To whoever reads this: thank you for taking a look at my scribbles. I've had this hiding in a dusty part of my computer for years, but recently a friend encouraged me to get it out there and see what others would think of it. This is my very first try at fanfiction and also the first time I've published anything online. Quite frankly it's the scariest thing I have ever done - so please, judge kindly ;) If you have any questions or advice regarding my writing or this story, feel free to contact me :)
This is a Harry Potter Fanfic about Lucy Aislinn Snape, a little girl of six years old and younger sister to Severus Snape. At the beginning of the story we find ourselves in the spring of 1982, about half a year after the murder of Lily and James Potter. Lord Voldemort has fallen, the trials regarding the guild or innocence of suspected Death Eaters are in full force and Severus Snape, a young man of just twenty-two, finds himself taking charge of an endeavor he'd never imagined to take on.
Doe and Panther
Chapter 1.
I sat in the wild and neglected garden, hidden behind the fast growing thistles. Crouched down I looked at the dragonflies hovering at the surface of the pond, without paying attention to the fact that my skirt was dangling in the mud.
I knew the matrons couldn't see me here, hidden behind the musk thistles – this was my place, my secret refuge, where I occupied myself with my secret.
I had paid close attention to whether anyone else could do it too, but none of the other children seemed able to. Nobody seemed to be carrying a secret like mine, nobody bragged about tricks no one else could do and nobody acted any different than usual. So I hadn't told anybody and hid out in the wild of the garden at the pond, secretly enjoying a secret that was mine, and mine alone.
I held my hand above the water, my palm facing down. The water silently rippled in the soft breeze and the dragonflies buzzed curiously around my fingers. I ignored the insects and closed my eyes, concentrating until I could feel it tinkling in my fingertips. For a moment my fingers felt warm in the cool air – and then they felt wet.
I opened my eyes and smiled as pleased as punch when I saw the water that had come up, like a hand from water was reaching for mine. Five fingers were lying wet and cold against my own fingers, while the dragonflies were swarming around them. They didn't understand why the water came up, of course, and I giggled as I wriggled my fingers. The water-hand did the same, as if it was waving. When I touched the watery fingers they fell apart in a big wave, but the splash I had expected never came – the water simply wobbled silently, as if it wanted to keep my secret just as much as I did.
I could do more than just play with the water; flowers moved their petals when I touched them, and at times the wind blew just as I wanted it to. I could write in the sand without using my finger or a stick, and sometimes, if I wished for something, like the toffees of Mrs. Carlyle, I found them in my pocket a little later, without someone giving them to me or me taking them.
Somewhere I'd like it if the other children – or at least one of them – could do it too, so I could share my secret with someone and could hide behind the thistles with them, practicing our tricks, but because no one else seemed to be able to do it I kept it to myself.
I had told someone once, though, when I had just found out about the things I could do. I had been more than eager to tell Thomas, who had gone with his new family a long time ago now. He had been my closest friend ever since he came to the orphanage and we had always been together – but when I showed him what I could do with the water he had called me a creep and he refused to play with me ever again. When his new family came to pick him up I had tried to hug him goodbye, but he had backed away from me. That day I had decided not to show anyone who couldn't do it himself, in case I would frighten them, in case they might be jealous or in case the matrons would find out and perhaps would be angry with me.
I blinked my eyes when I felt tears coming up and rubbed them away with the back of my hand. The words Thomas had spat at me when we parted still sounded in my head as if it had only been yesterday, and I shook my head to silence them and to put them away. I didn't want to think of Thomas; not of the harsh way we said goodbye and not of the fun we had had before I'd tried to let him in on my secret. It didn't matter that I usually played alone since he'd left – I'd rather play alone that to have those words spat at me again.
"Lucy! Come in for a moment please, we'd like to have a word with you!"
Mrs. Primrose's voice ripped through my contemplation and I looked up, startled. Did she see what I did with the water? Had they noticed toffees missing from Mrs. Carlyle's jar? My heart suddenly beat high up in my throat and my hands were shaking as I wiped them off on my skirt. I sighed deeply as I saw the muddy splatter on the seam and hoped they wouldn't see that too.
"Lucy!"
'Yes, Mrs. Primrose, I'm on my way!' I hurried to reply. I got on my feet, checked one last time if I hadn't forgotten anything, and ran to the orphanage.
Inside Mrs. Primrose, Mrs. Carlyle and Mrs. Shankly were waiting in what we used to call the tidy room, where they welcomed the visitors.
I wiped off my feet on the doormat in the kitchen and tried to push a loose lock of hair back in my braids, before I took a deep breath and walked into the room. At least the orphanage's matrons weren't waiting in their office, I tried to calm myself down. If you'd done something wrong the matrons usually waited in their office, so perhaps there was nothing wrong at all.
"Sit down, Lucy," Mrs. Primrose said, gesturing to a wooden stool in front of them, and I sat down.
"We'd like to have a word with you for a moment," she continued, and I nodded, wondering what it was they wanted to have a word about.
The orphanage's matrons looked at each other for a moment and it seemed as if none of them knew what to say next. However, when Mrs. Shankly continued, she sounded as firm and steep as usual.
"We have a visitor that would very much like to meet you," she said – and I knew what that meant.
If we had visitors that would very much liked to meet a child, it meant that those visitors wanted to take the child home with them to take care of it. It happened quite often a child left the orphanage, but usually that were the younger children. The elder ones stayed at the orphanage, apparently the people who came visiting preferred a younger child. I had just turned six, and even though I had seen a lot of people visiting, no one had ever said they would very much like to meet me – they had always chosen the little ones.
I looked from Mrs. Shankly to Mrs. Primrose and finally to Mrs. Carlyle, and I didn't quite know what to say.
If the visitors that would very much like to meet me liked me, they perhaps would take me with them, and perhaps I should cry and beg if I could please stay in the orphanage – or perhaps I should be happy that someone wanted to give me a family?
I didn't know. I was so used to the little children being chosen over me, I couldn't imagine it would be any different this time.
Mrs. Primrose seemed to be taking my speechlessness for fear and smiled kindly from her nice, high-backed chair.
"Do you remember we told you that you were born here, and that your mother asked us to keep you with us until someone would come for you?"
Of course I remembered. After I had realized none of the matrons was my mother and none of the other children were my brothers or sisters, I had bugged the matrons about how I got here until they'd told me. Apparently my mother had come here when she knew she was expecting me, and I was born here. After that she had given me my names, Lucy Aislinn Snape, and she had asked the matrons to keep me here and take care of me, until someone would come for me and take me home.
I had often asked the matrons why she hadn't just taken me home with her herself, why I had to wait here for someone to come for me, but all they'd told me was that she couldn't take me with her. Why she couldn't, I had never known, and as time passed, it mattered less and less. No one had ever come for me as I lived a quiet and peaceful life at the orphanage, and after six years I didn't care anymore if someone would.
Only now someone had. No one said it out loud, but I could see it in the smile of Mrs. Primrose, and the way Mrs. Shankly and Mrs. Carlyle exchanged looks. I looked at them slightly hesitantly.
"Did my mother come back for me?" I asked carefully. I still wasn't sure what I felt, what the quiver in my voice was – fear or happiness?
Mrs. Primrose's eyes flickered swiftly to the other two matrons next to her, her smile slightly fading.
"No, dearie, not your mother," she continued a wee bit softer, as if she was afraid that would shock me. I didn't understand why it should – I had never seen my mother and sometimes the fairy tales Mrs. Carlyle used to read to us before bed seemed more real to me than the possibility that she would come back to me some day. It mattered little to me if she would or wouldn't be here today.
'The young man that has come for you is your brother', she continued – I did not miss how she replaced the careful "visitor who would very much like to meet you" with a much more straightforward "young man that has come for you".
My heart leapt to my throat again, though I still did not understand why.
Perhaps it was fear for what was waiting for me now, not knowing who this young man was, this brother, or where he would take me. Perhaps it was excitement; I had never known any life outside the orphanage, I had never had a brother… That surely offered new adventures to investigate. Or perhaps, it was the sole fact that someone truly had come for me now, after all those years in which I had come to believe it was all a fairy tale they had told me just to soothe me.
"He is waiting for you in the Tea Room," Mrs. Primrose said gently, bending forward a bit. "Would you like to meet him?"
What was I supposed to answer? I didn't know, I couldn't think of anything I should say. I simply took Mrs. Primrose's hand when she held it out to me, and went with her as she left the tidy room.
The Tea Room, which was also the Breakfast Room and the Dining Room, was empty. I could hear laughter coming from upstairs; apparently the other children were playing there, and I wondered if the matrons told them to keep away from the Tea Room.
Mrs. Primrose led me through the door and then let go of my hand.
"Here she is, sir," she said, as she walked back to the door.
"We will be waiting to hear of your final decision on our office," she added, and then she left the Tea Room, closing the door behind her.
I stood silent for a moment, looking at the door behind me. I felt torn between the urge to open the door and hurry after Mrs. Primrose or to run up the stairs to play with the others, and the curiosity to whom would be waiting for me here in the Tea Room.
I chose the latter.
When I looked up and let my gaze wander through the Tea Room, I saw a man.
He sat at the table the matrons usually occupied during breakfast, dinner and teatime. Though he looked a great deal older than me, I could understand why Mrs. Primrose had called him a young man, for he certainly was younger than the matrons. He didn't have wrinkles like Mrs. Carlyle had and his hair wasn't grey, like Mrs. Primrose's, but black. He wasn't as tall as Mrs. Shankly, however, though he did seem like a tall man to me.
I saw him nodding at the door that had just swallowed Mrs. Primrose, though she had already left, before he turned his head and met my gaze. His eyes were as black as his hair and much more intense than any of the matrons' as they inspected me over his hooked nose.
I didn't know what to say, or if I should say something at all. When Mrs. Primrose told me I had a brother who had come for me, I had expected to recognize him somehow. I had expected we would look somewhat alike, share the same hair or eyes.
But this man seemed as much as stranger to me as all the visitors I had seen during my six years at the orphanage. The black hair hanging alongside his face didn't look like my red hair at all, just as his dark black eyes didn't resemble my blue eyes whatsoever. I don't know what I had expected, if I was supposed to smile at this man, rush to his side, perhaps even embrace him - I didn't feel any urge to do any of it, I could only look at him and wonder "what's next?"
The man with the dark hair and eyes stood up, and I saw he was dressed in clothes I had never seen before. Though it didn't quite look like my skirt, when I saw the black fabric flowing down from the man's shoulders down to his ankles, I thought he was wearing a dress, and I couldn't help myself giggling.
A frown rippled over his forehead.
"Lucy."
I immediately stopped giggling when I heard my name, pronounced by a deep, dark voice I had never heard before. I felt my cheeks turn warm and red, and I stared at the toes of my worn-down shoes.
The silence after that strange voice said my name seemed to fill the Tea Room in a way not even all the children in the orphanage could, and I was afraid to break it. But as it continued, it seemed to become heavier, until it weighed so much I couldn't stand it anymore.
I hesitated for one brief moment, and then lifted my chin and looked up.
"Yes?"
He seemed to hesitate too, and then walked towards me. He opened his arms a bit, but then held them to his side again, as is he didn't know what to do with them. He didn't smile, but gazed at me with those piercing dark eyes as he came to a halt a few feet away from me.
"I'm your brother."
I shrugged. "Yes, I know. I mean – that's what the matrons told me. That my brother had come for me."
Now that he spoke more words, I could hear a difference in our tongues. He had an accent that sounded different from my own – somehow he sounded clean and precise, where my own speech sounded somewhat rougher and song-like in a slightly peculiar way. I remembered more visitors having a different accent, but only now did I realize the difference with my own.
He nodded. "Indeed. I promised my... our mother I would go here and take you home with me."
He remained silent for a moment, and so did I, not knowing what to say.
After an instant, he opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying a word. His eyes moved swiftly from left to right before wandering over my face, as if they were looking for something.
"Will you come with me, Lucy?"
I frowned, studying his face. The face of someone I had never met before, who I had never seen smiling or laughing out loud and who didn't look like me at all. A stranger whose voice seemed dark and distant, and who didn't reach out to hold or hug me, and who, so far, made me feel uncomfortable and a little frightened with his aloof attitude. But who was said to be my brother – my family.
I followed the lines of his face with my gaze, followed them until I met his eyes, and I saw he was watching me, too.
His eyes were examining me in a way I didn't immediately understand – because it didn't meet up with the awkward and slightly chilly position he maintained. The look in his eyes wasn't cold or unresponsive. It seemed uncomfortable, without a doubt, but also questioning, even a little bit pleading.
My frown smoothed a bit as I slowly realized that I wasn't immediately obliged to come with him – he was asking me.
I tried a careful smile that I hoped wasn't too quivery, and took a step towards him.
"What is your name?"
He blinked his eyes and seemed to be taken a little aback by my question.
"Excuse me?"
"What is your name? Or should I just call you "Brother"? I mean, you know my name, too..."
The bewildered look remained on his face, but for a moment I thought I saw the hint of a smile shivering around his lips.
"I um... Severus. My name is Severus."
"Severus," I repeated. My careful smile broadened a little bit.
So I had a brother named Severus. A brother who seemed a lot older than me, didn't really look like me, wore clothes I had never seen before, spoke in a different tongue than I did and who seemed to maintain a distant attitude – but who seemed to be able to at least smile a little bit sometimes.
He couldn't be that bad if he could smile, could he? And I liked his name – Severus – it sounded like a whisper.
"Lucy," I heard him say – it sounded as if he was trying out my name just as I was trying out his, and for the first time I also heard the tiny trace of a hesitant smile in his voice.
My own wavering smile slowly widened a little more, and I took a step closer to him. He frightened me less when he had that spark of a smile about him – if perhaps it could touch those deep, black eyes, I'd even feel happy. The possibility surely was there, and now I had felt it I had to know. And if I stayed here at the orphanage, I'd never know.
Besides, he'd said he had promised his mother he would take me home. My mother. Our mother.
I closed the distance between us with a last step and took his hand.
His hand was much bigger than mine, with long, thin fingers that felt cool against my skin. His skin wasn't as soft as mine or as Mrs. Carlyle's, but a little rough, and I stroked it in an impromptu attempt to smooth it.
For a moment his hand trembled, as if he wanted to pull it out of my grasp, but the long fingers stayed within mine and I felt a hand upon my head. He stroked my hair, cautious, as if he hadn't stroked many heads before.
I looked up at him and smiled fully at him this time, holding on to his hand more firmly.
"When shall we go home then?"
It didn´t take long for me to pack the minor belongings I owned, and in less than an hour I had my worn-out clothes, trinkets and the few stuffed animals I had packed inside a trunk. My goodbyes to the other children were said swiftly – I wondered if I was supposed to cry as I knew I would probably never see them again, but there were no tears rising in my eyes or my heart, nor did I feel the need to create them. And thus I waved at the other children before turning my back to them, without any grief or sorrow.
My goodbyes to the matrons took a little longer; Mrs. Primrose pulled me up to her chest and hugged me tightly before letting go of me, stroking my messy braids as she wished me all the best. Mrs. Carlyle handed me a bag of toffees, accompanied by the words "so you won't forget us, like we won't forget you", and gently kissed my cheek, and Mrs. Shankly stroked my face as she looked at me sternly and told me to be a big girl now.
After that, my newly found brother took my trunk from Mrs. Primrose in his one hand, and my own hand in the other. He thanked the matrons for taking such good care of me with his deep voice, and then he walked me out of the orphanage, to the cab that was waiting for us at the front door. The driver loaded my trunk in the cab's boot, as Severus helped me onto the backseat next to him, and then we were off. I glanced over my shoulder to get a last look at the place where I spend the first six years of my life, seeing the matrons and a few children waving farewell on the road. I felt obligated to wave back, until a curve in the road took them from my side and they were gone.
We stayed silent as the cab drove through the slightly rough scenery that surrounded the orphanage. Severus had taken out a book and was reading, his dark eyes swiftly moving over the tiny letters on the yellowish pages.
I had a thousand questions I wanted to ask, but the look of my stern brother being so completely absorbed by the thick volume on his lap made me fear he might be angry with me if I disturbed him, and therefore I kept my eyes on the changing scenery out the window. Twilight was already painting the trees and mountains on the horizon with its soft touch of grey, and I knew it wouldn't be long before it would be too dark to see anything but shadows and stars.
I settled in a bit more comfortable against the worn out upholstering of the cab's backseat and laid my cheek against the rough fabric. The soft humming of the cab's engine, the rustling when Severus flipped a page and the warmth coming from the heater, together with the twilight creeping in made me feel sleepy, and I tried to suppress a yawn.
It didn't take long for my eyes to start drooping, and by the time twilight had turned into velvety darkness, I was sound asleep.