The Mentor

Chapter Five:

Holiday

Severus Snape used to love Easter. In his pre-Hogwarts days the family house-elf overcame Severus's aversion to sweets by frying up delicious chocolate egg omelets. As a student, it was a quiet time to study, research, and plot against the self-proclaimed Marauders. Now, as an adult, it meant filial obligation. Every Easter for the past 14 years Severus Snape packed a bag and took the Floo Network home to visit his mother.

Tuesday morning was balmy and the small dining room was aglow with sunlight filtering through the eastern windows. The clink of cutlery on china broke the peaceful silence, for neither Severus nor Edith Snape were great conversationalists. No one was allowed to read at Edith's table, not even her adult son, so Severus ate his porridge and stared at the plate of toast with vaguely unfocused eyes, mentally re-arranging his personal potions closet. Finding the perfect storage system was something of a life-long quest for Severus.

"Severus, pay attention!"

Severus started slightly at his mother's voice and looked up, annoyed. She glared back at him with equal ire. She had penetrating ice-blue eyes that pinned people down and demanded submission.

"What is so important, Mother?" Severus all but yawned; had used the same overbearing glare himself for too many years to allow it to affect him.

"As I was saying, I expect that we ought to leave by 11:45. We will arrive in time to spend only a little while chatting with that silly Trenton woman before lunch."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Trenton?"

"Yes, that silly Trenton woman invited us over for lunch today."

Severus took a calming breath and smirked. "Since when have the two of you become such good friends?"

Edith returned her son's smirk, thinking how very much he looked like his father, Justinian, dead now almost 20 years. "Since the Dark Lord arose. I think that keeping an eye on such marginal, upstart families is a good idea, don't you?"

Severus thought quickly. The last thing he wanted was to squander some of his time at the Trenton's. He did not like Twyla Trenton, who, he thought, was a very silly woman--the predictable result of a rather dim English girl taught French pretensions at Beauxbatons. He did not want to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary around the daughter either. Their encounter in the dungeons had destroyed his resolve to not think of her; though he continued to be as caustically sarcastic to her as he had always been, she had become a permanent fixture in his fantasies. Besides, there was to be a Dark Revel that night. Tonight, Draco was to receive the Dark Mark. Severus would need all of his fortitude for the ritual; he couldn't afford to waste energy on meaningless social conventions that his mother was more than capable of handling on her own.

"I think I will stay here and clean up the herb garden; it is becoming rather weedy." As a student Severus had liked Herbology almost as much as he had liked Potions (and the Dark Arts, his conscious reminded him).

"I think not," said his mother, her voice frigid. "I have already accepted for the two of us. Surely you can survive a meal with the Trentons; at the very least, we shall be well-fed."

"You know how I hate French food, and that's all the woman can cook."

Edith Snape drummed her fingers on the table. For the first time he noticed how thin and wrinkled her hands were, how ropy and lined. How old. He sighed.

"If--if-- I go, I'm sure I will be indisposed for the rest of the week. Completely unable to go calling with you elsewhere."

Edith offered her son a thin smile. "Very well."

* * * *

"Oh dear," the mirror gasped, confirming Sophia's worst fears. She clenched her fists at her side so she wouldn't hurl her silver-backed hairbrush though the huge, ornate mirror on her vanity table.

"I won't wear it," she called out to her mother, who waited impatiently in the corridor outside of Sophia's room.

"Oh nonsense darling, I'm sure you look beau juste. It's the very latest style for young women; they told me so at Gladrags."

Sophia rolled her eyes. No doubt the dress robe was as fashionable as it was expensive; they seemed to be her mother's chief requirements for all of her purchases.

"Bien, sortez et laissez-moi voir ma belle fille."

"Fine." Sophia said, adding to herself, I'll come out and let you see me, but I'm not a lovely daughter.

Petulantly, Sophia stomped over and swung open the door. She took perverse pleasure in watching her mother's face fall into disappointed lines. The dress was made of black silk printed with oversized pink pansies and strange, fluttery caps for sleeves. Sophia hated pink. She hated floral prints. She hated strange, fluttery caps for sleeves. The floor-length skirt puddled around Sophia's bare feet. The fabric that had clung to the model's shapely curves bagged at her hips and bust, bunched around her waist, sagged around the neck and emphasized, rather than disguised her jutting collar bones.

"Well," Twyla Trenton said, clearly digging desperately to find a compliment. "Well...just...pin it up a bit, do something with your hair and put on a little make-up and you'll look...très beau, I'm sure."

"No mother, I won't look 'tray boo'!" Sophia snarled, taking pleasure in watching her mother cringe as she mangled the French. She was not beautiful, she liked her thick, crinkly wooly hair just as it was, thankyouverymuch, and four days with her simpering mother was enough. And Sophia hated French; she hated the sound of it, she hated the feel of the words in her mouth, and she most especially hated the fact that, for all her efforts, she could only understand a bit of it when spoken, and not speak it herself. She did far better in Latin, but her mother hated Latin and didn't understand a word that didn't pertain to spellwork.

Her mother gawked at her, shocked at the uncharacteristic rage; Sophia usually ignored her mother or treated her with a horribly patient, disinterested courtesy. "Sophia, mon cher, what on earth has gotten into you? Honestly, it's like you don't want to be a pretty young lady. We'll alter the dress later, but we have no time now. Just pin it up a bit, dear."

"Oh rubbish!" Sophia pattered to the stairwell and shouted down to the house-elf, who was on the landing below twisting her little hands. "Dee Dee! Bring my green and silver dress robe out of storage."

"NO!" Twyla screeched to the retreating houself, who stopped in mid-stride.

Twyla turned on her daughter like a tall blonde fury and vented a string of rapid French that Sophia, for all of her years of training, simply couldn't follow. Twyla finally took a deep breath and said in English, "It is too warm for your green and silver robes."

"Then I'll wear one from last spring."

"You've outgrown them all."

"Not by much."

"By enough. If you wear an ill fitting or out-of-season robe then the Snapes will think that we can't afford to buy you any better. You wouldn't shame the family so, would you?"

"Professor Snape doesn't care what kind of robes I wear." Sophia could have bit off her tongue. Her mind had been focused on him almost exclusively since her mother told her of his upcoming visit with his dragon of a mother.

Fortunately Twyla didn't notice any particular significance in her daughter mentioning Severus but not Edith Snape. "No, but Mrs. Snape has very sharp eyes and a sharper tongue. Just...wear it, for the family's sake."

It was Twyla's mention of family that changed Sophia's mind. Certainly her mother was being paranoid and melodramatic, but Sophia had been taught even as a toddler that the one entirely unforgivable act she could commit was to shame the family.

"I'll wear it this once," Sophia said, inwardly smirking at the relieved droop of her mother's tense shoulders. "Only once. But I'll need new dress robes for this summer. At least six. And matching shoes too."

"Six dress robes, three pairs of new shoes if you straiten your hair," her mother bargained shrewdly, patting her blonde hair, sleeked back smoothly into an elegant twist.

Sophia grimaced. "Five pairs, and my hair will be curly but not frizzy," she said.

"Fine."

* * * * * *

At precisely 11:45 in the morning Severus and Edith Snape stepped out of the enormous fireplace in the Trenton's dinning room. Twyla betrayed her nervousness with an over-broad smile. Sophia stood slightly behind her, trying very hard not to visibly brood and desperately hoping that a she wouldn't draw blood on one of the handful of pins holding her dress together, at least three of which seemed to stick her whenever she moved. The dress, she had discovered, was impervious to sticking charms, so she couldn't just magically bind up the excess fabric, and she hadn't the time to look up a counter-spell.

"Greetings Mrs. Snape, Mr. Snape," Twyla said.

Edith, who was leaning very heavily on her cane, brushed her son's arm aside and stepped off of the hearth on her own. "Your invitation was unexpected but most welcome," she said politely.

"I do hope you'll pardon my husband's absence; Jonathon is hard at work on some very important contracts with the Ministry."

Edith mashed her thin lips into an even thinner line and murmured that she understood, but Twyla's lie fooled no one. Slytherins lived by the rule "don't shame the family," and that vague statement covered many things, including the necessity of living one's life in such a way that everyone could pretend to ignore one's eccentricities. Everyone knew that Johnathon had lived openly with his gay lover in Devonshire since they had graduated Hogwarts. It was common knowledge that Johnathon had married the much-younger Twyla Bowles and had a child with her for purely for dynastic reasons.

* * * * * *

It wasn't until Sophia took her place at the table next to Severus Snape that she understood the full extent of her problem. Lately she was acutely aware of his presence. Try as she might to ignore him her eyes constantly meet during meals in the Great Hall or during Potions class and she saw him in the halls at least twice a day. The air fairly vibrated between them and she was deeply grateful yet surprised that no one else noticed it. Still, she was able to maintain a semblance of propriety.

But now what could she do? He sat next to her and she could all but feel the heat radiating off of his tall body. His body. She blinked rapidly in her effort to dispel the thought. She tried not to think of his body; she tried not to think of him at all. Here, so close, he was impossible to ignore.

First, she still... liked him. She tried very hard not to. She often recited his faults to herself; he was ugly, old, bad-tempered, a liar, and just generally unpleasant. She tried to ignore the grim humor she found in his eyes, the wit of his sardonic quips, and the beauty of his melodious voice or the sense of sameness that she felt when their gaze met.

After repeating lies about her he had said that he was challenging her to live up to her own self-image. At first, distraught, she had dismissed this as yet another lie. Lately, however, she wondered if he had spoken bald truth.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The house-elf filled his antique china bowl with steaming soupe a' la tomate and Snape almost visibly sniffed it before he was satisfied that it was just herb-flavored tomato soup. Was he in fact challenging her to live up to what she knew to be her formidable potential, albeit in his own greasy way? If so, she decided as the house-elf filled her own bowl, he was rather late; Flitwick had been working with her personally and steadily for years.

But, Sophia reminded herself, she was still getting the last laugh; whatever Snape's motivations, one definite side effect had occurred from his forcing her to tutor. Though forced together, she and Ursula and Ian and Adrian had become good friends, and even Leo wasn't so bad when he was away from Regina. Sophia smiled; Snape, who clearly hated the frivolity associated with friendships, couldn't possibly have foreseen that.

Still, she knew that her annoyance must not interfere with her behavior today. No matter how rotten Severus Snape was at Hogwarts, he was now here, under her family's roof, and it was her obligation to treat him with all honors due a guest. She just wished that she looked more like a proper hostess and less like she had pinned on her grandmother's curtains.

Finally, perhaps feeling her gaze, Snape turned abruptly and smirked that nasty, knowing smile at her, and Sophia felt as if her head was made of glass and her thoughts printed neatly on scrolls. He knew. Some how, he knew exactly what he was thinking. Sophia glared at her bowl, certain that her hot face was the same color as the soup before her. Sophia stared at her soup, and Severus stared at her staring at her soup, and, in this way, both she and Severus missed the piercing look of Edith Snape.

* * * * * *

Lunch was a pleasant, albeit stilted affair. Twyla Trenton loved to entertain and feed her guests her best recipes on the Trenton's most impressive dinning wear. Edith Snape and Twyla Trenton did most of the talking, leaving their offspring to talk amongst themselves. Fortunately Twyla was the far more loquacious of the two, leaving Edith to merely nod, murmur, and break in with her own vigorous opinions at the proper point. All of this left her plenty of time to observe her son and the little Trenton girl. By the time their dessert of flan aux poire was served what had began as a prickle of suspicion ended with a dead certainty.

Edith Snape took pride in the nickname of the Old Dragon Lady, for she considered it a testament to her powers of observation, her penchant for saying exactly what she thought and her ability to always force her own way.

No one else, she was certain, would have caught on to the budding romance between her son and the little Trenton girl. They rarely spoke or even looked at each other. Their subdued but strong mutual fondness showed in the way that the girl refused to glance up at him as she apologized for bumping his foot under the table. It showed in the way they shared a smirk as she offered him more sauce for his vegetable sauté, quite obviously aware of his aversion to cream sauces. Though Edith had little respect for anything that even smacked of the arts of divination, she could not discredit the powerful aura that vibrated between them.

"Mrs. Snape, I hope that you can recommend a good upholsterer to me," Twyla Trenton cut through the old woman's thought, her voice as bright as the crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling. "I've always admired your draperies so."

"I'm sure Mr. Habidash, our antique preserver, could recommend a good source. Perhaps you should send him an owl."

Twyla clapped her hands together delightedly, as if such a thought had never entered her head. "What an excellent idea!"

Fortunately this sent Mrs. Trenton along a whole new line of babble, which freed Edith Snape to contemplate the child before her.

She was not the sort of girl she had envisioned for her son. Though the Trentons were an established line, they were not nearly as rich or as ancient as the Snapes. Sophia's mother was a prattling fool, herself the daughter of a pretentious mother and a father who, possessed of the Bowles's weakness for games of all sorts, had gambled away the last of the family fortune. It was hardly a secret that Twyla had been educated at Beuxbatons in the hopes that a Continental education would make her more attractive to suitors. Sophia's father clearly lacked subtlety, and that was a far bigger problem than the fact that he was a homosexual. Still, the Snape name would silence most of the inevitable laughter, she was sure. The girl was a Pureblood, a Slytherin, reasonably intelligent and oddly enough seemed to like her son.

Besides, Edith admitted to herself, most wizards married very young and had children as soon as possible; at thirty-four, her son was a very old bachelor. Also, though she loved Severus dearly, even her mother's eyes told her that on top of everything else, her son, who had inherited his father's dour looks and obsessive bookishness as well as her own acerbic personality, was at a distinct disadvantage with ladies. Needs must, she reminded herself; all in all, he could do far worse.

"Miss Trenton," Edith Snape said, cutting off whatever Twyla Trenton was prattling about, "How are you doing in school?"

Sophia met the age-old question with the age-old answer. "Quite well, Madame."

"What is your favorite subject? Potions?"

Sophia's face flushed under the old woman's icy scrutiny, but she replied quite calmly. "I've always been most proficient with Charms, Madame."

"Charms? Humph. I always preferred Potions myself. I hope your lack of progress is not a reflection on my son." Mrs. Snape smiled; there was just enough of a jolly lilt to her voice to keep the comment from being too confrontational, but enough of a sting to keep the child off-balance.

Sophia, however, didn't miss a beat. "Oh no Madame. In fact, Professor Snape singled me out to tutor others in my year in Charms. As I've apparently no need for a tutor in Potions, I seem to reflect well enough on the Professor's teaching skills."

Yes, Severus, you could have done much worse, Mrs. Snape thought. "What say you, Severus?"

"Miss Trenton could be a far worse student," he said drolly.

Sophia glared at him, only to meet the wicked sparkle in his eye. He's---teasing her? Mrs. Snape raised her eyebrows. Sophia's frown softened into a smirk.

"Professor Snape could be a far worse teacher."

"Yes--well--shall we adjourn to the garden?" Twyla Trenton's high-pitched voice broke the mood. Clearly she had missed the jesting and she leapt up out of her seat, smiling nervously at her daughter and guests.

"I will be most happy to visit the garden. Perhaps Miss Trenton might show Severus your library?" For all of the questioning lit in her voice, this was obviously a command.

Twyla smiled broadly at her stunned daughter and glowering male guest. "We've many old volumes."

Severus, sensing some sort of plot on his mother's part, turned to Sophia.

"Follow me, Professor," she said, suddenly very formal.

Sophia led him out of the dining room. He slowed his own long-legged gait so they walked side-by-side down the corridor. The wooden floors were polished to a shine but the fine Turkish rugs were somewhat threadbare, a condition that Snape found symbolic for the whole house. Though kept quite clean it was obvious that Johnathon Trenton invested little money in the basic running of his family estate; a home, Severus noted, that would be considered an insufficient summer cottage by Snape standards.

Sophia made little attempt at conversation, nor did she look in his direction. Severus was not in a mood to converse either; it seemed that he had done too much of that already. Had he actually...flirted with a student, there before their mothers? Had she really flirted back? It was too disturbing (too exciting, his conscious corrected) to contemplate. By tacit agreement Sophia and Severus both retreated behind an impersonal wall of impeccably correct good manners. It was just...safer that way.

Sophia stopped and opened the tall double doors to the library. It was an oblong room dominated by heavy red velvet draperies that blocked out the sunlight that struggled to filter in through the tall, narrow windows. The furnisher was a mish-mash of faded and worn but still serviceable antique chairs, loungers, sofas and tables that did not coordinate in either color or style. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

"It seems to be a...comfortable room." Severus, still excruciatingly polite, refrained from mentioning that the Snape mansion had three libraries, and that the smallest could probably fit four libraries this size.

Severus glanced over the books but found nothing of interest. The Trenton's taste was hopelessly mundane. A flash of anger jarred him; how could Twyla and Jonathon Trenton not fill their library with the most fascinating, challenging volumes when they had such a bright daughter?

He turned away, struggling against an acerbic comment, and found that his gaze settled on odd splinters displayed in a very old shadow box on the wall. He walked over and squinted at it. It was, he realized, the shards of a wand; the center was probably dragon's heartstring, but the shreds were too desiccated to tell.

"It belonged to our founder, Robert Thormocker-Trenton," Sophia said softly.

Severus glanced down; she was staring at the shards with a look that bordered on reverence. "He was not the first wizard in our family; his great-grandfather had gone to Hogwarts too. But Robert was the first to distinguish himself; he lost his wand and most of his arm at Waterloo, but it was there that our family was formally acknowledged."

Severus nodded gravely. He understood the importance of family heirlooms, especially those of Founders, but still he had to chuckle inwardly at her pride in a shattered wand that was less than 200 years old. There had been Snaparius' in Britain since Roman times (one family legend said that a Snaparius had been one of the men who had raped Bodiccia's daughters, but Severus himself thought that the tale was more than a bit rich), Snaparius' had fought in Harold Hardratta's army, and Snapes had turned the weather that helped destroy the Spanish Armada in 1588.

He suddenly felt her greenish eyes on him and realized that more was expected of him if he was to continue his role. Small talk. Severus hated small talk. Still, if she could do it...

"I see that your family collects many things," he gestured to one of the chairs, an elaborately carved monstrosity covered with worn horsehair. "A mid-Victorian piece I would think?"

Sophia blinked rapidly. "You enjoy antiques, Professor?"

"I don't believe the Snape Manor holds a stick of furniture under 70 years old. That being the case, it shouldn't be surprising that I know a bit about antiques." Severus couldn't keep the bite out of his voice as her glared at her imperiously, silently daring her to laugh at him. The fact of the matter was that Severus loved antiques, especially furniture; the old, musty pieces were comforting to him somehow, permanence and security forged in metal and carved in wood. His cousins had teased him terribly about it as a boy.

She cast him a wary glance, as if weighing the pros and cons of an important decision and measuring his sincerity. Finally, she smiled slightly, satisfied. "Then perhaps you should follow me."

She led him out of the library, back down the long corridor, through the dinning room and into the kitchen. The little house-elf bowed and scraped profusely but Sophia waved her away. She stopped and gave the long cord that hung from the ceiling a very significant look. Snape followed her gaze and pulled on the cord.

A door in the ceiling opened, simultaneously pulling down a short wooden ladder. Sophia led the way up into the dark attic. Snape followed, trying very hard not to notice how close her behind was to him, nor how well shaped it was despite her thinness.

Severus stepped off of the ladder and stared, more impressed by the detritus of generations of Trentons than he had been by Twyla's imported silk hand-painted seat cushions.

Once, years ago in a Muggle Studies class, he had been forced to watch a series of Muggle advertisements on what his instructor proudly called "a real Muggle film pro-ject-tor." One of the advertisements was for "old-fashioned cookie dough" of all things. It starred two cherubic blonde girls in a dusty, dimly lit attic much like this one, playing dress-up amongst the sheet-covered furniture. They pulled beads, hats and shoes of eras past out of worn trunks much like the one under the far window.

"I never liked to read in the library; I took my books up here instead," Sophia said shyly. She suddenly felt very young and very vulnerable.

Severus found himself running his fingertips over a cracked Art Nuevo floor-length mirror. The mirror giggled in a slurred, drunken sort of way. "I saw something quite similar to this in Hogsmede at Master Daugotype's Antiques."

"You go there too?" She asked, wide-eyed.

Sophia never imagined that she would spend a pleasant hour or so with Snape, rummaging amongst the old things, sneezing as yellowed bed sheets were dragged off of three-legged side-boards and eagerly exploring drawers, cabinets and boxes. Snape, Sophia discovered, knew virtually everything there was to know about pre-second world war furniture.

Finally they took a break. Severus carefully eased himself down onto a rusting wrot-iron garden chair, testing it first to make sure it would hold his weight. Sophia sat at his feet on a slightly wobbly child's step-stool.

They sat together in companionable silence. Sophia wrapped her thin arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees and tried not to think about the warmth emanating from the thigh so close to her temple.

Looking up, she decided that he wasn't truly ugly, just...sharp featured. The soft light played well on his face, giving his profile a lean, noble look. His small, fleeting smile (flashed only once, after she gave him a long lecture about American depression glass wear) was decidedly handsome, even if it did bring out a network of lines around his eyes that was unusually well developed for his 34 years. Feeling the color rise in her cheeks, she dropped her face downwards and smiled at her floral-covered knees.

For his own part, Severus wasn't sure if he should be glad or disappointed when she stopped staring at him. She wasn't so plain, he decided. Her complexion was unusually pale and unblemished, and her black hair was very lovely sleeked into tight, shiny ringlets and clipped back with a silver barrette. Her eyes were very large and rimmed with long lashes. He tried not to think about her well-shaped mouth and dainty hands, and all of the things he wanted to do to them. Or with them.

She suddenly shifted slightly and leaned her temple against his knee. A bolt of lust fired from his knee to his groin. For a brief, confused moment he didn't know if he should push her away or draw her closer. They sat that way for a very long moment, both aware that they had crossed a boundary. He rested a tentative hand on her head; her hair was a soft as he had imagined it to be. He ran his hand down the length of her ponytail and played with her curls. Her neck, he noticed, was milk-white, graceful and vulnerable. He allowed his fingertips to gently stroke her flesh and reveled in her shiver.

"I have a concern, sir," she said, her voice strained.

The mood shattered and Severus grimaced. Given the sexual tension between them it was ludicrous of her to call him "Sir." But what was she supposed to call me---Severus?

"What?"
"The new Head Boy and Girl are to be announced very soon."

Snape instinctively fell back into teacher mode. "I can not discuss this with a student, Miss Trenton."

"I'm not asking you to discuss this with me, Professor Snape," she said, glaring up at him with a bite of impatience in her voice. "I am simply voicing a concern. Surely you can listen."

Severus, suddenly aware that his hand was still tangled in her hair, withdrew his touch. "Very well then, Miss Trenton; ask if you truly must."

Sophia looked up at him with enormous hazel eyes that seemed far too large for her face. "What will become of us once Head Boy and Girl are chosen?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you do. We all know who'll be our new Head Girl; I don't like Hermione Granger, but even I must admit that she is the most obvious choice and she no doubt will have the Headmaster's and McGonagall's backing."

"Professor McGonagall," Severus corrected automatically, even as a new idea came upon him. "I think, Miss Trenton, the greater question is, what will you do, should such an even occur?"

Put on the defensive, it was now Sophia's turn to be evasive. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Really? Mr. Malfoy has made his position on this matter very clear to all around him. The real question is, what will you do?"

Sophia blinked rapidly, clearly befuddled by such a question. "I will do what is right and proper for a Slytherin to do."

"Do you know what that is?"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"I'm sure I'm not about to do any such thing."

Severus Snape stared deeply into her innocent muddy-hazel eyes. "Miss Trenton, once, many years ago a very wise man told me something that I have never forgotten. Birth, blood and nobility are all good and proper things, but what you choose to do with them is a true measurement of your character."

Severus was only partly lying. Actually Dumbledore had said 'It is our choices that show us what we really are, Severus, far more than our abilities', but Severus was certain he had understood the true meaning behind the typically Gryffindor attitude.

Sophia digested this in silence, and her face was entirely inscrutable to Severus.

Finally, Snape reached into his robes and pulled out the little scroll and self-inking quill he always carried with him. He scribbled a note.

"You will find this book to be most edifying. Madame Pince will need this permission note, however, since it is in the restricted section. In fact," he added, his eyes gleaming, "I expect you to pass an oral examination on the subject within a month."

Gods, how he loved to completely astound his students! Sophia closed her gaping mouth with an almost audible pop and indignantly argued, "But sir! Surely you can't mean--"

"I can and I do," he said smoothly, enjoying her discomfort. "I would recommend that you start immediately upon your arrival at Hogwarts, as it is a very complex volume and you will need much time to digest it all. However, it will be, perhaps, the most important work you will consult in your life."

Sophia's sputterings were interrupted by the sound of her mother's voice from below.

"Oh Sophia ma chère fille! Surely you didn't take our guest up to that dusty old attic!"

Despite her anger, Sophia exchanged an exasperated glance with Snape; really, to call a room full of treasures a dusty old attic!

Sophia, then Severus, climbed down the rickety stairs to face a deeply embarrassed Twyla Trenton and an oddly smug Edith Snape.

* * * * * *

Edith Snape had always been a morning person. As a child nothing had pleased her more than to have tea and toast in the garden and watch the dew gleam in the early light. As a wife and mother this had been the only time she had completely to herself, and she often found the answers to her most pressing problems in the privacy and serenity of her garden while her husband and children still slept.

She was up very early that morning. Normally she slept soundly; not knowing exactly where Severus was usually didn't disturb her in the slightest. When Severus was visiting, however, she found it virtually impossible to sleep while he was out for the evening. She finally drifted off around one o'clock and slept restlessly for about four hours, aware on some level that her child was still not home. Eventually she gave up on sleep. She washed and dressed, her old fingers stumbling over the buttons on her robe.

Tired and irritated, she did not hesitate to viciously poke the house-elf awake with her cane. Finally, with tea and toast at her side, she sat in the old gazebo and watched the sun rise over the ancient maple trees and contemplated the fate of her only surviving and most-loved child.

Edith Snape had always dreamed of being the matriarch of a large brood. Unfortunately most of her children's lives had ended as miscarriages or stillborns, and those who survived birth died soon afterwards. Her only daughter, a sickly, spindly thing, had died before her first birthday. Justinian XV had died before he even showed his first sign of magic. So it was with great joy when, at age 54, after powerful magics and 24 hour care from a team of midwives, she delivered a perfectly healthy black-eyed boy that she and her husband named Severus Justinian Snape.

Edith had high expectations for those whom she loved, and as she loved her son more than anyone in the world, her expectations were limitless. She took pride in his formidable intellect, his wit and cunning, his ability to bully and intimidate his inferiors. However, none of these admirable skills equipped him to court a woman. She, Edith, would have to help him.

Edith ate her toast and drank her tea and contemplated her next move.

* * * *

Severus Apperated into his suite at Snape Manor at a little after five in the morning. Red eyed and sick in spirit, he couldn't bear the idea of trying to sleep. He rummaged through his potions cabinet until he found the bottle of Awakening Potion. He carefully measured out a spoonful, as too much of the strong stuff could give him a palsey or even a heart attack.

He stripped off his robes and stepped into the shower. Hot, steamy water scalded his back and face as he scrubbed himself sore. He meticulously washed every bit of his body; so long as he concentrated on scowering himself clean, he didn't have to think about what he had witnessed.

...His own twisted pleasure in watching young Malfoy grovel before Voldemort...Draco's high, girlish scream as the Dark Lord burnt his mark onto the pale boy's arm...the sweet stench of burnt flesh...

Heat, steam, exhaustion and horror squeezed his belly. Severus bolted out of the shower and vomited violently into the trash bin. He sunk to his knees and retched miserably again and again and wished himself dead.

* * * * * *

Two hours later he was shocked to discover his mother sitting in the first floor drawing room. Normally she was outside as much as possible, and Severus assumed that she would be in the garden on such a sunny day, leaving him to eat breakfast in peace.

Edith Snape gave him a searching look, and Severus instinctively glowered. He looked like hell and he knew it. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot and though the cooling salve had taken most of the sting out of his burns, his face was still rather pink.

"Sit, son. I want to speak to you anyway, and it is better now than later," she said.

Warily, Severus sat in the large chair next to her. He reluctantly lowered his tray of weak tea and thin porridge onto the delicate side table; he had a feeling that he was about to loose anything akin to an appetite.

The old woman cleared her throat. "Severus."

"Yes Mother?"

To his surprise, she began to blush slightly as if she were...embarrassed? Severus was thrown decidedly off-guard. He had never seen his mother embarrassed about anything.

"I think I will invite Miss Trenton to visit over the summer holiday," Edith said with deceptive lightness.

Severus did not know where his mother was taking this conversation, but he had a feeling that he wasn't going to like it. "Invite whomever you wish Mother; I'm sure the company will do you good."

"However, she'll probably find an old woman like me tedious company if there is no one else to entertain her. See to it that you are here for the week that she is here."

Severus felt himself go cold, then hot, and his stomach cramped painfully. Damn it, he had known he wasn't going to like this. Still, his mother was usually easier to handle with humor than anger. He forced himself to smile stiffly. "Mother, what exactly are you plotting?"

Edith Snape adopted a similarly phony jocular attitude. "Nothing at all son. It just occurs to me that, being far closer in age and having far more in common, you and she would have a fine time together."

"Why don't I believe that it's so simple?"

Severus stared in undisguised astonishment as his mother took his hand in hers. She was not a demonstrative woman and had never done such a thing before. Her withered hand looked positively fragile next to his larger, younger one.

"You are far too old for me to match you, as I ought to have done when you were a child. Honestly, I never saw a girl I thought fit for you. I still haven't met her. However, you also too old to still be single, and needs must. Your choice is not all I had hoped for you, but I don't think that she'll dishonor the Snape name."

"What?!?" He suddenly felt as if he had fallen into some strange alternative universe and wanted desperately to go back home; he didn't like a world where his harridan of a mother tried to play a poor game of matchmaking.

Edith Snape withdrew her hand sharply. "I said that you have my permission to marry Sally Trenton."

Severus felt his face glow brick red. "Her name is Sophia and I do not intend to court her."

"Honestly Severus, the tension between you two yesterday could have been cut with a knife."

Severus felt his stomach turn again, and he knew that any hopes of eating before teatime was dashed. He crossed his arms over his chest. "So Mother, have I become so old and ugly and hateful that I'm reduced to marrying a student?"

"Oh pish Severus, I'm ashamed to hear you utter such a notion. So modern. Almost Muggle. She's a Pureblood, of a decent enough family, mannerly, and she actually likes you. I can't say at this moment that I know just why, but she does."

Severus stood up. "Mother, I will forget that this conversation has ever happened. I would suggest that you do likewise. I will see you at tea."

With that, Severus swept dramatically out of the room.

* * * * * *

Sophia spent her evening writing letters. First, she thanked Adrian for the hopping chocolate rabbit that he proudly informed her he had charmed himself. She politely refrained from mentioning that the rabbit had alternated between half-hearted flops and frantic bouncing before, unable to undo his shoddy Charm, she had cut off the rabbit's head, causing it to ooze sticky raspberry filling on the carpet. She thanked Ian for the chirping marshmallow chicks that he proudly informed her he had charmed himself. She politely refrained from mentioning that they had chirped so loudly for so long that, unable to undo his shoddy Charm, she had had to chop off their heads then chase their sugary bodies around the room and bag them up before she could fall asleep. She wrote a somewhat stilted thank-you letter to Leo for the (mercifully silent and still) chocolate eggs.

Having completed her duties and trying to ignore a candy-induced stomachache, she sat down at her little secretary to write Ursula.

Dear Ursula,

Thank you for the Chocolate Eggs. The strawberry one was especially lovely. I'm also glad to hear that you liked the sugar basket; I thought I remembered you mentioning that you liked them.

Professor Snape and the Old Dragon Lady visited us this afternoon. Honestly, I think he gets greasier and nastier by the hour!

Still, he can be polite when he wants to; we spent an hour or so discussing family heirlooms, and he was almost human.

Of course, that wasn't exactly true, but there was just so much that she couldn't say. What was she supposed to tell Ursula; that Snape was a veritable encyclopedia of antique lore? That he flirted with her--and she flirted back--and she liked it?

And those eyes. Damn him and those eyes. She had never seen such handsome eyes.

Agitated, Sophia arose from her chair and began to pace the floor. Sophia spent the night pacing, reading, writing letters, and generally tried to distract her mind from the endless loop of hopeless Severus filled fantasies that she concocted. Finally, with tired, swollen eyes, she watched the sun begin to rise and decided that Snape was more distracting than a whole room full of chirping marshmallow chicks and hopping chocolate rabbits.

NEXT: Serpentigena Linguna: Nunito Salazar Slytherin