However, now was no time to feel relaxed. Right now, she had to face the consequences, ones that she had not weighed beforehand. She did not think that she had gone into telling Symone the truth with the intention to reveal her Mark, and now that she had, she knew, that if Symone hadn't hated her before, she was going to hate her now. After all, how could she not?
Symone stared at her, long after Shiloh had covered up her shoulder and turned to face her. Shiloh braced herself for the worst, for Symone to scream or to run or to hex her into oblivion. It was one thing thinking that a child was the daughter of a Death Eater, but this changed everything. They both knew what it made Shiloh.
Symone, though, didn't move, only stared at her in shock, her mouth curved open and fitting to make sounds. All that came out was gobbled, unintelligent sounds. After a long moment in which Shiloh stood, waiting patiently and forcing herself to be calm, to face this with her head held high, Symone finally spoke.
“Why?”
It was just one word, but Shiloh knew what she was asking. It was the one question that Shiloh didn't have an answer to. She could speculate all she wanted, but always in the end, she would come to the same conclusion.
“I don't know,” Shiloh said. “It could have been just a tattoo that my sick mother branded me with in her dreams of making me a Death Eater. Or it could...” She stopped herself, not during to speak or think any farther than that, because any other reason would include him.
It was the uncertainty of what the Mark meant that had always made Shiloh fear it and what made her refuse to think about it. Although, the knowledge was always there, the unanswered questions always lingered at the back of her brain. Yet, she hoped she would never know the truth, because at least, with not knowing, she was halfway free of it.
Symone continued to gawk at her, but instead of bewilderment, it was in thoughtfulness. She hardly seemed to be looking at Shiloh, but looking through her. She was quiet for a long moment, and Shiloh understood. It was a lot to take it, figuring out that the girl she had known for almost a year, was a Death Eater's daughter, had a Dark Mark, was a part of a world that Symone didn't want to be anywhere near.
Shiloh knew she was finally beginning to understand this, to accept it, because she opened her mouth, her expression still distant, and said softly, “And that's why we can't be friends?”
“Yes.” Shiloh wondered how it was possible for one word to be so difficult to say, but now that she had gotten it past her swollen tongue, she knew she had to continue. “My mother's a Death Eater; yours is an Auror. It just wouldn't work.”
Symone blinked at her, as though she had not quite heard. “My mother's an Auror,” she repeated softly, more to herself then anything. She was once again staring down at the floor, dragging her foot in the direction of the grain. Finally, she looked back up at Shiloh and asked, innocently, “What's that got to do with anything?”
How was that possible?! Shiloh had just finished explaining everything, yet Symone didn't understand it. It should have been obvious; being an Auror's daughter, Symone knew everything about Death Eater's and their world, yet the idea hadn't latched into her mind. Continuing this was so hard. Why did Symone insist on making it hard when they should be agreeing to spend the next six years avoiding one another?
“Didn't you hear me?” Shiloh asked, her voice a bit rougher than she intended. She couldn't help it; this was so hard that she was getting exasperated. “My mother's a Death Eater.”
“I heard you, Shiloh,” Symone said softly.
Clearly she hadn't or she would understand this, so Shiloh pressed on. “I highly doubt your mother would approve of you hanging out with the likes of me.”
“The likes of you,” Symone parroted again, her lips barely moving as she tried to latch the words in her mind. As soon as she had understood what Shiloh had said, it dawned on her face like one waking up far too suddenly. She opened her mouth and said, flatly, “Oh.”
Oh. That was it? Shiloh looked at her, as Symone turned from her state of shock to something completely different, something like the Symone that Shiloh knew her to be. The fire returned to her eyes, and her jaw latched taut. Shiloh knew that look well. Symone was accepting something; she was preparing for battle.
“So that's what this is, isn't it?” Symone asked her, folding her arms over her chest and meeting Shiloh's for the first time in a while. “Because I'm an Auror's daughter, you just assumed I'd hate you.”
Y es. Shiloh nodded.
“Well, for once in your life, Shiloh Sanders, you're wrong,” Symone said, her voice shaking with a hint of frustration and passion, “Yes, I hate Death Eaters. The things my mum told me about them...” As though caught up in a memory, she gave a shudder, her eyes briefly distant. Then she refocused on Shiloh. “They were evil, Shiloh!”
Shiloh had known she would feel like that; it was the way Shiloh felt too. Their lives, their world, had been filled with dark magic, hate, and murder, and it was a world that, unwilling or not, Shiloh had been a part of”was still a part of. It was something she could escape. Her Mark was evidence of that. Shiloh lowered her eyes to the floor, waiting for Symone to deliver the final blow.
“But you are not your mother.”
Shiloh jerked her head up in surprise. Whatever she had thought this conversation held, it wasn't that. She spent an entire year sure that if Symone had found out, she would hate Shiloh, but it wasn't what she found. Because she didn't see a speck of loathing in Symone's eyes, not even a hint of disgust or dislike. Instead she saw something that she didn't know if she wanted to recognize. Perhaps, it was...understanding. No, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be.
Yet, Symone was continuing, more insistent than ever, but still gentle. “That Mark on your shoulder...that's not your fault. You didn't choose it, and you didn't choose your mother. How could I hate you for that?”
Shiloh felt a hand clench itself around her throat, and her legs trembled unexpectedly, so that she had to once again clutch the bedpost. She pressed her eyes closed as the words Symone had spoken repeated themselves in her mind. You didn't choose it, and you didn't choose your mother. She'd never heard someone say that; it was something she had always known to be true, but she didn't know that anyone could figure it out to. It was why she had felt so sure that she would always be hated for it, and that feeling didn't change. The world would still hate her for that, but one thing stood out in her mind.
Of all the people who would hate her for being a Death Eater's daughter, for all those who would despise her for the world she was apart of, somehow, someway, Symone didn't hate her.
Shiloh slid onto the bed, her weak legs unable to sustain her for any longer. Everything she had thought had been so certain, had been obliterated. Symone knew the truth”the whole truth”and she didn't hate it. For so long, she had lived her life and their relationship believing that, but now that it had turned out to be untrue she realized what a waste it had been. All the times she had shoved Symone away, every moment she had spent making sure they didn't cross the path into friendship, every second she been tortured thinking she wanted something impossible “ all of it had been based on a lie.
All the things she ever done to Symone, and she was still standing there, knowing the truth and accepting it and looking at her softly. After all this time, Symone was still hopefully waiting for an answer, longing for the thing that Shiloh had thought could never be.
“Shiloh?” Symone was worried; Shiloh could see it in her eyes and in the way she hesitantly moved forward, lowered herself onto the bed beside Shiloh. Symone continued to watch her, waiting for an answer.
Shiloh's mouth felt dry, and she licked her parched lips, trying to think of how she was supposed to response. There were so many things she needed to say, and not many things that could say everything that she had on her mind. She sorted everything out, until she found the thing she desperately needed to say the most, because what Shiloh knew she needed before she could ever hope to fix the wrong she done was Symone's forgiveness. For the rejection she made Symone feel, for the pain she'd caused her, for everything she'd done and everything she hadn't done.
“Can...can you ever forgive me...for everything I did? I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I really am.” Shiloh glanced uneasily at Symone, hoping that it had come out right, that that had said everything she was feeling, that it would be enough to convince Symone that she did regret. Merlin, did she regret it!
As Shiloh watched her, Symone blinked once, opened her mouth, but instead of a 'Never' or 'You don't deserve my forgiveness', she did something that was perhaps the response that Shiloh had been waiting for.
She laughed.
It wasn't mocking or hurtful. Instead, it was the release of everything that had been within her, a parting of the pain and a return of the joy, because she understood what was hidden within the words. She understood that Shiloh was ready to be her friend now. She hadn't been before. She been too scared to reveal all of herself to someone for the fear of being rejected and hurt, but here they were. Symone knew everything and still she accepted Shiloh”the good and the bad, and Shiloh knew Symone, all the little things that scarred her heart. Shiloh was more than ready to go on this new adventure of being a friend.
“Of course I forgive you, you stupid prat!”Symone laughed again, and then she was no longer teasing. Instead, her eyes were serious, tender, and sisterly. “You're my best friend, Shiloh.”
As she wrapped her arms around Shiloh in a kind embrace, Shiloh tensed at the touch, the old habit of it getting to her. Then she forced herself to relax, because if she truly thought about it, the hug felt nice. More than nice “ it felt good, to be embraced by someone who truly cared about you and simply wanted you to know, to feel that. Maybe that was what hugging meant, and maybe Shiloh was just beginning to understand that. So she allowed her body to lean into the hug and slowly wrapped her arms around Symone's waist.
You're my best friend, Shiloh.
Shiloh smiled to herself, realizing she had yet to respond, and for the first time in a long time, without thought or weighing of the options, she knew the answer, not with her mind, but with her heart.
“And you're mine, Symone.”
The Room of Records was as quiet and still as death and darkness, but not nearly as gloomy “ for this was the place where history lived.
In the place were bookshelf upon bookshelf of scrolls, books and folders “the remnants of students who had dwelt and grown in the hall of Hogwarts. This room held every history, every name, from the time the Founders to this moment in time. It, just like the library, held great knowledge, the very essence of lives that had long since passed from this word. A thin coat of dust covered some of the items, but it did not put a damper of the value they possessed. Instead, it only added to the mystical atmosphere of the place, and gave a testimony of how old such things truly were.
However, it was not the centuries of wisdom waiting to be gained that drew the Potions' master there. He came not for infinite knowledge or to study those who had come before. Instead, he came for one thing: an answer. One that would not be found in a thousand records; just in one.
Severus guardedly eyed his destination, the section of shelves that were set aside for current students. He let the door settle behind him and took a step forward, but something made him falter, perhaps the same thing that had kept him from the room for the past months. Of course, it wasn't as though he didn't have excuses. After all, keeping an eye on Quirrell, Harry, and his other students was a hard job separately. Combined they were near impossible.
Quirrell. The very brief thought stirred distaste into Severus' mouth. The weakling had allowed the Dark Lord to possess him. Severus”and Dumbledore as well”had been convinced that Quirrell had been working with the Dark Lord in some way, and now he had been vindicated. To tell the truth, he would have rather he had been wrong. Severus had always believed that the Dark Lord was still alive in one form or another, but he had unconsciously hoped “ as foolish as he knew it was”that that dark Halloween night would have been the last they would ever hear from the monster of a man.
How he had hoped that Lily didn't die for nothing.
Severus shoved the unwelcome thought from his mind, going back to his former train of consideration. Yes, there was no doubt now that the Dark Lord had tried to come back, and that meant he would try again and again, until he was either completely dead or he succeeded. Severus wished for the first, but considered that latter far more likely. If he, the man that Severus loathed beyond all others, returned, Severus knew how his life would be like. He would be a spy, and a spy was a complicated life indeed, one that he had gladly put behind him and had no wish to face again. He would, he knew, if it came to that, because it was the only way to survive”it was the only way to continue to fight for her.
Such thoughts led him to Harry Potter, the boy who had carelessly run off to protect the Stone without so much as making his intentions known. It seemed that the boy had as big of a hero complex as his father, and this time that trait had nearly gotten the boy killed. No doubt trying to protect the child was not going to be an easy task; Severus had never expected it to be.
So, yes, Severus had been busy, and such things seemed to make it impossible for him to make a trip, but he was not so foolish to believe that these things were little more than excuses. After all, it would only take a few minutes to glance into the girl's folder, just to check. He knew, that if he admitted it to himself, the thing that had kept him so far away wasn't being overloaded; it was something within him that didn't want him to know. Because once he looked, he would only confirm what he didn't want to know was true. He would be sure that that girl was his daughter, and he hated the very thought.
And facts were harder to deal with than thoughts.
Yet, there was still the possibility that Annadel was not his daughter, and that small shred of uncertainty had been tormenting him. It was what caused his eyes to linger on the door to the Room of Records every time he walked past, and to eye Annadel as though perhaps her appearance might give some finality. Now, it was the end of the year, and even as he stood here, Annadel was preparing to take her final journey across the lake “ the ceremonious ride to end the year. The time for speculation had long since passed. He couldn't avoid it any more, not just for priority's sake, but because his sanity could not take much more wondering.
So, he started forward, this time with determination and moved toward the shelves. On his way, he took out his wand and flicked it, so though sconces around the room flickered to life. The torches provided it enough light to read the names as he followed the alphabetized shelf until he came to the 'D's'. It was not very long before he found Delamb. He took the thick folder in his hand and, scarcely looking at it, he wound through the room until he reached the back of the room, where beneath a lone window was a single, small, slanted desk.
He seated himself into it and set the folder down into the patch of sunlight fell onto the desk. This was the moment when all would be confirmed. There was no going back now, not until the truth was known. He lifted determined fingers to the folder, hesitated just once and for just one second, before he flung it open to the first page.
His dark eyes searched across the place, tearing past the name, the parents, the blood status”every detail, until the one that he needed the one that would tell him the truth. The line that read Date of Birth.
Severus sucked in a breath of air, and the smell of musty pages and dust filled his nose. This was where a lesser man might have slammed the folder closed and fled the room before he had time to consider what chance he might be losing, but Severus wasn't a lesser man. He was brave, brave enough to face something that can be fearsome to the most courageous Gryffindor: the truth.
He let his eyes far below the line. He expected to see July, and he did, right there, but he stopped himself read it again, just in case his eyes had deceived him. Just to be sure. There it was, as transparent as ghosts.
January 21st.
Not July.
As Severus closed the folder, his fingers twitched just a bit, but it was fitting, for inside his calm exterior, he was not quite so relaxed. He had been wrong; the girl who was so much like Ellessa was not his daughter. His daughter was not what he had most feared her to be. It took so long for Severus to accept what he had not dared to hope that it was a full minute before he was breathing again, and when he did began to breathe again, it was with a long, slow exhale. It was a sigh of relief.
A folder appeared in his vision, clasped by a familiar, aged hand. Severus followed the arm upward until he was looking into the face of Dumbledore. Severus could have sworn he had not heard the door open, but Dumbledore had a way of turning up in places unexpectedly, so it did not startle him. Instead, he gave Dumbledore an inquisitive look, gestured to the folder, and asked, “What's this?”
Dumbledore's smiled a bit, but his eyes remained serious, so that he looked like he was telling the truth and the greatest drop of wisdom at the same time. “I thought you would want it; you know, to explore every option.”
Severus eyes went to the folder. He was greatly curious of who Dumbledore thought might be a prospect; who had Severus missed? It didn't matter if it was someone that he hadn't been wise enough to consider himself, because even if he'd missed something, he thought he was ready to explore any option if it was anyone but Delamb.
Or her.
Severus looked up at Dumbledore, hiding his disbelief well. “Surely you must be joking.”
Dumbledore seemed untouched by his quick brush off and only pressed on steadily, in a way that was nothing less than kind. “She certainly fits the physically description.”
Severus stopped himself before he said something foolish. If Dumbledore was only judging upon her looks, then perhaps it would seem logical, but just because a girl had dark eyes and black hair didn't make her his daughter. Dumbledore didn't know this girl like he did. She was disrespectful and had a tongue she didn't know when to check “ even if her words did have an annoyingly accurate point. He'd known untrained dogs who had gotten in less trouble than she did. In the end, though, the reason she couldn't be his daughter was not because of what she was, it was what she wasn't. Despite her faults, she was nothing like Ellessa.
No, Severus didn't think Sanders could possibly be his daughter, and he was about to tell Dumbledore so when something outside of the window caught the corner of his eyes. The window provided an excellent view to the front of the school, where children were gathering into carriages and the first years were beginning to gather where Hagrid stood waiting for them. Two first years in particular caught his attention, and he turned his head for a better view.
It took a moment for him to recognize Symone Zell; the other he knew immediately. Odd how Shiloh Sanders seemed to appear in one way or another as though summoned whenever he began thinking about her. There she was now, alongside her inseparable companion.
Severus didn't know why he continued to watch them as they made their way toward the group of first years. He didn't really think of what he was looking for, but he continued to watch them all the same.
Zell had a skip in her step as she moved down the stairs at the front of the school, and Sanders followed after, not quite as enthusiastically, but meeting Zell's pace quite easily. As Zell reached the bottom, she turned to face Sanders, walking backwards. She said something”some joke, Severus imagined”and immediately burst into laughter. Sanders joined her with a giggle, then stopped and frowned as though unsure whether she was supposed to laugh after all. Then she giggled again, this time more sure...and more natural, though it lasted a few moments “ a far shorter time then Zell's uproarious laughter.
Severus looked away and turned his thoughtful gaze on Sanders' folder. Every option... He still did not believe that Sanders could even possibly be his daughter, but she was one of the 'options' “ not a very promising one, but one all the same. Besides, Dumbledore would never leave him alone unless he looked, and there was no harm in opening a folder.
“Fine,” Severus agreed, as he took the folder from Dumbledore's hand.
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose as though he was surprised that Severus had conceded so easily, but he knew better than to press his luck. Severus had no interest in answering him, even if he had commented upon answering. His attention was solely on the folder, as though he and it were the only things in the room. He settled it on top of Annadel's folder and flipped it open.
His eyes grazed down the page, past the parents, past her name, until his gaze fell upon her birth date. There it was again, the moment before something may or may not be revealed. He did not feel fear or excitement”he didn't expect that he would need it. Instead, he felt a resolve, so he once again took a deep breath and moved his gaze down an inch.
He froze and read it again, doing nothing but staring and reading, staring and reading, just to be sure.
“What is it?” Dumbledore asked, trying to look around the shoulder to be able to see the date, but failing. His voice and actions held anticipation, but it was hidden by his attempt to remain calm.
“August.”
There was no surprise in Severus' voice, just monotonous acknowledgment. It was nothing more than the confirmation of what he had already known. Dumbledore however seemed incredibly disappointed, because he sighed and ducked his head for a moment, his demeanor clearly saying But I was so sure. The sight made Severus wonder if he should press on why Dumbledore had thought that this particular girl could be his daughter, but he never got around to it. Dumbledore was already picking up his head and speaking.
“Close,” he said encouragingly.
Severus shook his head, trying to hold back the bitterness that he could taste at the back of his throat. “Not close enough to be her.”
Her. More than eleven years later and he still didn't have so much as a name for his daughter. Not a name, not a record, nothing but a picture and a birth date. So much time had past, and he was still left to wonder that, whether the girl lived to be twelve or a hundred, he would ever get to know her.
He rose from his chair, leaning a shoulder lightly against the wall and staring out the window at nothing in particular. It had been a long time before he had felt this hopelessness “ certainly not this year. He'd had reasoned that if any year was the year that he found his daughter, it would be this year, the year she might come to Hogwarts. Yet, it had come, and now it was gone.
Now all that had left to decide is whether the chances of ever finding her had ended with the school year.
Of course, there were the other schools she could have gone to, and the Heads had simply not given their students close enough inspections. There were also other first year girls that he had not considered yet. There was opportunity left, if he chose to press on, but he was not entirely sure that he wanted to. The constant theory and failure was beginning to take its toll, just like it had so long ago. The doubts”is she even still alive?”were as loud, if not louder than they had been before. There was so little chance he'd ever find her, so now he was forced to wonder if there was even enough reason to fight to find her.
Dumbledore, who had remained silent, perhaps in his own, similar thoughts, now spoke. “Well, there's always next year.”
The sentence was a lighthearted statement, spoken with a shrug, but Severus was not so foolish and not such a stranger to Dumbledore's ways then to think that it was all the sentence was. It was meant as an encouragement, the same extent as 'we'll not giving up yet'. Severus didn't look at Dumbledore, though, because the choice to continue the search was Dumbledore's, it was his.
Dumbledore left him with his thoughts and exited the room with only a half-heard “Have a nice summer” that Severus only nodded slightly too. Severus gaze remained on the window, staring out at the fury of the laughing students as they ran about, but at last, his eyes journeyed to the first years. Was it still possible that his daughter was among them? He simply didn't know and didn't feel as though it was worth speculating over.
Familiar faces in the crowd caught his eyes; Harry Potter with his best friends, laughing about something or other, Delamb surrounded by a group of Slytherins as they whispered conspiratorially, and Sanders, the only one who desired not to talk anyone. Instead, she was staring back at the castle, her expression thoughtful and slightly sad. Perhaps she was sad to see the year end, disappointed that it had all gone by so quickly. That must have been it, for when the first years started to follow Hagrid, Sanders remained, still gazing back at the castle. Only when her friend Zell touched her elbow did Sanders look away, just briefly as she listened to something that Zell was saying. Then she looked back and smiled.
The smile spread up her face, her mouth never parting to show her cheeks and one lip stretching farther than the other. Lopsided that it was, the grin reached her eyes, letting the hope in them sparkle. Whatever it had been that was worrying was long gone, and she let her eyes linger happily upon Hogwarts before she turned and jogged after her friend.
However, Severus' conscious thoughts were as far away from Sanders as they could be. Instead, they lingered on the choice that he had made, the answer to the question that had come to him as it had come to him many times before. As he moved away from the window and took determined steps to the door, he was utterly sure of what he was now supposed to do. As hard and as irrational as it would be, he was going to continue looking for his daughter. He was a Slytherin, and they didn't surrender so easily. He wouldn't give up; he couldn't give up.
It wasn't really that which convinced him. Instead, it was a brief thought that had crossed many minds today. It was the thought that had been stated so encouragingly, so truthfully by Albus Dumbledore. It was the thought that had danced across Shiloh's mind as she had dismayed that a wonderful year at school had ended so quickly. And it was the thought that kept Severus going as he prepared to leave Hogwarts for his rundown home on Spinners' End having once again failed to find his daughter.
There was always next year.
Thanks so much to Sandy for beta-ing this!