From Spark to Flame

Prologue

Nine year old Severus Snape had never been what one would call an ordinary child. Sallow of complexion with lank black hair and large black eyes, he was quiet, serious, introspective, and vastly intelligent -- an intelligence which, unmatched amongst his peers, sometimes lent him a restive moodiness that quite often left him sullen.

He had only a few friends in the local primary school he attended, more often than not preferring his own company, but this lack of confederates had more to do with his intellect and carriage than his occasional dark moods and wickedly biting tongue. An extraordinarily alert student, he both baffled and delighted his teachers with a focus, vocabulary, and bearing well beyond his years -- a combination of traits which took him out of the realm of his peers and made him an outsider. They simply found it hard to relate to him...and he to them in turn.

There was also a rather unsettling trait in the young Severus that most of the children in his class experienced to some degree or other, which encouraged them to put a little distance between him and them. After all, one can never be entirely comfortable around a person who has the uncanny ability to know exactly what one is thinking about at any given moment.

Perhaps they might have been more inclined to stay close to him had they believed his claim - at age seven - that he could do magic. But they'd giggled and asked him pull a bunny out of Roy Morrison's woolly hat, and when he had frowned and told them he did not mean that 'silly fake magic'...but 'real magic,' Patrick Henry, a burly big-mouth who parroted his older brother slavishly, had scoffed at him, claiming there was no such thing. Severus was just about to prove him spectacularly wrong when his father's hand had closed about his collar and, with the class's laughter ringing in his ears, he'd been dragged home for a right leathering and two separate and very different style lectures from his parents on attempting to use magic in public.

He had sat, head bowed, resentful of every word, the residual throb of his father's belt across the back of his legs making it hard for him to accept what they were saying as just. He could do magic...it was part of who he was! Why couldn't he show people what he was good at? Especially when he was so good at it. His beloved mother had told him he was and that, though many other magically inclined children his age could barely control levitating a cup across a room, he knew spells.

He'd glanced up for a fraction of a moment at his railing father who was yelling furiously at him while his mother tried to calm him...a tiny surge of satisfaction ran through him as he reminded himself that he knew spells that not even they knew he could do. Spells he had no right to know or understand at his age. Spells that were for both convenience and...the glint of the heavy belt buckle attached to the hated belt caught his attention...for protection.

The lectures and punishments worked, for a time. But inevitably, his independent streak would shine through and he would not hesitate to use what gifts he had at hand to press home an advantage...or to teach another a lesson, taking a particularly deep satisfaction in the latter.

And so it was, one sunny June, near the grass-filled waste ground that constituted the playground for the local children of Spinner's End, that two well known bullies, who had just the day before destroyed several children's toys and one book belonging to the 'weird lad,' garnered two painful black eyes apiece. Albeit without anyone ever having touched them. As the pair of them were carted off to hospital, their eyes swollen shut and the neighbours abuzz, his mother had come to realise the time to take her son more firmly in hand had come.

Eileen Snape, nee Prince, was an excellent witch in her own right and like her son, quiet, reserved, and introspective, but she had taken the unusual step to put away magic to marry a prideful Muggle whom she loved. And though he was given to the moods that their son was also prone to, Tobias Snape could be an exceedingly personable and charming man. A good person in many ways, his downfall was his ego, taking every use of magic or suggestion of the use of it to aid them as a personal slight to his manhood. An unfortunate attitude on his part that grew worse over time as his personal fortunes decreased and his alcohol intake increased. By the time baby Severus had started juggling his toys without touching them, Tobias had come to resent the overhanging, oppressive, ever present 'out' they had for their impoverished state that was his wife's magical ability...and worse...his infant son's.

By the time his son was five, Tobias was so often in and out of work due in the fragile economy of the time that the mere mention of magic was enough to make his blood boil, every mention a reminder of his perceived inability to take care of his own family sufficiently well.

While they were poor, they were hardly starving. And if he had only taken the time to notice what he did have, rather than concentrating on what they didn't, he would have seen a hard working, loving, generous wife who would've contentedly traipsed across the world with him in abject poverty, and a son who was inordinately gifted in both Muggle and magical ways. Instead, though he loved his wife and child, all he saw were his own inabilities and inadequacies and so he drank and took everything out on them. His drinking reduced his ability to work effectively and his tirades made his family miserable, thereby creating a self-fulfilling prophecy of a situation -- so that with every passing year of this ever-increasing downward spiral, his ire grew more and more focused upon his son.

Knowing this, Eileen had taken a rare stand and confronted her husband, pre-empting any tirade or punishment against Severus by informing Tobias that, while of course their son had been wrong to do what he did, the boys had been bullies and it had been provoked. It had also proved that the danger of acting on impulse under provocation showed more than ever the folly of not teaching their son how to control his powers in a more constructive manner than by simply ignoring them.

Of course, it wasn't the truth. She had known from Severus's quietly smug answers about the incident that her son had been well enough in control of his powers the entire time. And it was that rather startling discovery, as well as the fact that there was no way he should have been able to cast that particular spell and yet had done so...never mind without a wand to focus it...that had forced her to make her stand.

Even taking in a mother's natural pride in her child, Severus was gifted and despite her promise to her husband about her own powers, Eileen would not see that gift wasted. She had finally, after much arguing, convinced his father to let the boy take a trip with her into her world. It was time, she'd told him firmly, for their son to experience the world he was obviously going to be a part of...to learn from it...so he could behave better in this world and be better prepared for the seven years he'd be in school. It would give him 'control' and perhaps it would be of benefit...and maybe brighten his mood.

So one month later, on a cloudy late July day and well out of sight of Tobias, Eileen took her son by the hand and Apparated them both to a queerly antiquated, bustling place she informed him was named Diagon Alley.

Needless to say, the boy was shocked. Shocked and...delighted. Well, as delighted as young Severus generally got, which seemed to be the equivalent of mildly intrigued.

He'd watched the people around him with keen eyes, scrutinized the odd and amazing stores they passed, and even felt a little awed by the casual use of magic around him. He also had to admit, he really liked the ornate suits and flowing robes the men wore and had decided they were much more impressive than his worn and patched jeans. For the first time in his life, there was a sense of real connection...of not feeling quite the outsider anymore. Finally, he was able to take an open pride in the fact that he, too, could do magic, without the equivalent of his father's baleful glare, wounding words, and belt hanging over him.

The final confirmation of having found a spiritual home arrived the moment his mother led him through the door into Flourish & Blotts.

He had stood there, staring as he held her hand, the tight squeeze-and-relax, squeeze-and-relax of his grip as he looked around telling a pleased Eileen just how much of an effect the place was having on her son. It had to be the most amazing shop he'd ever seen. So many books! The knowledge he could accumulate...the spells! His mother had smiled over the near-joyous wonder on her son's face and allowed him to wander off into the stacks.

He'd spent an hour merely taking in the titles, letting his small fingers run over the leather-bound volumes, actually able to feel the power that emanated from some, before summoning the courage to pull a tome from the shelf. Hidden deep within the narrow stacks, he had slipped to the ground and into a lotus position, balancing the book upon his legs as he began to read with wide, eager eyes.

Absorbed by the contents, he didn't notice that someone had approached, nor the soft voice above him that asked his leave to get by, his legs and the book upon them blocking the constricted passageway. It was only when he was physically stepped over, that his attention was drawn back to the present and he looked up with a frown at being disturbed, only to catch sight of something he'd been more drawn to than any book.

He was nine. Girls hardly registered on his horizon beyond smelling nicer, being less grubby, less inclined to either eat worms on a dare or try and push him around, and more inclined to listen when he talked. Despite his thirst for knowledge and the rather advanced view of the world it gave him, when it came to the idea of having a girlfriend...or worse...kissing one...he hadn't, up to that point, quite convinced himself that it wasn't the grossest concept since worm eating.

Looking up at her where he sat, however, the unappealing aspect of it hit the faulty concept bin in his head with a near audible thud.

She...was...beautiful. An earthbound angel, though he'd never tell her so. Small, a little skinny but not awkwardly so, graceful in fact, immaculately and richly dressed, with huge blue eyes and thick wavy chestnut brown hair, she was a few years older than him, twelve...maybe thirteen he'd guessed as she'd smiled at him while crossing over him, moving to retrieve a book from a shelf near his.

He'd watched her unwaveringly the entire time she stood there with all the direct unselfconsciousness of a boy his age and a nature such as his possessed. Watched her shift, scan a page, frown or smile slightly, exuding a serious studiousness, then turn the page, take a quiet breath, and repeat the process. By the time she closed the book and tucked it under her arm to move away through the stacks, he'd known without a shadow of a doubt...that this girl was the girl he would marry someday.

She was destined for him.

He had risen from his spot and slipped the book back into its shelf, following her and coming to stand beside her at the next shelf she stopped by, where he was favoured with another small smile as he drew a book whose title he was unaware of from the stack in front of him. They didn't speak, but his black eyes continued to follow her as she moved around the shop -- trying to find the words to converse with her while she remained fully focused on her shopping list.

When his mother called for him to go, he'd felt a pang of loss at the realisation that he did not even know the girl's name. Moving outside, he racked his brain to find an excuse...any excuse...to run back inside the store and ask her that one question...but could not find one. However, as he and his mother had stepped out onto the street, the doorbell of the bookstore jangled again and he'd glanced back to see her emerge behind them with her own somewhat regal, highly prosperous looking family.

It was then, as he loosened his mother's grip on his hand and finally got the nerve to turn and go to her, that all hell broke loose around him.

The year was 1969, a year that had seen the growing prominence in the Wizarding World of a dark wizard, his band of fanatical followers, and their equally fanatical agenda. An agenda dismissed by much of their world...so much so that they had taken to random though infrequent acts of violence to highlight their puritanical and megalomaniacal goals, while spreading fear and respect for their name, demonstrating that they were to be taken with the utmost seriousness.

Severus had never heard of Death Eaters...never even heard of dark wizards...other than in stories. And he'd certainly never heard the name Lord Voldemort and whatever his struggle for power and everlasting life entailed. He was just a nine year old boy visiting a world that would soon be his. One who could see a dark robed, masked man appear from nowhere along with a half dozen or so of his colleagues and in the course of the random mayhem that ensued, aim his wand at the little girl he knew he'd love all his days as she tried to flee with her family for cover.

Before his mother could stop him, he had broken the remains of his mother's hold on him. Screaming a spell at the nightmarish figure -- a spell he'd read in a book he knew he wasn't supposed to have read -- he pushed the girl to the ground with all his strength.

There were explosions everywhere, a fire burning nearby and people screaming all around. Yet as he landed on top of her, his eyes focused on hers -- deep blue...like the ocean...and even in their shock and fear, they held him silently for almost an eternity...capturing him in their depths and never letting go.

But the moment passed quickly, and then they were scrambling to their feet...the girl's father grabbing her arm and dragging her back into the shop...and a very angry Death Eater was holding a wand right in the boy's direction.

The masked man hadn't seen the Auror sneak up behind him...but then, neither did the boy. He did not fear death as the blast hit him...for he had seen an angel.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He'd woken up three days later on a ward on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the movement of his parents stirring him as they left his room to eat at the insistence of his father. Opening his mouth to call to them, his parched throat had fallen silent mid-croak on seeing his 'angel' sleeping in a chair by his bedside, a book in her lap.

Cataloguing his injuries, he'd noted first of all the blinding pain in his head and the absolute refusal of the rest of his body to respond to his promptings with anything more than a resolute ache. He'd supposed he'd been hit in the head by a Blasting Curse...although he ached too much to dwell on it. Instead, he'd spent the next half an hour simply watching the slumbering object of his young affections, committing every hair, every line, every inch of her to his memory...and when she'd awoken he'd finally found out her name.

Paidea.

"That means 'all things' in Greek," he'd told her croakily, for which he'd garnered an amused look from the girl.

"You're a funny little boy...how do you know so much?" she'd enquired without a hint of the arrogance or condescension that so often accompanied such words.

"Because I'm perspicacious," he'd replied as if it were the most obvious thing in all the world, his nine year old features carrying all the gravity of an Oxford Don. She'd blinked, stared at him, and then a laugh rang out around the room, the merry sound lightening his mood and helping to dull the pain in his body.

As it transpired, his perspicacity was proven when it was revealed to him that he had indeed been struck head-on by a Blasting Curse. Normally reserved for duellists who had instantaneous defensive measures to hand as well as being a safe enough distance away to help reduce the immediate impact, the curse at that range to his head almost certainly should have killed him. Even allowing for the deflection of the shot by the pre-emptive strike of the Auror upon Snape's attacker, the damage done to his head and shock to his central nervous system should have ended his young life.

Only the quick reactions of the Auror and Paidea's father, Perifanius Abernathy, who had witnessed the child save his daughter's life, had stopped that from happening. Grabbing the injured boy, he and the Auror had Apparated with him to St. Mungo's, whereupon Perifanius had brought his family's not inconsiderable wealth and influence to bear on ensuring the child's well-being, decreeing that whatever extreme measures were required to save the boy's life were to be taken, including the importation of exotic potion ingredients and personnel, and all costs would be underwritten by him.

It had been a testimony to the staff of St. Mungo's that Severus had lived, and a minor magical medical miracle that he had awoken just three days later with only massive contusions to the head and a jagged scar on his shoulder from falling unconscious onto a large shard of broken glass from the shattered window of Flourish & Blotts.

His mother had broken down in tears when she had discovered he'd awoken, his father, silent and unhappy, standing at her shoulder. Tobias had dealt with his fear for his son by subsuming it in anger, his hatred of magic fuelled even more by the entire incident. He had blamed his wife for having taken Severus to Diagon Alley. Playing unfairly on her guilt, he had proceeded to make his son's recovery room one of extreme discomfort, the air thick with the elder Snape's resentment of every Healer and magic user that arrived, including the obviously wealthy elder Abernathys, so that it hung like a dark cloud over everything.

But the silver lining had been considerable, for Paidea had stayed.

Despite her family's gratitude towards young Snape, they had felt their debt to him paid by saving his life in return through monetary efforts. But Paidea, the direct recipient of his sacrifice, had not. Cursory visits by her father and mother to visit the strange boy that had saved their daughter's life had seen their youngest daughter firmly alongside of them, the length of her visits growing ever longer while he lay unconscious. She had even managed to negotiate a set of terms with her parents that would allow her to stay those long hours in return for a house-elf remaining with her, and thus Paidea would leave for home at the same time every evening and return to the hospital with her house-elf the following morning.

Upon his recovering of consciousness, she and Severus spent the next week and three days simply talking, every moment of it, the most comfortable he had ever been with another person outside of his mother. It was strange, she was older than he, came from one of the great magical family lines, and attended the exclusive Beauxbatons school in France as a second year, and yet even at his age, he seemed to have a stronger grasp of magical theory and a far stronger interest in magic than she.

No, her magic lay in another direction altogether.

She could relax one, make that person feel vital and important, and more importantly, that she understood them. When she spoke with someone, it was like there was no one else in the world except for that person. It was a natural and exceptionally powerful gift. He found himself confiding things to her, telling her things when they were alone that he had never told anyone, including his mother.

And yet, like all good things, their time together was short-lived. Before she left, the day before he was due to be discharged, he presented her with a gift. Something his mother had presented to him when he first began to understand that he was different, telling him it was his now. Something that symbolised her family and the rare abilities that they and he possessed -- a locket...her only heirloom and the only truly precious thing he'd ever owned. The only thing he had that was his to give. The only thing he felt was worthy of his angel.

She'd tried to refuse it...especially on seeing his mother start at the offer. She'd pleaded that it was too precious...too valuable to give to someone he'd just met and that he had already done so much. But he would not be dissuaded...and his mother could say nothing, telling him the day she gave it to him that it was his as the heir to the Prince bloodline.

So to keep from offending him, the girl relented and promised him that she would wear it every day for him.

When they parted, he'd given her the most stoic of farewells before turning to his mother and telling her not to worry about the locket...that she would see it again within the family, for in his mind, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that one day Paidea Abernathy would once more walk into his life.

And that when she did, he would not let her go so easily.