A Merciless Affection

Chapter 47: God Give Me Courage to Show You

Severus threw himself into his chair, his expression very black. Sarah, not knowing what to say--not daring, in fact, to say anything--stood silent for several minutes, watching him, trying to decide what had upset him so much. Was it Dumbledore's terribly disillusioning means of suggesting that he might give Severus the post he had coveted for fourteen years? Or was it that Dumbledore had, in effect, ordered him to tell her things that, in Severus' own judgment, were better kept from her?

Quite abruptly, and without looking at her, he ordered, "Bring me the firewhiskey."

Sarah hesitated. Nothing good had come of his drinking, ever, in her experience.

"I said--" he began, turning at last to glare at her.

"I heard you," she said.

"Then do as I say!" He looked to be on the verge of taking points from Gryffindor. Sarah was afraid she would laugh out loud if he did.

With more than a little unease, she went to the wardrobe. She was afraid she would have to open several drawers (revealing who-knew-what secrets) to find what he asked for, but the object of her search was on a narrow shelf, half-hidden by black robes.

He had replaced the glass he had shattered at Christmas. But the amber liquid, flickering subtly with the hint of inner flames, was only down by a quarter from where she remembered. She hoped it was the same bottle. Hoping, too, that was she wasn't making a mistake, she poured a couple fingers' worth into the glass, then put the bottle carefully away before she took the drink to Severus.

He took the glass wordlessly and, wincing, tossed back the firewhiskey in a single swallow.

"I hope I'm not going to regret this," Sarah said.

He looked at her sharply as he handed the glass back to her. "Certain things...require the edge to be taken off."

"If you don't want to tell me now--" She cradled the glass in her hands.

"It's best to get it over with," he spat.

She nodded and sank silently into her own chair.

"Well, what would you have me tell first?" It was very close to a snarl.

"Tell me whatever you will, however you will," she said shortly, impatient at his attempt to cast some sort of blame on her for this.

He stared into the fire for a nearly a minute before he said anything.

"The Order, then," he said. "I will tell you as much as the Dark Lord knows. He cannot suppose that you got the information from anyone but me.

"The Order of the Phoenix was brought together by Albus Dumbledore during the first war. The Ministry were no better at fighting the Dark Lord then than they are proving to be now. The Order did considerable damage to the Dark Lord's plans at that time, and it is likely they will do so again--indeed, they did so last night. He knows of the Order's existence, but he does not know the full complement of its members. Naturally, he would like to kill as many of them as possible. Which is the reason that I have told you nothing of them up to now."

Stung by the implication that she was still untrustworthy, Sarah ventured, "I didn't reveal anything I shouldn't have, did I? When I came before him?"

"No, you did not," Severus conceded. "But there is still no reason, in his eyes, why I should have told you more than I already have. Remember, he has reason to fear that Dumbledore might become aware of your allegiance. Your knowledge might prove equally dangerous to either of them, which is why I have deliberately kept you in the dark about so many things, and why I will continue to do so." He glared at her, as if daring her to challenge him.

Sarah considered his words. There was, in fact, little reason for her to know more than he had told her about the Order. As Dumbledore had said, it was enough to know that others fought--really fought--for the same cause. "I would like to know one thing," she said.

"Well?" he asked impatiently, when she paused.

"The names of some of the members that he already knows about. I never want to be in a position again where I have no one to turn to for help if...if something should happen to you...."

His frown deepened. But finally he said, "There are several among the Ministry Aurors who are also members of the Order. I won't reveal their names, but if you send a message in my name to that office of the Ministry, one of them will surely realize its importance."

"No names, then?"

"Whom shall I put in danger for your sake, Sarah? All right, then--one name. One of the very few who already know about you, and one you'll undoubtedly recognize: Remus Lupin."

She was not surprised. A werewolf was welcome in few places, and Dumbledore had already shown a high degree of trust in their former Defense professor simply by hiring him. "It was he who wrote to you over Easter, wasn't it? The letter you wouldn't let me read."

"Yes." Severus passed a hand over his face. "One more thing--one last resort. Conceal your identity from prying eyes and go to the proprietor of the Hog's Head Inn in Hogsmeade."

Sarah frowned. The place had a questionable reputation--more the sort of pub where one might find Death Eaters than Order members.

"I told you it was a last resort. Say nothing there which you cannot risk being overheard, unless the proprietor tells you otherwise."

She nodded, turning the empty glass in her hands, her thoughts wandering over all she had been told in the past twenty-four hours. Severus went silent as well--no surprise there. He had stated plainly that there were a number of things he expected to tell her, but in spite of the firewhiskey, he was obviously in no hurry to do so. Nor did she particularly want to press him for information he did not want to reveal; she wasn't ready for another quarrel. And yet she felt restless to have this conversation--whatever he expected of it--over and done.

Finally, following the trail of her thoughts, she said, "It was you who overheard the prophecy, wasn't it?"

She could feel, as much as see, him grow tense at the question, but he did not answer. With a silent sigh, she let it go. What else had Dumbledore spoken of?

"I never imagined what would happen." It was a hoarse whisper. "Divination is a lot of rot. There was no reason to suppose that any child fitting those conditions would be born at the designated time. But I knew, when I was caught listening, that any chance of being considered for the Dark Arts position was gone. I was desperate for something to deflect the Dark Lord's displeasure. A few worthless words babbled by a barmy bint. I never thought--"

"I'm not blaming you."

He glanced at her, his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"I mean it. What reason had you to think the information was of any use?"

He looked away. "I ought to have known that the Dark Lord would not consider it to be foolishness. I was putting an infant--some infant, somewhere--at risk. Although that hardly seemed to matter to me at the time." He pressed the long fingers of one hand to the bridge of his nose.

"Is that why you protect him now?" She knew she was treading on thin ice--she always was, where Potter was concerned. But Dumbledore had hinted at some deeper reason for Severus's actions toward the boy. Is that why you hate him? she thought, though she restrained herself from saying it.

"No! I do it because it's necessary. And for no other reason."

"Then you believe in the prophecy now?"

"What I believe is of little consequence. The Dark Lord believes it. Albus Dumbledore believes it. And from this day forward, Harry Potter will believe it. As if he needed anything more to inflate his head."

"What does that have to do with whether or not you try to protect him?"

"Because one essential component in the theory of magic is that belief translates into action. I agree with Dumbledore there, at least. It no longer matters whether the prophecy is true. If everybody behaves as if it is, the events it predicts may still come to pass. If only because all of the players have placed themselves in the roles in which they have been cast by it. I want to see this finished, no matter who does it." His expression was sour enough to make her own lips twitch in response.

"I still don't understand why you hate the boy so much," she said, driven at last by confusion and curiosity to risk a probable explosion. "Even as a baby. When Dumbledore hinted that you'd done something that helped save his life then, I thought it was because of you changing sides, because of...well...that girl. But you denied having even wanted to save him."

"That girl's name was Dora Hammond. Oh yes," he said, his eyes slashing toward her, as if intent on laying bare her reaction to this revelation. "I was obsessed enough to learn that much, and more. But..." his sharp gaze went dull and distant, "it was much more complicated than that." His hand convulsed into a fist against the chair arm.

Sarah was a little surprised at her own detachment, as she sat silently watching a dozen different expressions chase across his face. But the girl and his obsession with her was old news, a part of his past that she had, at some intervening point, come to terms with. Regardless of what had been, in those days when she herself had been a baby, he was hers now. Or she was his. Or something. She had no doubts anymore that he loved her. No matter what he had done or whom he had loved before.

"You aren't dismayed? Disturbed?" he sneered, seemingly bent on provoking some response from her.

"Do you want me to be?"

He was taken aback, which naturally brought forth a snarl. "Why would you not be? As easily upset as you are at present."

"I'm not the one who's upset at the moment," she pointed out, in as rational a tone as she could muster. "I'm curious, I admit, to know about these complications. But not curious enough to quarrel with you. Haven't we quarreled enough?"

He considered this, with gritted teeth. Finally, his jaw relaxing slightly, he said, "I don't wish to quarrel with you, Sarah. But remembering...." His face stiffened again with a mingling of anger and pain.

She stood up--his eyes followed her in surprise--and went to his wardrobe, hoping desperately that she was doing the right thing. When she placed another shot of the firewhiskey in his hands, then sank (more than a bit ungracefully) to the floor beside him, his expression told her that her instincts had been correct.

He swallowed it down with the same bitter-potion distaste as before, then let the empty glass hang loosely in his left hand, while his right reached out--as if seeking a means of steadying himself--to touch her hair. An unintentional sigh escaped her lips as she let her head fall against his knee.

"The...complications...go further back," he said, after a while. His fingers tightened, and Sarah winced, her hand going reflexively to her scalp. "Gods, I didn't intend to pull your hair," he said angrily.

"It's all right." She ran her hand quickly over her head, smoothing her hair back. She would have reached for his hand, then, if it had not occurred to her that neither of them would be pleased if he broke her fingers. So she let her hand rest on his knee in place of her head, and looked up at him anxiously.

"I told you, did I not, that Peter Pettigrew belonged to a gang of Gryffindors?" He took a deep breath, then said between his teeth, "The leader of that arrogant little crew was James Potter."

"Harry's father? But--"

"Oh, Pettigrew was the only one who went over to the Dark Lord's side--although in secret. Potter, on the other hand, continued his heroic career as a member of the Order, although that must have been a bit dull after being a school Quidditch champion." The sarcasm in his voice was poisonous.

"You hate Harry because you hated his father?" As soon as she heard the astonishment in her own voice, she wished she could take it back. As petty as that might be, at least it was more understandable than simply picking out a random student upon whom to vent his crueler impulses.

"Hated...hated?" Severus muttered tightly. "The word does not begin to describe.... They despised me from the first--a Slytherin, and visibly poor, and a dab hand with the Dark Arts. And then...they were the ones...who caught me..." His voice stuck in his throat; he did not say crying for my mother's death, but his next words made plain the circumstances. "I was Snivellus to them after that...that moment of weakness. An irresistible target. Naturally, I fought back--it was nothing short of war. And I was far more clever at not being caught." A grim smirk crossed his face quickly and disappeared. "But it was four to one, always. Most of my own so-called 'friends' found it too amusing to simply watch. And of course none of them wanted to risk getting into trouble themselves."

It sounded far too much like what she remembered of her few interactions with other pureblood children. She had been luckier than she'd thought in her mother's protective charms. She could have easily attracted similar enemies from Slytherin House. Draco had been bad enough, the past few months....

Severus began again. "Sirius Black was Potter's best friend and second. And Remus Lupin was...." He trailed off. "He was part of their little foursome, and yet...and yet I'm supposed to believe that Lupin had nothing to do with it!" His voice was suddenly snarling again, and his fingers tightened on the glass until she feared it would break. "Black tried to kill me, in our sixth year. Lupin's condition was a secret, but of course his friends knew all about it. Black taunted me into following Lupin one full-moon night...."

"Sweet Merlin!"

"They never got into the trouble they deserved--for that or anything else. Potter was too much the Golden Boy. Nobody believed him capable of true viciousness--even the students he picked on were made to feel, in the end, that they'd been part of some harmless prank, that they should feel flattered to have attracted the great Potter's attention. His misdeeds were counted merely as high spirits; mine, on the other hand, were all too obviously the actions of a Dark Wizard in the making."

"The teachers thought so? Even Professor Dumbledore?" Sarah was aghast.

She watched Severus take a sharp breath--the sort of breath she herself took when she was contemplating a lie. But finally he said, "The headmaster, I confess, was more worried than angry with me. So, I think, was my Head of House. But I was furious, when Potter and his friends got away with attempted murder and...." He went silent unexpectedly, his face taking on a strangely unreadable expression.

"I told you it was...complicated," he said. "In our seventh year, their persecution became more...subtle. Potter had begun to go with a girl who...she didn't approve of his bullying. But the 'Marauders'--oh yes, that was their name for themselves--had one last grand 'prank' up their sleeves." His face had grown dark with anger as he spoke, but he broke off suddenly, and went silent. He began studying the glass instead of merely gripping it, but absently, as if it held no answers, only a means of temporary distraction.

"The girl was...she was as brilliant at Potions as she was stupid in her choice of a boyfriend."

"Your professor's first choice of an apprentice."

"Yes." He grimaced. "But she was more interested in marrying that....than in making something of her talents. And she wouldn't listen to me after...." His grip had tightened on the glass again.

"We weren't precisely...friends, but...Slughorn recognized the talent in both of us early on, and we were often thrown together because of it. I suppose we were as much friends as we were rivals. And..." he shot an uneasy glance at Sarah, "I had a certain amount of schoolboy interest in her. I thought I kept that well-hidden. Perhaps I did. It would be very like them to think up something of the sort without provocation," he spat.

What, she wondered, had they done to him?

But his next words seem to go off in another direction. "Slughorn taught a potion to his N.E.W.T. students which I do not, but you may have read of it." He looked at her hard. "Amortentia?"

The most powerful love potion in existence. She had done some research into love potions, when he had first accused her of using something to attract him, if only to find a way to prove that she couldn't have done so. Amortentia was tricky to make, and almost hazardous in its strength. Unlike most love potions, which produced a temporary infatuation, Amortentia might take years to wear off completely, and the standard antidotes for love potions were only partially effective against it.

"Yes, I've read of it," she said, with an awful sinking feeling.

"It was given me, in my seventh year." His voice was a low, barely audible hiss. "I was never able to prove who did it, nor how they managed it, although I'm certain Potter was involved. It would have amused him and his friends to see me making a fool of myself over his girlfriend. To taunt me with the fact that he had yet another thing I would never have."

As distracted as he was, Sarah was surprised that he noticed her quizzical and slightly injured expression. "I did not mean--"

"I know," she said, those few words soothing her feelings more than she thought possible. "How long did it take you to realize...?" The idea of Severus mooning and fawning over anyone--an action so uncharacteristic of his usual manner--was painful to contemplate.

"Not long, fortunately," he huffed. "Slughorn recognized the change in my behavior immediately, and gave me an antidote. But, of course, the damage was done. Not merely the embarrassment, which the entire class witnessed." His eyes went distant for a moment, as if he had been reminded of something else, but he blinked and it was gone. "The effects of Amortentia...linger, in spite of any antidote. It was only upon realizing that, after half a dozen different antidotes had not erased the...impairment...it became clear that it had been Amortentia. I was furious." His face darkened again with rage.

"I believed at first that Lily must have been involved. She had the skill to make the potion, and she could have supplied the necessary strand of hair to make herself the focus. I didn't want to believe it, of course, because of the damned potion. I even..." he hesitated, studying Sarah doubtfully. But he must have been satisfied with what he saw, because he continued. "I went to her home, over the Christmas holiday. To accuse her, I thought--I even threatened her with Azkaban--although I was eager enough to accept her denial of her guilt. What I wanted most was for her to implicate Potter--I even hoped that, away from his influence...." He shook his head sharply, as if trying to rid himself of the memory. "As I'm sure you can imagine, I was not in my right mind. I hated Potter for that, more than anything he'd done before." The glass, which Sarah had been watching for some time with trepidation, finally flashed out of his hand and into the fireplace. The crash seemed a fitting punctuation. "I was even more ready to cast in my lot with the Dark Lord, if it also meant a chance to take Potter down."

He turned his eyes, still brimming with remembered fury, upon her. "And now, I suppose, you'll hate me for all of this." But his voice, angry and accusatory as it was, faltered near the end of this pronouncement.

"It was hardly your fault that you were drugged with a powerful and dangerous potion. How could I possible hate you for that?"

He leaned forward unexpectedly, clasping her awkwardly, the firewhiskey pungent on his breath. She couldn't quite hear what he murmured against her hair. It sounded like, I don't know.

"There's more," he said, much too soon, letting her go and sitting back, his eyes leaving her, to wander in dark paths of memory. "I sought to turn my mind from her, but the potion only slackened its hold slowly. That whole year with Cassilda, I saw only Lily in my mind. And then..." he buried his face against his left hand, where he was leaning on the chair arm. "It was no coincidence, I think, that I became obsessed with Dora Hammond. She looked...very much like Lily. And I wanted so very badly to stop wanting Potter's wife." He slammed his right hand down on the chair arm, nearly in Sarah's face, and she jolted back. He blinked, and forced out a slow breath.

"I thought I had shaken off the potion. But when I discovered that the Dark Lord had decided the child of the prophecy was Lily's...I...found it impossible not to do something. My misjudgment had put her life in danger. After Dora..." He leaned his head back against the chair, letting it tilt aimlessly from side to side. "I don't know. I don't know anymore. But I was not willing to simply let her die.

"I had already lost one chance to speak to Albus Dumbledore, the night Trelawney made her prophecy--"

"Trelawney?" Sarah had not intended to interrupt, but....Trelawney.

Severus looked at her, a sneer forming on his lips. "Ah, yes, our resident madwoman. Who could have imagined?"

Sarah shook her head. "You went to Dumbledore again?"

"Yes. It was a terrible risk. I had hoped, when I had volunteered for the Dark Lord's assignment to apply for the Dark Arts position, the headmaster would understand what I wanted, would offer me a means of escape from the life I had chosen. But that chance was lost. And to go to him, months later, without permission--if I were discovered.... But I could do nothing else."

And yet, Sarah realized, cold settling into the pit of her stomach, Harry's parents had died. There could be no happy ending to this story. She bit her lip.

Severus shifted restlessly. "Dumbledore assured me Lily would be protected. And he gave me the chance I sought--with Professor Slughorn retiring, it was logical for him to recommend one of his top students for the position. Dumbledore knew I was seeking employment, and his forgiving nature.... The Dark Lord was too eager for a spy inside Hogwarts, to question it further.

"But I was not the Dark Lord's only spy. As that summer went on, it became clear that someone else was giving information to him about members of the Order...particularly about...." He ground his teeth. "The danger to them grew significant, but the Dark Lord's practice of keeping his servants' identities secret prevented me from learning who was responsible.

"I had taken the risk, when the Dark Lord began plotting to destroy the Potter child, of revealing both my hatred of Potter and my...my interest in his wife. I hoped...I don't know what I hoped...to learn more of his plans, to be included in them, to have the chance to...." Severus paused for a long moment, his expression stricken. "It was too late...too late to warn anyone, when he finally summoned us and revealed that he was about to act, that the Potters had been betrayed into his hands. Halloween night."

Sarah's eyes widened, but Severus did not seem to notice. "He permitted me to go with him.... I asked..." His throat closed up around his voice, and his hands, which had already tightened into fists, grew white as bone at the knuckles. "I asked him to spare Lily--a boon, for my role in bringing him the prophecy. She was to be mine, to do with as I saw fit."

Sarah breath caught, audibly, and she studied her husband's fierce face, cold dread pouring down her spine.

He looked at her then, his lips curling brutally. "She refused to stand aside. It was not even from fear of me...not even that--he didn't tell her why he was giving her a chance to live. I suppose she might have guessed, from my presence there. It was that child," he spat the words, "his child, she sacrificed her life for. All my risks, all my efforts had been for nothing!"

"But then..." Sarah was scrambling for her mental footing. "That was the magic that protected...that threw the Killing Curse back on the Dark Lord? Is that what Dumbledore meant?"

"Yes," Severus snarled. "And we are all meant to be grateful for it."

Sarah blinked rapidly. Could he really mean that he was sorry the Dark Lord had fallen that night? Or was it his grief speaking, because of Lily Potter? Only a few minutes ago, Sarah had believed that nothing could make her feel threatened again by the loss of his love. But now she was nothing; she was forgotten. At best, he was still lost in a past where she had not yet existed.

"You tried to save her," she whispered, hardly knowing what she was saying, only wanting somehow to heal the pain that his soul was knotted around. "You risked your own life--"

"It was the potion!" Then he shook his head. "I don't know. Perhaps.... Dumbledore believed the potion was no longer in effect. By then I could no longer tell. When I was in the Dark Lord's presence, I wanted to take her for my own, to force her to see that I.... I had to project that emotion. It may have been real. It was...now it...it is impossible to tell."

"You tried to save her," Sarah repeated, her own fear and anguish made less by the confusion in his voice. "That was what Dumbledore meant, wasn't it? If you hadn't asked for her life--"

"That is Dumbledore's opinion. He believes if she had not been given the choice, the ancient magic would not have operated. The Dark Lord would have killed her, and then the boy, and that would have been the finish of his precious prophecy."

The whole ironic picture fell into place: in a sense, it was Severus who had saved the boy's life (although, admittedly, he had put it at risk to begin with). He had incited the circumstances that resulted in Harry Potter's survival...but at the cost of the life of the woman he had.... Had he loved Lily Potter? Or was it the potion? Or was it Dora Hammond's death? Or all three together? In any event, his actions had--all unintended--made a hero of the son of his most hated enemy.

"Do not believe for a moment, Sarah, that I intended to save anyone's life but Lily's. I even," he shot her a challenging look, "left the boy in the ruins of the house. I did not care if he lived or died." His face fell, and he shut his eyes convulsively, tilting his head back. "I did not care if I lived or died. I stumbled back to Dumbledore and.... I let him watch it all, in the Pensieve. And then I went back into my classroom two days later to keep students from blowing up the dungeons, as if none of it had mattered."

It did matter, she wanted to tell him. But in spite of the disconsolate tone of the ending of his narrative, she knew he did not want to hear her say that. It had not mattered in the ways he had wanted it to matter. And there was no help for that now.

"Don't imagine your knowing this changes anything between young Potter and myself," Severus said sharply, his eyes fixed on her again. Perhaps he had misread her silence; perhaps he was misreading her expression. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red. Likely it was the lack of sleep and the firewhiskey, but it made him look as if he had freshly suffered the terrible anguish he had just recounted.

"I don't expect it to," Sarah said, shaking her head. She laid her hand carefully on his scarcely relaxed fist. Then, suspecting what he feared most, she added, "Nor does it change anything between you and me." Dear Merlin, I hope that's true.

His face twisted doubtfully. "Undoubtedly your mind is still too clouded from the past day's experiences to--"

"My mind clouded? I've had a little sleep and no firewhiskey--"

"Don't tell me you feel nothing after hearing this!" he accused.

What did she feel? Was he right that, after the end of their long argument and the night's business of creeping about the school, she was in no frame of mind to think through the implications of his story?

What implications? she asked herself impatiently. He had told her things she hadn't known, yes, but nothing that substantially altered the picture she had formed by now of his nature and character. Indeed, it seemed that he had suffered a good deal more during the dark years of his youth than she had ever supposed.

"Of course I feel something! I feel sor--"

"Sorry for me?" he hissed. "Why should you?" He turned away, his face a mask of disgust, though whether at her or at himself it was difficult to say.

"Why are you determined to push me away?!" She drew her hand back in irritation.

The expression that formed on his face was genuine surprise, although still tinted with distrust. "You have been upset at the things I've told you before now," he accused.

"Maybe I've become immune," she said sourly.

"It doesn't bother you that I abandoned a child? Would willingly have let him die?" His eyes burned brighter, and his lips twisted nastily.

Oh.

She had been too involved in his story, in his anger and grief, to extend his behavior beyond the moment he had been describing. "Not your own son. You wouldn't." But Harry could have been his son, had things been different. The thought caught and tangled in her heart. She curled her hand protectively over her stomach.

"You dare say so?"

It had been a very long time since he had warned her that he could kill her if it proved necessary, but she could not helping remembering it now. Was his resolve still that strong? Sanity did not allow her to think about such things too hard--he had taught her that. She stiffened her spine. "I do dare say so. You have never given me any reason to believe our child means less to you than I do." She grimaced inwardly. Quite the opposite.

"If you believe I couldn't--" he began threateningly.

"Why do you want to hurt me? To frighten me?" she asked, exasperated. "I've listened to all this, and I've not accused you of anything. I've not questioned your motives. I have felt sorry for you, damn it! Are you so determined that no one is on your side that you can't see that I am?"

She saw the shock in his eyes, the subtle shift of his expression from hostility to guilt, and she buried her face against his knees, tears leaking out unresisted. She felt his hand touch her hair, and a bubble of anxiety welled up in her, unrecognized until this moment.

She lifted her head. "Do I look like her?"

How long might that potion last?

"No," he said bluntly.

"Not at all?" she pressed, not trusting the way his face had closed up again at the question.

"Not at all." There was a hint of relief in his voice that belied his expression. She wanted to ask what Lily had looked like--the color of her hair, the color of her eyes--but she didn't. With a sigh, she laid her head in his lap and closed her own hazel eyes as he stroked her plain brown hair. He shuddered slightly, now and again, as the horrible tension drained out of his muscles. It was not unlike the movements of his child within her.

"I want to give you a happier ending," she whispered.

He snorted faintly. "There are no happy endings, Sarah. Only..." he drew his fingers out of her hair, and slid them under her chin, lifted her face so he could see it, "...moments of grace."