Chapter 6
"It is often in the darkest skies that we see the brightest stars."
- Richard Evans.
By most standards Master Cassandra Selwyn had a good life. She had been blessed with both beauty and brains, as well as magical blood, pure for many a generation, in her veins. She had a good job that she loved and made good money. She had a beautiful London flat, and a not insignificantly sized manor house on the Scottish coast. She had expensive clothes in her wardrobe, and beautiful heirloom jewellery hidden away in her bank vault under London. Her library, a conversion of the second bedroom in her flat, was filled to the brim with books old and new, first editions mixed with the modern, literature sitting next to philosophy, history and spell books.
In fact, there was only really one thing she wanted that she didn't have; a companion.
Born into a family proud of their status as part of the scared twenty eight, she had grown up in a society that parts of the modern magical world thought of as backwards. A world where marriage alliances were forged on power, contracts drawn up for family gain, not love. She had always known that a suitable match was in her future, and she had long since accepted that fact. She had hardened her heart, and never searched for someone, for fear of falling for somebody that she could never have. She had seen enough love matches to know that they didn't always end well, anymore than arranged marriages always ended badly. It was part of her heritage and she had always accepted that.
The truth of the matter was that any man in their right mind would run screaming from the place if they ever found out the truth of her heritage anyway.
Her first betrothed had died before she had come of age, and for that she was grateful; he had been far older than her, and by all accounts a brute. Wealthy, certainly, but even her father, who could hardly be considered a nice man, had commented on the excessive pleasure he took in the torture of those who opposed the Dark Lord. Her father had perished still considering a new match when she was at school, following his beloved wife to the grave after not even a year. Then the task had fallen to her eldest brother, the new head of the family, and he had not been inclined to search for a suitable match for reasons all his own. That had suited Cassandra just fine; she had pursued her education, finished her joint masteries in charms and ancient languages, and launched herself into a career in the department of mysteries. She had always been more comfortable with books and manuscripts than with people anyway, and although there had always been something missing from her life, she was content enough.
The only daughter born into the direct Selwyn line for many generations, Cassandra had long been aware that the men that attempted, with limited success, to court her were far more interested in her name and fortune than in her as a person. They wished for a bride who they could show off on their arms at parties, not a wife with a mind, and life, of her own. Better to be alone and content than stuck in a loveless marriage attending ladies lunches and raising children. That was not to say that a family wasn't something that she desired, but she needed to be something more than just a mother and wife. All things considered, her brother's lack of desire to negotiate with any of her supposed suitors had worked in her favour.
It seemed that her luck had finally run out.
It had been clear to many in the ministry for several months prior to the unfortunate battle at the ministry, that, despite Fudge's insistence to the contrary, he-who-must-not-be-named was once more on the rise. Even before then there had been more than whisperings at the society events that Cassandra usually attempted to avoid. Her brothers were more than pleased with this news; they had been young, newly inducted death eaters toward the end of the last war, and they were more than happy to pick up the mantle of pureblood superiority again.
Cassandra had always been a thinker. So much so that her parents had thought she would be sorted into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin; her father, at least, had been very happy to be proven wrong. Her mother, however, had always encouraged her to think for herself, to follow her dreams, even if she had warned her to temper her opinions in the presence of others. It did not do to have a daughter who spoke her mind too freely; as far as her father was concerned women were to be seen and not heard. So she had done just that, she had kept her head down at school, and studied hard. She promised herself she would never allow herself to be her mother, cowed by the man who claimed to love her, even as she abided by societal expectation and their supposed pursuit of the "old ways".
Old things were her bread and butter, so to say. Her mastery research on ancient magic (much of which was now considered archaic or obsolete) had taught her many things. Although she had never truly accepted the premise of pureblood superiority, her research only confirmed it as nonsense. Cassandra believed in the "old ways" because she believed in magic, the purity of magic, not blood. It seemed to her that somewhere down the line, somebody with too much power (and there had been far too many evil overlords to count hadn't there?), had perverted the term pureblood to mean something that it was not. They had forgotten that it was magic that mattered, not blood itself, and as society was want to do they closed ranks on outsiders and used the term to prove their own superiority.
Once the whisperings began, first in law enforcement, and then filtering into the bowels of the ministry where the unspeakable worked, Cassandra knew where her loyalties had to lay. Her loyalty had to remain with magic, not those who perverted it for their own selfish gains. Magic was a gift, one that the Dark Lord and his followers had long since forgotten. So she had secretly met with Albus Dumbledore, and set herself on the path that had led her to the Order of the Pheonix. She could never be public in that support, it would mean her end, and that of her family too, but she would not declare herself openly for the Tom Riddle either.
When her eldest brother, Hugo, had arrived at her flat without warning one day an ancient manuscript of dubious origin to translate in hand, she had not questioned providing the details, of what seemed to be a prophecy, to the order via Kingsley Shaklebolt. When she had returned to her families ancestral home to provide the translation to her brother, she had been caught off guard by the presence of the Dark Lord. She had never been more grateful of her mother's guidance and insistence that she always guard her mind; in all circumstances. Perhaps it made her seem cold, but it was a protection that she had long since come to rely on for comfort when her emotions, her fears, rose to the surface.
Fears that she had been born unto darkness.
There was nothing to be done but to follow the Dark Lord's wishes; her brothers (although she suspected that it was the work of her middle brother over her eldest) had already consented to give her hand to whom ever his master desired. One Severus Snape. To link the Selwyn and Prince lines was understandable, the merging of wealth and magic. The irony, of course, was that in doing so her brother's were selling her to a halfblood, in direct contradiction of pureblood superiority. If she hadn't been in the presence of a raging megalomaniac she would have laughed.
All things considered, it could have been worse. Yes, he was older than her, but her original betrothed had been even older. Yes, he had once been her professor, but surely they could move past that. Yes, he was hardly the kindest or gentlest of men, but there were certainly crueler men. Yes, he would not have been her choice, but she had always known she didn't have a choice, nor had she ever found somebody who could have been that choice. Yes, he was certainly not the most attractive man she had ever met, but neither was he the least. And yes, he was known for his rancour and his generally poor temper, but Cassandra had suffered under her own father's temper for years. She had suffered, but she had survived and she would survive this too.
Since the beginning of their courtship they had moved from stilted conversation over tea and scones, to heated discussions about the latest articles they had both read in Challenges in Charming over lunch. Severus had been nothing but a gentleman; never touching her with anything except absolute propriety. He did not fawn over her beauty, sing her praises, or bring her gifts as most suitors were want to do, but she found that she appreciated that. This was not a love match, to pretend that it was would be disingenuous.
Yet, that day she had seen him for the first time since leaving school, when he had brushed his lips against the back of her hand, something had sparked between them. Something that promised more than simple survival. When she had passed him the translation of that prophecy at Hogwarts she had felt that spark again; stronger. When she had touched his wool covered arm, her magic had practically sung, and the heat that had flared between them would have made her breathless had she not been occluding her mind. Despite his ill temper and posturing there was a promise in their very magic, and she always trusted magic. Survival demanded it.
Cassandra studied herself in front of the full length mirror in one of the guest bedrooms of her families seat. Tonight her brother had insisted on throwing a party in honour of sealing her betrothal; anyone who was anybody would be there. She had tried to insist that there was no need to fuss, that it really wasn't necessary. Unfortunately neither of her brothers would budge on the matter. Frankly, she would have much preferred to spend the night on the balcony of her flat, enjoying the summer sun and reading a new book with a simple dinner. It would certainly be a lot less fraught than playing nice with a room full of her brother's death eater cronies and their families.
Pulling herself from her wool gathering she returned her attention to her reflection. Her brunette curls were pulled neatly away from her face into a loose bun at the nape of her neck; ringlets were already attempting to escape their prison. Simple makeup adorned her face, a smattering of freckles visible over smooth pale skin. Her lips were stained a darker red than she would have preferred, but her sister-in-law had insisted, and she had conceded simply to get the woman to stop fussing. Family pearls, wrangled off said sister-in-law, were set in her ears and at the pale column on her neck. She was pleased with the way her dress fell on her form; a simple grecian style in a dusty pink colour that the same sister-in-law had claimed was not only boring but also far to modest. Cassandra had held her tongue on the matter, not wanting any further interfering, but she preferred the modest neckline to the plunging dress red dress the woman insisted on wearing.
Finding her appearance acceptable, Cassandra exited the room, sedately taking the stairs in the direction of the cacophony of voices several floors below. Instead of taking the final set of stairs down she softly pulled open one of a pair of double doors and slipped into the library. Pressing her back against the door as it it closed she took in a deep breath. The scent of the place eased her frayed nerves, the smells of parchment and leather settling her riot of thoughts. After a moment she eased away from the door, heading deeper into the shelves, seeking a place of safety for just a little while longer. A lazy gesture of her hand opened a window, and she turned her gaze down to the riot of colours dotted in small groups on the terrace below.
After an indeterminant amount of time people watching from her vantage point, she heard the quiet creak of the library doors and her eldest brother speaking in a low enough tone to disguise his words. Steeling herself, she retraced her steps.
"I thought you might be hiding up here sister." Her brother approached her as she rounded the corner of the last set of shelves; Severus Snape a solid wall of black beside him.
"I would prefer to do this without too many spectators." Severus' statement was blunt, devoid of any greeting, but his voice was dark and soft like velvet; she felt a frisson of something inexplicable somewhere low in her stomach. He retrieved a small box from a pocket inside his robes. There was only one thing that could be in a box like that, and a far less pleasant wave of fear clenched in her stomach, fighting to keep a facade of calm in place. Snape opened the box to reveal a square-cut sapphire nestled between diamonds on a delicate platinum band. Raising her eyes from the ring, she looked for approval from her brother, who nodded in what she supposed he thought was an encouraging manner. In the mean time, Snape returned the box, now sans ring, to the pocket of his robes.
Severus took a step toward her, and realising what he meant to do Cassandra offered him her left hand. As he slipped the ring over her finger she was suddenly far too aware of the solid proximity of his body. Her eyes focused on one of the buttons on his jacket, not daring to meet his gaze should she not be able to shield her discomfort. Her nose was assaulted by his scent; a mix of herbs, and ink, and something very male that she couldn't entirely place. She could feel the heat off of his body, and even in the light material of her dress she was suddenly far too warm. The rational part of her brain reminded her that she did, in fact, need to breath.
"I Severus Snape would take thee Cassandra Selwyn to my wedded wife, till death us depart, and thereto I plight thee my troth." The words were quiet, his head dipped over hers. At some point one of them had stepped closer. Inappropriately closer.
"I Cassandra Selwyn would take thee Severus Snape to my wedded husband, till death us depart, and thereto I plight thee my troth." Her voice was barely a whisper; shaking as she spoke. Her hand trembled in his as he slid the ring into place; to be removed by no other.
He tipped her face firmly, but gently, upward with one hand, the fingers of his other hand entwining with hers. Their eyes fluttered closed as he dipped his head to press his mouth chastely to hers, and magic flared around them, blindingly white in recognition of their promise to wed.
