Chapter X: The Start of a New Beginning

'Minerva?' he called into the fire. 'Minerva, are you there?'

'Ah, Severus, my dear boy. I was wondering when you would visit again.'

Severus raised his head to look at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. The old wizard was looking down at him with his ever-so-twinkling eyes, smiling.

'Nice of you to knock this time, by the way,' Dumbledore continued. 'Minerva is at dinner. She should be back shortly. Why don't you come in?'

Severus stepped into the green flames, and moments later he arrived at the Headmistress' office. There he started pacing, from the desk to the window, from the window to the bookshelf, from the bookshelf back to the desk. He knew that the portrait of Albus Dumbledore was following him with his eyes, but he knew better than to look up. He had no desire whatsoever to discuss the situation at hand with Dumbledore.

'You will wear out your shoes,' Minerva said in a kind tone as she entered the office.

'Since when do you have dinner that late?' Severus snapped. 'I have been waiting for twenty-seven minutes.'

Minerva gave him a kind, motherly smile. 'I was hoping you would stay at Cassandra's a little longer.' Then her smile faltered and she narrowed her eyes. 'You did not walk out on her, did you?'

'I most certainly did not,' Severus replied, turning away from Minerva. He suddenly felt uneasy under her scrutinising gaze. How come she could still make him feel like a schoolboy who had been caught after curfew? Once more he strode towards the window.

'Then you talked?' Minerva inquired.

He gave a curt nod, still pacing.

'For goodness' sake, Severus. Have a seat.'

It was the second time that day that Minerva told him to sit down. And that time he did as he was told. As he sank onto the seat in front of her desk he suddenly realised how tired he was.

'Did you ask her?' The kind tone was back in Minerva's voice, and she was looking at him very much in the same way as she had when he had been a boy and she had been interrogating him about who had caused the bruises on his body. 'Did you ask her all those questions that are burning a hole into you mind, Severus?'

He didn't answer.

'You did walk out on her then.' She sat down behind her desk and shook her head. 'Some things obviously never change. You've always been a proud man, Severus, and stubborn as a donkey.'

He opened his mouth to retort, but a gesture of Minerva's hand made him hold his peace.

'I should send you right back to her, you know,' she said. 'But I am afraid that you will just hide in your flat and miss out on your chance to make up with her.'

He didn't reply. Minerva was right, of course. If she sent him away now, he would probably never go to see Cassandra again, simply because he was afraid. And the worst thing was that he wasn't really sure what the hell it was that he was so afraid of.

'Fire away then, Severus,' Minerva said, peering at him over the rim of her glasses. 'What do you want to know?'

'What happened the day Cassandra's husband died? Why was she not injured when the Brockdale Bridge collapsed?'

'Someone knew that she was there,' Minerva replied in a strained tone. 'We never found out how the Death Eaters knew that she and Thorbjörn were about to cross the bridge at the moment of the attack. But somehow they knew, and they got her out of the car.' Minerva took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. 'They made her watch, Severus. They made her watch her husband die.'

'Why?' he asked. 'Why did they get her out? Why did they spare her?'

Minerva shrugged and put her glasses back on. 'I am not sure they meant to spare her. I rather think they wanted her to know who was responsible before they killed her. Someone wanted her to suffer.'

Severus clenched his fists. 'Who? Who wanted her to suffer?'

Minerva shrugged. 'I don't know, Severus. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but Yaxley was there.'

Severus frowned. What did Yaxley have to do with anything?

'Cassandra had been promised to him,' Minerva explained. 'I suppose he would have taken her just for her name and her dowry, and he would not have cared that she had been sorted into Ravenclaw. But as her parents disowned her, he too was left standing in the rain. He sure had some unfinished business with her.'

Minerva broke off and once more brought her hand towards her brow. Severus noticed that she was shaking.

For the first time since their conversation had started, Dumbledore spoke: 'Yaxley cast the curse that killed the baby.'

Severus felt a chill go down his spine. He knew Yaxley. He had been a brutal, sadistic man, the type of person who would have taken it as a personal insult that Cassandra had married a Muggle and gotten pregnant with his baby, the type of person who would have killed her child in the womb just to make a statement. Severus did not even want to imagine what kind of cruelties Cassandra had had to endure by that man.

'How did she get away?' He noticed that his own voice wasn't all too steady. This whole affair affected him more that he had anticipated.

Minerva's face was still buried in her hand, and Severus wondered if she was crying. He turned towards the portrait of Dumbledore and repeated his question.

'We don't know. She has never been able to tell us,' the old man replied. 'One of the Death Eaters' curses might have affected her memory. Or maybe the shock had wiped out the details. She didn't even remember how she got to Grimmauld Place. Suddenly, she was just standing on the yard, shaking and bleeding. It was a lucky coincidence that Kreacher saw her through the window.'

'Grimmauld Place?' Severus repeated. 'Why did she go there?'

'It had once been her home.' Minerva had found her voice again, but it was still shaky. 'And she had nowhere else to go.'

'The poor girl was in a ragged state,' Dumbledore went on. 'We immediately rushed her off to St. Mungo's where they treated her wounds. But she wouldn't stay.'

'Sirius wanted her to stay in Britain, and so did Albus and I,' Minerva continued. 'We thought we could protect her here.'

'You feared that Yaxley was not done with her?' Severus inquired.

Minerva nodded. 'But she would not have it. She insisted on returning to Iceland.'

'And you just let her go?' He couldn't believe it. 'You let her go, and the only protection you gave her was a Kneazle?'

'Give us some credit, Severus,' Minerva replied, sounding insulted. 'The Kneazle was only one link in the protective chain. As you know, Nicodemus recognises the Dark Mark.'

'A lot of good that did,' Severus stated dryly. 'What would have happened if I had had bad intentions the first time I visited?'

'Cassandra's house has been well protected since the day she returned,' Dumbledore explained. 'Firstly, no one can enter the house unless they have been invited. And secondly, no one can enter the house carrying a wand.'

'Why are the wards still intact?' Severus wondered. 'The Dark Lord had been dead for more than seven years. So has Yaxley.'

Minerva nodded. 'Yes, the threats are gone. But Cassandra's fears aren't. She had seen her husband die. Her child had died in her womb. There are still days when she does nothing else but cry. She has never forgiven herself.'

Severus stared at the Headmistress, a look of utter disbelief on his face. How could Cassandra blame herself for any of this? She had not asked to be born a Black. She had not asked to be involved in that war. She had had no part in any of this.

As if she had read his mind, Minerva nodded. 'Yes, Severus, you are right. Cassandra is just one of those many victims of Voldemort's reign, one of those who never had a choice.'

Severus nodded. He knew exactly how it was to not have a choice. The last choice he had made in his old life had been the day he had turned from Voldemort and become a spy. And since then, he had been nothing but a pawn. For a second he closed his eyes, trying to block out the images that were forming in his mind. He did not want to think about his past, not now.

'Has she never considered coming back, returning to the Wizarding world?' he wondered.

Minerva shook her head. 'Never. She has nothing to return to.'

Once more Severus nodded. He knew that feeling, too. He had never had any desire to return to the Wizarding world either. Neither had he anything to return to. Birds of a feather, indeed.

They sat silently for a while. Minerva was shuffling around papers on her desk, Dumbledore was looking down at her, and Severus was staring at the flickering light of the candles, his mind racing: only a couple of months ago, he had been living a quiet Muggle life, far away from the Wizarding world, far away from his dark past. And now he was back at Hogwarts, facing all that he had left behind, not for his own sake but for her.

'What are you going to do now, Severus?' Minerva's voice ripped him out of his thoughts. 'You cannot just ignore everything you have learnt over the last couple of days. The ghosts of your past have been awakened, and you cannot just send them back to sleep.'

'I am aware of that, Minerva.'

'Go and see her, Severus. Please talk to her. I think there is a possibility that you two can heal each other's wounds like no one else can.'

'I do not know if I can do that, Minerva.' He rose and walked towards the fireplace.

'What is it you are afraid of, Severus?' Minerva called after him, but he pretended not to hear and Flooed back to his flat in Reykjavik.

Once more, Severus was pacing his living room. He had tried to go to sleep, but it had been in vain. He could not find any peace. Now the sun was rising in the east, and he had still not found any answers.

Why had he not understood? Why had he chosen not to see?

Cassandra had dropped plenty of hints: her remarks about dunderheads and nincompoops had been spot on, the Potions books had been solid proof, and she had even plain-out confessed being a witch. She had not concealed anything. But he had been too busy running from his past, had closed his eyes and pretended not to see.

What are you afraid of, Severus?

Minerva's words were still ringing in his ears. Only an hour ago, back at her office, he had chosen to ignore her question. He had had an answer, but he had not wanted to admit it, not even to himself: he was afraid of his past. He was afraid to look back and be reminded of all the things he had left behind, the mistakes he had made, the friends he had lost.

Seven years ago he had been given the chance to run. And he had taken it without thinking twice. It had been so easy to just turn his back on everything and walk away, swipe everything under the carpet and pretend it wasn't there.

Maybe he was a coward after all.

You are not a coward, Severus. You are a survivor. And survivors do not tempt fate.

He smirked at the memory of Cassandra's words. What did she know? What did she know about the man who had once been Severus Snape?

Severus Snape had been a liar, a traitor, a murderer. From the day he had taken the Dark Mark, he had lived his life in the shadows of his wrongdoings. And for a while, he had gladly hidden in those shadows and transformed into a creature of the dark.

He had tried to return to the Light. He had trusted Dumbledore and followed orders, hoping for redemption. But the way to salvation had been plastered with new lies, new deception and more blood on his hands.

Eventually, he had accepted that he would never be able to step out of the shadows. But he had gone on fighting. If there was no hope for him, maybe there was at least hope for wizardkind.

There were those who said that the actions of Severus Snape had made it possible for Harry Potter to defeat the Dark Lord in the end. When Severus had heard about that statement for the first time, he had smirked at it. It had seemed ridiculous. What good had he ever done? And even if he had done anything good, how could anybody ever see it in the mass of all his wrongdoings? How could anybody see it if he himself was unable to?

The days dragged by. Severus barely spoke to anyone. He went to work, carried out his tasks and then disappeared from sight. He had no energy for collegial chatting or questions about how his weekend had been. He needed to be alone, needed to sort things out.

His eyes darted immediately to his answering machine every time he stepped inside his flat. He desperately wished that Cassandra had called, that she had taken the first step and said: 'Hey, let's start over.' But she had not called, and the silence of the phone seemed to be mocking him.

What was he expecting? The first step was not hers to make. He was the one who had walked out on her. He was the one who could not accept his past. He was the one who had to beg for forgiveness. But as much as he wanted to call her, as much as he wanted to apologise, he did not dare. What if she didn't pick up the phone? Or even worse, what if she told him to leave her alone?

By Thursday, the uncertainty became too much to bear. If he ever wanted to sleep peacefully again, he would have to talk to her. He had to take the risk that she would tell him to go to hell. At least, he would know then.

He stood some minutes outside the café, peering through the window. She was sitting at their table, a stack of paper in front of her. If it hadn't been for the tired look on her face and the feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach, everything would have been just as the first time he had come to the café to meet her. It had been a blissful afternoon, free of memories, free of dark thoughts.

He had already placed his hand on the doorknob when he considered turning away and leaving her alone. What right did he have to ask anything of her? He should set her free. She would forget him eventually and find happiness with someone else.

But he could not just walk away. Over the last couple of days, he had come to terms with the fact that he had to leave his hiding place, that he had to open his eyes and accept his past. But he couldn't do it alone. He needed help. He needed her.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside the café. Cassandra didn't stir, and he approached her table without her noticing him.

'Is this seat taken?' he asked in a low voice.

He saw her place her pen on the table, saw her chest rise as she took one deep breath. Then she lifted her head and looked up at him. He didn't need Legilimency to read her. She was relieved to see him, but at the same time she was confused and scared. He understood her feelings. He felt the same.

She nodded towards the chair opposite her, and as he took his seat, he stretched out his hand towards her:

'Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Severus, Severus Snape.'