Chapter VIII: The Truth

Severus was still kneeling on the floor, clutching the silver ring as a rapping on the front door cut through the silence. Who could that be? Cassandra wouldn't knock. Hastily, he threw the ring into the casket and put it back onto the shelf. He might as well go and open the door.

Standing in the cold was Per, the blond-haired man from the previous night that had reminded Severus so much of Lucius Malfoy. He was carrying a bouquet of black roses.

'Seeing as the sun is up, I understand that you are not a vampire,' Severus stated dryly.

The other man laughed. 'And who says that I am not using some sort of spell or potion that makes it possible for me to endure the sun?'

Severus raised a sinister eyebrow. Nothing would surprise him any more this morning.

'I'm joking, of course,' Per said, misinterpreting Severus' scowl. 'Say, mate, is Cassy home? I'd like to deliver my best birthday wishes before I head back into town.'

'If you don't go inside at once, the roses will freeze to ice.' Cassandra had just turned around the corner and was now beaming at her friend, who caught her in an affectionate embrace. 'Severus and I were just about to have breakfast,' she said, pointing at the carton of milk in her hand. 'Do you want to join us?'

'I'd love to,' Per replied. 'But I have to get back to Reykjavik. I need to get some work done today.'

'Are you going there by car?' Severus enquired, suddenly seeing a chance to escape. 'Can I get a ride?'

'I thought you were staying for breakfast.' Cassandra sounded surprised, but Severus had neither the patience nor the desire to explain himself at the moment.

'I, too, have work to do,' he said, his voice cold and his face an inscrutable mask.

He went inside to get his bag and coat, shot Nicodemus a last vicious look, murmured a goodbye and stomped after Per towards the dark green car that was parked on the street. He just wanted to run, to flee. Where to, he did not know. He just needed to get away.

He never looked back, and he never saw the puzzled look on Cassandra's face. Nor did he see the owl that took flight from the kitchen window only about three minutes after he had left the house.

'How long have you known Cassandra, Per?' Severus asked. This wasn't small talk, he was looking for answers.

'I've literally known her half my life,' Per replied. 'I was friends with Thorbjörn.' He glanced at Severus from the side. 'You know about Thorbjörn, don't you?'

Severus nodded.

'They were so in love, those two, even after they had been married for ten years. They were on their second honeymoon when the accident happened. They had been at Glastonbury and were about to go and see Cassy's cousin in London. She had just graduated from the police academy. Cassy had not wanted to go, but Thorbjörn had persuaded her.' Per angrily hit the steering wheel with his fist. 'Damn it! It was not fair! They were about to have a baby.'

Severus gulped. 'A baby?'

'Yes. They had tried to get pregnant for years. God damn it, they had just found out.' There was a sad look on his face, and for some minutes, he did not say a word. After a deep sigh, he went on: 'Thorbjörn was caught in the car. He was literally crushed to death. Cassy flew through the windshield and got away with some cuts and bruises. But the baby …' Per stifled a sob, and when he went on his voice was shaking. 'I was so worried for her when she came back. She locked herself in, didn't answer the phone for days. After a week I simply kicked in her front door. She was a mess, the poor girl. So alone.'

'Doesn't she have any family?' Severus enquired.

Per shook his head. 'You know, I have no idea. She has never talked about her family. I think not even Thorbjörn has ever met them.' A frown appeared on Per's brow. 'I always found that a little strange, you know. Actually, when she and Thorbjörn had just started going out, I found Cassy to be quite weird as well. I mean, she had basically appeared from nowhere, out of thin air …'

Severus didn't hear the rest of what Per was saying. His mind was racing. She had come from nowhere, Per had said. People didn't just appear out of thin air. Everybody had a history, even those people who desperately tried to hide it. And his history had now definitely caught up with him.

Back in his flat, Severus started pacing. The initial shock over his discovery had started to wear off, and the rational part of his brain was taking over. Facts, he had to analyse the facts. What of all the things he knew about Cassandra could prove that she was a witch. And what could possibly contradict it?

There was her bookshelf, full of books about herb lore, potions and spells. But that did not prove anything. Many Muggles were into what they referred to as witchcraft. Any Muggle could brew herbal teas against headache and indigestion. And so-called love spells had been use by Muggles for centuries. No, the books didn't prove anything.

Then there was Cassandra's remark about her learning Elfish. Now, that was just ridiculous! She was probably just obsessed with Tolkien. Hell, there were some Trekkies at the hospital who spoke Klingon fluently. No, craziness did not make anyone a witch.

But then there was that ill-fated ring: the serpents, the black crystal. She could of course have gotten that ring from one of her weird Goth friends. Those people at the party had worn jewellery that Severus had not known even existed in the Muggle world. Yes, it could just be a coincidence.

Severus gave a short, dry laugh. Who was he trying to delude? He had seen the engraving. No Muggle ring would bear those words. No, there was no doubt. As much as he tried not to see it, all the clues led to one conclusion: Cassandra was indeed a witch. And even worse, she was a Black.

He stared at the box of Floo Powder that was standing on his bookshelf. Minerva had insisted that his fireplace was connected to the Floo Network. In case there was an emergency, she had argued. If there had ever been an emergency, this was it. Severus needed access to the school's student records, and he needed access now.

He had already taken a handful of the Floo Powder when he paused. He could not just barge into the Headmistress' office. Minerva would want to know his reasons, and he was certainly not ready to give her any. First, he would have to digest all this himself. Resolutely, he put the box back onto the shelf. He would have to do this later, at night, when he could be certain that Minerva was not in her office. Yes, he would sneak in later. Nobody would notice. He had, after all, been a spy for many years. If somebody could slink into the office of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry without being seen, then it was Severus Snape.

He had planned it carefully. He would wait until after midnight. Then he would make sure that Minerva truly had left her office. Then he would Floo into her office, cast a Disillusionment Charm and then check the school records. Nobody would notice. Now Severus was sitting in his armchair by the window, twirling his wand between his fingers. It had felt strange to take the wand out of the safe. It had felt strange to hold it. And it had felt strange to cast a spell. But at the same time, it had felt perfectly normal. That wand had been part of him for most of his life. It still was.

For the third time that night, Severus ventured a peak into the Headmistress' office. It was two thirty in the morning. She just had to have left her office by now. Yes, finally the light was out, and the only sound that could be heard was the snoring coming from the portraits at the walls. Severus gave a sigh of relief. He had actually started considering the fact that Minerva might spend the whole night behind her desk.

He carefully stepped out of the fireplace. He would have to move silently. The Disillusionment Charm kept him from being seen, but he could still be heard. As he had reached the door that led to the archive, he paused for a second and listened. Yes, the portraits were still asleep. Carefully he opened the door, praying that the hinges would not creak. Again he paused; again there was nothing but snoring. He slipped into the archive and soundlessly closed the door behind him.

Nothing happened. For a moment, Severus was genuinely surprised. He had expected that entering the archive would set off some defensive charm. He was, after all, not the Headmaster anymore, and only the Headmaster should have access to the archive. But then again, in the eyes of the Wizarding world, Severus Snape was dead.

He resisted the temptation to check his own records. He would have loved to see what his personal file had to say about him. Minerva was the keeper of the archive, and she knew the truth. But would she have written down that he was hiding in Iceland? Or had she put down a date of death? And did he actually want to know?

Swiftly he moved three shelves to the right to the year of 1963. If Cassandra was a witch, he would find her name there. Tentatively, Severus raised his wand.

'Cassandra Sv…' No, that was the wrong name. Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he raised his wand once more and tapped it against the shelf. 'Cassandra Black.'

He was not even surprised when a roll of parchment floated from the shelf and onto the table behind him. He had known. And now there was the proof, written in Albus Dumbledore's handwriting: Cassandra Black, born on October 31, 1963. Daughter of Orion and Walburga, sister of Sirius and Regulus.

With shaking hands, Severus rolled up the parchment and stuffed it back into his place. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his arms. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped to sub-zero.

He spent the rest of the night sitting by the window, blankly staring into nothingness, thousands of emotions battling in his heart. He felt angry, disappointed, betrayed, hurt, confused. But most of all he had felt scared.

He had found his proof that night. Cassandra the little sister of a man he had hated all is life: And she was a witch, one of his own kind. Severus clenched and unclenched his fists. Had she recognised him, he wondered. Had she recognised Severus Snape?

He feverishly tried to remember if she'd said anything that would point towards that. But he wasn't able to focus. Every time he tried to remember anything she had said, his mind went strangely blank, as if somebody had cast a Memory Charm. Eventually, he dragged himself to bed and fell into a sleep that was filled with strange dreams that involved big black dogs, tabby cats and poisonous snakes.

When he awoke, he felt anything but rested, but he dragged himself out of bed and to the hospital. And that was about all he did for the rest of the week.

It turned out to be one of the emptiest weeks of his life. He got up, went to work, carried out his duties, went home, fell asleep. If somebody had asked him, he could not even have told them what the weather was like or what his last meal had been. It did not matter. He did not care.

Every evening when he returned from work, he saw his answering machine blink. He checked the numbers and found them to be Cassandra's. He wished he could say that he did not care. Instead, he just erased the messages without even listening to them. He did not trust himself. If he heard her voice, he would surely crumble, would call her, would fall for her. He wasn't ready yet.

On Saturday afternoon, the phone rang as he was sitting in his armchair by the window, once more staring blankly out of the window. He let the machine get it. It was her.

'Come on, Severus, I know you're not at work. I checked. Now pick up the phone.'

The sound of her voice had the effect Severus had feared all week. It felt like a knife was cutting into his very flesh, a knife covered with poison that was now creeping through his veins.

'If this is about the night after the party … Look, Severus, I'm not expecting anything of you. We're both adults. And yes, we both had a little too much to drink, but we had a good time. No strings attached. I'm not expecting anything from you …'

He snatched up the phone. He would not have her think that he had shagged her just because he had been drunk and then run out on her when he had sobered up. 'You are a witch,' he simply stated, his voice cold as ice.

'I've told you that months ago.'

'Do not play games with me, woman,' he snapped. 'I am not talking about Wicca or Neo-Paganism or any of this Muggle nonsense. Answer the question, Cassandra: are you or are you not a witch?'

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and Severus wondered if she had hung up. But she hadn't, and when she answered, her voice was calm and firm.

'I think you need to come over.'