A Dish Served Cold

Chapter 19 – Pirouette

“And then you turn under the gentleman’s arm. No, under, Mrs. Snape. Under means beneath. Very good. Now, step out from the gentleman, pivot to the left and curtsy. No, pivot. That means turn around. Facing towards the gentleman, if you please.” A long-suffering sigh and then, “Mrs. Snape, you are not trying.” The dancing master’s nasal tones were really beginning to piss Hermione off.

“I am trying Master Aubergine.” Not giggling at the man’s name had been the hardest part so far, that and the actual dancing. Bloody medieval torture is what it was. Set dances. What Neanderthal still did set dances? Purebloods apparently, because she was being forced to learn countless figures. Severus had been adamant and she had given in, perhaps with less grace than resignation, but she had given in.

“You must float through the steps as though you are weightless. You must glide like you have no legs, only wheels beneath your skirts.” He was tall, thin and looked a lot like the Disney version of Ichabod Crane, with the same spindly legs, huge nose and prominent Adam’s apple; all the git needed was a tri-corn hat to make the image complete. Master Aubergine was French, with all that that implied. Hermione had quickly grasped the ‘Wogs begin at Calais’ sentiment and begun thinking happy thoughts about bombing Paris.

“Well, which is it, float or glide?” she asked with a lowered brow and an urge to hex.

“Thank you so much, Master Aubergine, perhaps she is a bit tired from all of the exertion.” Dumbledore came drifting into the room like a wandering cloud looking for a good sunset. He was doing his best ‘dotty’ act, Hermione noted, and the dance master bowed with a grandiloquence completely out of place in the empty classroom that had been converted into a studio for her lessons.

“But of course, she cannot be expected to perform so very well.” The large nosed man, with nostrils flared in disapproval, swept out of the room while Hermione counted to ten in her mind and forced herself to relax her death grip on her wand.

“Interesting fellow, isn’t he?” Dumbledore gave her an amused look and Hermione let out her breath explosively.

“Five more minutes and I was going to see if that exsanguination charm really worked the way the book said it did,” she grumbled.

“You know, there are moments when I really think that you and Severus might work out well together,” Dumbledore teased her and Hermione grinned at him.

“I completely understand some of his snarkiness, it’s just the rest of it that I don’t get at all,” she confessed with a shrug and the smile still in place. She was less concerned these days with the long term than with just getting through the lessons she was being set.

“Are you ready for an etiquette quiz?” Dumbledore was watching her over the rim of his glasses and she nodded.

“Quiz away, Sir.” She flopped into a chair and watched him attentively.

“When confronted by a Malfoy, how deep do you curtsy?” A serious tone was infusing his words and it sharpened Hermione’s concentration.

“One quarter. I only bow the full halfway to you or Harry,” she replied obediently, still thinking it was all very odd.

“How do you greet Remus?” he asked with a softer voice and Hermione frowned fiercely.

“I don’t. I am to raise my shoulder slightly and turn away from him.” She really hated that thought. She didn’t want to snub Remus he was her friend.

“Hermione, it is unlikely that Voldemort would believe you had rejected Remus for Severus, so you may show all the signs of someone being forced to obey, if you choose.” Dumbledore gave her an out and she groaned.

“It’s all so unfair and stupid. Severus isn’t beating me. He is really trying to be nice to me. I don’t want to make him look even worse in peoples’ eyes, they already all think he’s awful, but I don’t want to snub Remus and I don’t want to endanger Severus.” Hermione realized that she was near tears and controlled herself fiercely.

“Mr. Longbottom and Miss Snape are getting married tomorrow. Miss Snape has asked you to be an attendant.” Dumbledore changed the subject with admirable tact. Her surprise must have been evident on her face because the Headmaster laughed. “You are family to her after all.” It took a long moment to comprehend what he was saying.

“She’s my sister-in-law.” Hermione blinked trying to wrap her mind around the concept.

“Will you be an attendant?”

“I have to ask Severus. He still isn’t sure it’s safe to be nice to her.”

“Voldemort hasn’t summoned him in quite some time.” Dumbledore was looking thoughtful and Hermione shivered.

“No, he hasn’t.”

“I’m not sure whether this is a good or bad sign.” The Headmaster stroked his long white beard absently, deep in thought. “Tom is not one to leave his minions to their own devices for long.” It bothered Hermione to hear him refer to the Dark Lord as ‘Tom’. It was such an ordinary name, so friendly, like a barkeep, or the guy next door. It simply wasn’t a good name for a monster. You couldn’t be afraid of a Tom; it was silly, which was probably why he had changed it. Severus as a ‘minion’ was an even stranger idea. Severus was so very un-minion like.

“Why do you think he hasn’t been summoned yet, then?” Hermione was afraid that Severus’ true loyalties might have been discovered and his life was in danger. She wasn’t ready to be a widow yet; they had only gotten through the first five pages of the Kama Sutra.

“Because Tom is too busy with some awful plot to bother with Severus right now.” Now wasn’t that a cheerful interpretation, Hermione thought with some horror. “I suspect that he is planning on making another move on the Ministry soon.”

“But the prophecy has been destroyed.” Hermione frowned trying to think of any other reason to attack the Ministry.

“Yes, but for all that he helped the ‘Marriage Law’ along, he doesn’t really want to see the pureblood lines diluted. I suspect that he has planted someone on the inside to ‘direct’ the efforts of the Ministry in the manner that he wants it go.” The pure Machiavellian complexity of that statement made her blink in surprise. So much for Dumbledore the doddering eccentric.

“You have a really twisty mind,” she commented.

“All the better to keep two steps ahead of a very twisted mind,” Dumbledore replied and there was a sudden sadness there, a regret for all that had come before and all that was yet to come.

“Tom Riddle’s fate was of his own choosing and it was decided long before he came to Hogwarts.” Hermione realized that she was scolding the Headmaster and bit her tongue. Dumbledore looked at her for a long moment and there was something still and quiet in him that confused Hermione.

“Our fate is never decided until the very last moment, Hermione, remember that. You constantly choose your destiny in every thing you do and in every word you speak. It can be changed at any moment by simply choosing differently.” The grave calm of his voice and the utter seriousness in those normally laughing blue eyes pinned her to her chair. He was trying to tell her something important, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“I’ll remember that, Sir,” she answered and she knew that she would.

Helena was having some doubts as the reality of it all began to settle in. She was fond of Neville, even liked him a lot, but would that translate into a good marriage? She had been given a room in the castle reserved for guests since Dumbledore had decided that sorting her would be silly. After all, she would only be in her House for less than a week.

The room was nice. There was a large bed draped with golden hangings and covered in a claret comforter with a pattern of golden vines embroidered on it. The curtains were done in the same claret and gold, close to Gryffindor colors without being overtly partisan. Very diplomatic, she thought with some amusement.

Still, as of tomorrow she would be Helena Longbottom and that was a very big step to make at age seventeen. Well, at any age, really, she guessed, but especially for someone as young as she was. She wasn’t alone in this, which was some consolation. Ron’s little sister Ginny was a year younger and was engaged to a man twenty years her senior who was also a werewolf. At least Neville was Wizard through and through, no furry-by-the-light-of-the-moon problems or anything.

He was really wonderful: sweet, loyal, caring and very dear. She would have been happy to go out walking with him, maybe kiss him in the garden. Tomorrow she would be marrying him, though, and sleeping with him and having his children. Helena could feel herself blushing at the very thought. They had held hands so far and soon she would be expected to…

Oh dear.

Another thought.

What if Father came to the wedding? He was sure to embarrass her in some way and if he ran into Professor Snape in the corridors then there would probably be a scene, complete, no doubt, with hexes and trips to hospital.

Helena buried her head in her pillow and prayed for the next days to pass really fast.

Sarit relaxed against the hard back of her chair and let her mind drift. Her visions were less clear than they had once been, but she could still force her aging mind to probe the future if she was willing to pay the price in energy and strength.
Her eyes unfocused and then the future unspooled before her.

Her grandson, Severus, stood in a darkened bedroom, in his arms he was holding a child of around five or so. It was a boy, dark-haired and eyed with his Mudblood mother’s rounded features. Legs dangling and arms wrapped around Severus’ neck, the child was whimpering.

“It’s all right, David, it’s all right. It was merely a dream.” Sarit had never heard such a gentle tone coming from her harsh grandson. He held the child tenderly and with compassion, but his eyes were troubled.

“But it was Mama. She was hurt and the blond man was trying to kill her.” The child babbled and Sarit knew that what the boy had seen had been no dream.

The vision broke apart and Sarit cursed her failing sight. She needed to know more, to see farther, and yet it seemed that the farther she reached the more quickly the power deserted her.

The vision had left her with one thing though: the mudblood would breed a Seer-child for the Yidoni. That rankled deep in her bones, for none of her other children had managed to do such a thing and she had been so very careful as she researched bloodlines. To have a creature like that be the one to produce the next Seer was an insult.

Even so, Sarit had to have that child.

Sabine Snape ran through her speech once more, turning the words over in her mind. All the years of neglect and rationalization haunted her, but she was not about to back away from her duty as she saw it.

Her grandson stood as she entered his office and gave her a look of deep suspicion. She no doubt deserved it, but it was still annoying to her. What did he expect her to do to him, hit him with her purse? Hex him? Thinking of her behavior at the wedding feast, it occurred to her that he was perhaps only expecting more of the same poor behavior she had displayed from the beginning.

“I came to apologize, something I rarely do, so I have no practice at it.” All her carefully rehearsed speeches were tossed aside and she decided to try the brutal truth. A new low for a Slytherin girl, she thought with irritation.

“For what are you apologizing?” he asked in cool tones. He was still standing and she could see that he was used to using his height to intimidate. Since they were of equal stature it was of no avail against her, however. He noted that and sat down, dropping his eyes to his papers, as though the conversation was of little importance.

“Don’t you play that game with me, Severus, I taught it to your father before you were born.” She ground her teeth in frustration as the words slipped out; her temper had never been good. She had been trying to be civil.

“I wouldn’t know. I had been told that you died many years ago, beyond that I know nothing of you.” There was hurt in that, she knew, hurt and anger.

“Your father cut himself off from his father and me. There was an argument.”

“Isn’t there always.” What a tired and world-weary tone he had. She wondered what he had gone through in his life to have such a look of bleakness in his eyes just then.

“Too often, yes.” Sabine shrugged and settled into a chair. Severus hadn’t offered her a seat but she was old, tired and unwilling to play the game.

“What do you want?” He was back to being angry now, the brisk tones were bitten off sharply.

“To finally tell you the truth, Severus.” His blink of surprise was followed by a look of utter fury.

“What if I don’t want to hear it?” Sabine sighed at the rage in his eyes. She had expected nothing less of Taliesin’s child.

“Sit down and listen to a story, boy and don’t be rude,” she snapped at him. She was too old for this nonsense. There was a part of her that was surprised by how quickly his mouth shut and how he stilled at her words. For all he said he didn’t care, no Slytherin could resist the lure of a secret.

“Very well.” It was an ungracious response but she shrugged it off.

“Long before you were born, back before Grindelwald had risen to be a threat, when he was just a pimple-faced boy with an unhealthy attraction for the Dark Arts, your grandfather and I attended Hogwarts. While we were there we met a young girl, a first year Ravenclaw named Sarit Yidoni.” She paused, memory overlaying the present for a moment. She could almost see Thrace as a young man, gawky and too tall for his age, with that beak of a nose and endearing smile. She remembered Sarit, all dark eyes and hair with that exotic accent and her comical grasp of English. The three of them had been inseparable.

“We were the best of friends, so close that Sarit told us the greatest secret of all, that each generation of the Yidoni produced a Seer, someone with the true ability to see the future.” Severus’ snort of disbelief made her pause and roll her eyes.

“Tea-leaf reading nonsense,” he snapped at her, but she could see the glint of interest in his eyes.

“So we thought as well, but Sarit always seemed to know things before they happened, she demonstrated the power to us too often for us to ignore it.” Sabine frowned, recalling how Sarit had saved Thrace’s life one day with her foreknowledge. “We were all so close that Thrace’s father Salinus invited the Yidoni clan for the summer one year. It was 1904, I think. Not that it matters really.” Sabine shook her head, she was grown old and her memory was fading.

“This is when the big argument broke out?” Severus asked, all pretense of disinterest flown.

“Yes, Ruth Yidoni had a moment of prophecy in the garden during tea. She was able to clamp her mouth shut on the last bits but not before revealing the rise of two great Dark Wizards who would spread their evil across the Wizarding World.”

“Great-grandfather demanded to know the rest, if I recall my father’s tale correctly.” So Taliesin had told him something of the story, Sabine mused.

Severus was leaning back in his chair now, black hair a curtain across his face, his pose was relaxed, but she could feel the intensity of his gaze even so.

“He feared for his family and his world. There was shouting, he told her to go before the Wizengamot and warn people and she insisted that meddling in the future was never safe. Anything that you change always causes more problem than the original prophesy had foreseen.” Sabine winced as she spoke. The argument had been bitter and fierce and Snape Hall had echoed with it.

“She was very likely correct,” Severus muttered.

“Undoubtedly. That was not, however, a viewpoint shared by Salinus,” Sabine murmured dryly. Severus’ snort showed that he was not unfamiliar with the Snape stubbornness. “He insisted that she reveal her information and then threatened her.”

“I doubt that she took that well.” Severus’ tone was bland, but she could see his mind working in the sparkling interest of his eyes.

“No, in fact she cursed the whole family and left in a huff,” Sabine sighed. “When we returned to Hogwarts that September, Sarit was different. She had been sweet, kind and openhearted, now she was secretive and angry. We tried to repair the breach our parents had created but it was no use, we were never as close again as we had been.” Sabine choked back the bitterness of her regret. Perhaps if she had only tried harder? “Sarit had a vision that year. A vision that destroyed the last of our friendship.” She paused tired and sad.

“What was this vision?” Severus was leaning forward now, his eyes intent on her face.

“She foresaw the destruction of the Wizarding World, everything going up in flames because the second Dark Lord gained control of a Yidoni Seer.” Sabine watched her grandson with interest as he ran through the possibilities in his mind.

“Did she see which one?”

“No, she foresaw a male child, but she didn’t see his face.” Sabine could tell that he hadn’t figured it out yet.

“So could it be one of her children?”

“No, the only Seer child she had was your mother.” She could see the bombshell as it hit his psyche and the collateral damage as it spread.

“My mother was a Seer?” There was dawning understanding there, she could see him running through his childhood memories, sorting through them for clues and gaining new understanding. “That’s what the arguments were about? Her visions of the future?” There was a touch of horror there in his face and a bubbling rage rising up to the surface.

“She would never tell your father of her visions and he wanted to know the future.”

“Is that why he married her?” Severus was clenching his fists, keeping his temper under control, but she could see the urge to hunt his father down flaring in him.

“He believed that if he could defeat the second Dark Lord then the Snape name would be restored. He thought he could break the curse and make himself famous all in one go.” Sabine felt like each word was a lead weight on her heart. Her beautiful baby boy turned twisted and ugly by the curse of the Yidoni.

“Idiot.” It was a word filled with scorn and anger and he delivered it like it was a knife into his father’s heart.

“He was just another victim of the curse.” Sabine wished there was some way to mitigate the foolish waste of her son’s life, but she couldn’t defend him either. His son had borne the brunt of it all and there was no forgiving that.

“So my mother was a Seer, then who is the Seer in my generation?” She could see his thoughts, she knew that he wanted to keep Voldemort from that person, to protect this unknown and keep the Dark Lord from winning the war.

“Oh child, may you one day forgive me for this.” She took a deep breath and said the words she had held back for so long. “The Seer is you, Severus.”