Author's Note:

This is the third part of my Oddball series, which deals with Severus's youth at Hogwarts. I started Oddball Pride (Year 1) after the fifth and before the sixth book, which means none of the three is HBP/DH-compliant. I am currently in the process of reuploading all chapters with minor (and sometimes major) amendments, the largest of which concern my somewhat half-hearted attempt of building Snape's canon parents into the story. Changed my mind about that. After DH, the whole thing is AU anyway.

ODDBALL FAITH
A series of events during Severus Snape's third year at Hogwarts.

Prologue

A cold wind had come up.

This, in itself, was not too unusual at this particular time of the year, especially not around the most Northern parts of the wizarding world. It was not cold as such, but there was a motionlessness in the air that kept many people indoors, particularly towards the country's windy evenings.

Almost all the lights had been extinguished inside McGillivray Manor as Colonel Lance Snape was moving towards the giant, black building and its standard security entrance doors. Calmly, with calculating movements - and without apparent hurry.

Devastating events in a man's personal life could turn his heart to stone. They could make him forget the world around him for some indefinite amount of time, could slow his actions, and sometimes... engrave marks of terror deep inside his soul, so that all happiness seemed gone forever.

They could, however, never defeat a Snape.

It seemed annoying, the Colonel found, that he had to knock several times before the front doors finally let him in, grudgingly, seeming to recall the last time they had refused to do his bidding.

'I do not approve of how you treat the manor's doors,' Minerva McGonagall had once said. 'They are my parents' only means of protection against potential wizarding intruders.'

It was her term for their kind. This was what she expected from her own people. Perhaps with justification. One never knew with teachers.

'I expect you have a good reason for calling at this time of the night,' said a voice that had not sprung from his imagination.

He turned.

'Indeed, Miss McGillivray.'

'McGonagall, Lance Brutus,' said the stern-looking witch, who wa now emerging from the gloomy depths of her downstairs corridor, a mischievous grin playing around her thin lips, he noted.

'I expect you derive pleasure from calling me by my father's name,' he said icily.

'I expect you might have learned to call me by my proper name after a six-year-marriage,' she replied.

'Topaz McGonagall is a fool,' said Lance, not taking his eyes off the lanky witch in her emerald nightgown. 'Just as he used to be, even before the divorce.'

'Why have you come?' was his opposite's weary reply. 'Not, I am sure, to have a go on my ex-husband?'

'No,' said Lance firmly, 'the matter I intend to discuss with you is of much more interest - and importance.'

The witch smiled this time, weakly. 'Well,' she said, 'why don't you come in then. I am afraid I cannot offer you anything exceptionally delicious, as Mawly is having her day off, but there is always tea, I suppose.'

The living-room looked very much as Lance remembered it. A broad, ancient-looking room with light curtains in front of a terrace window, dark green armchairs in front of a middle-sized fireplace - and a tartan carpet.

Lance took a good look around before finally settling down on an armchair between the fireplace and the window.

'Mawly is a servant?' he enquired, not without interest.

'Mawly is mother's House-Elf,' said Minerva tartly while settling down opposite his chair, summoning two cups and a pot of tea on the way.

'You are giving your House-Elf a day off?' said Lance with surprise.

'Some of them are comparatively thankful for an occasional break from work,' replied the witch sternly. 'And from their mistress, I expect. I would certainly insist on a day off if I was working for my mother on a twenty-four hour shift.'

She grinned. Lance wisely decided not to contradict her on this.

'Apart from that,' the black-haired witch went on, 'you fail to see that the House-Elves you got do know come from families that have been serving in more conservative wizarding households for centuries. Not all of them are as mislead, however.'

'You fail to see those creatures' true nature...' began Lance to explain, but Minerva interrupted.

'And you, Lance Brutus, fail to see what a thousand years of brainwashing can do. Although, being in the army, one might think...'

'Careful, Minerva! There are some things I will not tolerate.'

The Transfiguration teacher stopped, hesitated, and then nodded.

'Very well,' she said. 'You are probably right, these discussions never lead anywhere. You are too much of a pig-head to see reason.'

Lance had to admit that her sharpness surprised him.

'Back to topic,' he said after a moment's consideration about a suitable reply, cautious not to display these thoughts on his face. 'I have come for another reason, after all. I would like to discuss this year's dinner with you.'

Minerva frowned. 'The Christmas dinner? What do I have to do with your traditions?'

'They are our traditions, first and foremost,' said Lance sternly. 'Secondly, even if you wish to separate the pro-Dumbledore line from the rest of the family of purebloods, there is still your mother, who...'

'I thought you said you found his ideas quite valuable?' interrupted Minerva once more.

Now it was Lance's turn to frown. 'I said I believe them acceptable as long as he kept them within the limits of teaching,' he said. 'I still find that he constantly meddles in current politics, however, and that is a problem, which can no longer be ignored.'

'He knows better than most of those dunderheads at the ministry,' said Minerva coldly. 'And anyway, you cannot just separate people into who they support. Politics don't work like that.'

'I must apologise,' said Lance, 'but that is exactly how politics work these days. As a matter of fact, people seem to group around and look up to single leader-type people more and more often. There is finally movement in the old offices.'

'Yes,' snorted Minerva, 'as I say - brainwashing. Though in a different context.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I mean the way people keep pushing responsibility from one superior to the next,' said Minerva tartly. 'Ridiculous, really. To think we have been sneering at Grindelwald's supporters half a century ago... But just look at the way some people are treating Millicent Bagnold or Bartemius Crouch.'

'...or Albus Dumbledore, for that matter,' remarked Lance.

Minerva's eyes narrowed and her dark eyebrows pulled into one straight, black line. 'That is an entirely different matter!' she snapped. 'We think!'

'I find that Gryffindors tend to believe they are the only ones capable of maintaining a hierarchic structure without maintaining a certain autonomy,' replied Lance coldly.

Minerva sighed. 'Maybe,' she said. 'But the point is that I do. And many other people whom I believe far more considerate than almost any Ministry member these days. At least the upper levels. You ought to have learned whom you can trust by now, Lance. You ought to know you can trust my opinion in these matters!'

'If you are alluding to our discussion concerning my father...'

'I am not alluding to anything,' said Minerva sharply. 'I am trying to make you think.'

'Thank you,' said Lance curtly, unable to think of anything better to hold against her overconfidence.

'So what about the Christmas dinner?' snapped the Deputy Headmistress.

'I have come to talk to you about the dinner because as matters stand now it cannot be held at Grimauld place this year,' said Lance after a short moment's consideration. 'The reason being an acute Bundimun problem they are having over there. The whole place will have to be decontaminated and thus evacuated for a few months.'

'Rotten beasts,' mumbled his friend. 'They used to have them in the greenhouses at Hogwarts before Mandy took over. Infected dozens of pupils at the time.'

'Yes, an uncomfortable species,' replied Lance. 'Well, and as there is hardly any space for all of us at most people's places and Malfoy Manor only recently burnt down... yes, again. Don't ask me what that man is doing. I hear that his cousin is a bit off his... anyway, since we are in need of a suitable gathering place, your mother suggested that we should all meet here, in the old dining-room, to attempt a re-union of the lines.'

'WHAT?'

Lance realised that this would take a while.

'Certainly with a selection of people - the reasonable half, you realise - there is a possibility of getting everyone together again.'

'Since when are you interested in family unification?' snapped Minerva. 'What are you planning?'

'I am trying to prevent a permanent segregation,' replied the soldier coldly. 'As should you, Professor McGonagall.'

There was a short silence.

'You are extremely straightforward,' said Minerva after a short while. 'But quite correct in your observations. As so often. Whom are you planning to invite?'

Lance told her.

'How about Dumbledore?' was Minerva's first question after a brief discussion of more detailed matters. 'I expect you won't want me to invite him, do you?'

'I would prefer to avoid a direct provocation,' said the soldier, 'so - no. Unless you absolutely insist...'

'I'll be fine without a full evening's subliminal whispering or slander,' replied the Deputy Headmistress. 'And apart from that, I do not think he will have the time. I shall ask one of my friends around, if you do not mind, however.'

Lance nodded.

'My. Best. Friend,' emphasised Minerva.

Lance nodded again. Then, realisation began to dawn on him.

'Not that Herbology witch?'

'She won't want to miss it,' grinned Minerva, certain that Lance would not decline her only condition for the evening.

Lance felt his shoulders sag. 'If you think it necessary...'

'Excellent,' said Minerva lightly. 'That is settled then.'

Lance preferred to remain silent.

'Now, I wouldn't like to turn you out,' said Minerva quietly, 'but the day has been exceptionally work-filled. There is one thing left I have been meaning to discuss with you, however, wait a moment...'

She put one hand at her chin, stroking it pensively. Lance waited, patiently, until she had gathered her thoughts again.

'Oh yes,' said Minerva after a while, 'Severus. It had to do with his exam and...' she stopped once more. Lance wondered for a moment what might be the cause, but then sat back quickly and straightened his face, noticing that his eyebrows must have contracted to form an expression, which had silenced tougher people than Minerva McGonagall.

'Excuse me.'

'No, no. Do continue,' he demanded. 'The matter of Severus's exams is, admittedly, rather tiring. I expect he failed again?'

'Oh, no,' said the Deputy Headmistress a little too quickly, seeming a little too worried, 'nothing important. I'll discuss the matter over with your wife. At the dinner, maybe.'

Lance felt his face shut. Instantly. It was too close - yet.

'No, you won't,' he said, noticing that his voice was assuming a frosty note. 'She died last week.'

With a loud crash, the teapot in Minerva's hand fell to the floor and burst into pieces. There was a second's silence in which the black-haired witch stared at her opposite in horror. Then, she got up and made a step towards him, grabbing his shoulder without having to bend.

'Lance,' she said, her voice assuming a tone very different from her previous reservation, 'how did that happen? How on earth did that happen?'

'She killed herself,' mumbled the colonel, trying not to think of the sight that had awaited him the last time he had entered his own bedroom. 'Something to do with Severus. I don't know anything for sure, however. Haven't got anything out of him yet. But it seems he witnessed everything.'

Minerva put one hand before her mouth while getting out her wand with the other, at a snail's pace, to clean away the teapot's shattered remains.

'The boy... she died and he was there? Where is he now?'

'I locked him in his room,' replied Lance more forcefully than intended. 'He refuses to talk to me.'

'Refuses...' Minerva looked more and more shaken. 'You locked him in? After he witnessed his mother's death?'

'He clearly plays a part in it,' said Lance firmly, fighting against the urge to ask what had been nagging him for days now, 'but refuses to be of assistance. He takes the position of the convict in this case, and thus belongs locked in.'

'He is your son,' said Minerva, not taking up her usual façade of austerity for once, 'and he needs you. No matter what 'position' he might take in your eyes. Go home, take him into your arms, and wait until he speaks. Just wait. You can't force him, but you can show him you understand. It isn't difficult. Wait...' She got up and walked over to her shelf. 'He will speak,' she said. 'If you show patience towards him and his situation.'

'What are you doing there?' Lance heard himself say as though through a veil.

'I am looking for Miranda's volume on child psychology which she published last year,' was the off-hand answer. Lance blinked.

'Child psychology?'

'Why, yes,' said the Deputy Headmistress. 'You need to see that he is taken care of. I even suggest that you go and see a psychologist yourself.'

'Rubbish!'

Again, the words emerged Lance's mouth without his notice. All his reactions were still out of control. And suddenly he stopped thinking at all.

'I am sorry, Minerva,' he said brusquely, getting up from his seat by the fireplace, 'but I'll have to leave. Tomorrow's getting up is going to be early…'

The Deputy Headmistress turned in surprise, away from her shelf. 'But...'

Then she paused, seeming to take in his look. 'Very well,' she sighed, resigning. 'It is getting quite late, of course. Still,' she said, hesitating just for a moment, 'promise that you will think about getting professional help here, Lance.'

The soldier nodded. Curtly. There was no point in arguing with Minerva McGonagall once she had made up her mind.

'And do try and be patient with your son,' added the deputy headmistress. 'I'll be having a special eye on him once he returns to Hogwarts in September, but until then he needs any time he can get to recover. Do you hear me? Whatever you want to talk about... wait until he comes to you on his own accord. Or at least until he is prepared to talk again. Do you hear me, Lance?'

The soldier hesitated, then gave her a small nod. 'Thank you,' he said darkly. 'Thank you very much, Minerva.'

They walked outside.

'Will you be fine walking through the forest by yourself?' said Minerva softly.

'Please,' replied the Snape sternly, 'I am spending fifty percent of my time in the African jungle.'

'Just asking,' smiled Minerva. 'Politeness, ye ken.'

'Yes,' replied the Snape. 'A ken.'

With another short nod, kissing her cheek just a moment longer than intended, he took his leave. Through the forest that surrounded the manor, and then the Forbidden Forest, which marked the borders between all unplottable wizarding places. She was right, he mused. All this situation required was some time.