Chapter Nine: Facing Facts.
It was the last week of November, and Hecate was feeling good. Well, as good as she had felt all term, which was really quite terrible by normal standards, but the pain had dulled marginally (she figured that the missing pain was that which came from no eating and exhaustion). It was not until the Wednesday morning post that she began regressing.
Hecate had almost completely forgotten about the letter that she had sent to her grandfather. After several weeks of looking hopefully at the incoming owls and receiving no mail, she had let the matter slip from her mind. Thus, she was not prepared in any way for the solitary barn owl that swooped down to her side.
Looking searchingly at the parchment she had removed from the owl, and allowing it to snitch her bacon rinds, she tried to still the trembling in her hands as she remembered who the parchment was likely to be from. Opening it carefully, she began to read:
My darling Hecate, favourite of all granddaughters... So, you have finally guessed my secret. I should have known. Of course, I expected you to receive your Hogwarts letter – you will never know how painful it was not to get one. My mother made such a fuss when she realised, decided that it must be a clerical error, but it was not so. I was taken to a muggle orphanage and left there. That is where I met your grandmother, who was also like me, and that is how, even though you were raised a half-blood, your lineage is as pure as that of Malfoy or Black ... sorry, you will assuredly know neither and I digress horribly. The moment I saw the owl, I knew that it had come to this. Your mother knows nothing of her lineage and she must remain ignorant lest she become jealous. I am sorry, sweet child, I have forgotten myself. You are alone, now, and I know how you have pushed away everybody. You must let them in! I can understand your anger – I lost my family at your age, too, so don't start thinking that I don't – and you are always welcome to call on me. You never told me your house. I believe that your father was a Ravenclaw, though now I think about it he may have been in any house. My memory is not as it was! I know that it is hard without your brother, but you must not let it be so! Grieve him, mourn him, remember him but don't let any of those stop you from being. I love you, you know that. You are not the only one in the world who is hurting because of this. Be well. Grandpa
Hecate slowly crumpled the letter as her hands balled to fists. How could it take someone two months to post a letter? How could he say that he understood how she felt? He may have been abandoned by his family, but at least they were still alive! At least he had not been there when they were crushed to death by falling rocks. How could he even begin to understand her pain – he had not lost his other half! He was not hurt!
Not noticing the steady stream of tears leaking out of her screwed-up eyes, or the tiny crescent-shaped cuts forming on her palms, she ran from the hall, thankful that she never brought a bag to breakfast.
Up at the staff table, Severus Snape was once more partaking in an early breakfast, glowering characteristically out at the few students daring to join him. His glare faltered when he noticed the entrance of a single owl, and that owl's destination. An unpleasant feeling of foreboding came to him – this was the first correspondence that the child had received all term...
The feeling grew worse as he noted her changing expression and quick exit. Not again...
Hecate flew through the corridors, not noticing anyone or anything until she collided heavily with someone. Looking up through bleary eyes and errant hair she recognised immediately her professor, and shrank back. She had been sure that he was in the Great Hall when she left...
"Miss Aiwe, I feel that I must once again reprimand you for running into people in the halls. Please come to my office."
Hecate cringed. She hated it when her favourite professor used that tone with her. Miserably, she allowed herself to be led into the now-familiar room. Accepting the seat she was offered, she studiously avoided looking at her teacher.
Obviously realising that she wasn't going to speak first, Snape began: "Miss Aiwe, I am beginning to find your refusal to ask for help greatly annoying. This is certainly not the first time that I have had to drag you into my office in order to force you from self-destruction. Would you mind telling me what exactly was in that letter to cause you to flee from the Hall in such a state?"
"I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I shouldn't have been running in the corridors. I'll try to remember that next time," she mumbled to the floor, her voice thick with tears.
"Damn it child!" Snape slammed his fist down on the desk, making Hecate jump in her chair and look up. Reducing the volume of his voice to a snarl, he continued: "I do not CARE that you were running through the halls! What I care about is the reason that you were running."
The tears had stopped falling and Hecate looked fearfully though her dry eyes at the angry wizard in front of her. Stuttering, she began to form a reply.
"I... I was... was... I received a letter..."
"I noticed that." His voice was no longer a snarl, but the familiarly cold, sarcastic drawl saved for the potions 'dunderheads'. Noticing her expression, he added in a slightly warmer tone: "who sent it?"
"My... my Grandfather. My mother's father. He told me... told me that he was a squib. Him and Grandma both are. He said that I was as pureblooded as they come. He told me... said that he understood me... what I was going through... but he doesn't. He can't."
Hecate had begun sniffling again as she recounted her letter. Severus studied her.
"Why can't he understand?"
"Because no-one understands!" She shouted her reply at a volume that shocked herself, although the potions master seemed to expect it.
"How can no-one understand? What about your mother? Did she not also lose them?" His voice was controlled, emotionless.
"But she doesn't understand! She wasn't there! Her father is still alive!"
"Her husband and sons are not, though."
"She hated her husband. She thinks that it served him right to be squished in those tunnels he loved so much! She never understood him. She resents the fact that he killed her sons – her most muggle children – and left her with the witch that she hates! She never cared about me because I never loved her stupid stories!"
"I am sure that your mother doesn't hate you, or your father."
"She always has. She has never loved me, always Loki. Always the most muggle half of the set."
"Hecate..." There was an obvious warning to his tone.
"It's true! She thinks I'm crazy because of the runes! She always laughed because I speak a dead language and pray to forgotten gods." "You are not crazy and I still refuse to believe that your mother hates you. She obviously doesn't understand you, but that is a very different thing."
Hecate spoke quietly, and he barely heard her mumbled "She hates me for living."
Changing the course of the discussion, he asked again. "So why is it that nobody can understand your pain? Why is it that you seem determined to believe that you are the only one to grieve your family?"
"They can't understand. I could have saved him... I could have died instead of him! If I had let him go, then I would be dead and he would be safe and we would be together!"
Following her incoherent confessions was not easy. Presumably the 'him' was not the same as whichever 'him' was part of the 'we'.
"You blame yourself?"
"Of course I do! I could have let Father go for his bag. Then he would be fine. He would be alive and I would be with my Loki."
"Can you imagine what your father would have felt if all his children died and he was spared? Can you imagine the pain that your selfish self wants to inflict on him? It was because of him that you were down there in the first place. Do you think that he would not hate himself for that?"
"But he would be alive. He would be able to do his work and... and..."
"I doubt that he would be able to work after that work killed his three children! I am beginning to wonder how you were ever sorted into my house..."
"I'm sorry, Professor. I really am. But that letter made me so mad but I think I understand a bit more now, why it was me who had to live. And I really do think that I am a Slytherin... I am surviving, after all and I do plan to live..."
"That is good to hear, child." Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "Go and wash your face before classes start."
Hecate nodded and made to leave the room. A hesitant voice stalled her. "You will remember that I am here, won't you? Next time you want to run away."
"Yes Professor."
"And Hecate?"
"Yes Professor?"
"I will be brewing a number of potions for the hospital wing tonight, one of which is third-year standard which I am sure you would be capable of brewing alone. Would you like to assist me?"
The smile on her face was blinding.
End of Chapter Nine A/N I am incredibly sorry about the lack of updating going on, but my muse is being temperamental with me at the moment and I have just finished my A- levels so any time I wanted to write I had to be revising. Hopefully with summer here now I should be able to write some more...
Please review constructively – I like to know what I'm doing wrong as well as what I'm doing right!
It was the last week of November, and Hecate was feeling good. Well, as good as she had felt all term, which was really quite terrible by normal standards, but the pain had dulled marginally (she figured that the missing pain was that which came from no eating and exhaustion). It was not until the Wednesday morning post that she began regressing.
Hecate had almost completely forgotten about the letter that she had sent to her grandfather. After several weeks of looking hopefully at the incoming owls and receiving no mail, she had let the matter slip from her mind. Thus, she was not prepared in any way for the solitary barn owl that swooped down to her side.
Looking searchingly at the parchment she had removed from the owl, and allowing it to snitch her bacon rinds, she tried to still the trembling in her hands as she remembered who the parchment was likely to be from. Opening it carefully, she began to read:
My darling Hecate, favourite of all granddaughters... So, you have finally guessed my secret. I should have known. Of course, I expected you to receive your Hogwarts letter – you will never know how painful it was not to get one. My mother made such a fuss when she realised, decided that it must be a clerical error, but it was not so. I was taken to a muggle orphanage and left there. That is where I met your grandmother, who was also like me, and that is how, even though you were raised a half-blood, your lineage is as pure as that of Malfoy or Black ... sorry, you will assuredly know neither and I digress horribly. The moment I saw the owl, I knew that it had come to this. Your mother knows nothing of her lineage and she must remain ignorant lest she become jealous. I am sorry, sweet child, I have forgotten myself. You are alone, now, and I know how you have pushed away everybody. You must let them in! I can understand your anger – I lost my family at your age, too, so don't start thinking that I don't – and you are always welcome to call on me. You never told me your house. I believe that your father was a Ravenclaw, though now I think about it he may have been in any house. My memory is not as it was! I know that it is hard without your brother, but you must not let it be so! Grieve him, mourn him, remember him but don't let any of those stop you from being. I love you, you know that. You are not the only one in the world who is hurting because of this. Be well. Grandpa
Hecate slowly crumpled the letter as her hands balled to fists. How could it take someone two months to post a letter? How could he say that he understood how she felt? He may have been abandoned by his family, but at least they were still alive! At least he had not been there when they were crushed to death by falling rocks. How could he even begin to understand her pain – he had not lost his other half! He was not hurt!
Not noticing the steady stream of tears leaking out of her screwed-up eyes, or the tiny crescent-shaped cuts forming on her palms, she ran from the hall, thankful that she never brought a bag to breakfast.
Up at the staff table, Severus Snape was once more partaking in an early breakfast, glowering characteristically out at the few students daring to join him. His glare faltered when he noticed the entrance of a single owl, and that owl's destination. An unpleasant feeling of foreboding came to him – this was the first correspondence that the child had received all term...
The feeling grew worse as he noted her changing expression and quick exit. Not again...
Hecate flew through the corridors, not noticing anyone or anything until she collided heavily with someone. Looking up through bleary eyes and errant hair she recognised immediately her professor, and shrank back. She had been sure that he was in the Great Hall when she left...
"Miss Aiwe, I feel that I must once again reprimand you for running into people in the halls. Please come to my office."
Hecate cringed. She hated it when her favourite professor used that tone with her. Miserably, she allowed herself to be led into the now-familiar room. Accepting the seat she was offered, she studiously avoided looking at her teacher.
Obviously realising that she wasn't going to speak first, Snape began: "Miss Aiwe, I am beginning to find your refusal to ask for help greatly annoying. This is certainly not the first time that I have had to drag you into my office in order to force you from self-destruction. Would you mind telling me what exactly was in that letter to cause you to flee from the Hall in such a state?"
"I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I shouldn't have been running in the corridors. I'll try to remember that next time," she mumbled to the floor, her voice thick with tears.
"Damn it child!" Snape slammed his fist down on the desk, making Hecate jump in her chair and look up. Reducing the volume of his voice to a snarl, he continued: "I do not CARE that you were running through the halls! What I care about is the reason that you were running."
The tears had stopped falling and Hecate looked fearfully though her dry eyes at the angry wizard in front of her. Stuttering, she began to form a reply.
"I... I was... was... I received a letter..."
"I noticed that." His voice was no longer a snarl, but the familiarly cold, sarcastic drawl saved for the potions 'dunderheads'. Noticing her expression, he added in a slightly warmer tone: "who sent it?"
"My... my Grandfather. My mother's father. He told me... told me that he was a squib. Him and Grandma both are. He said that I was as pureblooded as they come. He told me... said that he understood me... what I was going through... but he doesn't. He can't."
Hecate had begun sniffling again as she recounted her letter. Severus studied her.
"Why can't he understand?"
"Because no-one understands!" She shouted her reply at a volume that shocked herself, although the potions master seemed to expect it.
"How can no-one understand? What about your mother? Did she not also lose them?" His voice was controlled, emotionless.
"But she doesn't understand! She wasn't there! Her father is still alive!"
"Her husband and sons are not, though."
"She hated her husband. She thinks that it served him right to be squished in those tunnels he loved so much! She never understood him. She resents the fact that he killed her sons – her most muggle children – and left her with the witch that she hates! She never cared about me because I never loved her stupid stories!"
"I am sure that your mother doesn't hate you, or your father."
"She always has. She has never loved me, always Loki. Always the most muggle half of the set."
"Hecate..." There was an obvious warning to his tone.
"It's true! She thinks I'm crazy because of the runes! She always laughed because I speak a dead language and pray to forgotten gods." "You are not crazy and I still refuse to believe that your mother hates you. She obviously doesn't understand you, but that is a very different thing."
Hecate spoke quietly, and he barely heard her mumbled "She hates me for living."
Changing the course of the discussion, he asked again. "So why is it that nobody can understand your pain? Why is it that you seem determined to believe that you are the only one to grieve your family?"
"They can't understand. I could have saved him... I could have died instead of him! If I had let him go, then I would be dead and he would be safe and we would be together!"
Following her incoherent confessions was not easy. Presumably the 'him' was not the same as whichever 'him' was part of the 'we'.
"You blame yourself?"
"Of course I do! I could have let Father go for his bag. Then he would be fine. He would be alive and I would be with my Loki."
"Can you imagine what your father would have felt if all his children died and he was spared? Can you imagine the pain that your selfish self wants to inflict on him? It was because of him that you were down there in the first place. Do you think that he would not hate himself for that?"
"But he would be alive. He would be able to do his work and... and..."
"I doubt that he would be able to work after that work killed his three children! I am beginning to wonder how you were ever sorted into my house..."
"I'm sorry, Professor. I really am. But that letter made me so mad but I think I understand a bit more now, why it was me who had to live. And I really do think that I am a Slytherin... I am surviving, after all and I do plan to live..."
"That is good to hear, child." Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "Go and wash your face before classes start."
Hecate nodded and made to leave the room. A hesitant voice stalled her. "You will remember that I am here, won't you? Next time you want to run away."
"Yes Professor."
"And Hecate?"
"Yes Professor?"
"I will be brewing a number of potions for the hospital wing tonight, one of which is third-year standard which I am sure you would be capable of brewing alone. Would you like to assist me?"
The smile on her face was blinding.
End of Chapter Nine A/N I am incredibly sorry about the lack of updating going on, but my muse is being temperamental with me at the moment and I have just finished my A- levels so any time I wanted to write I had to be revising. Hopefully with summer here now I should be able to write some more...
Please review constructively – I like to know what I'm doing wrong as well as what I'm doing right!