The Beginning of the End

The Beginning of the End

Albus Dumbledore's spindly instruments still cluttered tables around the headmaster's office of Hogwarts. His portrait, directly behind the heavy oak desk, occasionally still offered quiet advice, muttering encouragement or issuing warnings or gentle rebukes, but went largely unnoticed in these last few days. Things were out of control, and spiraling quickly, wildly, toward the inevitable confrontation. The very air was heavy with tension and malevolence, and he knew he was going to be sucked under, once and for all, very soon.

Sitting uncomfortably straight behind the headmaster's desk, Severus Snape raised his wand to his temple and pulled away several strands of silvery thought, placing them in the pensive in front of him. As they swirled in the dark liquid like heavy metals, he allowed a half smile to arise before he gave in to his final act of self-preservation, and allowed himself to review his memories, and regain his strength for what was to come.

March 1969

It was the house he grew up in; dark, dank and filled with the sickening scent of mold. He glanced around, noticing the absolute lack of anything cheerful in the room. A desk, every inch covered with papers, books and ink stains, was in the corner, and on a bed covered with a dirty quilt lay a pale boy in rumpled clothing, his nose in a book. A sudden pang of resentment hit him, but he swiftly set it aside at the sound of a voice from his past.

"Severus! Come watch what I can do!"

The nine year old Severus on the bed sighed heavily, allowing the book he was reading to fall heavily and dramatically against his chest at his younger sister's call. "I'm reading!"

Around the corner of the door the top of her head came into view, then her bright, dark eyes shining happily as she looked in on him. "Oh, Severus, come look. Please!"

"You are nothing but a nuisance," he said to her, playfully weary, completely without menace. "I suppose you won't shut up until I come."

"Not a chance," she replied, and the smile in her voice, as clear in his mind as it ever had been on her lips, caused the adult Snape to put his hand on his heart, pounding in his chest.. "So come on."

The two Snape children, both identically dark haired and dark eyed but one tall, thin and sickly looking, the other small, delicate and beautiful, walked hand in hand out the back door of their house, silently creeping past their mother, who wept as she stirred a pot on their outdated stove. In the small and miserable garden, withered plants in broken pots lay scattered across the brick patio. They walked out the back gate and the small girl pulled her brother along behind her by the hand, into the cluster of trees that separated their house from the neighborhood's shared playground. A collection of various items was gathered on the ground at the base of a large tree; a dead sparrow, an uprooted geranium plant and a neat pile of leaves were stacked side by side, and the girl sat in front of them without ceremony or explanation. Severus, frowning, sat beside her and watched without question.

"I know we're supposed to use wands, but I don't get one for ... how many years?"

"Five more, of course. I'll let you use mine, though, when I get one."

"I wish Father hadn't broken Mother's."

Severus smirked and nudged her. "She'd never let you use it."

"Let? Hadn't thought about asking her for it. Might have nicked it, though."

"Nicked? Where did you hear a term like that, Persephone? Sounds very ... muggle. I wish Father hadn't insisted on sending you to school with those people."

Persephone glanced up at him, matching his smirk with her own. "Ah, they aren't so bad, really. No wands, though."

"Silly thing. Show me your tricks, and let me go back to my book," he said, not really wanting to leave her company.

Her smirk transformed into a smile and she nodded solemnly, putting her hands out in front of her and closing her eyes. Within seconds, the broken feathers on the bird's body began mending and the emaciated form to fill out, and the sparrow's eyes fluttered open. The geranium roots began to plump and stretch toward the ground, easing into the soil and slowly beginning to upright the plant. The girl opened her eyes slightly and gestured slightly at the leaves, which turned immediately from dried brown fragments into full, green foliage and began to spread along the ground.

Severus sat silently beside his sister, trying to decipher the meaning behind this ability. Certainly she was a talented, precocious child, but to consciously control her abilities and willfully redirect life back into these things meant that she was more talented than he had suspected, and perhaps more talented than he himself. Instead of being jealous, as was his nature, he felt suddenly afraid for her, afraid that their father would find out, and punish her, just for being what she was: a witch.

After a long silence, she said softly, without looking at him, "I was thinking, Sev, that the next time Father gets angry, I can help you. I can keep him from hurting you, I think - "

"No! You can't!" he snapped, far more viciously than he'd intended. "Persephone, if he knew you could do this, if Mother knew, they'd be more afraid of you than they are of me. I'll take what he dishes out - but we have to keep you a secret, remember? Don't help me. Promise."

Still not looking at him, she shook her head. "I'll have to help you, Sev. I saw it. And he won't be able to hurt me, not the way he hurts you. I don't think the man would let him."

"What man, Seph?"

"The skeleton man, of course."

This was not new to their conversations. Since she was able to talk, Persephone had chatted to a man only she could see, a skeleton in a black cloak. As they lay side by side under his bed one evening while their father raged drunkenly at their mother, she had explained, "he isn't exactly a skeleton ... just more like a man who forgot to put on his skin. He isn't scary. He tries to be funny, but he isn't very good at it." He had encouraged her to keep quiet, but she would begin talking to someone only she could see during meals, or while playing, or even in her sleep, and there was no stopping her. It was, their father thought in an extraordinarily rare parental burst of gentleness, the wizard equivalent of an imaginary friend to which he paid little attention other than to think it somehow charmingly normal and non-magical. Their mother, however, knew enough that wizarding children rarely had to invent imaginary friends, and that those who saw them at young ages tended to be rare, and troublesome. As soon as Severus began to believe there was something more to it than an avid imagination, he had managed to convince her that their father might turn his anger on her if he guessed that she was a witch, and having seen enough of his rampages, she finally gave in to his pleas and stopped talking aloud when her parents were close by. Severus had encouraged her to tell him all her secrets, to make him her only ally, her sole comfort and protector, and to allow their mother to sink into her despair alone. The girl, young though she was, had understood his reasoning and had willingly placed her full confidence in her older brother. In almost all situations, it was to him she looked for direction and guidance, it was to him she went for comforting when she fell or when other children were cruel, it was her brother who, in her eyes, made the sun come up in the morning to greet her and who put it to bed alongside her at night. And in all his miserable, short life, he had one glimpse of joy, and it was in his sister's pure and unwavering devotion, and in his to her.

"Never mind the skeleton man, Seph. I want you to promise that you won't try to help me with Father. Swear it."

"Oh, it was just a dream, I guess." Her smile had faded into the solemn, thoughtful look than seemed to be her only alternative. She was a child who never appeared sad or angry, only brightly cheerful and happy, or pensive and lost in thoughts that were far too big for her age. She stood abruptly and turned away from him, saying quietly, "I just wanted you to know."

She started to walk away but he reached out and took her hand. "Tell me you won't try to help me. It's really important for you to stay safe. Promise!"

"Why isn't it important that you stay safe? Who will love me if something happens to you?"

To this he had no answer and he shook his head desperately, trying to think of a reply that would sway her once and for all. "I can take care of me, Seph. And nothing is ever going to happen to me that is going to keep me from loving you and taking care of you."

For once a hint of disbelief and sadness flickered in her dark eyes as she tilted her head and smiled at him. "One day, it will. Not for always, but for a while. But it's okay, Sev, you come back. And I'll help you when I can."

"You saw it?"

She nodded.

"Sometimes it isn't real, what you see. Sometimes it's just a dream."

She raised an eyebrow. "Like the skeleton man."

"Yes."

She smirked, and the Snape watching the scene was startled to realize how familiar the expression on her face was - and how it mirrored the expression he so often wore. "But he is real, you know. He talks to me, and sometimes he sings to me. He has a funny voice. If he weren't real, he wouldn't have such a funny voice. I couldn't think of that voice. And he doesn't lie to me, I'd know. He told me to help you if I could, and that I would be able to save you one day. But I can't see that far, it makes my brain hurt."

Young Snape nodded. "There. You see? One day you can help me, but not yet. Not while you're so small, okay? It will make it harder for me to protect you, if they know how strong you are. It will make them angrier. When you're big."

"Like you?"

"No, not like me. Bigger. When you're able to go to Hogwarts. That big. But you wait until then, yes?"

Reluctantly she nodded. "When I'm big."