Casting Shadows

Chapter 7

A Struggle

Celsus ran into the kitchen and threw his arms around Ella's waist. "Mum, Seffie's frightening me!"

Ella laughed in surprise but was cut short as her son squeezed her tightly and pressed his face into her robes. Instinctively, her hand rose to stroke his hair in comfort, and movement outside in the orchard caught her eye. Persephone was leaning against the apple tree munching on one of the many fruits that weighed down its branches, and she was staring at them with a cold, calculating look in her eyes. Perturbed, Ella watched her and Persephone dropped her eyes, putting her hand to her forehead as if in pain before falling to her knees.

"What did she say to you, Celsus?" Ella demanded as she broke free from him and headed for the door.

"I don't know," he grumbled, trailing after her sulkily. "I couldn't understand her, it was Latin or something."

By the time Ella reached her, Persephone was lying on the ground with her knees drawn up to her chest, mewling pitifully.

"Seffie! Seffie, what's wrong?" she asked urgently.

"It hurts, Mummy! I wanted to stop but I really wanted to do it too, and now it hurts! Make it go away, Mummy!" the girl sobbed.

Her face white and drawn, Ella turned to Celsus. "Fetch your father, Celsus! And hurry!"

***

"Dark magic, Persephone? Tell me, what makes you believe that you are capable of practicing dark magic?"

Snape's tone was conversational, his words almost casual, but Persephone knew better. He was furious with her. She felt a tell-tale prickle behind her eyes but she would not let herself cry. It wasn't her fault and she wasn't going to apologise. There was something wrong with her, she knew that because she had overheard them on the night of her return. It was Voldemort that made her do it, and when she'd fought it, he'd hurt her. She deserved her father's sympathy and his help, not his disapproval. She wanted him to enfold her in the warmth of his cloak and kiss the top of her head, talking to her softly so that she could feel the low rumble of his voice through the layers of wool.

She bit her lip and mumbled, "Read it in one of your books."

"What did you say? Speak up, girl!"

"I said, I read it in one of your books."

"The operative description being, 'mine', wouldn't you say?" he countered, arching a brow. "Persephone, much as I welcome your enthusiasm for learning, I have to question your methods. You are eleven years old!"

"Well, Remus told me that when you arrived at Hogwarts when you were eleven, you knew loads of dark hexes! And you used them too!"

"Don't answer back, girl! And don't interrupt!" he snapped. Seeing her subside into sullenness, he continued more gently. "You do not have the necessary skill to differentiate between good and evil. That only comes with - experience. Hard-earned experience. Ah, perhaps we have indulged you too much. We should have paid more heed to your choices of reading material."

"I read them in secret," Persephone shrugged defiantly. "I've been sneaking into your study. I found the secret shelf last year, you didn't hide it very well."

Snape found himself lost for words. He looked at his daughter's face, flesh of his flesh, and was amazed. With her green eyes now downcast and her long lashes dark against her milky white skin, he could see little of her mother in her. She was all Snape, dispassionate and assured of her Fates-given right to learn what she would, when she would. Too young and foolhardy to appreciate the consequences.

He chose his next words carefully.

"And if you had succeeded in casting the spell...what would have happened to your brother?"

"He would have been fine!" Persephone insisted. "You or Mother would have fixed him!"

"What was the spell, Persephone?" he repeated, trying to keep himself from leaping from the bed and spitting out his question.

She rolled her eyes. "It was a simple variation of the leglocker curse, that's all! His legs and feet would have fused together, it would hardly have hurt him at all!"
"That is hardly the point, Persephone. Your mother and I have brought you up better than that. I am becoming more disappointed by the minute."

"Fine! Leave me alone, then! I can stay in my room and think about what I've done, can't I?"

"Be sure that you do," he said icily, and swept from the room, not trusting himself to continue their discussion.

***

Snape walked into the library and closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh. A welcoming fire crackled in the grate, its flames licking upwards into the flue, its orange glow silhouetting the figure that stood waiting.

"How is she?" Ella asked quietly.

"I wish I knew," he admitted matter-of-factly. "One minute she is unrepentant, even trying to justify her behaviour, while the next...the next, she is our daughter again and nothing more."

"Oh, Severus!" Ella took three steps towards him and slipped her arms around his waist, looking up into troubled black eyes where heedless shadows danced. "What are we going to do?"

He allowed her to hug him for a brief moment before extricating himself from her embrace and sitting down in one of the leather armchairs that stood beside the fire. He knew that she would not appreciate what he was about to say and thought that a little distance between them might render his words easier for him to bear.

"I believe..." he started carefully with a glance towards her, "Poppy suggested that St Mungo's - "

"No! Never!"

Snape sat back in his chair to listen to the expected rebuttal, steepling his fingers.

"I will not have our daughter sent to that place as if she were a - a lunatic, or a criminal, or both!"

"My love, that is precisely what she might become if we allow her to carry on as she has been. Don't you see? She carries within her blood the life force of a lunatic and a criminal, and it will continue to assert its malign power over her admirably strong free will unless we can find a way to counteract it!"

"Then why haven't you found a way?" Ella flashed back at him.

Stung, he fell back into the habit he had thought broken years ago, that of retaliation without thought.

"Funny, I always thought that miracle cures were your speciality - or are you now so sanctified that Persephone should be cured simply by basking in your presence?"

"You heartless bastard! How dare you?" Ella was poised to strike him but his hand grabbed her arm and he rose to his feet even as she tried to twist away from him.

"Ella," he began in exasperation. "Ella, I'm sorry. I apologise, I ought not to have said that."

She turned on him, about to rail against him once more, but suddenly the fight left her and her shoulders slumped.

"Severus, I'm scared. My little girl's gone and there's nothing I can do about it," she said hopelessly. "There's absolutely nothing I can do!"

He held her then and they stood silently, each lost in their own thoughts. Ella was the first to speak again.

"St Mungo's couldn't do anything for her, Severus. They'd lock her up. They wouldn't try to cure her."

"I know."

"Then why would Poppy even suggest such a thing? And why would you even entertain the idea?"

"Because one of these days we might have to accept that we're losing her, Ella."

***

Thirty-two flowers on the ceiling rose. They were all still there, plaster flowers whose detail had been dulled by layers of paint, years of covering the cracks. She could see one, though, all the same. Small, hairline imperceptible from a distance. But if she stood up on her bed, on her tiptoes just inches away from the light, it would be far more noticeable.

Of course, the house had been standing for years and the crack was just settlement. There was no real likelihood of the whole house falling down; but it still reminded her of her parents. She wondered how much of a crack there would need to be in their marriage before the family was rent asunder. She wondered whether anyone noticed how strained they were around one another.

Persephone noticed, and she minded; but only sometimes. Since her return, they all seemed to dance around one another, never quite telling the truth. She knew it wasn't her fault, of course; she didn't ask to be abducted. Nevertheless, there was a monster within her now and every so often her blood would run cold and baleful and she would hear shrill laughter deep within her soul. It would bubble up inside her, burning acid through her gut and up into her chest, and she would let it erupt exultantly, riding terrified on the wave of maleficence until it subsided leaving her breathless and intrigued.

What would it be like, to succumb? Would it be glorious? She rather thought that it would, but she feared it and knew she was right to do so. If she gave it the free reign she knew it sought, it would consume her and leave her no more than a husk, in all outward appearances Persephone Snape still, but with a dead soul. She didn't think she would like that very much. Unfortunately, she no longer believed that her father could simply wave his ebony wand and make everything all right. He was fallible, after all, and her recent realisation of that disturbing fact had thrown everything into doubt.

She sighed. Things had changed so much of late, and her most of all. Soon she would be going to Hogwarts, something she had looked forward to for years, and yet now she found herself almost dreading it. To share a dormitory with several other girls, to see her mother only at weekends, to call her father Professor Snape and accord him the respect due to someone of his reputation...it would all seem so strange. At least when she came home, she reminded herself, there would still be thirty two flowers round the ceiling rose; and hopefully the cracks wouldn't be any the worse, without her to cement them all together.

***

Ella lay awake and alone, wondering when her husband would come to bed and whether she minded if, as had happened so frequently of late, he did not. She had left him in the library, where he had been intent on poring over an arcane textbook on permanent loan from the restricted section of Hogwarts' library. She had offered to help him in his search for an antidote for Persephone's infection, but he had demurred and she knew better than to press him. They worked well together, had done from the early days of their acquaintance when Headmaster Dumbledore had thrown them together in a most unsubtle manner to work on a comparison of Muggle and magical herbal remedies, but there were times when her presence was not required. He would never actively discourage her attendance, it was true, but then he did not need to. She knew him exceedingly well.

Sometimes it was easier to be on her own. Oh, she loved him, he was her life's mate and she feared losing him more than she did her own flesh and blood, her children; but at the same time he frustrated her when he refused to understand the workings of her heart.

He rarely gave any credence to her fears. Earlier in their relationship he had been more demonstrative, she felt, as if were he not to cleave to her in all things then she would leave. He had been so emphatic in his devotion. She had been the centre of his world, for years. Now...well, now was relative, and depended on her mood.

Most of the time, Ella was a happy woman. She had a devoted husband, two perfect children who were living testaments to their love. She wanted for nothing, and she was content. However, there were times when a needling voice inside her head spoke to her of betrayal and boredom, over-familiarity and contempt. She could never identify the source of the voice but it sang a siren song and wore down her confidence as surely as waves lashing rocks. She thought it might be something to do with the irrational fears that had blighted their early life together, where she had been convinced that unless she took complete control of her environment and all the people in it, some calamity would befall them. She still felt that way, from time to time. It was a constant battle, and one that only part of her could ever win, for whatever facet of her character was the victor, the vanquished would still weep.

Severus had put up with so much, He had tried, as far as he was able, to understand; but she knew that he really had no clue how desperate she sometimes felt. From time to time, she managed to convince herself that the time would come when the shades would fall from his eyes and he would see his wife for what she really was; a controlling, manipulative, intrinsically selfish harridan. At times like these, she would see herself only in shades of the deepest black and any redeeming features she might have were nullified to the point of extinction.

She was worthless and unworthy of his love, and it was only a matter of time before he realised it.

He would ask her why, when her despair became so palpable that it sat spectre-like between them, and she would tell of her fears; but he would tell her simply that he chose her, adored her above all others and would never leave her. He saw her as a bright, blinding sun, filling his world with undreamed-of delight and suffusing everyone she met with warmth. He could not conceive of ever feeling differently towards her, which was why while he worried about the fragility of her mind he could in no way empathise or understand its workings. She worried about things that, in his eyes, could simply never happen, and he could not seem to convince her in such a way as to fully banish her fears.

Ella turned over on to her side and drew the coverlet around her neck, huddling beneath it and staring at the empty space beside her. She supposed that his very inability to comprehend her insecurity was, of itself, proof that her fears were groundless. She knew, or at least the larger part of her knew, that he loved her with a profundity that was rare and stronger than many people would enjoy in ten lifetimes. She ought not to need to convince herself of such an obvious truth, and particularly when their daughter's sanity was at stake. The fact that she did spoke volumes about her, really...she was selfish and thoughtless after all, and therefore undeserving of his love...it was only a matter of time before he realised it, and then her world would come crashing down about her ears...

She flung back the coverlet impatiently and got out of bed. Now was not the time to wallow in unwarranted self-pity. She crept out of the bedroom and along the short corridor that led to the children's rooms. The first door was ajar, and she poked her head round to see Celsus sprawled across his bed, his mop of curly brown hair a dark exclamation point against the white bed linen. He was fast asleep, and she felt a rush of affection flood through her.

Taking a step backwards, making sure to avoid the creaking floorboard, she advanced to Persephone's room. This door was firmly shut, as usual, and she turned the porcelain knob as stealthily as she could and pushed it open a little. Persephone was sleeping too, but fitfully. Her legs were twisting and tangling the blankets and her long black hair covered her face as she tossed her head from side to side. Concerned, Ella entered the room and went to sit on the side of the bed. Moonlight cast an argent pallor across the sleeping girl's face and Ella noticed iridescent beads of sweat line her brow. She traced her hand across Persephone's forehead to wipe them away and gasped as she caught a glimpse of crimson when her daughter's eyes fluttered open for an instant, recoiling from the recognition therein. If he could make his presence felt as she slept, then how long until he consumed her every waking hour, possessed her body and soul?