With no further ado
-ALEA IACTA EST-
Their parents had cautioned them never to sail the skiff on the strait when storm clouds were visible gathering darkly on the western horizon–out to sea. But on that day in late February, weary of long winter hours trapped inside, the two boys trudged to the boathouse and dock at the urging of the elder, Solinus, and much foot-dragging on the part of the younger more introverted Severus, picnic basket in hand.
Two pairs of hands, however much unwilling one should be, are still quick to make short any effort, and the brisk breeze delighted both with the promise of a lively spring to come. The course set, and their escape unchecked, they aimed for a circumnavigation of a nearby island–and a wicker basket full of lunch packed by complicitous house-elves charmed into discretion by the personably and easy going Solinus. A fine afternoon indeed! Toils with rope and sail rewarded with brisk exercise and an excellent lunch were the indubitable cause of much cloud gazing on the shore and a sleepy nap, shattered by the first drops of rain as the storm got its first fath drops earthbound with vigor!
A rush to pack the baskets and–to the boat!– but Severus protested, noting the growing venom of the wind and waves. Solinus, ever the confident one, he-of-many-scrapes-weathered-unscathed justified quickly their sailing forth; they had to be home before supper, else parents or house-elves complain and punish, and they had sailed worse, hadn't they? Ignoring the feeble caution-voice that protested that their father had been along, no, no matter.
Wet heavy canvas, and gusting gale force winds are no mere foil for young homebound boys of scholarly persuasion or even of sporting such; such that they quickly were overpowered when block and sail gave way and tore in twain; as they held on, fearful and frozen helpless against the merciless black maw of the storm-front. No chance to turn back, and the tide was against them, pulling them away from the safe harbor of their intended destination to the darkness of the cliffs lining the coast to the north.
Trapped like ants on driftwood, the tidal bore threw them foaming at the cliffs, and they cling together– "Keep your head above water, Sev!"– and swam desperately, drunkenly as the helpless younger clung to the older swimmer.– "Hold ON! Don't let go of me!"– praying oh god, ohgod, save him, my brother Solinus, at least! I'm too little and I can't swim, but if you save him, I'll be alright, please! I'm not strong or good or smart and Mother and father wont care, oh god, please...
Cruel cold Atlantic denied of her victims, sought redress of crueler irony– a wooden slat, torn perhaps from the wreckage of their own small vessel or another, leaped forth from the crest of a wave and struck punishingly, not, however, before the elder held the younger close and whispered in a chance moment of final clarity– "Don't give up, Sev'rus, I love you, right?"
Darkness, blood and pain and fear exploding, and frozen bodies unable to let go floated then upon the lessening swells, born hours hence finally southward, Atlantic's mischief managed, journey safe after ravaging misfortune had already claimed them.
Indeterminate time later to the sleepers found a pebbly shore and distraught searchers who upon horrified discovery of those almost drowned bore them back to their winter place of imprisonment, the manor. Warm beds aside, the older did not wake to subdue the bump on his skull, and went deeper as hours passed, and the younger more delicate (though in some ways spiritually and willfully stronger) fought the cold and wet of lung fulls of water only to succumb to pneumonia.
The next day would dawn the son dulled, Solinus to be a memory–
Hic Jacet Solinus Septimus Snape-Beloved Son and Heir-
Pax Vobiscum Perpetua
n.1954- q.1965
And Bitter, bitter the regret of parents too long indulgent of their own selfish lives, indifferent to the mis-adventuring of their blood! No more; the youngest WOULD survive, if soul-price to be exacted for the blackest of magikal cures, so be it! The Elder had no chance of ever awakening, and blood price could be paid–oh the horror, the horror!– by their heir to save the spare.
Then shaped and molded he would be–by poison, cunning, teachings of trickery and cruelty, Iussu Paternus– no more sons– hated sons!– would be lost because of this younger spare, this abomination that only the elder had loved, had weakened by showing affection, had saved at the cost of his own life. No Snape was allowed love, it was weak, it was Muggle, its presence ignored in the Heir, allowed to exist because Sol-HE would grow out of it. No more! No moral crisis over the fate of the Heir, keep the Spare. This child, silent often, brilliant, brooding– childish murderer of the worst sort, hamartia of the elder...Blood price must be extracted, paid for, and pain of heart– No! No Snape had a heart!– punished against his trespass.
In short the die was cast, the blood spilled, and dark was the road to be trod– for a child unloved, now, by all, a life empty of joy, poisoned by memories of sunshine and laughter. Solinus, like Icarus of Daedalus, too high, too bright; Severus, tormented in brilliance with the darkness of the labyrinth, grief and guilt-unfair-unearned, his Minotaur.
This chapter is short, as will all following chapters. They are meant to provide slides of Severus' life and his misfortunes. All of the latin translations will be found at the end of the chapter....and I'll put them here, if y'all are slow and don't want to look them up. I'm assuming you're slow...hee hee! Please review, thanks!
alea iacta est– the die is cast