Endings and Beginnings

"Mr. Snape?" called a pleasant feminine voice.

Snape's head snapped her way.

"Yes, Miss Christie?" he replied, folding his arms in front of him.

"Severus certainly hasn't changed," the young lady thought as he looked down at her from his intimidating height.

Dasom took a deep breath and began.

"Next week is Albus's birthday, and we Order members want to throw him a little party. Do you think he's up to it?" she asked.

Snape studied her for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "A St. Mungo's healer can't even discern her patient's condition?" he sneered.

Dasom fought back the urge to speak sharply to the man. "Remember," she told herself, "don't take it personally. This is Snape-do you actually expect him to be nice? Besides, he's voluntarily doing a job that's rightfully yours."

"---healers at least to pay attention," Snape said, putting particular emphasis on the last two words. He was quite disappointed to see that the girl had steeled herself enough not to flinch.

Dasom answered politely, "He seems fine to me, but since you're here all the time you would have a better idea about his stamina than I."

"And I have to take care of him on Monday," Snape added pointedly.

"Exactly," Dasom said, refusing to rise to the bait.

Snape regarded the girl with his depthless black eyes. His expression was guarded and calculating. His gaze was enough to make anyone nervous, but his eyes were so beautiful. They seemed to swallow everything and everyone. Dasom shook herself. She certainly couldn't afford to start thinking like that.

"I think he could perhaps withstand a party," Snape snarked.

Withstand. What a choice of words that was, and how very Snape.

"...as long as any children in attendance are properly restrained," he finished.

Only Snape would refer to restraining children as if they were animals.

"Yes sir," said Dasom. "Thank you. I shall inform the others." She pushed the door to Albus's rooms open.

"Dasom?" Albus called merrily. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Albus! Coming!" she answered, disappearing through the doorway.

Snape went to his own rooms intent on getting a good weekend's sleep. He sincerely hoped Miss Christie wouldn't expect him to go to this party.

Severus woke up early that Monday morning. Usually he would sleep until Dasom knocked on his door, indicating the change of guard at Albus's side. He wondered at himself sleeping so late. He remembered when he would stay up all night prowling the Hogwarts halls for rule breakers. He wondered at himself for his laziness. Maybe he was just getting old.

He glided silently down the hall and entered Albus's sitting room when he heard the light sounds of Miss Christie moving around in Albus's bedchamber. He positioned himself in the shadows where he could see clearly into the other room. Against the flickering of a single candle he saw the figure of Christie standing over Albus adjusting his bedcovers.

"Goodbye, Grandpa," she whispered, bending over to kiss the sleeping form.

Dasom tiptoed out of the bedchamber and closed the heavy oak door. Her eyes flew open as she discerned the dark figure in the shadows, his pale, stern face glowing in the dim light that came through the doorway from the hall. He had heard her. Her heart hammered in her chest as if she was a student who was breaking curfew and had just been caught. "Relax," she told herself. "You're and adult now, and he bloody well can't give you detention."

Snape, in his severe black frock coat, was standing legs apart, arms folded, glaring at the girl.

"Explain yourself," Severus demanded icily.

"I don't understand, sir," Dasom replied.

"Like hell you don't," Severus said.

For a moment that seemed like an eternity they stood regarding each other in silence.

"Your last comment to Dumbledore," Snape said, widening his eyes. "Are you truly a descendant, or was that merely an inane term of endearment for a sleeping old man?"

Dasom's breath caught in her throat. She looked down at her neatly pressed lime-green healer's uniform. She suddenly felt disheveled even though she was freshly washed and dressed. For fourteen years she had always been careful in her address of Albus Dumbledore. In school he had always been "Professor" or "Headmaster". After she graduated he had always been "Albus". Since the Dark Lord's defeat she had begun calling him "Grandpa" again in private. Now Snape had heard. Even though she owed him a huge debt of gratitude she still had a hard time trusting him. Still, he deserved an explanation.

"Actually," she said reluctantly, "Albus is my great-great grandfather."

"Indeed," said Snape dubiously.

"Yes, sir. Albus thought it best during Voldemort's reign that no one should know."

"The wizarding community is very small," said Snape. "How is it that no one would know?"

Dasom sighed. She was sure that Snape was enjoying her discomposure.

"Shall we sit down?" she asked. She and Snape sat in the old overstuffed chintz chairs in front of the fireplace. She felt like getting up and flooing away right then, but she realized that Snape would merely step through and retrieve her. Even if he let her go this time he'd be waiting when she returned. There was no escaping his questions now. She took in his long, folded legs and the long, elegant hands as he steepled his fingers in front of his face, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. But it was his eyes that compelled her to speak again.

"What do you know about Dumbledore's family?" she asked Snape, fully expecting to be reprimanded for her impertinence.

"His granddaughter died in the war with Grindlewald, ending the family line," said Snape.

Dasom smiled. "That's what Albus wanted everyone to believe. Instead, my grandmother married my grandfather, and they went into hiding. Albus was their secret-keeper. They had my mother then. When she went to Hogwarts no one associated her with Dumbledore because she had a different name. When I was born Voldemort was rising, and the familial connection still required secrecy. Before I left to Hogwarts, I had it drilled into my head that my great-great grandfather was to be addressed only as 'Professor' or 'Headmaster'. I was never again to refer to him as "Grandpa" until Voldemort and his followers were permanently gone."

Dasom was looking serious and a little sad when she finished the explanation and fell silent. He studied the girl. She was slight of build with high breasts and a youthful face. Except for her tired and serious demeanor he would have mistaken her for a Hogwarts student. Her hair was long and blonde. Her face was unremarkable except for her big, light blue eyes. With a start Snape realized hers were Albus's eyes.

"If you are indeed Albus's granddaughter, why did you not take this responsibility?" Snape asked silkily. He knew he had her. He waited for her to reply with one raised eyebrow and an intense look in his eyes.

"The job was taken before I had a chance to ask for it, wasn't it?" Dasom asked softly. She struggled to regain her self-control.

"You could have asked me," said Snape.

"I would have lost my job, sir," Dasom said, trying hard to keep control of her anger.

"Oh, yes," mocked Snape. "You couldn't afford to lose your precious job."

"Actually I couldn't," answered Dasom, teeth gritted. "I'm not particularly rich, and I don't plan to live off Albus."

"I don't see why you shouldn't. You are sure to inherit it all someday anyway," Snape said snidely.

Dasom counted to ten before responding. "I don't care about Albus's money. I care about Albus. I also care about the patients and staff of a hospital that's been operating with a skeleton crew since the Dark Lord's downfall and the Ministry's funding cutbacks."

"In other words you can't bear to give up your space to one of the hundreds who have been laid off since the end of the war," Snape said.

Dasom was becoming furious. Imagine having to defend her career to this chauvinistic Neanderthal. She breathed and collected herself. She wasn't going to lose her composure for HIM.

"Most of those people were never properly trained. We took on anybody with a modicum of talent just to handle the sheer volume of patients, especially towards the end." Dasom forced her breathing to stay even.

"That sounds like an excuse to me," Severus said, the corner of his mouth twitching. He could feel the anger rising under her smooth exterior.

Dasom said in a low voice, "Really. Would you like to trade places, Mr. Snape? Would you like to work my seventy-two hour shift? Maybe you would like to take on all three of my seventy-two hour shifts these next two weeks. Maybe you'd like ten cantankerous patients instead of just one agreeable one."

Snape was ready with a comeback, but he stopped. Dasom was losing her cool at last. Her eyes were full of icy fire. She was sitting stock-still, but Severus could feel the waves of anger underneath. This was just the tip of the iceburg, he thought. If she let go he was sure her fury would match that of her great-great grandfather in his salad days. There was certainly no doubt that the two were related.

"Would you like some breakfast before you return?" Snape asked politely, ringing a bell for Winky.
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