He had delayed an explanation to James Potter, pretending to be too busy to talk with a boy whom he, in effect, cordially disliked.

He had betrayed Albus Severus' faith, pretending to accept a request whose fulfilment he had instead eluded.

In conclusion, he had manipulated and deceived those surrounding him in order to achieve his personal goals, exactly as he had done so many other times in his living days.

While in his previous life, his mission and secrets had obliged him to follow a path of deception. Now, he had no other defence than his own selfish advantage. Remorse soon rose in powerful waves, and with it came the most anguishing of his doubts: how would Lily judge him?

He turned to watch her picture as if asking for help, and his eyes lit in surprise. A flower seemed to have unexpectedly blossomed on the balcony, the most beautiful rose the wizard had ever seen. Holding his breath in awe, Snape admired its fragrant softness and the exquisite perfection of its petals, illuminated by glittering drops of dew.

Evidently, Bernardi had painted it while everybody was too busy to notice him working, and for a long moment, the portrait wondered why. Then, the meaning sparkled clear in his mind: it was a gift to Snape so that the prisoner of the frame could have something precious to offer to his lady.

A soothing emotion dilated Snape's heart at this thought, and the wizard closed his eyes, abandoning himself to that gentle feeling. But, immediately after, shame veiled his mind, and remorse flew even more powerful in his veins.

*************

Notes:

1) About Italian words:

For the (hopefully) few that don't know this name, "Siena" is one of our beautiful "cities of art" in Toscana (Tuscany), full of painted and carved masterpieces, like Pisa and Firenze (Florence). But the city itself is a masterpiece. In my story, Marcello Bernardi comes from Siena.

"Davvero" means "really".

2) Zabini is effectively an Italian surname. I have always had the sensation that JKR had imagined him Italian. Anyway, this surname is owned by a very small group of persons in the northeast of Italy.

3) Info about magical portraits coming directly from JKR. This is what she stated in her interview at Carnegie Hall, in October 2007, and this is where I took some of my inspirations:

"I created a lot of rules for this world and then later had to navigate my way around them. But this rule was always good, and the rule was that portraits could only move between portraits in the same building. So, if I'm in a picture and you're in a picture and we're both in Carnegie Hall, then we can move into each other's pictures. Otherwise, we can move only to other places where we have a portrait. You can't just move willy nilly through all the – the Louvre, the Met – you can't do a world tour, as a picture person. You are limited by geography."