Part XIX

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 fabulous (and extra-patient) beta duj and to my previewer Morgaine Du_Lac. Many thanks to all my kind readers and reviewers.

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Part XIX

The first-years entered and Snape watched them in surprise. It was such an astonishing sight! Never had he seen students so happy to attend his classes! A dark smile curled his lips. The last lesson had evidently been very much appreciated, and now the children were looking forward to another exciting experience. He had allowed them to play with forces and substances that had always been forbidden to them, and Potions had obviously become their favourite subject.

So, the children were sparkling with joy, and their anticipation was reflected in their smiling faces and in their cheerful attitudes. Some students even stopped to pat the legs and the gloved hands of the gigantic suit of armour that had helped tame the rebellious fires. The creature seemed to appreciate their friendly gestures and bowed its head at every greeting.

Snape was waiting anxiously for his new apprentice, but when all the children were sitting with their eyes lifted to the portrait, he was definitely sure that Albus Severus Potter had decided otherwise. Feeling bitterness, disappointment and a strange sort of anger bubble in his fibres, the wizard watched the class. His expression was so different from the one the children had learnt to know in their previous lesson that everybody froze, and the excited chatter stopped immediately.

The wizard took his register and pretended to check the roll, but his keen eyes had already determined that the only missing one was exactly the most wished for of all. He hoped there could be a different explanation from the one he feared.

"What about Mr. Potter? I was expecting him here today."

The Gryffindors were of course the first to reply.

"He was with us till the end of Charms, but when we reached the door I didn't see him anymore," Rose Weasley hurried to report, trying to justify her cousin and House-fellow; and little Angus Flanagan added with his acute stuttering voice, "P-perhaps he got l-lost."

Lost, after so many visits the boy had paid to the classroom?

The children waited anxiously to see Snape's reaction.

"Very well," the portrait replied, darkening at that account. "Miss Weasley, you will find Mr. Potter and ask him to come here."

The girl jumped to her feet but Snape raised a hand and stopped her almost immediately, continuing with a slow, meaningful tone, "When the lesson is ended."

He saw the children exchange a worried look, misunderstanding his intentions. But, in spite of his frustration, the portrait knew only too well what the boy could be harbouring in his heart, and he didn't want the whole class to witness their encounter.

"Now, open your books," he commanded, and for the following two hours the students worked in respectful silence, too busy to have thoughts for anything else. This time, the potion requested was simpler in its steps, yet extremely demanding in accuracy. Soon the children were too engaged in weighing ingredients, counting stirs and writing a report to think about their missing companion.

At the end of the lesson, the apprentices were tired and a bit disappointed, but another wonder made its magical entrance and brightened the little faces in excitement. With a few words, Snape introduced the fax, explaining its characteristics and use as if he had used it for centuries. The children widened their eyes and, for a moment, they forgot about manners, each one wanting to be the first one to try the new toy. Finally, reined in by Snape's best scowl, they formed a queue and proceeded in alphabetical order, thrilled to see a small pile of parchments grow little by little on the painted desk of their teacher.

When the class was dismissed, Snape was totally exhausted. If he had been a human being, he would probably have had a ferocious headache. The two hours had been a long, wearing exercise in patience, and all his fibres were aching with the need to know.

And finally Albus Severus arrived. Silent, uncharacteristically serious, head stubbornly down even in his greeting. The portrait felt uneasy and, as a reaction, his voice became harsh.

"Well, Mr. Potter? Any reason for not coming to the lesson?"

That was the right way to start, Snape thought. Discipline was the basis for a correct relationship. The wizard might be a painting, but he was still an adult and a reputable member of the Board of Professors, and the boy should respect him... Though it was difficult to decide in what exactly the lack of respect consisted. The boy wasn't showing any visible sign of insolence. He was only intolerably sad.

"This is not my class," Albus Severus softly stated, as he had already replied to Marcello Bernardi.

Snape felt his irritation grow. What did that child want? Hadn't he just received a gift on a silver platter? The portrait was prepared for a discussion, but that gloomy meekness was unbalancing him. Perhaps a new element had entered the game? That was exactly what Snape feared. His mind had worked frantically for the entire night to prepare a pile of argumentations, but he was painfully aware that the building he had assembled was only a castle of cards. His nervousness increased, as well as the harshness in his voice.

"What do you mean, this is not your class? Professor Zabini came to tell me that you are ready for a promotion. So, from now on, this is the course you will attend."

The wizard paused and tightened his lips in a thin line, in an effort to stop the question that was threatening to escape, and that would betray his utter dismay: aren't you happy about that?

The boy was keeping his head obstinately down.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't believe it." The same unemotional tone, that disconcerting grimness. Snape lost his temper.

"Potter! Are you saying that I'm a liar?"

The question almost choked him the instant he formulated it. Memories of his first argument with the boy lit in his mind and guilt awakened, as well as the awareness that he WAS actually lying. Why had his conscience extracted exactly those words from his throat?

Albus Severus lifted his head for a quick moment, then lowered it again, but that movement had been enough for Snape.

"Potter! Look at me!"

Reluctantly, the boy raised his head. There was an evident yellowish bruise on his cheekbone, and Snape widened his eyes.

"What the hell---" he began, forgetting his role for a moment.

Albus Severus explained with alarming calm.

"I went to find James yesterday, but he didn't want to speak to me. Arthur told me that James was angry because he thought that I was cheating. My brother says that there is no merit in being good at school when you are favoured by a teacher."

His lips trembled.

"I wanted to fight honourably, Professor, but James said that I am a faker, and he is stronger than me. Anyway, I am sure that he didn't really want to hit me, because at the end he was almost crying, and he said that it was all my fault."

He stopped and considered Snape for a long moment, then he asked quietly, "You didn't speak with my brother, Professor, did you?"

Snape felt something cold enter his soul, and his tongue froze. He tried to use one of his carefully prepared justifications but his voice simply refused to collaborate; so, he took a deep intake of breath, letting silence admit his fault.

The boy watched the portrait with bitter eyes.

"I trusted you," he said. "I thought we were friends."

Snape stiffened while a confused memory awakened in his brain. Who had already pronounced words like those, in a past lost in remoteness? The voice of another boy suddenly echoed in his mind. "Weren't we supposed to be friends? Best friends?"

And then a scene opened to his eyes. A red-haired girl was walking rapidly across the castle courtyard, followed by a boy who was trying to keep her pace while talking in hurried sentences. He could still hear their words: the first serious discussion he had experienced with Lily, the first time he had pleaded for her friendship, the first push towards their separation, the first step to his perdition. He closed his eyes and his heart ached.

As if reading the portrait's mind, the boy clenched his fists in a sudden outburst.

"Did you behave like this with my grandmother too? Did you tell her that you were friends and then let her down? Perhaps my grandfather wasn't completely wrong about you, after all."

Snape became livid. That was too bold and hurt too much! His fists collided violently against the desk and he roared furiously, "Potter! Your apologies, here and now!"

"Sorry, sir," the boy replied immediately, the challenging look in his eyes denying that prompt submission.

"You will serve detention for a week, Sunday included!" Snape continued ferociously.

"Yes, sir," Albus Severus answered without even blinking.

"As for your punishment, you will scrub every cauldron in this room, and you'll make them shine with the sole force of your arms!"

"Yes, sir."

"During your work you won't be allowed to pronounce a word, except good evening and good bye!"

"Yes, sir."

"Detention starts from this night, Potter! And you will be here immediately after dinner."

The tone had risen with every statement, and finally Snape stopped, strangled by his own anger and unable to find additional unpleasant details. He bent to stare directly into the child's eyes.

"Have I made myself clear?" the wizard growled through gritted teeth.

"Yes, sir." The boy took a deep breath. "I should have known."

And with that last sibylline assertion, Albus Severus crossed his arms and waited, his gaze resolutely focused on the floor. Snape too crossed his arms, and for a moment, he looked strangely like another sulky child.

Silence hurt even more now; after his incensed reaction, Snape was beginning to regret the merciless words he had just pronounced. The wizard closed his eyes and breathed slowly. There should be a way of repairing. He had always been able to repair... except with Lily.

"Albus Severus," Snape began quietly, and the boy jerked his head up in surprise at hearing his name. "Though I'm not used to explaining my actions to my students, I'll make an exception for you."

Sentences were accumulating more and more quickly, in a torrent urging to escape.

"I have a plan," he said. "I have always had a plan. But you must give me the time to make it work. I haven't seen your brother during these last few days because there were no lessons scheduled for his class. But tomorrow he will be here. And tomorrow I'll keep my promise. Do you trust me?"

The boy nodded cautiously. His eyes were rapidly filling with tears, and his mouth twisted with the effort of controlling his emotion.

"Do you really think I am a liar?" Snape insisted, and Albus Severus sniffled, gulped and shook his head in denial. The portrait sighed deeply. It was so easy to manipulate honest people! And it was even easier with the little one before him.

Snape laced his fingers and stared blankly at the walls.

"Forget about detention, Potter. I'll excuse you for this time," he said, closing his eyes to hide his sadness. He was the one who needed mercy.

"Will you punish my brother for this?" Albus Severus managed to ask with trembling lips, his previous boldness completely gone.

"No," Snape sighed again. "Didn't I say I am going to speak with him?"

"I'm sorry, Professor."

The boy was definitely crying now, but his tears were the gentle rain that melts the clouds away, clearing the sky. He wiped his wet eyes with his sleeves, then he raised his head at the portrait.

"Still... still friends?" Albus Severus hesitantly asked, and when the wizard nodded, the boy's face opened in a timid smile, that became more and more confident in spite of the tears trickling down on his cheeks.

Snape felt something crack inside his soul.

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

Silence was even more impressive at that late hour, and the objects in the Potions classroom were only vague shadows in the dimming light.

"Severus," the soft voice of Minerva McGonagall called, but no answer came. Puzzled, she tilted her head to have a better view of the wall.

"Severus?" she tried again, slightly louder. She was somehow afraid to disturb the supernatural peace of the place, but she needed to talk with Snape. It was several evenings since her habitual companion had paid her a visit, and she was of course a bit worried.

And perhaps jealous, let's face it, Minerva, she murmured to herself. Talking with Snape had become a soothing comfort to her solitude, and her empty evenings didn't look so meaningless when he was with her. But perhaps now Severus had found more interesting ways to spend his time. She couldn't claim the privilege of his friendship only for herself, she sadly thought. After all, he was still young. What could the company of a centenarian woman offer him? Only memories, and so many of them were painful ones...

"Severus!"

But Snape wasn't in his picture, and for a moment she felt baffled. Had he left his place? Why wasn't he answering her call?

After a few moments of anxious search, finally she discovered him in another painting, the view of a garden under an enchanting starry sky. She stopped and frowned, considering the scene with perplexed eyes. When she had selected the pictures for that room, she had deliberately avoided nocturnal subjects, to make the place even more joyful. Who had dared defy her authority?

Shaking her head in indignation, she turned to watch her friend, and her heart twisted with compassion. Snape was leaning against a small wall of bricks, and his head was resting on his crossed arms while his eyes looked lost in contemplation of the night.

There was something worrisome in his stance, and she called him again, very softly.

"Severus."

The man in the painting sighed, keeping his gaze focused on the velvet depths of the sky; then he spoke with an absent-minded tone, as if awakening from a dream.

"Did you know, Minerva, that pictures can imitate the rhythms of the day and the sequence of the seasons?"

So, it had been Snape who had caused that impressive change. Minerva felt suddenly alarmed, yet she did her best to disguise her reaction.

"Amazing indeed," she replied almost happily. "I'd never noticed it, and I am glad you've informed me. I suppose there are still a lot of things I need to learn, even at my old age. An encouraging thought, don't you think?"

Snape sighed again, and she was certain that something painful was troubling him. Her heart felt heavy. Impulsively, she took one of the chairs in the classroom and sat under the picture. Silence enfolded them both in its peace, and the light of the torches dimmed even more, while she waited patiently.

Finally, after a few minutes that seemed hours to the worried Headmistress, Snape spoke again, his head still resting on his arms, his usually rich voice changed into that flat tone that scared her so much.

"Minerva... how's the sky outside?"

"Nice and twinkling," she tried to reassure him. "A beautiful night, Severus. As beautiful as the one you are enjoying here."

Her comments raised a fierce reaction.

"How can you compare the lights of the stars with the deceiving illusion of these painted dots?" he burst out angrily, forgetting his artificial calm.

She didn't answer. In the days that had followed Snape's rebirth, she had gradually learned to handle him and his unpredictable explosions. She knew that silence was her best helper, so she waited for him to make the next move.

"Minerva."

Finally, he had turned to look at her, as she had hoped. His eyes were black pools of anguish.

"Minerva, how does it feel, being alive? I don't remember it anymore."

She felt hopeless. How could she even think to give an answer to such a crucial question? How could she help her friend and find a way to soothe his desolation? Once more, she chose to keep silent. She knew that he needed time to express his feelings completely, and in fact, after a few moments, Snape spoke again.

"I shouldn't have accepted," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Why did I want to try? Why did you let me hope? I am made of paint." His voice rose uncontrollably. "Can't you see? I-AM-MADE-OF-PAINT!"

She lowered her head, feeling her heart pound with compassion. Then more upsetting words trickled out from him in a rivulet of pain.

"I thought I had a second chance. I thought that things in this life could be changed. But 'I' haven't changed. And I can't change. I am still my old self. There is still darkness in me, painted in the fibres of this canvas. I'm still deceiving people. And I'm still hurting the ones who make the mistake of trusting me."

His tone became harsh.

"So now I understand." Anguish made his voice tremble. "This must be hell, and to hell I must belong for the rest of my days."

In uncharacteristic violence, Snape raised his clenched hands and beat them forcefully against the void before him.

"Don't you see? I am a prisoner!" he cried.

Shocked, Minerva could see his fists collide once, twice, thrice, against something invisible but extremely solid: the magical barrier that divided the real world from the painted one, and that inexorably locked the helpless wizard into an unbreakable cell.

Snape hit the void for one last, useless time. Then he finally seemed to realise the futility of his efforts. His face altered in heartbreaking desperation and, defeated, he dropped his head, leaning it wearily against that disconcerting nothingness.

"There's no hope," he murmured with a sob. "I am damned, and damned forever..."

Minerva felt tears well in her eyes, and her throat closed. Yet, she needed to find the words. Her heart was breaking, but when she spoke, her voice sounded surprisingly firm.

"We all are prisoner, Severus, of different prisons. Men build cages of every shape and dimensions for themselves. Fears, vices, prejudices, imperfections... Just name it."

She took a deep breath, fearing the pain she was going to inflict on herself while trying to help him.

"I too am a prisoner, wouldn't you believe it? A prisoner of this old, useless body. There are so many things that I was able to do, and that now I can't do anymore. Even as a cat, Severus, my joints ache, and my only wish would be to curl near a fireplace... or possibly, in the cosy lap of someone who loves me."

Such bitterness in that admission! Never had she dared confess, even to herself, how much she had missed a companion in her lonely life. Truth cut sharply while emerging from its hard chrysalis. Her voice trembled, but she swallowed her pain and resumed her talking.

"My body is a prison. But also my office can be a prison, this castle can be a prison, the whole world can be a prison! Frames change, Severus, and every place can become a prison for those who don't possess a free spirit."

She could perceive his gasping breaths slowly come back to a regular rhythm. He was listening, so she continued softly.

"Yet, if your soul has wings, there are no chains that can lock you to the ground. Even if you are a prisoner in a cell."

She stopped and added meaningfully, "Even if you are a portrait in a frame."

Silence followed her declaration and she considered him again. Words, only words against his desperation! And yet, what else could she offer him? What else, except her friendship and her affection?

She lowered her head to hide the tears.

"Don't leave again, Severus..." she whispered, ceding to her emotion.

With a deep sigh, the man pressed his palms against the void, his head still resting against the invisible barrier that divided him from the world he was craving to touch. His long, black hair hung like a curtain, veiling his face and his feelings. But when he spoke, she felt a new, tremulous hope mix with his bitter tone.

"How do you think that it could be possible, Minerva? I'm not human anymore."

"On the contrary, Severus," she murmured fiercely, raising her head and wiping her eyes." On the contrary."

She got up, feeling her limbs ache exactly as she had told him, and stretched a wrinkled hand to touch his head. He flinched in surprise and, for a moment, she perceived the softness of his hair gently tickling her fingers. Her lips curled in a fond smile.

"I believe you are much more human than many of us."