Author's Note: Oh God my first story. Um, wow, nervous doesn't begin to cover it. I worked really hard at this but whenever I write the first chapter is always the hardest part for me. And now that I'm putting this out for everybody to see I'm just hoping it's okay. Please be kind and review to tell me how I did! Beginning authors need feedback the most, or so my English teacher tells me.
By the way, this takes place when Harry and co. are in their fourth year. Yrsa's in her third. Italics are thoughts.
Her name was Yrsa Pietra Spencer, and she was a nobody Slytherin to him.
He knew of her, in the way he knew of phones or genetics. He knew on some level she existed and if asked he might have been able to recall her as being excellent at Potions without reaching the showoff levels of Granger. But he would only have a vague recollection of her, of sunflower colored hair and skin as fair as his own. Other than that, Severus Snape would not recall her. She had never made an ass out of herself and had yet to accomplish anything spectacular in his class. It was easy for a student to slip through the cracks at Hogwarts, after all. Especially since Yrsa didn't want or need friends. She had no interest in people outside of one, and that one had to prove her intentions first. Yrsa avoided human beings like the plague to focus on the things that made her happy, or more accurately the things that she liked obsessing over.
And that was what she was doing the day that everything changed.
(Well, the second day everything changed... The first was too painful to think about just yet.)
It was just after classes had finished for the day. The weather was cold and crisp, with enough new snow for snowball fights and play. Those not involved in that activity were hanging out in the common room. Yrsa was alone in the third year girl's dormitory, playing her violin. She was trying to master a piece she'd been introduced to by her best friend, Alexina. Most witches and wizards never bothered learning to play an instrument manually when they could just enchant one to play the tune, but Yrsa was a Muggleborn and backwards Muggleborns always had their quirks. Xina was a Pureblood who'd never seen anyone play manually; she'd been fascinated that first year when Yrsa's luggage included a violin case. She had what could only be called a 'girl crush' on Yrsa. She followed her around, accompanied her through everyday life, woke her up when the nightmares came. In return, Yrsa verbally defended her from the rest of the Slytherin world. And for a while, that was all she needed to be content in life.
Three years of dedicated self study and relentless work at music later, Yrsa found herself performing for her friend, learning things to play for her. Because some recognition was better than none, better than the other girls telling her to shut off that noise and stop the racket. Because she wanted to make someone smile, to be worth something to someone. Even if she would never, ever say it, some part of her wanted people to acknowledge her as something more than a weak little girl. Perhaps that was why she kept them so far away from her, so they didn't see the disgusting flaws crawling beneath her skin. The orange-blonde girl shut her dark inky eyes, leaning her heart shaped face into her instrument. In the low light of the dungeons, her pale skin was made white. She assumed the footsteps coming up the stairs were Xina's. Lately the brunette had been bugging her about her eating habits. "You can't live on dinner alone." Oh yes she could, if it meant avoiding the others.
A Mudblood in Slytherin was not a popular girl, to be kind.
Besides, the less she ate, the more in control she felt. It made everything clearer and sharper, reminded the numb girl that she was alive. Interesting how she spent half her time trying to be as numb and distant as possible, and the other trying to regain a sense of reality. People didn't understand. Even Xina didn't get it. How could she? She was spoiled sweet, loved and rich and completely unaware of what it was like to be different. She was always apart from them, even if she tried, for Yrsa was not supposed to be here. Not in Slytherin. The hat had messed up incredibly. Her whole life was an uphill battle now. Then her mother had been murdered and everything had plummeted even deeper into icy realms, into an apathy so deep that some days she didn't even remember what she did, some mornings it took all she had to get out of bed, and shoving food down her throat hurt because she didn't deserve it, she let her mother die and-
It doesn't matter, it's the past, it's the past, focus...
The notes were vivid in her mind, but when someone cleared their throat she stopped abruptly, eyes narrowed. The last time someone had tried to bully her when she had her violin out, she had lost it and hexed them into a seizure. Few people, Slytherin or otherwise, would do anything after that. Yrsa was scary when she snapped, probably because she was normally such a listless, reactionless person. No one would interrupt her unless it was important. So her first thought was, oh God, Xina. Her second was, please just let it be a message from my grandparents. If they didn't want her home this Christmas, well, no surprise there. She couldn't care less. They barley spoke to her anyway, barely acknowledged her existance or her mother's even before it all went wrong. The only family she had left was Alexina. If Xee was hurt...
"I was told to escort you to Dumbledore's office," the Prefect said simply, keeping any prejudice out of his voice. He seemed intrigued by this, but her blank look said plainly she didn't know any better than he what was going on. He frowned at her clothing, but technically it was after classes so she didn't have to follow uniform regulations. Her dark brown, form fitting knit jacket went to her mid-thigh, and her black pants were tucked into expensive, intricately patterned black and red Mongolian boots, a gift from Alexina. Her hair was pulled back into a braid as always, with two strands of hair framing her face. Her hands were almost always clad in fingerless gloves. Her mother's pietersite pendant was forever around her neck, a simple jewel on a silver chain. That much she was never taking off again. Though given that he was the nicest Prefect to come out of Slytherin in a decade, he might just be frowning because her breastbones were more prominent than her actual breasts nowadays. "It's a bit of a walk, so if you'll follow me..."
So far in her life, she'd been to Dumbledore's office only once, when she snapped over her violin earlier this year. The violence of the attack, the screaming ("NO ONE WILL TAKE WHAT IS MINE EVER AGAIN!") and the fact that the Prefects had to Stun her had all landed her there very rapidly. She was told her house Head was informed, but Snape never said anything to her over it and no points had been taken. A kinder person might say he was making exceptions for her, but he actually probably didn't notice anything anybody other than Draco did. After stowing her violin away in its spell-sealed case, Yrsa followed her Prefect, flipping her thick rope of waist length hair behind her back. What was she in for? For putting a little magical dye in Pansy's shampoo, maybe? But that was a twelve hour color and it had been nearly two weeks. For staying up late at night? They couldn't punish her for reading, surely, even if her subject matter left a lot to be desired. (So what if curses weren't 'good' magic? She was so good at them, had so much power when she used them, especially after her mother's death... maybe if she'd been better her mother would be alive.)
When she arrived to see Professor Snape in the room with the Headmaster, her mind truly went blank. This couldn't be happening. She wasn't a bad kid. Okay, well, she was flawed - psuedo-anorexic tendencies, an obsession with flying and music, anti-social, a little too fond of swearing, a Mudblood - but none of these things were actually against any school rules. Start locking up kids for personality dysfunctions and all that would be left were a few Hufflepuffs. Her pitch black eyes met Dumbledore's compassionate blue ones and everything inside her began to freeze over. That was the look she'd seen in the doctor's face when he told her there was nothing they could do for her mother. It was the look in the social worker's eyes when he told her she'd have to stay with her grandparents.
"Miss Spencer," Dumbledore began gently. "If you would have a seat..."
"I'm fine, thanks." Her voice was toneless. Don't care. Whatever happens, don't care. This isn't important. Nothing is important. I'm fine. "What's this about, sir? Am I in trouble?"
"Not exactly, Miss Spencer. I am legally required to impart some very vital information to you. It was, you are aware, your mother's last wish testing be done to determine your father." He kept pausing at the end of every sentence, waiting for one of the two to speak. When Snape and Yrsa remained silent with near matching impassive looks on their faces, he smiled sadly before continuing, "As the results have finally come in, you have a right to them, even if I dislike shocking you so soon after such a major life change."
So soon? It had been a nightmarishly long time, an unending eternity, a steady night without a dawn since her mother died. Yrsa tried to focus, clenching her fists and bracing as if preparig for a physical blow.This doesn't matter. This doesn't matter. This doesn't change anything. He was never there for me, so who cares who-
"It is a shock, but a proven fact now, that Professor Severus Snape is your father."
Her train of thought derailed and drifted into space. Her obsidian eyes narrowed as if she'd misheard him. It would've been better then for her to be Snape's most hated student, that she could demand apologies and love from him, or his favorite that she would already have it. Instead, as a nobody from nowhere with no future and no plans and virtually no friends, she just drew a blank. What was she feeling? What was she supposed to be feeling? Anger? Joy? Apprehension? Love? Everything was spiralling out beneath her. These three years she'd spent crafting a persona of a dignified loner all meant nothing and all she could do was try to breathe. This couldn't be real. This had to be a bad joke. Her mother had slept around in the past, sure, but... he... this was...
She didn't realize she'd begun to pass out until she staggered backwards. On impulse, Snape reached out an arm to steady her. On instinct, she shoved him away. It was not a good start to a father-daughter relationship, but it wasn't as if she could take it back, and for a moment their identical black eyes bore into each other. Neither of them saw a thing in the face of the other, and it hurt more than anything ever could. Yrsa turned on her heel abruptly, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"If that's all, I have to get back to violin practice," she said shortly.
And then she ran down the stairs so her father didn't see the weak, pointless tears in her eyes.