Redemption Through Blood, Retaliation Through Tears

Redemption Through Blood, Retaliation Through Tears

Chapter Two

Slytherins usually arrived early to potions class. It was the general consensus that it was wonderful to watch the Gryffindors wander in with their archenemies already comfortably at their seats. Today, there was a slight problem with this routine, one particular Gryffindor was even earlier than they were.

Airleas looked up from the parchment she had been writing on, mentally acknowledged the arrival of the fifth year Slytherins, and then went back to work. Now, said Slytherins were not entirely sure what to do. She was sitting in a spot in what was normally the Slytherin side. This upset the excepted seating arrangements completely.

Draco decided that he didn't like standing aimlessly in the doorway. He walked over, intending to speak with Miss de Latimer-Snape. Yes, she was a Gryffindor, but she was a Snape, and the Snapes were a prestigious family.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle," Draco said, holding out a hand in greeting.

Airleas looked up, gave a little half smile, and placed her hand into Draco's, as though she were expecting it to be kissed. Draco looked startled for a moment, but quickly recovered, and performed his gentlemanly duties.

As he straightened back up, Airleas spoke, "It is a pleasure to meet you, too, however, I feel it is my duty to inform you that your pronunciation is atrocious."

With that, she whisked her hand out of Draco's and, again, went back to work. Draco felt as though he should say something, but class was starting and he couldn't think of anything anyway.

"We shall begin the Confuto Potion. Can anyone tell me what the purpose of this potion is?"

Most teachers, on the first day back to school, spent a few moments welcoming the children and explaining, in general terms, what they would be learning that year. Snape was never one for unnecessary pleasantries.

In response to his question, two hands raised into the air. Hermione's and Airleas'. Snape paused for a moment, then, in clipped tones, called Ms. Granger's name.

Hermione began her explanation, "It's a muting spell, it causes the object who drinks the potion to become completely silent."

"Very good, Ms. Granger,"

Snape was about to turn away, when he saw his daughter's hand was still in the air. Against his better judgment, he called on her.

"Is there something you wish to add, Ms. de Latimer?"

Airleas, almost gracefully, lowered her hand.

Merlin, Snape thought, if her hair were a different color, she would look just like Nicolette. It was as if Nicolette's spirit were reincarnated to torment him.

"The Confuto Potion," Airleas began, "Is most often used in conjunction with a selective voicing potion or spell of some kind. That way, in interrogations, the object being questioned can answer while any other sounds, such as screams or pleas for help, are muted."

Snape utterly refused to be affected by this.

"That is correct," he said, then, as an extra slight, added, "Five points to Gryffindor for Ms. de Latimer's willingness to pick up a book outside of class."

He thought he saw her confidence waver for just a moment before it was restored. Then she spoke.

"Thank you, Professor. But I must ask you to address me by my proper name, Ms. de Latimer-Snape."

When she said this, Snape had his back turned, wand out, about to write the ingredients for the potion so that the class could see them. This was fortunate, because, at that moment, his face completely lost its reserve.

Dear God help me. She's not Nicolette's reincarnation. She's mine.

Snape went through the rest of the class on autopilot. He did not ask for any questions to be answered and he did not look in the general direction of his...spawn. When class was over, he efficiently tidied up his classroom and then went directly to his rooms. He didn't feel like he needed lunch at the moment.

How could this have happened? He had never even met the child, not in any time which she could have remembered. So why did she speak like him, use his mannerisms? Snape hated being reminded of himself by anything or anyone.

Memories entered his consciousness, unwanted, but entirely warranted. He had never let himself believe that the last time he saw Nicolette would truly be the last time, even though he realized now that he must have known it. She certainly had.

Severus Snape seldom indulged in ideas of romance and fate. Metaphors for life, roads, journeys, never-ending stories, had never been his taste. But, truly, his story, his, and what could only be called his family's, was a story. A tragedy, a romance, and one that refused to be over just yet.

It began seventeen years from this present date.