Chapter 22: Coming to Terms

Sage found himself staring at the paper. He wasn't sure what to write, but he knew that he would never be able to explain it properly to the headmaster. Explain to the man exactly how he felt and what he was going through, so that they could hopefully figure out a way to make him better.

He had to be honest with himself, he had to not try to hide it anymore. Instead of banishing it, or trying to banish it, he had to realize it. He had to realize what distortion he was feeling so that he could write it down. Taking a deep breath, he set himself on course. Death. Then he wrote…

I find myself wondering constantly about the sanctity of life. One moment I felt as if there were no questions, no worry about life or death, because who would trouble over something in a so distant future? Now, I feel it constantly blanketed around me or lurking forever behind me as an ebony shadow laced with crimson doubts about what I am. Inside of me, I know that something is about to happen, what I do not know, but I feel it as true as I can feel my heart beat. There is certainty to it and yet an irony. I am destined to die within the next ten years, perhaps less. My time here, my life, which seemed infinitely long, now seems to be coming to an abrupt end within seconds.

In the normal span of my life, I could have lived for over a hundred years – a gift of longevity reserved for Magi and those of immense magical powers. Even within my family, those who were not killed, lived long lives in comparison to many wizards. A fact which screamed of Dark magic. But, I, I will have neither of those gifts. I am supposed to give life to others and have it taken from myself. What a comforting thought. Instead of upwards of 100 years, Sage, you can have another 10 years. 10 years now seems like nothing. I have so little time left, and what time it is shall be spent living a life worse than I have ever known. A life of incomparable pain and misery. A life where I must give up all personal interests. I can hold onto nothing without fearing that it too will whither and die horribly because of me. A life of servitude it seems, serving a cause I did not choose. The lives of so many rest within my hands, but I find myself unable to care about what happens to them when I am faced with my own inevitable mortality.

Everything around me seems so fake. I doubt the reality around me. What is real afterall? What does it matter what you do when you are alive, if, within the blink of an eye, you are cast into oblivion, into nothingness. When I am gone, I won't be able to remember what I did before I died, who I saved, who I killed, so what does it matter what I do? After everything came out the Headmaster told me that I should enjoy what time I have before it begins. Ha! How can I enjoy anything knowing that what awaits for me is death. I won't remember whether or not I smile or laughed.

Or, as my uncle would tell me, no prophecy is written in stone. The winds of time change and what was true at one time, no longer becomes true at another. Whatever Merlin saw, could be changing already. Hmm, I do not believe that any of Merlin's prophecies were fallible. Why should I have false hope that his last, and most sacred prophecy, would not become true? Why should I hope that I can change what Merlin has foreseen? I will not have a false hope, there is no hope anymore. There is only distraction. There is only the slow yet fast passing of time.

I remember so clearly when my mother killed herself, like it was yesterday, and that was nearly ten years ago. Ten years from now I will marvel the same way. That the time went by so fast. That is my reality now. Each moment that creeps by only brings me closer to death. At least then I won't have to deal with the sickness that consumes me like a plague. All I know is that I do not want to die. When you feel as if you are about to die, nothing does feel real anymore. It feels like some sick joke. It feels as if every touch, every sound was only a mere illusion to begin with. Something that your mind made up. It feels like a living death

I find myself struggling to believe that it is not true. I find myself pulling and fighting to make things real again, to free my mind from its obsession. The more I fight, the more tired and sick I become. People, in all their happy bliss, make me feel sinking all the time. Being around them makes me feel even more empty, that I no longer have what they have. That this disease has consumed me entirely, but it has not touched them. I want to feel like they do again. I want it to go away. I want to feel whole and relaxed. I want to fight it, I try to fight it. I search for a meaning that will be my elixir, my cure. I can find no meaning. Without meaning, I know I am powerless. Meaning would make me alive again. It used to be enough to want to please my uncle, but it is no longer enough. I need a meaning within myself and there is none. There is only the words of what is to come. Words that I wish I did not remember everyday. Words that tell me everything that matters to me will be swept away, including my life. What I do will not change things, because they are written already. I will die and those around me will either live or die. Voldemort will either triumph or he will not. It does not matter what I do now, nothing seems to matter anymore. I can change none of it, I am just compelled to be a part of it.

He held up the parchment and reread it. Satisfied he put it in the pocket of his robes and set off for the headmaster's office.

Severus, feeling slightly more calm, opened the door to leave the headmaster's office. But the minute he set foot outside of the office, he bumped into something quiet solid and knocked the door to the headmaster's office ajar.

"Uncle?" Sage said incredulously. "Sorry I knocked you."

Severus raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "What are you doing here?"

The last thing Sage wanted to do was say that he had wanted to speak with the headmaster, his uncle would most certainly want to know why.

"You'll have to ask Professor Dumbledore, sir, he asked for me to stop in."

Severus looked down at him disdainfully, he had a good idea that Sage was lying to him.

"Ah Sage, good of you to come," the headmaster said poking his head out the door. He gave Sage a covert wink behind Severus's back. "Come on inside. Good evening, Severus," he added looking at Snape over his spectacles. Clearly a dismissal if Sage had ever saw one.

For once the headmaster's odd behavior was not irksome to him. He walked into the proffered door after nodding at his uncle, "Good night, sir."

Sage closed the door gently behind him, trying not to make his uncle feel as if he was having the door slammed in his face.

"Sorry about that, er, well thank you Professor."

Dumbledore smiled, "No need to aggravate Severus, dear boy, I understand perfectly well. What did you want to see me about?"

Sage took a deep breath and paced a few steps.

"Well sir, I- I-. I don't really know how to say this."

Dumbledore's smiled and gestured towards the chair Sage had been ignoring. "You Snapes never did know how to say that you needed help," his eyes twinkled as he seemed to hold back a chuckle, "Nevertheless, I am quite versed in dealing with such things after having your father and uncle here. Do sit down."

Sage sat down and felt more at ease. "I'm doing horribly, in everything really, sir. It's not easy to explain, so I, er, wrote it out."

"Let's see then," the headmaster said reaching over his desk.

The man adjusted his spectacles and began to read, occasionally looking up at Sage sadly. After a minute or two, he looked up once more.

"I see," he said quietly. "And what else has been going on. Why haven't you told any of this to Professor Snape."

"I tried to ask him, but I suppose it didn't really work. He's been really angry with me, moreso every passing day. I feel like he resents me, resents what it happening to me. As if he takes it personally."

"I expected as much. You see, as much as your uncle cares for you, Sage, he has certain things that he is uncapable of. For good reason, however. His father blamed him and your father for everything that went wrong. If they did not perform well, no matter what the circumstances, they had done something wrong to make that happen. It is very difficult for your uncle to get passed that idea, even now. Which is also why he is a perfectionist."

"I'm not upset with him, sir, I know he's trying. He's just not helping any."

"As I understand it, you are not helping either."

Sage shrugged, "I suppose that's true."

"Firstly, Sage, I think you need to try to not provoke Severus. If you did not provoke and if he could control his temper, I believe the both of you would be better off."

"All right, sir."

"Severus would like it if things were to change back straight away, but I believe that you should try to change things one step at a time. Focus first on being honest to yourself and to your uncle. Perhaps next try to get back on track with your classes, since I believe you are suffering greatly there. Before you know it, things will be back to normal."

"I will do that," Sage said nodding firmly.

"Over holiday, I have suggested that Severus take you somewhere. Going there will hopefully make you feel more balance in your life. My gathering from this," he held up the parchement, "that you are feeling unbalanced. Many in your family before felt this same thing, only you can feel it more acutely because you are a Magi, it signals a point in your life where you need to know certain things about your ancestry and what you are. You cannot focus, you cannot do wandless magic. It makes you feel substandard. It is a horrid circle really."

"I know," Sage said quietly, more to himself than anything.

"You will understand much more once you go there."

"Yes, sir, I hope so."

"Now, is there anything that you need to tell me, anything at all."

"Sir?"

"You've been very volatile I understand, I just would not want you to carry on with any old habits as you try to make these changes."

For a brief second, Dumbledore caught the look of horror that passed through Sage's eyes.

How does he know, Sage thought.

"Are you going to tell my uncle, sir?"

"You have not told me anything that I should tell him, yet."

Sage took another deep breath.

"Well sir, I've been doing, er, every once and awhile, I've been smoking."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Smoking?"

Sage pursed his lips. Why was this so hard to say? "Marijuana," he answered flatly, clearly quite ashamed to be having to admit it in front of Dumbledore.

"I see," Dumbledore answered, "Why have you been doing this?"

Sage's face had gone even paler. "I don't know sir, it makes me feel more relaxed and, I guess, less depressed."

"I will not tell your uncle, Sage. However, I believe that if the three of us were to sit down and talk, I could try to have Severus realize a few ways that he could be more helpful to you. I would then trust in return that at this meeting, you would tell him what has been going on, let him read this, and hand over the remains of everything to him."

"Yes sir, I will."

"He will not lose his temper, Sage, if you tell him the truth. If there is one thing Severus does understand it is the truth. He does not like to be deceived."

Sage stared from Harry to Hermione in disbelief. Did that girl really believe that Harry Potter, mediocre student extraordinaire, could master a Summoning Charm strong enough to summon a broomstick from his room out to the arena? Apparently this idea had been why Sage had seen Harry frantically screaming something, clutching his wand, in front of a dragon in his vision. There was absolutely no way that Harry was going to be able to summon the broomstick by himself, even if he could now summon a book from ten feet away!

Hermione had apparently noticed his disapproving look, because she shot him her best 'I'm trying' look. Harry just had a stupid, slightly worried lopsided grin on his face.

"Sage, can you help any? Do you have any pointers?" Hermione asked, looking rather hopeful. Or perhaps she was looking for a break and figured that she could pass Harry off on Sage.

Sage scowled and pushed his black hair back off his forehead before he bothered to answer.

"You are going to have to concentrate better than that Potter if you wish to survive tomorrow. A book from within sight is not a Firebolt from far, far out of sight."

Harry's look shifted quickly to irritation. "Sorry if my efforts don't meet with the Magi's approval. Perhaps if I told you to concentrate harder on doing wandless magic, you'd been able to do some then?"

"Harry!" Hermione censured, "Sage is trying to help you, we both are. This isn't about him."

Sage stood up and glared down at Harry in a fine impression of Professor Snape on a bad day.

"Fine Potter, keep practicing. I'm sure the luck you are so famous for will show its face tomorrow and you will escape with your life and perform perfectly. You're right, you don't need any help from me, I'm just an ineffective Magi and you're the celebrity."

"Sage!" Hermione said in the exact same tone.

Sage glared at her for trying to censure him, "What Hermione? If anything Harry's pride, thinking he can do anything, will be his undoing."

"At least I am not full of myself like you are Snape! The entire school treats you more differently than they even treat me. You can do anything you damn well please."

"Both of you stop it, now!" Hermione yelled shrilly.

"I didn't ask for it, and it is not my fault if I am further along magically than the rest of you."

"I didn't ask for it either," Harry yelled back. "I don't want to be in any stupid task tomorrow. I didn't put my name in that Goblet!"

"Harold James Potter, Sage Severus Snape stop arguing this instant! You two are acting like children, like two brothers in fact. We all want Harry to get passed the dragon tomorrow, that's why we are here. So why don't we focus on that?"

"I don't need his help!"

Hermione glared at Harry harshly, how could Harry dare continue fighting with Sage after she had yelled at them both. It was apparently clear that Harry needed everyone's help, Sage's included if he expected to perfect the Summoning Charm.

Sage crossed his arms imperially, "There, Hubris, case-in-point. I know when I am not wanted, and I sure as hell am not going to waste my words on deaf ears or my efforts either. Goodnight, Hermione," he said walking towards the stairs.

Hermione didn't respond, but as soon as he was gone she looked pointedly at Harry and yelled, "See what you did? He's right, you know, about your pride. The two of you have more in common that you even know, you're related, and he is the last person you would ever ask for help. Why?"

"Because he's a Snape, he would probably laugh at me or throw my words right back at me. That's why."

"Do you really believe that," Hermione asked. "Last year you found him to be good enough to play Quidditch with and hang around with."

"Quidditch and talking about things I am dealing with are two different things Hermione. And he can't very well tell me that I am horrid at Quidditch."

Harry remembered what he had been told the last time he had a candid conversation with Sage, he had learned the part his own father had played in getting Sage's father murdered.

"It's a shame that you have not even taken the time or made the effort to get to know him better, Harry. What about what he's going through? You've commented about him acting strangely, but you never talk to him."

"Why should I?"

"Because he is the only relative you have left other than the Dursleys, and they don't really count."

Harry scoffed. "I was fine without him when I didn't know he existed."

"Yes, but you were also fine without Snuffles before you knew he existed, and now how do you feel about him."

Hermione raised her eyebrow in satisfaction as Harry's face went slack.

"Well, he doesn't go out of his way to try and talk to me either," Harry answered, feeling like he was standing upon better ground.

Hermione threw up her hands, "Harry, in that way he very much is like the professor. He rarely talks to anybody. It's his nature."

The stands were very crowded on the day of the first task. Hermione had stayed up almost all night trying to get Harry to master the Summoning Charm. If she had not been worried about Harry, she would have fallen straight asleep in the stands sitting between Sage and Ron.

The air was biting and Sage pulled his cloak more closed over his body. He kept kneading his hands together, stressing the dark fabric of his fingerless gloves. The corners of his mouth curved upwards in frustration. On one side of him was Hermione, telling Ron not to be thick about some thing or another. On the other side of him was Mandy, wrapped up tightly in her cloak, and wearing a black hat over her head to keep in the warmth.

"Hermione, do you really think he will be able to summon the Firebolt," Ron asked, nervously.

"I, er, hope so," Hermione answered, faking a smile.

Sage turned towards her, "Hermione, seriously, can he do it or not?"

"No, not unless he drastically improved since last night," she squealed in his ear, trying not to let anyone else hear.

Groaning, Sage put his hand up to his head.

His head snapped back up when he felt something touch his leg.

"Are you okay,"Mandy asked, looking concerned. She obviously though he was groaning because he did not feel well.

"Fine, really," he answered her.

She removed her hand when he eyed it uneasily with his eyebrow raised.

Sage watched in nervous anticipation as the other 3 champions had their go with the dragons. None had seemed the worse for what they were going up against, but all of them at least used tactics that they were capable of using. Whether they worked or not was another story.

Before any of them knew it, Harry's turn had come. He looked so small as he walked out into the enclosure, clutching his wand in his too white fingers.

Sage gulped as the scene unfolded. If he didn't do anything, Harry was going to get roasted or eaten or both. Hermione screeched to his idiot cousin to use his wand.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yelled.

Sage looked behind him and then back down at Harry. Sage could feel that the spell was not near as strong as it needed to be to summon the broomstick. He turned around, almost completely in his place, and put his hand out slightly towards the castle.

"What are you doing? You are going to help him? Even after what you said last night. But, but you, you can't," Hermione said to him, noticing what he was doing, since he had turned her direction. "It's against the rules."

"He's my cousin, even if he is proud and stupid," Sage cut in.

He concentrated hard, and he felt the pull, the Firebolt was coming. As he felt it coming nearer, he narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, he saw it, flying straight towards him at breakneck speed. Without further thought, he directed it to where it should go. He hoped that no one would take serious note of the fact that the broomstick had taken quite a wavering course for a Summoning Charm. The second he was sure it would go to Harry and stop, he quickly hid his hand, lest anyone, other than Hermione, notice the small gesture he had made.

Harry mounted the broom, looking quite proud and excited, and being none-the-wiser, he started the task thinking that he had done the first part of the task well. Before too long he had managed to get the golden egg, without getting either roasted or eaten.

Quite a show, though. The Weasley Twins were right, well done, Dragon!

Sage let out a sigh and both Hermione and Mandy let go of their death grips on his forearms, which each of them had grabbed in the heat of the task, literally.

Pursing his lips, Sage thought, He can never know that I helped him. He would tell Hermione as much later. Better to let him believe that he did it on his own. For that part, Sage felt guilty.