II.12. - Letters From Old Friends

Just give me a reason, some kind of sign. I need a miracle to help me this time. I heard what you said and I feel the same, I know in my heart that I’ll have to change. How did we get to be this far apart…I want to be with you, have something to share. I want to be here. I’m not there. Even the stars shine brighter tonight – nothing’s impossible. I still believe in love at first sight. Nothing’s impossible.

DEPECHE MODE

“I’ll expect your treatises on the Malchut Friday at the latest.” He looked down in the blank faces of the children, wondering if they had listened to a single word he had said. So far, he didn’t get that impression, really. “Two foot. And before any of you thinks he can be smarter than me – if you write less than eight words per line, I’ll make it six foot.”

He heard a couple of groans and sighs, confirming that at least now, they were listening. Or some of them. He squinted at his list, looking for the name of this jackass in the last row. “Please, could you repeat what you are supposed to do, Mr Brent?”

The kid next to the one he had meant, stirred and said in a meagre, but eager voice, “Sir, two foot on the Malchut, each line eight words or more, until Friday, Sir!”

Severus goggled at the weird kid for a second. He saw the matchbox haircut, the unnaturally straight posture, the hollow zeal, and he knew without taking another look that young Brent – the real one – had a Muggle father in the Muggle forces, and how he was the first in his family ever showing traces of magic, and how his Muggle mother never knew what to answer when someone asked her to which school she had sent her son…

“Yes, that’s right,” Severus gnarled, shooting Mr Brent’s neighbour a filthy glance, but this one was too busy staring out of the window to take much notice. “You can go now.”

That they had heard, the little buggers. They were out in less than thirty seconds, even the dreamy neighbour of the eager Mr Brent. Severus slouched down in his chair and massaged the bridge of his nose. This had been his fourth performance as a teacher now, and if there was one profession he could safely rule out from his eligible-jobs-list, it must surely be this. He couldn’t remember to have ever sucked so big time, at anything. He was no teacher, absolutely not, and he couldn’t imagine for the life of his what Professor Sprout had tried to tell him, at his first evening in the staff room, when stating with glowing eyes that teaching was ‘the most rewarding profession in the whole wide world!’

He tried to remember if his own classmates had been only half as witless and cumbersome as the lot he saw dawdling through this classroom now. Yeah, all right, they had been. Most people were dunderheads, it was as simple as that. But Arithmancy wasn’t mandatory! The students actually chose to have it. Was it too much to ask that they showed a minimum of enthusiasm, or interest, in a subject they had personally selected?!

This was a fascinating subject, and in his very first lesson, he had held a passionate speech on the amazing possibilities of well-conceived Arithmancy, in front of a bunch of supremely disinterested Sixth Years. In his second lesson, he had tried it with a sprinkle of humour here and there. Exactly one student had laughed – and that one was a terrible sycophant – none of the others had even heard him. Yesterday, he had given ‘strict’ a shot, but nobody appeared to have taken him any seriously. And today? Today he felt as if he had already given up.

“You don’t look too happy, Severus,” old Sluggy welcomed him with a genial giggle and a pat on the shoulder when he sat down next to him for lunch.

“Is it really that obvious,” he snarled.

“Why on earth did you become a teacher, boy? Could have told you that this isn’t for you… But if it was your good mother’s last wish…”

Severus goggled at him. “Pardon?”

Slughorn’s cheeks coloured. “Oh, you know, Dumbledore told me. He said you don’t like to talk about it, and I – couldn’t hold my tongue, could I…”

“That’s all right,” Severus croaked, relieved, and shoved a load of potatoes into his mouth. His mother’s last wish?! What the hell had Dumbledore been thinking?! And wouldn’t it have been better to inform him, Severus, of such things?! Well, he could ask him that tonight! And for something else… For that he’d have to ask him, too.

He had spent the whole last night sitting at his desk in complete darkness. He had gnawed on his quill and deliberated every single word, knowing that he couldn’t scratch out anything, to write this one letter that Dumbledore would have to pass on for him. Hopefully. He couldn’t have written and looked at it, too great was his fear that the Dark Lord would manage to overcome his defences, see, read Severus’ begging for forgiveness, his excuses, his animate gratefulness for Lily’s help after his mother’s death, and his vow to set things right again. ‘When you have seen me do all in my power, and more, to make up to you, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me at last,’ he had scribbled on the parchment, feeling his way in the dark with his fingertips.

At first, he had merely wanted to say thanks for her kindness, for delivering the message. Then he had realised that by then, she must know that the Dark Lord had singled out her son to be murdered, had singled her out to die, too, because of something he, her friend of childhood days, had said. So he had begun his letter by addressing this point. What could he say? What excuses could he possibly make? How was he supposed to reason that his fancy for the Dark Arts, the fact that the Death Eaters had accepted, even respected him in their rows just like he was, how these trivialities had led to her death sentence? He couldn’t, but he had tried nevertheless.

“Please, Sir, give this to her,” he muttered when pushing the parchment roll into Dumbledore’s hand that evening; he looked at his feet in embarrassment. “To Lily.”

“What is this, Severus?” the Headmaster asked, his voice honed with suspicion.

“An apology, and thanks.”

He still didn’t dare to look over, feeling Dumbledore’s eyes lingering on him. This one nodded at last and put the parchment away. “I have heard that Regulus Black disappeared. Did your master have your hands in this?”

“I don’t know, Sir. Lucius mentioned that Narcissa is quite worried for her cousin, and his parents appear to be out of themselves.”

“Does Regulus have a reason to escape from his master?”

Severus shrugged. “No specific reason I had heard of… But – if you’d want me to make a guess, I’d say that Regulus has been given a mission that he couldn’t fulfil, and therefore ran away.”

“What makes you say so?”

“He… Regulus… He – he doesn’t fit in there. I’ve never understood why he joined in the first place.”

Dumbledore sneered. “So what do you fathom why so many young wizards join the Death Eaters after all?”

Severus looked blankly, wondering if the question was meant seriously. “Sir?”

“More concretely – why did you join them, Severus? You see, I was astonished when realising that you were one of Lord Voldemort’s men. In my opinion then, you didn’t – fit in, you say – there, either.”

“I’ve got to find the place yet where I fit in, Headmaster,” he said sarcastically and curled his lip.

“Why, I had hoped you might feel at home here in Hogwarts. How was your first week?”

“Disastrous.”

Dumbledore grinned. “That’s what I imagine, oh yes. It takes a while to settle in – find one’s personal style of teaching – accustom to the students…”

“Sir, I am grateful that you gave me this chance to seemingly continue serving the Dark Lord, but if there is one thing for sure – I’m not going to accustom to the students, not in a thousand years.”

“Severus, Severus… Not everyone – no, as a matter of fact only very, very few students – can boast such talents as you showed in your youth already. Or Lily Potter. Or Narcissa Malfoy. I am convinced though that you’ll come to like the job in the end. Just think of it, Severus – you can teach these young minds, it is in your hands to make them see the true beauty of your subject, you can infect them –”

“With the Morose Measles?” Severus suggested dryly.

Dumbledore raised a disapproving brow. “With the enthusiasm that you had yourself.”

The enthusiasm he had had himself, ph! His enthusiasm hadn’t been incited by some teacher! The only thing old Horace Slughorn had ever incited in him was a fleeting fondness for butter fudge toffees! If anyone had had some impact on his scholarly fever, that would have been Damocles Belby, Narcissa and Lucius. But neither of them would have born with fools! And fools were these kids that he was supposed to teach! Some might be gifted but didn’t give a damn and childishly wasted their natural skills, others might have merited a certain degree of mediocrity if they had strained just a little bit, and most of them were simply, plainly and irredeemably stupid.

That conclusion seemed all the more justified when he sat down to assess the Seventh Years’ essays. These students were just two or three years younger than he, but they had less of a clue of Arithmancy than he had had in his second year! Here – Jake Thruston wrote ‘so it is fair to claim that the number 12 receives its magical properties mainly because of the zodiac’. Severus had never heard such nonsense! Or Jessica Smythe – ‘the importance of the number twelve is derived from it being the product of the first four prime numbers’. One student had multiplied 12 and 93 and got 1111…?! What the – how had these students ever made it to NEWT level?!

He had just scribbled the forth ‘D’ in a row when he heard a peck on the window. He recognised the majestic eagle owl at once; it was Freia, Narcissa’s favourite, carrying a middle-sized package and a letter. The package turned out to be a slender book with an engraved snake-skin cover, entitled ‘Rhetoric and Didactic – from Δράκων to Machiavelli’. He smiled and unfolded the letter.

‘Dear Savvy,’ she wrote in her elegant, even hand. ‘The first week in Hogwarts is, as I recall, always the worst. I hope you are doing well nonetheless, and that your marvellous talent isn’t entirely wasted after all. Lucius sends you, I may quote, ‘the best wishes and thumbscrews for the truculent’. And both of us send you the book, trusting that it might be of some use for you in your new position.

I was very sorry that we didn’t get the chance to celebrate your fantastic graduation – I am so proud to call you my friend, Severus, and so is Lucius. I can only hope that we’ll have an opportunity to make up for this later, at a better time, all of us together, that you’re not going to forget your friends now that you’ve found yourself this fabulous position. No, seriously – I hope nothing but the best for you. And that you’ll seize your first free weekend for a visit to Malfoy Manor.

Our little angel Draco has started to crawl last week, and he is already a true expert on the field. I do practically nothing else but scamper after my sweet darling, and try to prevent him from bumping against the furniture. He has come to be very attached to the cat, but so far, it is an unrequited love, because poor Emma clearly isn’t half as keen on him as he is on her. He’ll grow on her eventually, I know, because he is just too adorable. You should see (and you will, I put some photos into the book, as you might already have noticed) Lucius looking at his son. He is in awe, and I’m not exaggerating here, sometimes I think he’s more awed than even I am.

My dearest, dearest Savvy, I can only imagine that you have more urgent business to attend than reading this letter, so I’ll finish for now. Think of us, as we think of you – all the best and all our love – Narcissa ’

His lips had twisted into a smile while reading. Yes, he didn’t doubt Narcissa’s sincerity in her well-wishing, but he also saw how slyly she had woven in all the invocations of their old friendship. She didn’t believe in the Dark Lord’s immortality, she believed he could be beaten, and she was the only person except Dumbledore and Lily who did have an inkling what Severus truly had had in mind when accepting this job. Would she have told Lucius? Possibly not. Narcissa was a very careful creature, and she knew for a fact that Lucius’ capacity for Occlumency was limited. Did she want the Dark Lord gone? Oh yes, certainly. Did she want him gone, without seeing her husband go to Azkaban? That was even more certain.

He opened the book and found the photos. The first one depicted an angelic baby crawling towards the camera with a wild grin on the tiny face. On the second picture, Lucius was playing gee-gees with the child, and Narcissa indeed hadn’t exaggerated. Severus had never seen his friend with such an enraptured expression. He smirked fondly; Lucius’ worries appeared to have been unfounded after all. For all the picture showed, Lucius made a patent father, and the kid in turn seemed to be exceedingly fond of his dad. The last photo showed the whole little family, but it was clearly a snap shot. Narcissa and Lucius wore magnificent robes, the little boy was clad in an expensive-looking romper suit, everyone was groomed at their best, and in the background there was the leather armchair that could be seen on every painted family portrait of the respective Malfoys since 1645. Someone, perhaps Abraxas, had taken the photo in the break of a painting session, probably, and belying their dignified apparel, Lucius and Narcissa were tussling on the shiny parquet floor, little Draco between them clearly having the time of his life. All three were laughing and gasping.

Severus thought he knew what was going through Narcissa’s head, sending him these pictures, and such subtle entreaties. ‘Forget us not – think of us, all of us together in better times…’ He also believed that she was serious – she wanted him to succeed in protecting Lily, for once because she wasn’t wholly indifferent about Lily either, and then because Lucius, like many other Death Eaters, did believe that it might be true that Lily Evans’ child could somehow be the means of the Dark Lord’s undoing. Both Narcissa and Lucius wanted their freedom back – but they were also aware that without the Dark Lord, Lucius might be in trouble, too.

He had been racking his brains what he could do, for Lily just like for the Malfoys. It seemed impossible that Lucius and Lily came through this unscathed… Dumbledore had asked him the same, at the evening of the alleged ‘job interview’. ‘Are you truly ready to betray your friends, Severus?’

No, he wasn’t. He had answered that knowing Narcissa and Lucius, the latter would be prepared in any case; Lucius had always been more than capable to look after himself, and when the Dark Lord was defeated tomorrow, Lucius would know what to do. Dumbledore hadn’t commented on this statement, but he probably thought the same like Severus himself – that this was mainly wishful thinking. Lucius was far too high up in the Death Eater chain of command to go unnoticed in the so far unlikely case that it all came down. So far, he had been careful; Severus wasn’t aware that Lucius could directly be connected to anything, simply because his great value for the Dark Lord consisted, among other advantages, in the fact that Lucius Malfoy was irreproachably respectable, a young gentleman from a family of good standing – the best one could have – and everyone was fairly wild to have him as an addition for their dinner parties.

‘Forget us not…’ He was slightly angry with Narcissa. What did she expect from him, eh? What did she think he could do for her husband? Who was the Dark Lord’s right hand after all?! But he also remembered that he had given her his word – their ways would not part, he wouldn’t allow it. So what could he do?

He returned to mark the papers on his desk, after putting the happy-family photo at his chest of drawers, next to a very old picture of his mother. – Another ‘D’, a ‘T’ – actually, there was no letter appropriate for this heap of dragon dung – and when he had already lost his last bits of hope in them, two ‘As’, at last. He checked his watch, finding that it was already pushing three o’clock in the morning, and conjuring a glass, he poured himself a scotch soda to go to sleep.

There was a knock on the door, making him give a start. “Yes?” he asked suspiciously.

Dumbledore entered with a strange expression. “I’m not waking you up? Good, good… I have delivered your note, Severus –”

He thought his heart would just stop beating, and he forced himself to mouth, “Thanks…”

“And I was asked to deliver the reply as well.”

Severus stared at him, feeling utterly torn. The greater half of him wanted to have that reply at once, read it, devour it. Another part of him was scared of the contents though, and his caution warned him that he must not read it by all means, it was too dangerous, it might endanger his entire mission, it –

Dumbledore read his thoughts on the subjects, no Legilimency needed. “I told her that a written answer would not do, Severus. There you go, and good night.” He handed him a tiny, folded note, and left with a curt nod.

He didn’t dare looking at the piece of paper in his hand. What had Dumbledore meant, what… But the note began to move in his hand, turning warmer, and shooting it a bewildered gaze after all, he saw the parchment unfold itself magically. It was empty – his stomach was curling – and in the next second, he heard her – Lily’s – warm, wonderful voice.

“Sev,” it began, quavering gently, and his pulse quickened with hearing that name he hadn’t heard her say for so long. “I got your letter, and I – I – what do you expect me to say now, Sev? For a start – I am very happy that you seem to have realised at last what you are doing. Honestly, I am very, very happy – grateful – relieved, thinking that we’re back on the same side. I wish you all luck, I truly do, you know that. But as for my forgiveness, that you demanded so urgently… I don’t know, Sev. There’s been so much… I hope we’ll have an opportunity to talk, about all this, about the past. Let us see about forgiveness then, all right? I’m not saying this to hurt you, or because I doubted your sincerity. But we’ve always been honest with each other, were we not, Sev, and to be very honest with you now as well – I have laid my baby down to sleep tonight, knowing he is supposed to die, knowing he is supposed to die because you wanted to distinguish yourself. I can’t say I forgive you in this moment and mean it with all my heart. Can you understand that? But I want you to know one thing – if I ever feel differently, I will tell you at once, and I will mean every word of it then. God speed you, Sev, I’ll be thinking of you.”

The tiny piece of parchment in his hand went up in a single blue flame. He felt his knees going weak and he staggered to grab the desk for support, slowly sinking to the floor. Her voice still ringing in his ears, his fists clenched, he made no effort to keep the tears at bay, tears of relief, tears of movement, tears of hurt, of fear, of disappointment. But most of all, it were tears of hope. He would manage this, he would, and he would earn Lily’s forgiveness after all these years. They’d be friends again once all this was over.

*****

Useful Links: previous chapter, next chapter, Dramatis Personae