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Letters From America	By : tambrathegreat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1911 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All recognisable Harry Potter characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. All others are my own. I make no money from this endeavor.

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This is the final installment of the Slytherin Redemption Series. If you haven't read those stories, I suggest you do because this story will make no sense without them. There will be no slash in this story.

Special thanks to Jilliane, who red-mouses my attempts at grammar. All Hail J!

Letters From America

Prologue

Harry watched the Pensieved testimony for Draco Malfoy's trial for the third time, his reaction undiminished by repetition. Snape, the canny bastard, had fooled everyone, Harry included, and escaped death in that Shrieking Shack. Harry shook his head to clear it, seeing Snape's face swirling among the images that whorled about the Pensieve like dirt in roiling water. He cursed, not because of strong emotion, but because the situation seemed to call for it. Of course, Snape's dungeon rooms at Hogwarts remained warded and his portrait never moved; that brilliant sodding Slytherin really had found a way to put a stopper in death.

Harry leaned back from the bowl, the light of the memories reflecting off his glasses, casting scintillating spots around the room in dizzying patterns of light and dark. Harry laughed as he dashed the tears from his eyes once again. Sodding Snape and his sodding luck. Harry supposed it had changed for the better after the war. It couldn't have gotten any worse.

He put his head back into the Pensieve for the fourth time in less than an hour, this time using his skills learnt as an Auror to watch for clues about the man's whereabouts. Harry had already decided to find him, whether Snape wanted finding or not. He had a few things to say to his former professor and one-time perceived enemy, and he would talk to him.

He watched as Snape spoke about the Malfoy family's induction into the Order of the Phoenix. Harry wondered what horrifying event could have caused Lucius Malfoy to change his course. The older Malfoy was the same man who had ruthlessly thrust a cursed object into Ginny's cauldron when she was only eleven. Snape never said what the incident was that changed Lucius Malfoy's allegiance, only that it was one precipitating event. Harry scanned the background, a nondescript kitchen with a modern hob and shiny white cabinets; when he turned all he could see was a vast blank sky through the window and a few stunted trees, nothing to indicate where the kitchen and the scene outside might be situated. He listened to the Snape's accent as he spoke, while looking at his eyes. His words had softened somehow, become more drawling, if that were possible. Harry's attention returned to the background. He scanned down the fridge until he saw a small piece of paper stuck to it with a magnet. It had writing on it, but either Harry's eyesight was the problem or the memory itself was. Save for the word "Nguyen" in plain black script on a card, he could not make out another word, no matter how close he drew to it.

As the memory ended, with Snape's cutting voice and odd smile, he leant back once more. Harry reached out to touch the man, and was ejected from the scene. Carefully, he placed the testimony back in the vial from whence it came, and sauntered out of the room.

&*&*&

Blaise Zabini had been waiting for Potter to call since the morning he introduced the Pensieved testimony of one Severus Snape. He was the one who knew where Snape was after all these years. He had been the one to bear the burden of guilt when he discovered his old Professor's whereabouts. He was the one who was still beholden to the man, not only for Snape's wife's actions in America, but also for saving his and Pansy's lives during their seventh year.

Pansy pressed her lips against their son Kieran's head and said softly, "Blaise, darling, when did you say you expected Potter?"

"I suppose he'll be along shortly." Blaise ground his teeth, wondering what words might dispell his guilt at Pansy's words on the night of the Final Battle. She had been half-mad from Cruciatus, patched together by Padma Patil, and bound to him for better or worse. Blaise should have stopped her from entering the school a second time, but he had been occupied getting the younger students out. When he returned, Pansy had made the proposition that the students simply turn over the troublemakers and escape any punishment. No one had seen her despair, which lasted until they left the British Isles in search of a cure for her Cruciatus induced madness.

The irony of the situation did not escape Blaise's notice. If he had never found Snape alive and well in America, he never would have had the burden of his secret. Yet, if Snape and Lupin had not uncovered his own painful secret in third year, he never would have been in the position to feel close enough to Snape to protect his privacy. It was an Ouroboros of a problem, and one he was too tired to contemplate. He was a new father after all, and decidedly lacking in sleep.

Pansy whispered again, "Look at our little polliwog, Blaise. Isn't he beautiful?"

&*&*&

After Draco was released from custody, he had taken Liz to a hotel by the MInistry and shagged them both senseless, unable to wait to get her to their new home at his Aunt Andromeda's. Liz lay curled around him, her long limbs twined with his, and he grimaced. That had not been well done of him at all. She was his wife, for Merlin's sake, he should have had the decency to at least wait until they were in a proper bed before he took her... two and a half times. LIz lifted her head from the natty duvet covering the bed on which they had finally collapsed, a lazy smile playing over her lips. "Wow, Drake, that was just... Wow."

He still had enough of the arrogant Malfoy genes in play to smirk, even though with his recent incarceration and trial, and then the great energy spent shagging his bride, he could not raise his head. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

His fingers whispered along Liz's golden thigh, remembering another time that he had shared a room with another woman in a similar establishment. He mercilessly tamped down the memory. His affair with Parvati Patil had been over for months and had no place in this room now, with his wife of only a few months.

"Drake?" Liz asked, as she raked her fingernails up his bare stomach. "Did you cast that charm? You know, the birth control one?"

Draco's eyes were drifting shut, never realising that he had not cast the charms, and said without thought, "Mmm-hmmm."

His last scattered thought before sleep claimed him was that sometimes it was such a burden to be married to a Muggle, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

&*&*&

Harry waited until Easter break to approach Zabini about the Snape issue. In the intervening month and some days, he had gone through all the Pensieved memories he had of his former Professor's. He had searched through the ones given him during the Final Battle, and had gone over the Pensieved testimony of Draco Malfoy's trial. He had even searched through the memories held in trust by the Order via Kingsley Shackelbolt. Most were available in the Ministry Archives, but some were housed in the Department of Mysteries. It was one of the few times that Harry had used his fame to gain access to privileged materials.

The viewings had not helped him at all to discern where Snape might be hiding.

Now, he stood in the dungeons, outside the rooms that had housed Severus Snape for a little less than twenty years. He approached the door, aware that they had opened for no one since Snape's precipitous exit during the Final Battle. Wand at the ready, he halfheartedly incanted, "Alohomora."

The doors swung open, as if propelled by some sentient power instilled by the last occupant. An odour of dust covered the dim yet familiarly bitter smell of the youngest Potions Master to ever grace Hogwarts' hallowed halls. Harry almost snorted at the alliterative quality that Severus Snape seemed to instill in his thoughts. Hermione would have been proud that he, Harry Potter, would know of such a literary convention. He had to, living with Ginny. She was a reporter, and often asked for his input on her Quidditch articles.

Harry peeked into the room, not yet crossing over the threshhold. It seemed somehow wrong to do so, no matter that Snape had been gone for a little over a decade, no matter that he, the bane of the Potions Master's existence, would be invading the man's hard-won privacy so that he could bring him...

What? Recognition? Adulation? Thanks for his thankless job? Harry just wanted a chance to talk to him, to see that he was... okay.

A fluctuating blue light, the colour of a Pensieved memory, issued from the centre of the room. Harry was well acquainted with that particular device. He jumped as he saw the Bloody Baron's figure glide down the hall, more frightened that the ghost would see his reluctance then that he had been discovered doing something morally questionable. His feet finally took him into the room.

It wasn't a comfortable room. The decor was austere, almost monkish in its simplicity. It wasn't at all what it had been rumoured when he had graced these halls as a student. Harry remembered that the more lurid descriptions were of a sexually sadistic setting, complete with trapezes and manacles. (Harry still wasn't sure what one would do on a trapeze. Certainly no shagging could occur.) The other was of a Slytherin den of hedonism, complete with black and green silk sheets, bearskin rugs before a fire, and, oddly enough, feathers.

No, Snape's room could have been one of the students', with its worn furniture and bland decor. The only detail the students had gotten half right were the floor to ceiling bookcases, and the piles of books stacked throughout the dwelling. If it weren't for the layer of dust blanketing everything, it might look as if he had just left the room. Harry let his fingers drift over Snape's possessions, the discarded packet of papers left over from some long gone lesson plan, the tie draped over the back of a couch, the discarded lid of a Firewhisky bottle, the container long gone. He sat on the settee, an ancient, rickety monstrosity that sagged in the middle and swayed when Harry moved. Beside the settee was a table, this one, strangely without the piles of books. He ran a finger over the surface and felt the tingle of a ward under the pressure. He ran through his bag of Auror's tricks, hoping that whatever was warded there would shed some light on the enigmatic Severus Snape.

After a few moments of trying, an unseen drawer popped open, revealing a battered leather journal. Harry flipped it open and began reading.

This is my first entry in this damned journal and I'm writing because I have to. Since they are going to be reading this, I'm just going to be honest. I hate Professor Lupin and Professor Snape. If I knew I wouldn't go to Azkaban, I'd kill them both. Then I would kill HIM. The latest man my mother married. The one that got me in this situation to begin with.
It all started with that damned Lupin's Boggart lesson. If he hadn't had us do it, he never would have seen what my greatest fear was and I never would have had to let on what my mother's husband made me do this summer holiday. Fuck.
I'm not a homosexual. I never was attracted to boys. If truth be told, I've tried to keep myself from touching everyone, especially since this year began. I feel dirty and don't want anyone to know it. Pansy knows, I think. She's let me know at the beginning of the term that her home life isn't normal. Not in so many words, but with the way she avoids everyone and masks it with disdain and the way she's helped me by letting me be as shitty to her as I can be and not retaliating with the worst curses she knows. She gives the shittiness right back, so I guess we're helping each other. Maybe I can convince Snape and Lupin I can talk to her...
No, that would mean they would find out about her, and I couldn't do that. I may treat her like shite, but it doesn't mean I hate her. I still don't know who makes her give it up, but I suspect it's her father. Her uncle seems a good sort, but you can never tell. Look at my mother's husband. Everyone likes him, the sneaky bastard.
Okay, so Lupin and his arsed-up lesson. He let the Boggart go and was standing to the side. Everyone sniggered as that man my mother married came out of the wardrobe and said, "Blaise, come here, I nee-eed you..."
I knew that only Lupin could see that the Boggart had a hard-on. Thank the gods and all the family spirits for that. Lupin stepped forward, got rid of it and then set us to another task. The fucking bastard then came up and told me to see him after class. Pansy knew. She gave Lupin a rude gesture when the Prof turned from me, then made that infuriating smirk at me. I wanted to fucking blast her and snog her at the same time. She makes me mad like that.
Anyway, when I saw Lupin after class, he just gave me that bland look and called Snape through the Floo.
Snape came in with his usual sneer. "What is the matter, Lupin; can't you control a single third-year?"
"I believe you need to see something, Severus," Lupin answered evenly. "Mr. Zabini, please release the Boggart."
"Are these Gryffindor theatrics quite necessary Lupin?" my Head of House said this as I answered.
"No fucking way, sir." I knew my face was red, it was so hot. There was no way I was going to show Snape my weakness. He's Slytherin through and through. He would find someway to blackmail my mother with this.
Snape folded his arms across his chest, his eyebrow up like he always did when he was irritated. "Language, Mr. Zabini. You will apologise or accept detention with Filch for a month."
Lupin said weakly, "Severus, you're being unnecessarily harsh with the boy, given the situation."
"I am his Head of House, Lupin. Unlike some, I take my duties seriously." Snape sneered then turned his scowl to me as Lupin winced. Pathetic, that one, if Snape's comment could make him upset. It was no worse than he gave any of us when we overstepped. "Mr. Zabini, we are waiting."
"I am sorry, Professor Lupin," I said. "But I won't open the door."
It was bad enough that the Gryffindor had seen what I was to my mother's husband. I wouldn't let Snape see me as a whore.
Snape flicked his wand and the door swung open. At first the Boggart was a red-headed woman, vaguely pretty. Snape paled but directed a Riddukulus at it. It turned to the moon, don't know why it would do that, and Lupin said the same spell then it turned to HIM.
I froze and the Boggart came to me, its hands stroking its crotch as it crooned what it wanted to do to me. I shrank away waiting for the invasion that would occur... had occurred all summer long. I heard a sob and thought it was from me, but when I looked around, Snape had his eyes covered and Lupin was expelling the Boggart. When Snape finally looked up, his eyes were moist, and his face was grim. "Mr. Zabini, you will go to the hospital wing and await me there. If you do not, I will hunt you down and carry you like a child, is that understood?"
So, after I left, I guess the two professors talked to each other and came up with this way to torture me. Snape's warded the diary so only he and Lupin can read it and I can't destroy it. They say it's for therapy and for the trial, so I won't have to speak. (1)

"I hope you found what you were looking for, Potter." Blaise Zabini stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his amputated limb startling to the eye. Even though Harry had seen it before, he could never get used to such a grim reminder of the war they had fought. Zabini strode to him, his hand held out.

Harry handed him the book and said apologetically, "I thought it might be... Sorry, I shouldn't have read it. I just thought that it was Snape's."

Zabini's angry expression hardened, smoothed into that perfect Slytherin mask. "It's ancient history."

"So, did they bring him to trial? Your stepfather?" Harry asked into the void that fell between the two men.

Zabini flipped the pages of the journal restively against his arm. "No. My dearest mother took care of him. She had a way of losing wealthy husbands to unavoidable tragedy."

"If it makes you feel any better, it happened to me too. Not the sexual abuse, but you know." Harry said. "It may be ancient history, but it does tend to colour your outlook, doesn't it?"

"You? Perfect Potter?" Zabini asked, his voice belying his disbelief. "Who would dare abuse The Boy Who LIved?"

"My family. My aunt and uncle couldn't stand the thought of... well, of me." Harry felt the old rage and pain well up. It was a scar that would never heal, much like the curse scar he bore from when he had defeated the Dark Git the first time. "I am sorry about reading that. I know it was private, but Snape... You think if I had gone to him, do you think he would have, you know, done something for me?"

"Yeah, I do," Zabini said after a moment. "Not many people know this, but he took care of quite a few of the students whose homes were less than stellar. You remember that Ravenclaw, Cho Chang?"

Harry felt his face colour. "Yeah."

"Well, let's just say that Cedric Diggory wasn't her first. There was a family friend who molested her," Zabini's brow drew down in a fierce scowl. "When Snape found out, there wasn't much left of the man's bits."

"What about Pansy? Did Snape take care of whoever it was that molested her?" Harry's question had the air of authority, the one he used in interrogations.

Zabini's slow smile might have been frightening to some as he turned it on Harry. "No. He met his end after the war."

"Ah." Harry did not say more.

Zabini asked, "How long did it take you to break the wards Snape's quarters?"

"There were no wards to break," Harry answered. "I just used an unlocking spell and the door swung open. I was a little surprised actually."

"Everything he does surprises me." Zabini stood from where he had taken a seat next to Harry. "I wonder if he meant for you to be the one to come in here first."

"Why would he want me in his quarters?" Harry asked. "He hated me."

Zabini shot him an unreadable look before he said, "Follow me, Potter. There's something I think you need to see."

&*&*&

Stella Cadeaux was in the middle of studying for her midterms in Zoology at Oklahoma State University when she was struck by a vision. It was well past one in the morning, but the image persisted of two men discussing her father in a dark, musty room. She went to the fireplace in her dormitory room and threw some Floo powder into it. "Severus Snape's potions lab."

She knew she had a good chance of catching him at work. Toni always complained about his odd work hours, but Stella knew why he didn't sleep much, and so did Toni, for that matter. He still had the night terrors that all warriors had after they came back from the war. He probably always would.

Her father's severe face came through the flames. "What is it, my dear? Do you need money?"

"Daddy!" She laughed, "I don't just contact you for that... but if you have any to spare, there's a potion I wanted to try to make for a..."

"I know, a wheezy Kneazle or a rabid Jarvey. I shall send you some tomorrow." His features softened. "What is it then?"

"I think...," she began, but bit the words off. Her vision had been of two men, a dark-haired, green-eyed man, and a black man, the colour of her cousin's wife. They had been talking about abuse. "I think someone from England is going to be looking for you. I think a green-eyed man has... some things to say to you. You need to let him find you. It's important for both of you."

The Severus Snape of old would have withdrawn, become defensive if she had tried to tell him about England when they first met. Her daddy merely gave a curt nod. "I will consider it. Was that all?"

"I love you, Daddy," Stella answered brightly, "do you love me?"

"You are still an imp." Her father's face softened even as he insulted her. "Do well on your exam tomorrow."

"How do you do that?" Stella asked. "I didn't even tell you I had one."

"You don't need to," he said. "The ink on your cheek speaks volumes about your preoccupation. You always forget yourself when you have an impending exam."

"Oh," Stella answered. "Send Toni and the kids my love, Daddy. Joseph Pony and Char too. I'll be home for spring break before you know it."

"I shall convey your sentiments. Good night, my dear." Severus broke the connection, and Stella returned to the work at hand. She still needed to go over the nervous system before she would feel completely at ease for tomorrow's exam.
(1) From the story Forgiveness, by me.

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Letters From America