The Mentor

Chapter One:

Gifted

Severus Snape was not the sort of man to make a tremendous fuss about birthdays. It wasn't that he was against giving presents; most people would be surprised by the amount of effort he put into choosing gifts for the two or three people he considered friends. No, it was the concept, the celebration of the mere act of living that wormed its way under his skin and chewed. Most people did little in their petty lives that was worth celebrating, Severus least of all. Snape knew that his future held nothing more than apology after apology, sacrifice after sacrifice, yet he would die with the Death Eater tattoo as clear and as crimson on his arm as the day he received it. No amount of self-flagellation would remove the mark from his body or the guilt from his conscious.

Of course his trouble with birthdays went back further than that. Maybe he'd be more amiable to the concept had his mother been considerate enough to contain him for an extra 20 minutes, just past midnight. Snape smirked at the students over his bowl of porridge. None of the spotty-faced dolts so eagerly eating breakfast and passing out Valentines would guess that their hated Potions Master was born on the day that celebrates love.

He was weary and would have liked nothing better than to take a holiday and curl up in bed with a good book, undisturbed for the rest of the day. That was impossible of course, so he geared up for the day by watching the relentlessly cheerful scene before him. Hate, as Severus Snape well knew, was a great motivator.

Gryffindor's table was unusually busy. Of course the estimable Harry Potter had a neat stack of cards by his plate. Heaven forbid anyone forget about Mr. Potter. Harry turned to hand cards to Hermione and Ron, and in that instant little Ginny, the youngest of the Weasley clan, slipped a large pink card into Potter's stack.

Snape had vaguely hoped that his house would display a bit more sense but no, Slytherins were also knee-deep in red and pink cards. Pansy Parkinson handed Malfoy an elaborately decorated card; even from a distance Snape could tell that it was very expensive and enchanted with swirling ink. Malfoy indifferently handed her a plain pink card with the most perfunctory of smiles, but the idiot girl took it into her hands as if it was the most sacred of relics.

The only person at Slytherin's table that wasn't chirping like a magpie was Sophia Trenton. She sat quietly with her somewhat long nose stuck firmly in a book and ignored the chaos about her. Severus would never call her his favorite student; he hated all of his students, simply by virtue of being his, but he had to admit that he had always hated this sixth-year somewhat less than the others. As a Potions student she was average, impressive in neither her blunders nor her achievements. She was not pretty either, a pallid, spindly girl who could be mistaken for a first-year at a distance. But there was something about her...a cool otherness that always impressed him. Even now Sophia sat like the eye of a hurricane, ostensibly reading but Snape saw her eyes flicker about and mentally note what was going on around her.

Suddenly she turned her head just a fraction and her round hazel eyes met his, her slim black eyebrows raised quizzically. The tiniest of smirks was tucked into the corner of her mouth. Startled, Snape returned the smirk and gave her the most minute of nods; they understood each other perfectly. With a start he caught himself and glared at her. Her eyes immediately darted back to her book and, red-faced, she nibbled a piece of toast.

Severus nodded grimly to himself. It would never do to become too familiar with the students. He had always had an oddly funerary air even as a boy, tall, with beetle-black eyes, lanky black hair and a sallow complexion that advertised how much time he didn't spend outside at play. The adult Severus Snape cultivated the look and enjoyed how one glimpse of his hard face sent students jumping through any hoop he held out for them.

* * *

Mid-afternoon lunch with McGonagall and Dumbledore was a tradition that Severus deeply enjoyed but in which he rarely allowed himself to indulge. This morning Minerva McGonagall had caught him in the hall and hissed furtively "Dumbledore's today," clearly an order, not a request, so Severus had no other choice but to go.

As far as Severus was concerned his life was sharply divided into two eras; pre-Death Eaters and post Death Eaters. Dumbledore and McGonagall were relics from the pre-era, when Severus had been their student. Even as a snotty 14-year-old boy he had known, somehow, that these two were special.

"Happy Birthday Severus," Albus Dumbledore and Minerva said as soon as Snape entered the room.

"Thank you. Both of you." Snape's tone was as grave as if they were discussing potions ingredients but his mouth tugged upwards into a slight smile. Had anyone else planned a birthday luncheon for him the room would have been filled the school's staff and the humiliating display of a blazing, singing cake. This quiet, dignified luncheon suited him much better. Strange, the comfort of being so well understood.

The three ate for a moment in companionable silence.

"I hope your students can contain their excitement for tonight's dance, Minerva," Albus said.

"Hardly," McGonagall sniffed. "This week I've been beseeched by no less than 10 students to please cover beautifying transformations."

"I am sorry to add that my students have not held up well either sir," Snape said in a tone that clearly indicated that he was not in the least bit sorry to make such a report. "I maintain that these...dances...are extremely detrimental to discipline."

Albus raised his bushy white eyebrows, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "I assume you've been approached with similar requests?"

"Certainly not, sir. However--"

"The day is young yet, Severus," McGonagall chuckled.

"However--"

"However, the students do need planned diversions, least they make up their own. Certainly that would cause more discipline problems than a harmless dance." Albus leaned closer. "The last few months have been hard on us all Severus; indulge them a bit."

Minerva McGonagall added a cube of sugar to her second cup of tea. "I hear that Lockhart's recovery is coming along quite nicely; now he remembers that he's famous, but he simply doesn't remember for what. Perhaps I could call him and ask him how he made those marvelous decorations."

Albus and Minerva chuckled quietly, and even Severus had to smile, albeit grimly, at the memory of the sparkling confetti and enormous hearts that had decorated the great hall four years ago. The dwarves dressed as cupids had been the crowning touch. No one knew the effort it had taken Severus to not laugh out loud when he heard about some of the singing Valentines, particularly Ginny Weasley's.

"'His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,'" Severus said with burlesque dourness.

* * *

Snape stopped briefly at his room to drop off his gifts. Minerva's was fairly predictable. For the last ten years she had given him the most practical, almost maternal gifts imaginable. This year she gave him an elegant black dressing gown, soft and warm and fluffy. Despite his hard-bitten appearance Severus keenly enjoyed these sorts of small luxuries. Snape had heard that Molly Weasley gave her brood hand-knitted sweaters for Christmas. He idly imagined a black sweater with a green "S" and swore to himself that, should he ever catch wind of Minerva taking an interest in knitting, he would gouge out her eyes with her needles. Albus, knowing of his fondness for music, gave him a wizard's radio.

* * *

Snape was running late to his last class--potions with the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Unfortunately no one had been ignorant enough to ask for love potions during the day, but the constant sight of heart-shaped cookies, cards and insipid smiles were enough to keep his rage at a low-boil.

If there was one thing Snape had learned in thirteen years of teaching it was how to make a grand entrance. The constant bickering and giggles and gossip cut to an abrupt halt as Severus Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing around him.

"Ten points each from Gryffindor for general silliness," he said with satisfaction as he passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who were giggling too hard to notice his entrance. The girls hurriedly stuffed their pink Valentines into their bags.

"If you will keep your hormones in check for a mere 90 minutes I will attempt to fill your shockingly empty skulls with something other than dances and Valentines." He paused. All eyes were riveted forward, every quill poised. He turned to the bored. "We will be starting a new segment today, and I'd strongly suggest that you pay attention. Potions for increased grace differ from potions for increased dexterity in several ways--"

Snape sensed, rather than heard the doors in the back of the room open. Sophia Trenton speed down the isle and slid into her seat. She held her chin high but guiltily kept her gaze on the textbook in her arms.

"Ah class, Miss Trenton has opted to join us. How nice. Now the lesson may begin." Snape caught her gaze and pinned her down firmly. "Stay after class, Miss Trenton."

"Yes Professor Snape."

"Yes Professor Snape." The first time he had heard her utter those words was 6 years ago. Snape didn't remember the offence, but he clearly remembered being startled by her tone. Usually, when a student answered back after such a pronouncement he could tack on extra detention or remove points for something--impertencance, anger, fear. He had raised an eyebrow and scowered her countenance with a gaze that often reduced first-years to tears. Those muddy green-brown eyes, too round and large for her pale face had met his evenly. Her voice was rich and melodious, oddly deep for such a tiny girl but her tone was innocent. Her response simply was.

The class could barely leave the room fast enough once he had dismissed them. There was a gabble of voices and mad dash for papers as everyone fled the room. From the sounds of it, Snape reflected, everything he had just attempted to teach them had completely flown out of their heads in favor of comparisons of the most fashionable dress robes.

Snape sensed Sophia standing before his podium. He did not look up from the notes that he was trying to reorder. "Dungeon three. Clean all the laboratory equipment. No magic. And I want everything put back properly."

"Yes Professor Snape."

* * *

Snape's personal office was a haven of pickled oddities that were of no other use than to scare students who were unfortunate enough to be summoned there and scholarly tombs inherited from his dead father. Seated at his desk he could here the soft clink of glassware in the large laboratory. He glanced out the doorway. From that angle he could watch her back as she stood at the sink, black sleeves rolled back, slowly washing and drying the sizable assortment of vials, spoons and stirrers. The sixth years had made a rather large mess; it would take Sophia at least two hours to clean it up. An odd sense of guilt stabbed him where he supposed his figurative heart had been at one time. She worked diligently, albeit slowly, her frizzy black curls pulled up and back into an untidy knot. Unbidden, the Muggle version of the story of Cinderella came to mind. He had read it years ago in Muggle Studies. In retrospect he wondered if it was this kind of gross distortion of historical fact that had helped to harden him against the non-magical. Still, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he had unwittingly cast himself as the evil stepmother.

Snape forced the thought from his mind and tried to concentrate on the stack of sixth-year scrolls. He had early on learned how to shuffle the scroll order for maximum grading effect. Malfoy's first, so that forcing himself to give Lucius's son a good grade would set him in an appropriately foul frame of mind. Next, Longbottom's, which would be illegible, short, shredded, or otherwise disastrous. Granger's myopic script and blatantly syphocantic phraseology would work him into a fury, so that by the time he plowed through Potter's he would be sweating with rage. It was a fine way to pass the evening.

Snape managed to slog his way through the first scroll and give Malfoy a high mark for the punctuation less mess he called a report, but found, oddly, that he simply didn't have the drive to handle Longbottom's scroll. He was beset with an odd sense of restlessness. He looked down to find himself absently rubbing his left arm and angrily jerked his fingers away.

Unclean.

Untouchable.

Just as he saw his life divided into two distinct halves he saw himself cleaved from the rest of humanity. There was him, and there was everyone else. This wasn't a new or bad thing really; simply an unchangeable fact, the result of some very ignorant mistakes made by a very lonely and conceited boy. Even his work as a double agent would never atone for his crimes, not even if he brought down Voldemort single-handedly. He knew and accepted the fact, even perversely embraced the solitary life that he had created, clinging to it like a man clings to a cloak in a driving snowstorm.

Before he could think better of it he found himself out of his seat, across the room and hall, and standing behind Sophia. She could not hear him over the running water, so he had a chance to watch her. There was far too much glassware and far too little counter space to simply wash everything at once, dry everything at once, and then put it all away. She had to wash, dry, and put away in batches. Certainly that would slow her down, but the girl was barely halfway through the mess.

"Come now, Miss Trenton. Surely my company is not so exquisite that you would dawdle over your detention. Especially on this very special night."

Her arms were elbow-deep in the suds, but she turned her head to look at him. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her brow beneath her widow's peak. Sophia's mask of cool imperturbability shifted slightly and her nostrils flared. Ah! Got her, he thought.

"I am working as fast as I can, Professor Snape." Snape detected the steel beneath the veneer of gentility.

Snape leaned against one of the long tables so he could watch her profile carefully. "I would appreciate it if you would finish before the end of term."

Sophia was spared a reply by Dobby's arrival. The squat, pointed-eared house-elf waddled into the room with a tremendously loaded-down tray of food.

"Dobby bring dinner for Professor and Miss," he squeaked. He walked around the perimeter of the room, a wary eye on Snape.

"I see," she said.

"Yes." Snape eyed the tray. Two plates, two cups, cutlery for two, food for three or four. "What a nice picnic indeed."

Dobby, who was completely impervious to sarcasm, smiled broadly. "Professor think so? "

"Ah--"

"Yes, lovely," Sophia said with the overly patient attitude she might use with the feebleminded.

"Dobby is payinged to serve. Dobby clean up when Professor and Miss is through." He suddenly frowned and stared at her. "Why you not make dance with other girls?"

"I need to help Professor Snape with--important work," she gestured at the glassware with a sudsy hand, her pink face giving away the lie.

"Goodbye, Dobby," Snape snarled.

Snape did not move an inch away from his table, but Dobby squealed and ran from the room as if Snape had pointed his wand at him. Snape missed the amused twinkle in Sophia's eyes as he strode over to investigate the meal more closely. He lifted the covers and sniffed.

"Ah. Bangers and mash. Leek soup. Pumpkin juice. How very...provincial." He glanced up at Sophia, who was now drying some beakers. "Miss Trenton, I do not wish to explain a fainting fit to Madam Pomfrey. As you seem to be in no particular hurry to leave my rooms--" though god only knows why, he added to himself, "--you might as well eat now and finish your detention latter."

Severus ladled large helpings onto each plate. He refused to analyze his motivations for eating his meal here, in the laboratory with Miss Trenton, instead of locking himself away in his office.

"I must admit, I was becoming rather hungry," Sophia said.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Then why didn't you immediately stop washing?"

The corner of her mouth twitched. "I thought I'd earn another round of detention for walking away before I'd finished the first one."

Severus's eyes danced maliciously. "Who says you still won't? I have given out detentions for impertnenance as well as tardiness."

Sophia blanched. "Pepper, Professor Snape? It really brings out the mash."

Snape started to shake his head no, thought better of it, and nodded. The shaker ran over to his end of the table and shook a liberal amount of its contents onto his plate. He took a tentative bite of sausage. "They really are useful if annoying creatures." It was the closest he could come to complimenting a house-elf.

Sophia nodded, her mouth full. She swallowed. "I never had food like this before I came here. It wasn't fancy enough. Only Continental dining at home, you know."

That was something Severus could relate to. "My family was always fond of French. I can scarcely tolerate anything in a white sauce now."

"That's the horrid thing about the old families; we're so much alike it takes all of the guesswork out of everything."

"Do you suggest breeding with Muggles?"

"I suggest trying new things. Like bangers and mash."

Snape allowed himself a tight smile. She was a slippery little thing, far subtler than her housemates.

"You have a point." The concession startled him nearly as much as her. He ignored the quizzical arch of her eyebrows and continued slowly, "It was your great-great-great aunt...Liana..."

"Yes. And your great-great-great-great cousin Willard...I know. I'd already, ah..." Severus smirked as she dropped her eyes to her plate.

"Figured that out already. Yes. Old Slytherin houses are quite crossbred. It can be rather confusing to keep it all strait."

The wicked sparkle in her eyes acknowledged the save. "I'm still muddy on some of the fifth greats."

Severus contemplated her slyly. He, an ex-Death Eater, was chatting---chatting---rather comfortably with a student over a plebian meal. Would wonders never cease, he thought with bitter irony. He contemplated her steadily. Really, she wasn't a bad dinner companion, if he was insistent upon having one. A member of one of the old Slytherin houses, pleasant with a crackling-dry wit. Proud...oh yes, almost to the point of haughtiness. But she knew when to stop pushing. The raw core of honesty that flailed him mercilessly insisted that she wasn't really so plain looking up close. Not pretty really, she looked vaguely cartoonish with those wide cheekbones, that pointed chin, enormous hazel eyes and long nose, but she was...interesting looking. It vaguely occurred to him that this was what was people meant when they said that someone's face had character.

Of course, none of this did anything to explain what she was doing here. He had imagined that she would tear through her detention, probably even break something so he'd have an excuse to lengthen her punishment. Yet she had blatantly dawdled.

"I've never known you to be tardy before," he said in the quiet, measured tones that every one of his students knew boded ill.

She raised her chin defiantly but blotchy patches of red began to mottle her face. "I needed to use the loo."

Severus smiled nastily at the blatant lie. He sensed blood and he went in for the kill with a feral smile. "Yes. Interesting that you would be tardy to my class on the day of the big dance." He let as much sarcasm as possible drip from the last two words. "Everyone else made a point to scramble out of my way today. Yet you made a point of dallying over your detention. I wonder why that is."

Her eyes never wavered from his but by the time he fell silent her face was scarlet. She was cornered and she knew it. "Perhaps, Professor Snape, it is better to be a wallflower in the dungeons before one than a wallflower in the great hall before many."

"Ah. So here we are." Strange, how cold, how normal his voice should sound when he felt like he'd been blasted in the belly in a wizard's duel.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence.

* * *

She headed back to the sink and the glassware.

"Leave those alone," he snapped. "It occurs to me that you, Miss Trenton, played quite a nasty trick on your Professor. I suppose it never occurred to you that I have better things to do with my evening than monitor your detention?"

Sophia stared unapologetically into his black eyes. "I did what I had to do."

Severus willed the corners of his mouth to remain still. Girl, you are a true credit to our house. He turned abruptly. "Follow me."

* * *

Severus Snape's personal quarters were decorated tastefully, with class and definite style. Old money at it's finest, Severus thought dryly. Sophia had followed him obediently through the dungeons, never asking their destination. Now her gaze swept over his heavily laden bookshelves, dignified mahogany tables and chairs and antique carpets. Her eyes widened at the sight of the green-curtained bed. Severus smirked and slammed the door purposely for dramatic effect. He was not disappointed; her shoulders flinched.

Severus beckoned her to the table where a square box sat alone on the cloth. He dug through the small cupboard and fished out two small plates, forks, and a knife. He opened the box and let her peer down at the round cake covered with white icing. The black looping letters read "Happy Birthday Severus".

A muscle spasimed several times in her right cheek but she did not crack a smile. "It's...quite lovely. A gift?"

"Yes. From my Mother."

The right corner of her mouth was positively mutinous and stayed curled up. The left threatened to follow suit. If she laughs I'll fail her, I'll poison her...oddly hurt, he turned on her with a snarl.

"Even I have family, you know. I hardly crawled out from under a rock, despite what you children might think,"

She stared at the floor. "I...yes Sir."

Severus lopped off two wide chunks of cake. They sat at the table and ate by candlelight. Without a fire crackling in the fireplace the clinking of their forks on the china seemed unnaturally loud.

"How many years are you today?"

"Thirty-four," he said heavily. "You are sixteen?"

"Seventeen this April."

He snorted. "So here we are."

"Yes."

He stared at the empty fireplace for several moments. He felt Sophia's eyes upon him but he did not look over at her.

"Thank you for sharing your birthday cake with me Professor," she said.

He never knew exactly why he did what he did just then; Severus Snape was a creature of careful deliberation, not spontaneity. Never the less, he stood abruptly and turned on his new radio. He spun the dial until he found what he wanted. A woman's haunting voice accompanied by a slow beat floated through the candlelit night. His face expressionless, Severus stood before Sophia and held out his hands. He saw himself reflected in her eyes, enormous, a longhaired specter, as she contemplated him. For an agonizing moment he thought she would run.

Slowly, she lifted her hands and rested her fingertips on his. He started at the heat that flowed into his hands and through his body. She stood up slowly. He placed a light hand on the small of her back and, hand in hand, they danced to the music. The song ended and they stood still in the silence. They lowered their arms to their sides.

Severus Snape bowed. "Happy Valentine's Day, Miss Trenton."

Sophia Trenton curtseyed. "Happy Birthday, Professor Snape."