Chapter 8: 8
7.
Since he and Calista got on with each other the best when they were in his workroom downstairs, Severus thought it would be a good idea to begin actually teaching her the art of potions-brewing, at the weekends.
She'd responded to the idea with enthusiasm, and it had seemed, at first, like an act of sheer brilliance on his part. She was bright, and eager to learn. When he demonstrated the instructions, step by step, she absorbed it, imitated him down to her posture as she stirred the cauldron; she still couldn't reach the worktop, so he'd borrowed a kitchen chair for her to stand on. She looked rather like a miniature of him, looking down very solemnly into the cauldron as she stirred it, dark hair falling forward.
The trouble began when she felt that she'd already grasped a particular concept, or step in a recipe. He always left the potions book they were using open on the worktop, to the recipe they were following. As soon as he turned his back, she took to reading ahead in the recipe.
She liked to try to figure out the next step on her own, which was an admirable ambition, but was unfortunately very often beyond her scope. There were an abundance of words in the potions books he was using that didn't seem to be in Calista's vocabulary. When instructed to mince, granulate, or otherwise modify the ingredients, she often seemed at a loss as to what exactly she was supposed to do with them - but it didn't stop her from trying to go ahead with the potion anyway. There were more than a few times where he had stopped her just in time from ignoring the words she didn't understand and simply dumping the ingredients in as they were.
"There's a reason for every single word in a potion recipe," he had to explain more than once. "No matter how small the detail, it must be followed properly or the entire thing stands to be ruined."
Just as Severus couldn't keep a small note of annoyance out of his voice after the first time he had given an instruction, Calista could not control her annoyance at being corrected. She still didn't say much, but her eyes would flash and she would follow his instructions with exaggeratedly slow and careful movements.
She also still had a maddening habit of simply leaving a room as soon as he said something she didn't like.
During one of these instances, when Severus corrected a mistake she had made in measuring, she snapped at him.
"I'm not daft," she said, her face twisting into a childlike scowl.
Severus raised his eyebrows and met her gaze with his own.
"If I thought you were daft, I wouldn't bother spending so much time correcting you," he responded, his tone admittedly exasperated. "However, I do think you'd catch on a lot faster if you would stop making such an effort to ignore everything I say."
Calista's scowl only deepened, and she dumped the handful of beetles' eyes she was holding, which was twice the amount the brew called for and the initial source of this particular argument, into the cauldron, proving his point by ignoring him once more.
Severus, knowing full well what would happen if too many beetles' eyes were used, drew his wand from the his pocket, and sent a freezing spell to engulf the cauldron and the flame beneath it.
Perhaps sensing his anger, and wisely electing not to be on the receiving end of it, Calista hurriedly got down from the seat of the kitchen chair, and scampered towards the stairs.
"Wait. A. Minute," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. He turned to face his daughter, who stopped walking but didn't turn towards him. He quickly removed the cauldron from the flame before turning to face Calista's back.
"Come here, Calista."
He was unable to keep a mild amount of displeasure out of his words, and Calista whirled around, and marched defiantly towards him.
Severus thought with an inward snarl that this was the only child he had yet met that could be obedient and defiant at the same time. He was quite certain that he had never been this difficult as a child, although some of his own teachers would have begged to differ.
"As I was saying," he said, looking down at her sternly, "There is a reason why call for ingredients in particular proportions. You are not daft, which is why I'm astounded that you chose to do such a daft thing."
He could see Calista's eyes clouding with anger, but he ignored it, and pressed on.
"Beetles' eyes are typically fairly inert," he lectured, "but when coupled with fire salamander scales, which you had already added to the draught, they become quite explosive. You could have blown that cauldron up in your face."
Calista scowled at him again, and clenched her jaw tightly; she still resorted to silence when she was most frustrated, and her silence frustrated Severus in turn. He waited a few more moments as the silence stretched before them, before coming to a decision.
"Fine. If you won't listen to me when I try to instruct you, then I won't waste my time until you have a better idea what you are working with. There will be no more potions lessons until you have thoroughly researched the two hundred most commonly used ingredients. I want you to write a brief description of each one, including alternate names, appearance, identifying traits, look-alikes, main uses, and, most importantly, interactions with other commonly used ingredients."
Gods, had he just given her homework? He had, and despite himself, it struck him as just a bit amusing.
Calista, however, did not share his amusement. Her childish glare was slowly replaced with a blank, expressionless mask. He wasn't even certain that she had done it on purpose, since she was still young enough for her power to act without her conscious consent. Still, it exhausted and exasperated Severus, after having spent months trying to forge a connection with his daughter, getting her to express her feelings.
"I'd very much like to know what it is you have against me, child. I have done everything in my power to make you as happy as I can. All I ask in return is that you respect me as your… elder."
He had been about to say 'father', but, in that moment, he felt awkward, and changed it at the last second.
Calista closed her eyes and opened her mouth. "I didn't ask you for anything,"
Severus blinked, looking at the tiny figure that stood defiantly facing him, even though she scarcely came to his waist. Of all the responses he expected from the child, this wasn't one of them.
"What?" was the first response he had, and out it came.
"I didn't ask you for anything," Calista repeated, opening her eyes, but keeping them trained on the floor, "Why should I have to do what you say?"
"Because I'm responsible for you, and that's generally the way it works."
"You don't have to be," she said, a note of challenge creeping into her voice now, "You can bring me back to the stupid orphanage any time you want to."
"Oh, I see. Is that what you want, simply because I asked you not to blow our house up?"
He knew he shouldn't have risen to her bait, but the child knew just how to aggravate him; it was as if she knew precisely what made him tick, and perhaps she did have some idea, because she set her face stonily again.
"Yes," she said, "That is what I want. I'm tired of living with you and all your stupid rules."
That wounded him; he tried not to show it, as he hastily turned away from her, and began clearing the remains of their unfinished potion from the worktop.
Once he had finished clearing the surface in silence, he carefully schooled his expression before turning around. She was still in the same place, staring at him. He expected to see the same hard, set look on her face, but was surprised to see that it had been replaced with another expression.
She looked curious, questioning, and sad all at once. She also looked like she was expecting some sort of reply. When he didn't give one, she spoke again.
"Well," she said, and her voice wobbled with more than her usual nervous tremor. "Are you going to bring me back?"
"No, I'm not," he said quietly. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I think it's best that you stay here, with me and my 'stupid rules'."
"Fine," she said, and there was remarkably little fight left in her voice; it sounded small, and forlorn, and Severus was bewildered. How had all of this happened, just because he hadn't wanted the contents of the cauldron to explode and possibly injure her? Before he had time to try and sort any of it out, she had turned and flounced up the stairs, leaving him behind and still very confused.
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Despite her frequent blow-ups at him, Calista generally seemed to like spending time with Severus; she almost never left the breakfast table before him, anymore, and she still liked him to read to her, even though there were some books that he had given her permission to look at on her own.
She even took, sometime after their argument in Severus' workroom, to slipping out of the flat and into his office during the day. Sometimes, he would find her there mid-day, when he went in between classes, and often she would linger when he was working, drafting lesson plans or correcting students' work. She wasn't particularly chatty during most of these times, but nor did she seem inclined to leave.
Sometimes, she brought books in with her; ones of his that he had deemed, if not quite appropriate for her age, then at least ones which weren't likely to be harmful, and both of the books that he had bought her about cats. Other times, she took blank sheets of parchment from the desk in his study with her, and scrawled all over the pages. As far as he could tell, she mostly drew scribbly, unidentifiable pictures, but a few times he'd seen her writing equally scribbly words. She'd show him the pictures, occasionally, but she was always very secretive about the pages with words on them.
Of course, some of the times that she was in his office, it was open for students with questions or needing extra help. Whenever footsteps approached, her ears would perk, and she would become very still. If a knock came at the door, or the knob turned, she would bolt, only venturing back when he was again alone, or when the office was empty.
Sometimes, she'd ask him what he was doing, or if they could go outside soon, but most of the time she was quiet, except for the turning of a page or the scratching of a quill.
He tried to take her outside once a week, or as close to that as he had time for. They'd argued about the forest three more times, and she once asked to go swimming in the lake, but aside from that, it was more or less enjoyable. Whenever they drew close to someone else though, be it a teacher or a student, Calista would either retreat behind the nearest object large enough to hide her, or look at the ground and pretend she couldn't see them.
One such time, Calista had asked to see inside the greenhouses, so they'd gone inside, on a late afternoon, when no classes were scheduled in them. They'd rounded a corner, and run into a fifth-year student wearing Ravenclaw robes. Calista hadn't noticed at first, being caught up in gazing at a bed of Fanged Geraniums.
"Hello, Professor Snape," the student said, smiling cautiously. She was wearing dragonhide gloves, and tending the very same plants Calista was looking at, further down the bed. She had brown hair in a single plait, and a rather friendly-looking face. This didn't stop Calista from backing up several paces and eyeing the teenager warily.
"Miss Machnyth," he replied, "Studying for your O.W.L.s?"
She nodded, and then added,"I've been studying for Potions too, don't worry."
"I'm sure you have," he said, not unkindly. She was one of his better students; he was positive she'd be in his advanced class next year, if she chose to take it. Moreover, she was a Prefect, and had a reputation for being particularly kind to first-year students, so he took a gamble and decided to introduce her to Calista. So far, he had not managed to get her to speak to anyone besides him, though he'd tried more than once.
"This is my daughter, Calista," he said, "You may have seen her around the castle with me, although she usually prefers to hide."
"I didn't know you had children," the girl said, and then she blushed. "Not that it's any of my business."
She took off her right glove, and held her hand out to the little girl, for her to shake. Calista promptly stepped back another pace, and turned her head to study one of the toothy plants very intently.
"Hello, Calista," the teenager said, "It's nice to meet you. My name's Fainne."
Calista looked at her only long enough to scowl; the older girl laughed uncertainly. "She's very shy, isn't she?" she asked, glancing back up at Snape.
"Something like that," Severus responded drily. He turned his head to look at his daughter.
"Miss Machnyth won't bite you, Calista," he said, "But that plant might, if you get much closer to it."
Calista responded by turning around and exiting the greenhouse. Severus sighed, and followed her out.
"You'll have to learn to talk to other people eventually," he said, but she was already running ahead of him to look at the giant pumpkins near the Gamekeeper's hut.
He'd tried taking her to have lunch with Dumbledore, too, that same week. Severus had already told the Headmaster that he'd gotten the child to speak, but of course, Calista made him look the fool by refusing to utter a single word in the presence of anyone else.
Finally, when Dumbledore had left, Severus was fed up enough to ask her why.
"No one here is going to hurt you," Severus said, impatiently. "What's the harm in talking to someone once in awhile?"
"I don't want to," she said sulkily.
"We had a deal," Severus reminded her.
Calista folded her arms defiantly. "The deal was I had to talk to you," she said, "You never said anything about anyone else."
Damn it, Severus snarled inwardly. Because when he thought back, that was precisely what he'd said to her. Despite himself, he smirked. As infuriating as it was, it was a little bit funny, like something he might have pulled himself as a child.
"You're too clever for your own good by half," he told her, unable to keep some affection from his words, even though he was still irritated with her.
She smiled then, evidently pleased. He thought there might have been something vaguely triumphant about it, but she'd turned and left the room before he had time to tell for sure.
"This discussion isn't over," he called after her.
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The nightmares still happened, sometimes more frequently than others. Often, Severus had found himself woken from a sound sleep with only the vague notion that something was wrong. When he'd gone to check on Calista, she'd been in the grip of another dream, whimpering and restless.
She never wanted him to get close, but he always did it anyway, stayed with her, sometimes holding her and sometimes just sitting beside her, depending on how agitated she was. When it was really necessary, he gave her a moderate sleeping potion, but only after trying to coax her back to sleep without it. Sometimes she needed the potion; other times, he was able to calm her enough to go back to sleep on her own.
On these nights, he found himself thinking back to his conversation with Albus Dumbledore. He knew there was some merit to the old man's words, that Calista should try healing from her traumas before they resorted to altering her memory, but it was hard to remember that when she trembled and cried out, eyes round with terror.
Both of them were often short on sleep as a result of her nightmares, which in turn led to shorter tempers and more arguments. Some of them were frivolous, but other times she would again insist that he take her back to the orphanage. He wondered if she said it for any reason other than to hurt him; at any rate, that was all it seemed to accomplish.
Perhaps two weeks after his failed attempts to get her to speak to someone that wasn't him, he was in his office, approving N.E.W.T projects for his seventh years. Severus had a regular curriculum of the things that he expected would be on the exam, but he also allowed his students to choose independent project they wanted to work on, for their own enrichment. Before he would allow them to begin, however, he looked over each one to ensure that the project could reasonably be done at Hogwarts, and that it wasn't entirely out of the scope of whichever student had submitted it. He also gave them back a list of the ingredients that they would need to send away for, since not all of them were available in the school's stores.
More often than not, most of the students wanted to make the most dangerous poison they could dig up a recipe for in the Restricted section of the library, but every now and again, their ideas would surprise him. He was going to have to tell one of his Slytherins, for example, that he could not make Veritaserum for an independent project. Severus would have liked to allow it, but the Board of Governors would have frowned on that. (Why they didn't seem to frown on the students making highly dangerous poisons, Severus couldn't guess).
He was reviewing these independent project requests when Calista slipped into his office, book in hand. There was a second chair, but she ignored it and sat down on the floor, a short distance away from his desk. After a few minutes, Severus heard the scratching of a quill. When he looked over, she was scribbling in her little book, the one she'd had with her the day he met her.
"That book must be almost filled by now," he commented, "Perhaps we should buy you another one."
"It's not full," Calista said, "There's always one page left."
"Just one page?" Severus paused, his own quill poised above a seventh-year Ravenclaw's request to brew a Skin-Sloughing Solution, "You'll fill that today."
"Maybe," Calista said easily, "But there will be another page the next time I feel like writing in it… at least, I think there will…"
"Ah," Severus said, realising that she must mean there were random blank pages in the book still that she hadn't found and filled all of, "Well, if you find yourself out of blank pages, let me know." He paused, and then: "What are you writing, anyway?"
She looked at him in a way that could only be described as imperious; it was a look he'd seen on Bellatrix's face often enough, but he would never tell Calista that.
"Secrets," she said, loftily.
"I see."
"What are you writing?" she countered.
"Secrets," he replied, mimicking her tone precisely.
She laughed, and he found himself smiling too. He loved the way her face lit up when she laughed or smiled; it made him forget, for a fraction of an instant, how difficult she normally was. More importantly, it gave him hope that she wasn't beyond saving. Perhaps she could triumph, as Dumbledore had suggested, without having her memories altered.
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Severus must have tempted fate by thinking that she was doing better, that he may not need to modify her memory at all, because scarcely a week after he had begun to think in this way, he was woken in the middle if the night by one of her nightmares again.
Every time he woke up, he thought for certain that he had heard her screaming for help; but once he had come to his senses, leapt out of bed and rushed into her room, he realised that it was not so. She never screamed, only whimpered and mumbled in her sleep very occasionally.
On this night, when he entered her bedroom, with his wand lit and his robes thrown hastily over his nightshirt, it took him several seconds to realise that she was screaming. It wasn't just in his head this time.
"Calista, wake up," he urged, putting his hands at her shoulders and gently shaking her. "It's only a dream, wake up."
It was only a dream wasn't it? She was sleeping, or at least her eyes were closed, but she was crying out as though she was in great pain; despite himself, his head whipped around, checking the corners of the room for forms that didn't belong there. but there was only the candelabra in one corner, and her wardrobe against the wall. He lit the candelabra with his wand, then slipped his wand into the pocket of his robes.
"Calista!" he said louder, and her eyes snapped open, feral with terror. Immediately, she stretched her arms out, began clawing at him. She landed a scratch on the side of his face, and he grabbed her wrists before she could inflict any more damage. She was still screaming.
"Calista, it's only me," Severus said firmly, loudly, trying to raise his voice high enough for her to hear over her own racket. "You're safe. Nothing's here, nothing's hurting you."
She took in several great, gasping breaths, and then her screams changed to choked sobs. He saw her eyes dart around the room, checking all the same corners that he had already done.
"You're safe," he repeated, experimentally loosening his grip on her wrists. As soon as they were free, she sat up, reaching both arms behind her back, feeling frantically for something.
"The knife," she said, voice hoarse, eyes still round and half-wild, "Get it out!"
"Calista, there is no knife," he said, trying to sound reassuring, and reaching for her hands again. She was clawing futilely at her back now, trying to pull out an imaginary blade. He took her hands, held them together in front of her. "It was a dream."
"It's real," she managed, but whatever else she was trying to say was lost in another series of choked cries.
"Calm down," he urged, "Breathe. You're safe. There's no knife, and there's no one here but you and I."
He let go of her hands again, reached for her with the intention of holding her until she was calm, the way he had done through more than a dozen nightmares, now.
She recoiled from him, as soon as he drew close, putting her arms up to push him away.
"Calista, it's me."
"G-go away," she choked, and nothing he said would coax the terror out of her eyes. She started trembling, violently, worse than he had ever seen her.
"You're safe," he told her, again and again, but this time, she wouldn't believe him, wouldn't stop trembling, wouldn't let him get close enough to comfort her. She had drawn her arms around herself, as if she were cold, but whenever he tried to inch closer to her, they unfolded from around herself, threatening to shove him or claw at him again.
"I s-said g-go away," she said, warily, in between frantic, shallow breaths. There was still a wildness in her eyes, something that told him that she wasn't, quite yet, separated from her dream.
"I don't want to go away," Severus said quietly, "Not when you're frightened and sad. I'd rather keep you company until you feel better."
He tried to keep his voice steady, reassuring, but in truth he was frightened himself; he thought perhaps he should try to get her to the hospital wing, somehow. Her breathing was still erratic, gasping and hoarse, and she was shaking like a leaf.
"Calista," he tried again, and even he could hear the concern that leaked around the edges of his words, despite his calm affectations. "Breathe. You're going to make yourself sick."
"C-can't," she coughed, choking on the word. And then, "H-help me! M-make her - make her stop!"
"There's no one else here," he said, trying to keep his own emotions out of his face. He felt his gut twist, his heart flutter into his throat. Was this what she had sounded like, when Bellatrix had been torturing her? Scarcely breathing, and crying for help that never came? Or, he should say, help that came far, far too late.
Shit. He was not feeling heat behind his own eyes. His own hands were not shaking with rage, with some dark feeling heavy like sadness but as intense as dragonfire. And even if they were, he didn't have time to process it, to feel anything of his own, not until he had managed to pull her back from the brink of utter panic.
"She's in Azkaban," he reminded her, "You're safe."
Perhaps he had managed to inject more finality into the phrase this time, because, at long last, some of the wildness in her eyes began to fade, a fog of terror gradually melting into a clear, wary sadness.
"She-she's gone?" Calista whispered, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. Another great shiver racked her small form.
"She's gone," Severus confirmed, easing closer to her again. "Locked up, far away."
"What if she gets out?" the fear pricked at her eyes again, he saw her shoulders tense, saw her choke on another breath.
"I don't think that will happen," he said, reaching for her. He pulled her close at last, and she was like a frightened little bird in his arms; he could feel her heart pounding between them, and she was still sharp angles and jutting little bones all over.
"What if it does?" Her voice was muffled by his shoulder, but he could still make out the words.
"Then I will protect you," he said, "I won't let her hurt you again." He said it very quietly, right into her ear.
He thought, just for an instant, that she stopped trembling. But then, she shivered again, lifted her head from his shoulder, and looked at him, eye to eye. He expected to see fear and sadness there, and he did, but he also saw something he wasn't ready to name, just yet. Something that made him wonder if, maybe, she was beginning to trust him.
"I was lying before," she said, regarding him solemnly. "When I said I wanted to go back." Severus could still hear the wobble of tears in her voice, and he could hear as well her fierce determination to hold them back.
"I'm glad to hear that," he murmured, "Since I was never going to send you back, anyway."
"Never?" she sounded uncertain, "Even if I'm really, really mean and I never do what you say?"
"Not even then," he said, firmly. "Although I sincerely hope, for both of our sakes, that that isn't your plan."
She shook her head, and then: "Will anyone else come take me? To a different house, again?"
She shivered again, although he could feel it starting to subside, now. Her heart wasn't pounding so fiercely anymore, either.
A bit of her hair fell across her forehead; he pushed it back, studying at her face carefully. "Do you want them to?"
She shook her head, again. "I don't like anyone else. Except… except you."
Severus felt his heart in his throat again, for an entirely different reason this time. He was quiet for several seconds. Then he managed, "Well. No one else is going to come and take you."
She settled her head on his shoulder again, and Severus realised with a start that it was the first time, really, that she had willingly sought physical contact with him. He held her, perhaps another quarter of an hour, as her trembling gradually stopped.
He thought she had fallen asleep when she murmured, by his ear, "I wish you came to get me sooner."
He exhaled, was silent for the space of several breaths. "I… I wish that too, Calista," he managed. Even to himself, his voice sounded roughened and heavy, but she didn't notice, or she was asleep; the only acknowledgement he got was the flutter of warm breath by his neck, the weight of her small, dark head on his shoulder.
Long after he knew she was asleep, he still turned that thought over in his mind. What if he had found her sooner? What if he could have prevented her pain, the darkness that had blighted her childhood before it had even begun? Even if it put everything else at risk, would he have done it?
As the child, his child, slept more or less peacefully in his arms, he forced himself to consider the reasons why he hadn't looked for her sooner, hadn't dared to ask Dumbledore for her whereabouts until after Bellatrix was locked away in Azkaban.
Bellatrix had been with more than one person he personally knew; there could have been any number of people who fathered the child, and she wouldn't say, wouldn't let anyone see her. Still, that wasn't the thing that had prevented him from acting.
True, he had known that Bellatrix was cruel and twisted, but he had not fully realised to what extent. He had not envisioned such a horrific childhood for the unknown infant, and perhaps it would have prompted him to act – but either way, he knew he would have placed both himself and the child at risk.
No one crossed Bellatrix Lestrange, Lord Voldemort's personal pet, and maintained the Dark Lord's trust. It had been essential that Severus remain in a trusted position at Voldemort's right hand in order to protect Lily.
It didn't work out that way, though, did it? A nasty voice hissed in his mind, and fought an overwhelming urge to get up, leave his daughter's bedroom, and break something, anything. The world was a dark place, certainly, but Severus always managed, somehow, to end up cloaked in its deepest shadows.
And what did he have, now? In his heart, where he should have held the mechanisms that would allow him to love again, all he could see was the excruciating knowledge that he had failed both of the people who meant more than anything to him.
Severus writhed inwardly with self-loathing and disgust. He had not deserved to keep Lily, and he had lost her to that arrogant prick, Potter, and ultimately lost her forever, even the memory of her stained with her blood, and his guilt.
Now he had a daughter, a flighty, half-broken, stubborn, bright little girl with his eyes and his ghosts, and even though he was doing his best, he couldn't stop feeling like he was always coming up short. What if what he was doing now, taking care of her, holding her when the horrors of her past overwhelmed her, giving her a safe place to grow… what if all of it was too little, too late?
Just as he had these thoughts, Calista shifted in her sleep, settled more heavily against him, and sighed.
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