Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter along with Scholastic and whoever else. I only own my characters so DON'T SUE!!!
Six Feet and Fallingby Saerry Snape
Chapter 2 :: July 31, 1995 :: London, England
"Shey! Shey, wake up!"
"Uhn…"
The loud voice of Amanda Outlaw carried up the stairs to her daughter's bedroom. The figure sprawled across the bed in said room lifted its head and pushed rumpled black hair back from bleary eyes.
"SHEYNE!"
Sheyne Snape staggered out of bed, threw open her door, and bellowed back, "WHAT?!"
"Get down here! NOW!"
"All righ'!"
Sheyne slammed her door shut and ran a hand through her rumpled hair again. She was now officially fifteen but felt as though she was still nine, as that was the way her mother treated her. At fifteen, Sheyne was five foot nine with her raven-black hair cut to just below her ears, naturally pale skin, and eyes of an unnatural shade of amber. She practically towered over her five foot nothing mother and father. Only her younger brother Stephen could halfway match her height at five foot five.
"SHEY!"
"I'm coming for God's sake! Bloody chill out!"
Sheyne shucked off the baggy shirt she had slept in an pulled a shirt at random from her dresser. It turned out to be a tight black that had "Don't shoot! I have a fork!" splayed across it in green lettering. She shoved her legs into a pair of low-rise blue jeans, ignoring the fact that her mother would yell at her for showing off an inch of her midriff, and stamped her feet into a pair of combat boots. Running a hand through her errant hair, she glanced once in the full-length mirror across the room, snorted at her reflection, then threw open her door and headed downstairs.
"Shey!"
Sheyne clamped her hands over her ears (she had always seemed to have sharper senses than most people) and snarled savagely, "I'm right here, woman. No need to shout."
"Don't you talk to me that way, young lady," said Amanda, turning to wave the wooden spoon she was holding threateningly at her adopted daughter. "Now sit down and eat."
Sheyne sat. She looked at the otherwise empty kitchen table and asked, "Where's Dad and Ste?"
"Wrapping your presents."
Sheyne snorted at that.
"Those two could wrap a birthday present if somebody wrapped it for them."
"Oh, ye of little faith," said Michael Outlaw with a grin as he entered the kitchen, juggling a stack of presents in his arms. Fourteen-year-old Stephen Outlaw followed him, equally weighed down with packages. The two of them plunked the wrapped boxes down on the table before collapsing into chairs. Sheyne leaned forward and plucked at a loose piece of wrapping.
"Newspaper. How ingenious. The comic-strip no less."
"Sod off on your sarcasm, Shey," growled Stephen. Amanda whirled and boxed him on the ear with her spoon.
"None of that language in this house, young man."
"Aw, Mum…"
"Don't you 'Aw, Mum…' me, Stephen Tobias Outlaw. And you stop snickering." This last was to Sheyne, who was smirking at her younger brother, who stuck his tongue out at her in retaliation. Amanda tapped the both of them with her spoon and snapped, "Behave."
Sheyne rubbed at her shoulder where the spoon had hit and scowled at her mother. Across the table, Stephen shuddered. He was scared to death of his older sister – be she adopted or not – when she did that. It was enough to scare anyone shitless.
Except for their mother, that is.
"Don't you give me that look, Shey. Or no cake!"
Sheyne's scowl immediately faded and the cold look that had gleamed in her amber eyes was replaced by a starkingly innocent one. Another thing to marvel at in the girl. She could turn from icy to warm in an instant.
"No cake?" she whimpered, pouting.
Amanda Outlaw melted, her glare fading away.
"Shey," she scolded in a loving tone, "you know I can't resist when you do that." Her green eyes were filled with amusement as she opened the icebox for a carton of ice cream.
Sheyne smiled.
"Why else, dead Mother, do you think I do it?"
"My devilish little girl," remarked Michael Outlaw, reaching over to ruffle Sheyne's short hair.
"Enough," said Amanda, carrying a plate with a cake on it over from the counter. She placed it on the table, ordering Stephen to get plates and her husband to get the forks. As soon as the four plates were plunked on the table, she cut the thick chocolate cake with a knife and dished out the pieces.
* * *
Outside the house stood two figures in black robes, white masks and deep hoods covering their faces. The taller of the two rumbled, "We should do it now!"
The shorter one fidgeted nervously before speaking in a feeble, quivering voice.
"But Lucius…"
"Damn Lucius! Our Master told us to get the girl. I don't intend to fail him just because of Malfoy's fucking whimsies!"
"I assure you my whimsies are much more profound than this, William."
The two whirled to face another figure in the same garb as they. Eyes the color of steel gleamed from behind the stark white mask that shone under the hood. The figure said smoothly, "Our Master put me in charge of this task, William. You would have charged in and had Aurors on you in minutes."
William Macnair growled and clenched his fists, glaring coldly at Lucius Malfoy from behind his mask. But Lucius simply said casually, "Be calm, William. We will act soon enough. Our Master wants this girl. And he shall have her."
And there is nothing Severus can do about it, added Lucius silently to himself, smirking satisfactorily behind his mask.
* * *
Somewhere else outside the house, a man with greasy, shoulder-length black hair and jet eyes garbed in a worn, black leather jacket, dark green t-shirt, and rather worn looking blue jeans stood in the shadow of a tree. He held a slim piece of dark wood in one hand and a polished silver mirror in the other. Anyone who had seen him would have though him very odd. But no one did.
Severus Snape looked down at the mirror, watching as mist swirled across the charmed glass. He just hoped no one in the Auror Division kept an eye on when Locator Mirror's were made. If they did…he had to work fast.
The mist began to clear and Severus gasped, heart pounding in his ears. Framed in the tiny confines of the mirror was a face he had not seen in life in fourteen years. He had seen it in his dreams – and nightmares. Those amber eyes haunted him. Just like those green one's.
But this wasn't his long dead wife in the glass, her mouth turned up in a satisfied smirk. This was the daughter he had been searching fourteen years for. The daughter many thought was dead.
She was the image of her mother: the unnatural amber eyes, the nose, the dainty mouth, the curved shape of her face. Her hair was his own – as it would be did he care to care for it, flyaway and jutting out in wild spikes. Much like Potter's. She had his naturally pale skin as well. And that smirk – ah, that was the Snape smirk.
Severus leaned back against the tree he stood beside, grateful for it being there. Else he would have collapsed.
Merlin's beard, he had found her.