Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. However, Survus and Summer Snape are my own creations and anyone is welcome to use them
A\N: While I have tried not to plagerize anything, I admit that I owe some of my ideas for this story to other books. These include A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket, Anne's House of Dreams by L.M. Montgomery, and Memories of Summer by Ruth White. Most of the ideas, however, are my own.
The Woman: "I'm just a wildflower picked from the plains of Sharon, a lotus blossom from the valley pools."
The Man: "A lotus blossoming in a swamp of weeds-that's my dear friend among the girls in the village."
Song of Solomon 2:1-2, taken from The Message bible Copywrite 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.
"Severus," my mother said to my older brother when I was born, "I'm trusting you to take care of your little brother. I expect you to keep him safe." She said the same thing to him when our sister was born. Our mother was so crippled with anxiety and depression that it was difficult for her to get out of bed in the mornings. The source of much of her anxiety and depression was our father: a violent alcoholic whose rages sent everyone in the house running for cover. If he was not raging, he was either too drunk to function of suffering from a hangover. Rarely was he sober and functioning, and even when he was, he was not a very pleasant person. So the three of us were basically left to raise ourselves, with our house elf, Twinkle, keeping an eye on things.
My older brother's full name was Severus Salazar Snape. He was small as a boy but grew into a lanky teenager. He inherited our father's hooked nose, greasy black hair, sallow skin, and dark black eyes. From our mother, he inherited an interest in potions. He did indeed take care of my sister and me: entertaining us, comforting us, protecting us. In short, he was often more of a father to us than Father was.
My name is Survus Slytherin Snape. I grew up as the middle child younger than my brother by seven years and older than my sister by two years. Like my brother, I too had inherited a lot of features from my father. However, my eyes were not midnight black but storm gray, like my mother's. I was cheerful and talkative, with a good sense of humor and a love of books and poetry.
My sister's name was Summer Serenity Snape. She was well-named, for she filled our lives with light and warmth. Summer inherited many of our mother's fine features, including a Roman nose and long golden-brown hair. But her eyes were unlike those of anyone else in our family: a brilliant sky blue. Mother always said that Summer's eyes were those of an angel, and it was true. Summer was an angel. She was always there with hug, or a kiss, or a smile, or an encouraging word, or she would just sit with you if you didn't feel like talking. Her wonderful singing voice could bring Mother joy and tame the drunken rages of Father. Like her first name, she lit up a room with her very presence, and like her middle name, she was our peace in the midst of a storm. She was Father's favorite. He never hit her or cursed at her like he did with the rest of us. He often praised her, lavished her with gifts, and even gave her a pet name "Wildflower".
Wildflower. Summer always loved that nickname. "It suits me," she would say, and she was right. Summer was a wildflower: radiant, rosy, and untamed. She was the type of kid who was forever getting skinned knees, scraped elbows, and torn and muddy clothes. The type who regularly tumbled out of trees and always got up, laughing and eager to do it again. Her afternoons were either devoted to wandering the hills and woods beyond our house-exploring every nuke and cranny-, lying in the shade of an apple tree and gazing at the sky, or zipping around our backyard on her Shooting Star racing broom(1). She took the utmost delight in the simple things of life: winter sunshine, a spring rain, a sunrise or sunset, a full moon, a bird song. She was the type of person who enjoyed laughing. Whenever she was happy or amused , the mirth would burst from her in loud whoops and screams. Her entire body would shake with the pleasure of it. She also enjoyed making others laugh, being as chock-full of pranks and mischief as any youngster I've ever met. Sometimes the pranks would make Severus and me mad, but we never stayed angry for long. It was impossible to hold a grudge against Summer. She was just too sweet.
It was not an ideal childhood by any means, but we made the best of it.. We even managed to have fun. Father had us take magic lessons and music lessons, so we spent the day practicing spells and entertaining ourselves on the piano. We read books and drew pictures, played Quiddish, and wizards chess, and hide-and-seek. We explored the hills and caves behind our house and had our fair share of spring picnics, summertime sailings, autumn leaf-romps, and winter snowball fights. In short, in spite of the turmoil in our home, we managed to have all of the antics that youngsters do.
The truth was, we didn't think of ourselves and siblings as much as we thought of ourselves as a single unit, united and fortified against the world. We thought that we could stand up to anything and that nothing could break our unit apart. But life would prove us wrong.
The Shooting Star is a broomstick I found in Quiddich Through the Ages