Part XXVIII

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 beta AmyLouise. Many thanks to all my kind readers and reviewers.

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Part XXVIII

The rest of the night seemed interminable to Snape, and he paced incessantly in his frame, regretting that human beings needed such long breaks to restore their bodies and minds.

It was still dark when Snape left his picture and began wandering from painting to painting, roaming the castle in the anxious search for an elf. The one he finally found squeaked in panic when he was requested to awaken one of his beloved masters so early, but after a threatening glance from the portrait, the little creature eventually agreed to go and call Professor Longbottom, and Snape resumed his impatient wait.

Neville was the only one who knew the truth, and the portrait wondered if that truth had been revealed also to the other staff members. The man had come back very late from the hospital the night before, so the announcement had surely been postponed. However, Neville should have informed Professor Finlay, the wizard Minerva had hired to substitute for Flitwick as a teacher and a deputy. Snape sighed. He didn't like that old pompous fellow, so full of himself.

Finally, Longbottom arrived, face wrinkled by insufficient rest and by visible nervousness.

"Professor Snape?" he greeted and inquired at the same time, a bit more harshly than usual. The man was in a sullen mood, and Snape felt suddenly uncomfortable. Even worse, he felt discouraged.

Looking at Neville, the portrait realised with dismay that he had hoped not only for his help, but also for his respect, and above all, for his friendship. The boy he had once considered an abysmal failure had become a man whose firm integrity Snape envied greatly. Now he began to understand what kind of tie had linked Potter to his companions. The feeling was incredibly enticing, and his heart ached in despair because, of course, that was a hopeless longing. He was Severus Snape: spy, murderer, and Death Eater; hateful teacher, and deceitful Slytherin. No posthumous glory would ever cancel those stains... He swallowed his bitterness and donned his best impassive face.

"I think I have good news, Mr. Longbottom," he said. "But I still need the help of somebody living if we want to have a chance to save those people inside the hospital..."

As well as those outside, his mind silently completed.

Neville considered him, eyes reddened by tiredness.

"I wonder what might have changed in these few hours," he replied suspiciously.

"Being a picture can have its good sides," Snape explained. "This night, I happened to meet the portrait of a young lady who was the only daughter of Horatius Hobnook."

Neville widened his eyes. "You have... You met..." he stammered, unable to complete his statement.

"I suppose this incoherent babble was meant to be a question," Snape declared disdainfully. "Yes, Mr. Longbottom, I have met Cornelia Hobnook, and she has entrusted her father's formulae to me. But to bring them to the real world, I need the help of a human being. More specifically, your help."

For a long moment, Neville stared at Snape, and his eyes reflected the many feelings warring in his soul: surprise, incredulity, wonder, embarrassment...

Snape crossed his arms. A picture; he was only a picture, yet he had been able to find a solution, not only in spite of his condition, but because of it. However, that morning his triumph had a different taste from what he had expected.

"I am at your disposal," Neville finally said, and Snape acknowledged these words with a curt nod.

"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom." At least he would be granted Longbottom's help, if not his respect. "We will need to act quickly. The antidote to Stonicrucium isn't in our hands yet...there is still a lot to do, and we are, deplorably, running out of time."

The portrait paused. "But I'll explain everything later. Now I want you to call Mr. Zabini."

"Zabini?" Neville was confused and wary. "Why?"

"Because he will brew the remedy for me," Snape replied calmly.

"Why? Aren't you going to share the formula with the staff in St. Mungo's?" Neville's eyes went icy again.

"Of course I am," Snape replied, irritated by that evident mistrust. "But I need to have a batch brewed here...," he fumbled for a justification, didn't find a convincing one, and concluded awkwardly, "for my specific study."

"Or perhaps to help Lucius Malfoy?"

The portrait stiffened. "How do you know?" he asked hoarsely. Had Minerva eventually let out his secret?

Neville seemed to guess that unspoken doubt and shrugged. "It wasn't difficult. The whole board of professors had been informed that Lucius was ill when Scorpius was requested home. And we all know far too well the names of those who have been locked in Azkaban. I believe that the staff in St. Mungo's has already prepared a list of potential patients to check. This morning, a special communication will be spread through radio and in the Daily Prophet."

Longbottom watched the portrait. "I suppose that Malfoy is the reason you were so reluctant to speak yesterday."

Involuntarily, the man had used the same words as Minerva, and Snape lowered his head. How could Longbottom feel mercy? Surely, his integrity was inspiring him with horror for the former Death Eater, so conveniently punished by destiny.

"He is still my friend," he murmured. "I didn't want him to die in shame and desperation, adding more pain to what he has already suffered."

Silence filled the room. Then Longbottom took a deep breath.

"You know, Professor, I never understood you when I was a student. I thought you were cruel and nasty, with no consideration for anyone except your housemates. I thought you were mean to me because you enjoyed humiliating a Gryffindor. And I thought that there was nothing and nobody you cared about."

Neville paused and bit his lip. "Now I know I was wrong."

Snape raised a hand. "It's easier to forgive an enemy than a friend," he commented bitterly. "I have asked for your help, Mr. Longbottom, not for your apologies."

Neville replied firmly, "Now you have them both."

The man and the portrait locked their gazes. Then Neville broke the silence. "I'm going to call Zabini, as you asked before. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom," Snape replied gruffly, feeling an odd warmth in his heart. "Yes, there is something else: I need to see a painter, and specifically, a man called Bernardi from the special section in St. Mungo's."

"The Italian artist? We met him yesterday at the hospital. He was surprised to see Professor McGonagall there, but at the same time, he seemed to expect it. Did you share part of the secret with him?"

"No, but he holds the keys that can open the door between our worlds."

Neville gave a thoughtful nod. "I will send a message immediately."

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

The man who entered the room some minutes later was displaying a frown that could easily compete with Snape's best scowls. He was evidently irritated to have been called early and impatient to get an explanation. But the portrait didn't give him time to protest.

"Take a seat, Mr. Zabini. I'm going to tell you a story."

Zabini hesitated; then, yielding to the authority in Snape's voice, he took a chair and sat, his expression gradually changing from hostility to curiosity. Wordlessly, Longbottom took another chair, and the two men raised their heads expectantly at the picture, bizarrely looking like their younger selves again.

Zabini needed to be properly informed. So, while they sat in perfect silence, Snape recapitulated the events once more, describing in a few words the horrible illness that had invaded the wizarding world, and the role that an almost forgotten mediwizard had played in its defeat, centuries before.

Though still perplexed by that unexpected revelation, Zabini got excited at the name.

"Horatius Hobnook, sir? Professor Slughorn said that he was an exceptionally gifted potioneer. How did you get to..."

The portrait stopped those comments with an impatient wave of his hand and continued his account, eyeing Zabini closely and trying to understand if the man knew about the Malfoys. After all, Blaise had been one of their protégés... But he seemed sincerely unaware, and when Snape revealed that Minerva had been infected, Zabini blinked in surprise but didn't show anything else than polite regret. Reassured, Snape concluded by shortly describing his encounter with Cornelia. The men listened in silence; Neville clearly fascinated, Blaise with a spark in his dark eyes.

Finally, the portrait turned specifically to Zabini. "As you see, the situation is extremely serious, and we have very little time left to save those unfortunate people. Professor Longbottom has already granted his help. What about you?"

"Count me in, of course! I'll be honoured to be your assistant," Zabini immediately offered, casting an oblique glance at Longbottom as if underlining a privileged relationship.

"So, gentlemen, it's all set." Snape's statement seemed to sign a deal. "We only need Mr. Bernardi now."

"Marcello?" Zabini enquired, and Snape couldn't but notice how perfect his pronunciation sounded. There was a link, and a strong one, between the two men. What could that imply?

The portrait weighed his words.

"Mr. Bernardi has a very delicate task to fulfil. As you have probably understood, we will need his help to paint a copy of Hobnook's diary in my frame, as the original one is impracticable. Though now I'm legally its owner, I can't walk outside of this picture to claim it. Furthermore, the document is protected by a powerful spell. If somebody else should ever try to snatch it, both the thief and the document would be mercilessly destroyed. Finally, the diary has been entrusted to me under a clause of secrecy. What better protection than enclosing it in my portrait?"

"But... what a waste, too!" Zabini exclaimed. "I'm sorry, sir, but those potions represent an invaluable treasure. Why keep them hidden in a picture? Personally, I would be happy if..."

"Mr. Zabini!" Snape let his irritation transpire. "I have given my word to Cornelia Hobnook. But I will certainly check the content of that book and make the best use of it, you can be sure."

Zabini insisted, "Still, Professor, I think..."

"I don't remember asking your opinion on this matter," Snape replied with a definitive tone.

Frustrated, Zabini tightened his lips, and Snape watched Neville intentionally.

"Time to see if the painter has arrived, Mr. Longbottom."

Immediately, Neville got up and left the room. As soon as they were alone, Snape turned to Zabini. There was a question he needed to clarify.

"How is it that you have become so close to Mr. Bernardi and to his corporation?" he inquired.

Zabini took on a hesitant air that made him look strangely vulnerable.

"Because my father was Italian. I discovered it through Marcello. His family and mine have been friends for centuries, and he offered his help to contact my relatives."

He crossed his arms, watching Snape defiantly. "I see you still don't trust me. You called Longbottom first. I suppose you need me only to brew the potion." He shrugged, affecting indifference, then lowered his head and began tracing invisible drawings on a desk.

Snape felt baffled. The news had been totally unexpected. And then he felt uneasy. Yes, Blaise was right. He still didn't trust him, in spite of their mutual promise of assistance. There was something that he couldn't define about his former student. Nevertheless, how could he blame Zabini for trying to build a new existence? And probably, one for which he was much better suited. A new family, a new world, a new friend, an ancient lineage... How lucky his colleague was! Life was offering him a second chance, and on a silver platter.

In spite of himself, his voice softened. "So, are you planning to leave us?"

"Well, it would be nice to have a family again."

How very Slytherin, answering without answering... Snape considered the man, who had begun to pace nervously under his frame.

"Perhaps you should have told me," he stated quietly. "Trust is a thing that must be shared, you see."

Zabini blushed. "Yes, perhaps I should have," he murmured, and silence fell again.

A few minutes later, Longbottom was back, followed by a man wrapped in a fine woollen cloak.

"Mr. Bernardi is here."

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

The painter greeted Snape with a beaming smile.

"I was sure!" he thundered in his extrovert way. "I knew you would make it."

Then he saw Zabini. "Biagio!" he exclaimed happily and went to shake hands. Then Bernardi turned grave again. "I saw Headmistress McGonagall yesterday, so I know about the epidemic. A very sad occurrence indeed. I want to express all my most sincere..."

"Mr. Bernardi..." Snape interrupted those civilities that could only delay his plan, "...perhaps you remember our conversation about bringing objects outside of pictures."

The painter instantly lost his confident smile and replied warily, "I do, but I told you that it was a very difficult sp..."

Snape cut him off again. "This time, I need you to bring a real object inside my picture."

In spite of his confidence, Bernardi was looking more and more worried. "Well, that should be easier, but..."

"Just listen." Snape's voice was definite. "The object in question is an ancient book that contains a remedy for this awful epidemic. There is a powerful spell protecting it, and I know the counter-spell. But the book has been buried under a house, so I need you to paint and link a copy in my frame without extracting the original from its shelter."

"Accidenti, Professor!" The man widened his eyes with an eloquent grimace. "That's difficult! I mean, I've never done something like that before; the magic could destroy me, as the spell is..."

"You mean you can't help us?" Snape inquired coldly.

"Of course I can!" The painter, incongruously, looked offended. Then, his confidence dropped.

"I... I only hope it will work, Merlin help me..."

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

A few minutes later, Marcello Bernardi had taken off his cloak, listened to Snape's instructions, prepared his tools, and extracted his wand. Then, he asked the two other men to keep silent.

"The spell is extremely difficult, and I need all my concentration," he warned, and with a nervous smile, he turned to Snape.

"Professor, you must do what I ask you exactly at the moment I ask you. Otherwise, the magic won't work... and I probably won't be able to tell this story to my grandchildren. Are you sure you have the password?"

Snape nodded. Cornelia had given him full details before leaving, and her memory lingered in his heart.

"Then let's begin the game," the painter declared. In spite of his joking tone, he was sweating with anxiety.

The room went silent as Bernardi concentrated, closing his eyes and humming softly an ancient melody. Soon his wand began to vibrate rhythmically, and under the fascinated gazes of those present, a diaphanous, confused image gradually formed, lazily floating in mid-air. It was an old book, covered in leather, glowing faintly with a silvery light. At that sight, Longbottom couldn't help a gasp, and Zabini shot him a warning glance.

With measured, graceful movements of his fingers, Bernardi summoned brushes and colours. The magical tools reached Snape's frame, and directed by the expert gestures of the painter, quickly painted a copy of the radiant image.

"Don't touch it!" Bernardi stopped Snape's instinctive act. "Its guardian must come!"

Then, the painter took a deep breath, and his wand began to trace complicated figures in the air, more and more rapidly, until a fiery raven erupted from its tip. A tense look on his face, Bernardi watched Snape as if asking for a confirmation.

Ravenclaw as Cornelia had been, the portrait thought and inclined his head in assent. Immediately after, a stream of light seemed to surround the painter, and the words he was pronouncing became an almost unintelligible sequence of musical sounds. Guided by their rhythm, the raven grabbed the book in its claws and emitted a piercing cry. The bird seemed to be waiting for something, and Snape could see that the painter was making a big effort to keep the magical creature under control.

Then, a monstrous emerald snake emerged from the floor, releasing its coils and growing almost big enough to touch the ceiling. The beast opened its mouth and hissed menacingly, baring its cruel fangs in an intimidating gesture. Bernardi paled in fear but held his ground, while Neville and Blaise, helpless spectators, stiffened in alarm.

Salazar's Basilisk, Snape thought, strangely detached. Or perhaps the pure essence of the Slytherin symbol. The two animals faced each other, the raven menacing its adversary with ferocious assaults of its beak; the snake inclining its horrid head as if waiting to strike. Vibrating in the effort of controlling the different powers whirling so frantically around him, Bernardi tightened both his hands around the wand and cried out, "The word, Professor! Now!"

A clap of thunder answered this invocation, and a storm seemed to rise. The raven cried wildly while an impetuous wind shook the room, and the cupboards swayed, threatening to fall and disperse their contents onto the floor. An admonitory look on his face, Zabini tugged down Longbottom, who had instinctively tried to get up.

Snape's lips moved, and the counter-spell was uttered, inaudible in that growing chaos. But the enchantment had been broken, and many different events happened in quick succession.

The snake lowered his head and snapped up the book with a swift movement. A blinding flash was followed by a sudden darkness, and violent thunder rumbled again while a powerful vibration shook the castle. Some of the paintings fell; the cupboards expelled their contents; the suits of armour swung unsteadily; and the men were forced to lean against the walls to keep their balance.

But when the light came back, the creatures had disappeared, and a very pale Snape was holding the book in his hands, a faint yet disdainful smile curling his lips.

Kneeling on the floor, wand clasped firmly in his fingers, Bernardi raised his head and cast an ecstatic glance at his companions, exclaiming brokenly, "Ah! We did it! Fantastico!"

Then, smiling, he bent forwards and gracefully fainted.

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

The diary was now on Snape's desk, and the men under the frame joyfully patted the painter on the back, talking and laughing in excitement. Marcello Bernardi, still very pale but extremely proud of his enterprise, was insisting that the whole matter, including his fainting, had been a joke...when the door opened, and an incensed Professor Finlay entered the room, fists clenched in fury.

"What the hell is going on here?" he shouted. "Longbottom! Zabini! Explain!" he then commanded harshly, totally ignoring Snape. "What were you doing in this room? What kind of enchantment has been cast? The castle is in chaos, the students are frightened, and many valuable items have been ruined. I want an explanation!"

A spark ignited in Snape's chest.

"Perhaps you should ask me," he replied composedly. "These gentlemen have acted at my request."

Finlay jerked up his head, an expression of intense dislike spreading upon his face.

"You!" he spat. "You have been a nuisance since the unfortunate day Minerva decided to give you a job! I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

Bernardi stepped forward. "Ah, come on, Professor," he offered, opening his arms in a pacifying gesture. "It was all my fault. I hadn't considered..."

"And now, who are you?" the old wizard turned sharply at the painter, pointing his wand in menace. "Who let you in? And without asking my permission?"

Zabini tried to speak, but Bernardi imperiously raised a hand to stop him and replied, "Now, now, Professor, there is no need to be alarmed. My name is Marcello Bernardi, and I am a master painter. I can explain ev..."

"I don't want to hear another word!" Finlay exploded, reddening in rage. "Zabini, Longbottom, I'm going to denounce this illegal activity to the Ministry right now. I'll make sure that you receive the punishment you deserve for such criminal behaviour! And about you, Mr. what's-your-name painter..."

The flame that was burning slowly into Snape's fibres suddenly turned into a blast of energy.

"Enough!" he thundered, and a vivid ray of light erupted from his frame. Finlay's wand flew away, and the old wizard staggered in shock, leaning against a desk to keep his balance. Zabini gasped, Longbottom widened his eyes, and Bernardi stepped back, staring at Snape in awe.

"Santo cielo!" he whispered with a stunned look that could have been comic in another occasion.

Slowly, Finlay straightened himself. Contempt, hate, revulsion, and other wild feelings seemed to be mixed on his face.

"Of course," he panted, controlling his voice in spite of the violent emotion that was making him tremble, "you've never changed. A follower of the Dark before, a dark artefact now."

The three men under the portrait looked at Finlay in confusion, and he raised his chin in a challenging expression.

"I know who you are," the old man said passionately. "You filthy Death Eater! You burnt my house with your band of black criminals and almost killed my father. You arrogant bastard, did you think I could be as easily overpowered as I was when we met the first time?"

Bernardi paled, Zabini frowned, and Longbottom said, "These are serious accusations. Can you prove them?"

"Can I?! Of course I can!" Finlay seemed to choke in rage and exultance. "I was there when your precious friend arrived with his mates. Twelve men against two old people! My father was Crucio'ed, and our house was destroyed. We lost everything in a few seconds. My mother has never been the same since that night!"

Zabini exchanged a glance with Longbottom. "But how can you say that Professor Snape was there?" he asked coldly. The Slytherin was evidently unimpressed by the accusations, and his sceptical expression made Finlay completely lose his composure.

"Because I was there, too!" he exclaimed savagely. "I heard his voice! Do you think I could forget it? They were all masked, the cowards, but I heard Snape speak to my father when he begged for mercy... that obviously wasn't given." The wizard was trembling in repressed fury. "I've never forgotten it. I have been waiting for years to find the man who caused our ruin, and I found him here. I told Minerva weeks ago, but of course, she didn't want to hear a word against her favourite. And she even allowed him to teach again! A Death Eater, disguised as a war hero!"

"Professor Snape IS a war hero," Neville objected calmly. "I'm sure that his action was an inevitable necessity induced by..."

"No!" the word resounded like a shot and came from the portrait. Startled, everybody turned to look at it.

"No," Snape repeated, eyes blank and lost in a terrible vision. "That happened before Voldemort's first fall."

Two men stiffened while the third crossed his arms with an undecipherable expression.

The fourth man, Finlay, curled his lips in a horrible grimace. "You see? He doesn't deny it. Probably he is even proud!" He clenched his fists. "Finally, I'll make you pay for what you did! Nobody will protect you any longer when the Aurors have been informed of the kind of powers you still have, and that you have concealed till now."

With a sudden movement, the old wizard backed away and closed the door after him. The men could hear him casting a locking spell, then silence fell again.

Snape had closed his eyes and lowered his head. An immense pain was diffusing across his features, so intense that Bernardi raked his hair in embarrassment and said softly, "I'm sure that there is an explanation."

No, Snape thought desperately. There was no explanation, only a horrible truth.

It had been his first mission as a Death Eater, because he had joined only two days before: "just in time", a scornful Bellatrix had remarked with her peculiar sneer. The objective was clear. Finding Muggles and terrorising them, preferably those who had connections with the wizarding world and could therefore fully understand what was happening. Far as it was from built-up areas, the little farm in the fields was a perfect target, as were the old Muggle couple who ran it. The fact that their only son was a wizard made everything even more enjoyable for Bellatrix. So, they took and immobilized the boy while she toyed with the old man. Snape had felt the horror, the shame, the disgust coming up as soon as he had realised what was happening. And when the old man had begged for mercy, tears running down his cheeks, Snape had seen the wicked look in Bella's eyes and understood that the worst was still to come.

"Enough!" he had shouted, pushing the man to the ground and thus saving him from a hex. Bellatrix had yelled in rage, but Snape had replied forcefully with a commanding gesture, "Enough with these games."

"Incendio!" he had cried, and the barn had lit up with a spectacular explosion.

And now the past had grabbed him again in its merciless grip.

Snape raised his head and watched the men below his picture. Zabini was sitting, arms crossed and lips tightened. Longbottom seemed lost in meditation while Bernardi paced nervously in the room, stopping now and then to lift a chair or to put a picture straight. Nobody had uttered a word, and nobody was looking at the portrait, so Snape lowered his head again.

The room was definitely silent, a silence that was much more eloquent than a speech.

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

The door opened, and Finlay entered with a triumphant smile.

"The Aurors are here, Snape. I leave your destiny in their hands now, as I don't think you'll be able to fool them as you did your assistants."

As if summoned by those words, a well-known figure appeared in the frame of the door.

"Harry!" Neville exclaimed, and Zabini's face darkened, retreating near the portrait in a defensive pose.

"Glad to see you, Neville," Harry Potter replied without smiling, and Snape felt the old detestation awaken in his heart. Why was he always to be confronted with a Potter in the worst moments of his life?

The new arrival glanced around and spoke quietly.

"Nice to see you, Blaise. Didn't have a chance to meet you at the feast."

Stiffening in alarm at the use of his given name, Zabini cautiously nodded in reply, and Harry turned to the painter.

"Mister Bernardi... It's a pleasure to find you here, but shouldn't you be working in St. Mungo's? It seems that you have confused it and Hogwarts lately."

Visibly uncomfortable, the painter murmured something unintelligible, stroking the bridge of his nose to hide his embarrassment.

Finlay, who was looking at the scene in suspicion, hastened to intervene, whispering agitatedly, "Even though you know these men, Head Auror Potter, please remember what I told you."

"My memory is excellent, Deputy Finlay," Harry replied; reassured, the old wizard retreated, shooting a meaningful glance at the little group gathered under the portrait.

Harry crossed his arms.

"A very strange tale has been reported to me," he began with a peculiar tone and raised his eyes to the only one in the room he had deliberately avoided looking at till that moment.

The man and the portrait locked their gazes, and Snape prepared to fight. As always in his life, he was alone, he considered bitterly. Everyone in the room looked hostile or indifferent. Finlay was watching in expectation. Zabini, Bernardi and Longbottom were waiting in silence. Everything was still, though electricity seemed to saturate the air.

Slowly, with measured steps, Harry walked under the frame.

"So, Professor, it seems that, this time, it's my turn to give you a detention."

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

A/N:

Translation of Italian exclamations:

Accidenti! - The dictionary says "Dash!" or "Dash it!"

Santo cielo! – literally, "Good heaven!"