Magic and Mayhem
“Of asphodel, that greeny flower…”
June, 1969
There was once a time when Severus Snape loved pranks—before the Shrieking Shack, before Sirius Black, before everything. It was the perfect outlet for a small, mischievous, and cunning cretin with dark hair and darker eyes. Everyone knew that life wasn’t fair—but pranks? Pranks levelled the playing field. Pranks meant that one could get revenge without the other knowing any wiser. He, of course, was smart enough to know who not to prank. Growing up, his father had always been off limits. Tobias Snape was volatile enough that Severus knew that any one thing wrong could set him off.
Which meant that Severus discovered his true love of pranking after he made a friend. Pranks, to Severus, were meant to protect and get even. It hadn’t taken long after seeing her for the first time for Severus to feel as if he should protect her. The girl was carefree and mischievous—especially towards her sister. But Severus could see no one appreciated the girl for what she was. This was made no clearer than in the moment the boy finally revealed himself to the two girls.
Severus had been sitting in the bushes. The park that bordered Spinner’s End and the higher end of Cokeworth was always his best bet to get out of the house. That still didn’t detract from the fact that the other children liked to tease him for his hair, his nose, and his shabby clothes. That, or avoid him entirely if they were from good neighborhoods. Because of this, Severus liked to go to the park and simply find a nice, shaded spot to sit and practice his magic. Sometimes he hid behind trees, sometimes in bushes, and he would sit and idly make twigs float. It was in this tiny haven that a shrill voice interrupted his methodic practice.
“Lily, don’t do it!” the shrill voice shrieked, causing Severus’ twig to fall to the ground abruptly in the wake of his being startled. With beetle-black eyes, the boy peered through the branches of his bush. Directly before him lay the swing set—which he had known, of course. What was of interest, however, were the pair of girls that currently occupied the swing set. The shrill, shrieking one was blonde and giraffe-like, with a long neck and lanky limbs. She was swinging lowly, as if she had no real interest in it and was merely going through the motions.
The one to which the blonde one was squawking was very different, however. She was smaller—appearing more his own age—with fiery red hair that shimmered behind her like a curtain as she swung higher and higher. Where the former girl appeared like a giraffe, the latter looked more like a nymph—ethereal, untouchable…Mischief glittered in her leaf colored eyes.
It wasn’t the first time he had seen the pair. They were in the park nearly as often as he, and the smaller girl, the one the elder called Lily, almost always had that glittering look in her eyes. It was a look Severus knew all too well—it spoke of magic and excitement.
Then, when her current arc had reached its apogee, Lily-girl let go of the swing and soared upwards into the air for a second or so, and then came gracefully down to land lightly on her feet with a wide grin. Elder-girl scowled and dragged her heels in the dirt, causing plumes of dirt to cling to her feet as she brought herself to a halt.
“Mummy told you not to!” she scolded, leaping to her feet and planting her hands on her hips.
“But I’m fine,” Lily-girl protested, still grinning euphorically. “Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do.”
Elder-girl glanced around furtively. She needn’t have. Severus knew that the playground was deserted other than the pair of girls and he who sat in the bushes. Lily-girl stooped, picking up a fallen flower from a nearby bush and watched her sister approach—the older girl seemed torn between curiosity and disapproval. As soon as her sister had a clear enough view, Lily-girl held out her palm and caused the flower to open and close like a bizarre, many-lipped oyster.
“Stop it!” Elder-girl shrieked.
“It’s not hurting you,” Lily-girl laughed, throwing the flower down.
“It’s not right,” Elder-girl insisted. Her eyes followed the flower as it drifted to the ground, and she hesitated. “How do you do it?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” the words came out of his mouth of their own volition, but it was too late. Lily-girl and the elder leapt in their skins and turned towards his bush. Knowing there was nothing else for it, Severus leapt to his feet and stumbled his way out of the bush. Elder-girl shrieked in response, skittering away towards the swings. Severus’ cheeks grew warm. Figures the girl would react that way—she was well dressed and posh, and here he was in thread bare shorts and unbrushed hair. The well-dressed ones always greeted his appearance warily.
Well, all except Lily-girl, it seemed. The redhead seemed unfazed. She stood her ground, gazing at him with nothing but curiosity.
“What’s obvious?” she asked.
Excitement bubbled up from within. He knew his eyes reflected that same sheen of mischief and magic. He had never met someone like him that was his own age before. He glanced to Elder-girl, who was still scowling at him from behind a swing-pole, lowered his voice, and said conspiratorially, “I know what you are.”
“What do you mean?” Lily-girl asked.
“You’re…” he trailed off momentarily, wondering if he should say anything at all. But it was too late now. “You’re a witch.”
Lily-girl’s eyebrows rose. “That’s not a very nice thing to say!” she said haughtily, apparently taking his words as an insult. With her nose in the air, she stalked over to where the elder stood.
“No!” the boy exclaimed. His face was very hot now. He should have known from the other girl’s reactions that they weren’t from a magical background—if he had to guess, he’d say that the girls were sisters. He waved his hands frantically as he tried to explain further, “You are. You are a witch. I’ve been watching you for a while. But there’s nothing wrong with that. My mum’s one, and I’m a wizard.”
It was the only explanation for the things he had seen her do. Unfortunately, the other girls didn’t see this fact. Even if the younger looked slightly thoughtful, Elder-girl laughed coldly. “Wizard!” she shrieked, her courage returning. “I know who you are. You’re that Snape boy! They live down Spinner’s End by the river. Why have you been spying on us?”
“Haven’t been spying,” he protested, fidgeting at the insinuation. He had just been trying to practice his own magic, after all. He looked back up at the girl’s scornful face and scowled. “Wouldn’t spy on you, anyway,” he added spitefully, “you’re a Muggle.”
Both girls stopped, looking at him with disapproval. Elder-girl sniffed haughtily, “Lily, come on, we’re leaving!”
Lily followed at once, giving him a glare as she did so. He stood watching them as they marched through the playground gate. Bitter disappointment writhed in his stomach, and as the boy watched the girls leave, knowing that had not gone the way he wanted in slightest, vowed that he would make Lily-girl see her worth and Elder-girl pay for her scorn.
Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
like a buttercup upon its branching stem-
June, 1987
Persephone Potter’s least favorite time of year was the summer. She hated it all the more for the fact that it was everyone else’s favorite. As the kids in the neighborhood were running through the streets, lawns, and sprinklers, Persephone Potter was stuck inside watching them through the window that she cleaned. Sure, the school year hadn’t been perfect, but it had been a sight better than this.
The girl had had mixed feelings upon approaching her first year of Primary. On the one hand, it was the first time she would be able to truly mingle with other children her age. On the other, the girl was so used to her Aunt and Uncle’s admonitions, that she was quite afraid of going somewhere new. “Act normal, girl.” They had said. “You’d better not embarrass the family.” She didn’t know exactly what that meant or how she was supposed to achieve it. Therefore, she was quite certain she would end up doing just what they warned her against in her ignorance.
So, it was that a tiny girl with pale, rosy skin and a horrible mop of hair (as Aunt Petunia liked call the lank, dark mess that hung from the top of her head) showed up to her first day of school, happy to be away but very afraid of the mistakes she would make unwittingly.
Looking back now, Persephone figured she hadn’t really embarrassed the Dursleys, per se, but rather she had stood out too much. She had been able to count too well and read too quickly, a result that ended up in a meeting with the Head Teacher, in which it was recommended that Persephone be moved to the advanced class, and the Dursleys had responded by telling everyone that their “disturbed niece” was likely cheating, seeing as she was a worthless sneak. No one talked about moving her up after that.
It wasn’t fair. Especially since she was only so advanced to begin with from helping her aunt in the kitchen.
“Girl!” a voice snapped over her shoulder. “Quit daydreaming!”
Persephone blinked, scowled, and went back to the back-and-forth, back-and-forth motion she had been maintaining before becoming distracted. She figured the endless chores wouldn’t be quite so bad if Aunt Petunia didn’t stand around breathing down her neck all day. That was really what she resented about being stuck at Privet Drive once more. She hadn’t made friends (thanks to Dudley, the Dursleys’ rumors, and the girl’s own sullen scowl), and she hadn’t been able to escape Dudley by being moved to the advanced class, but at least she was free of her Aunt and released from extensive chores for the greater portion of the day.
“And when you’re done with that, I want you to help me with dinner!” Aunt Petunia insisted as her niece mechanically scrubbed.
Sure enough, by the time all of the exterior, first floor windows were spotless, Aunt Petunia had begun cooking in the kitchen. Persephone dutifully dumped her rags in the bucket and carried it outside to dump the water out. The girl made a funny image, her pale, spindly limbs straining to hold a bucket that she only barely kept from dragging the ground. The water cascaded over the back steps, the girl watching it in satisfaction, and then the bucket with the rags went into the laundry room.
She cautiously approached her Aunt, surreptitiously wiping her soapy hands on her cousin’s over-sized castoffs. She waited quietly by the sink, knowing that if her aunt tripped over her, she would be most irate and shriek for too long about “monsters underfoot.” Aunt Petunia hated it when Persephone was underfoot.
Though she nearly hated the girl’s silent nature just as much.
Aunt Petunia turned around and jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sight of her niece before her face pinched and she waved her ladle insistently at the stove.
“Well, what are you standing there for?” she snapped. “Get over here and stir while I mix up the potatoes.”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Persephone responded in her little voice, dragging the stool out from under the sink and depositing it in front of the stove. Then, the girl hopped up, took the proffered ladle from her aunt, and turned to the Cottage Pie mix she was supposed to be stirring. Aunt Petunia turned away to mix the potatoes, just as she had said.
Persephone turned to the stove, which was still nearly too tall for her even with the stool, and immediately disaster struck. Just as she turned, the end of the too long wooden spoon knocked into the bottle of Worcestershire, and it tipped over right onto the rim of the pan that contained a mix of meat and peas. Persephone’s eyes grew larger as one second, two seconds, and then three seconds passed as the Worcestershire went glop-glop-glop into the pan. And then, the girl recovered her wits and scrambled to upright the bottle and scoot it ever so slightly away.
She turned with a cringe to glance at her aunt, wondering if this meant bed without supper. To her utmost surprise, her aunt was so engaged in viciously mashing potatoes that she hadn’t even noticed, nor did she notice that her niece was looking at her. Persephone turned once more back to the stove; her eyes still saucer-wide. Realizing this, the girl closed them, let out a slow and silent breath, and then set to stirring as though nothing had happened.
It didn’t take long for Aunt Petunia to finish with the potatoes, at which point the woman shooed her niece away from the stove and instructed her to put away the dishes from breakfast that were freshly dried. Persephone did so, taking her stool with her, and did as told. As she set to the menial task, the girl slowly relaxed and allowed her thoughts to drift once more.
And, of course, her mind returned to what she had been dwelling on more often than not since the beginning of summer—how unfair it was that the Dursleys’ treatment of her extended all the way into school. She knew that the other children at school weren’t treated the same as her. During show and tell, the kids proudly showed off bunnies they got for their birthdays. During career days, the other children prattered happily about what their parents did for a living. During pick-up time, Persephone saw the others smiling as they were hugged and asked about their day.
She knew most parents were proud of their children’s achievements. Even Aunt Petunia doted on Dudley, slathering him with hugs and showing off his abysmal work to Uncle Vernon. Perhaps it was because they were Dudley’s parents, and not hers. It made Persephone long painfully for nice parents that treated her the way Dudley was treated. Or at least a little nicer. It’d be nice to hear that she had done well, just once. Or touched in a way that wasn’t a rough grab of the arm.
It just wasn’t fair.
Persephone hadn’t realized it wasn’t fair at first. At first, she had been quietly resigned, thinking that the world was supposed to work in this way. But then, as the school year went on and Persephone went from the smiling faces of teachers to Aunt Petunia’s scowls and Uncle Vernon’s yells, the girl became more and more embittered. Wishing that she could change anything, just one thing about her life to make it a little more even.
Without being asked, Persephone set the table as she fumed, knowing it was expected of her. Then, Aunt Petunia was serving dinner and handing Persephone a bowl of potatoes to eat by the stove. The girl shoveled the potatoes in her mouth as her family seated themselves around the table.
Suddenly, Persephone remembered her mishap and froze. Her heart began pounding wildly. This was it. Petunia would notice what she had done and would ground her for a week. Frantically, Persephone began shoveling the potatoes into her mouth at an even greater speed, even though it now tasted like ash on her tongue.
And, just as she expected, after a bite all three of the Dursleys were spitting, taking gulps of their water, and complaining quite loudly. Persephone set her bowl down and held very still in the kitchen, waiting for retribution.
“Petunia, why is it so strong?” Vernon was gasping, his eyes practically streaming at the no doubt nauseating amount of Worcestershire.
“Vernon I—I don’t understand!” Petunia protested.
“Obviously, you seasoned it too well.” Uncle Vernon was the color of a tomato as he unhappily searched for something edible on the table.
“Oh, it must have been the Worcestershire sauce,” Aunt Petunia wailed. “I must have put too much in. I must have been distracted, thinking about the potatoes!”
They all continued blubbering, Dudley nearly on the verge of a full-out fit until Aunt Petunia suggested unearthing some leftover meatloaf from the night before. All the while, Persephone stood in the corner of the kitchen, astonished and unnoticed. The matter was sorted out in no time. Soon, her relatives were nearly finished with their meatloaf and Persephone had not once moved. She couldn’t believe her luck. It must have been that since Aunt Petunia hadn’t noticed her mishap, she hadn’t thought to blame the girl for the extra seasoning.
Persephone supposed that Worcestershire was the sort of thing that was easily overdone. And she hadn’t been at the stove a terribly long while. Obviously, it had been long enough to accidentally ruin dinner, but it seemed her aunt hadn’t realized that fact.
The Dursleys finished their dinners and dispersed. Vernon and Petunia went to the living room to watch the television for the evening. Dudley tramped upstairs to play video games. Persephone set to clearing the kitchen once the room was empty, and as she did so, her mind began to churn with possibilities.
If there was one thing Uncle Vernon and Dudley valued, it was a hearty meal. And if there was one thing Aunt Petunia valued, it was the high opinions of her husband. Aunt Petunia prided herself on being the perfect housewife. Persephone knew as much, seeing as the woman spent as much time peering over the hedge at the neighbors and gossiping as she did ruthlessly making sure the house was in proper order.
Persephone scraped the Cottage Pie first into her bowl and then into the trash with a smile on her face. All she had to do was sabotage a few meals, and the Dursleys would get a taste of their own medicine. Her aunt would be forced to think she was a bad cook. Perhaps she would stop focusing on her niece’s cleaning so much. And it served Uncle Vernon and Dudley right to go without a few good meals. Uncle Vernon for insisting to all the teachers that Persephone was deranged, and Dudley for his stupid games of “Cousin Hunting.”
She cleaned the dishes and then, just before returning to her cupboard for the evening, the girl filled the spare salt shaker and shoved it into her overlarge pockets. The girl slept well that night, a mission firmly planted in her mind.
Over the next few days, Persephone was very careful in her mission. While Aunt Petunia turned her back for a second, the girl paused in her sweeping for just enough time to dump half a salt shaker into the egg pan and swiftly move on without notice. The stove-eyes were turned up too high if they weren’t watched like a hawk. Her favorite one was the soap she poured into that night’s soup when her Aunt left for a split second to check the laundry. No one could figure out why the soup tasted so bitter.
It frazzled Aunt Petunia so much that the woman decided the pair were to swap roles. Suddenly, Persephone was the one doing all of the stirring and mixing while her aunt read off instructions and focused on chopping the ingredients. It was hard to mess up chopping without noticing.
This frustrated the small girl, who knew that if meals were sabotaged now, she would certainly be the one to blame for it. She had been just about to can the whole operation entirely when another idea struck her. The girl was wiping the baseboards while her aunt vacuumed when she reflected that her main problem with chores was the hovering. Even now, her aunt was shrieking about spots the girl had missed as the Hoover roared. This resulted in a furious Persephone, and a furious Persephone meant a thinking Persephone. And as Persephone fumed and thought, she realized her attempts at sabotage in the kitchen had caused her aunt to become so unwound that the woman had just about entrusted everything to her quickly learning niece.
So, perhaps, all she needed to do was to wear her aunt down until the woman only wanted to lie down—and then, then, Persephone would be left to her own devices.
And thus, her plot began anew. Whenever Aunt Petunia just barely pulled the vacuum cord taut, Persephone would surreptitiously unplug the machine and go about her work. On other days, the girl would throw a red shirt in a load of whites when her aunt was doing other things. When her aunt brought in new groceries, Persephone would mix around the spices so that the woman would get confused and harried over her organization system the next time she opened the cupboard.
The girl continued to learn as she went about her days. One unusually hot day, their neighbor had been frowning over the metal box on the side of his house. The girl peeked around the hedge and, before she could help herself, found herself asking, “What’s wrong?”
The girl expected to be scolded—one of the Dursleys’ favorite rules was No Questions. Not only that, but Aunt Petunia loved telling the other housewives how mentally disturbed her poor niece was, meaning that most of the neighbors regarded the little girl with suspicion. However, the man simply continued to frown and responded without even looking at her, “Our power went out. I was checking the breakers.” He looked at her blank face, seemingly coming to the conclusion that she had no idea what he was talking about, and explained, “They control the power in different parts of the house.”
“Our power is out too, sir,” the little girl informed him dutifully.
And the man returned inside grumbling about people using too many electric fans.
But, a few days later, while gardening once more (and her aunt was inside cooking on the electric stove), Persephone found an identical box on the side of her own house, opened it. And flipped the switches experimentally. Somewhere inside, Aunt Petunia screamed. The girl returned the switches to their proper positions, and continued with her business.
June slipped into July. Over time, with enough things going inexplicably wrong, her aunt would retire to the back patio, sipping lemonade in an attempt to calm down, and Persephone was left to do her chores in peace. When her aunt returned inside once more, the woman seemed unable or uncaring to find faults in her niece’s work.
The girl was running out of things to do, but didn’t mind. Her goal had been accomplished. Dudley’s birthday came and with it a trip to her batty old neighbor’s house. Mrs. Figg was old and had way too many cats. Persephone didn’t mind Mrs. Figg terribly, but it was very boring whenever she was sent there. Mrs. Figg would always sit her down on the couch and force her to look at books full of pictures of the cats. But, just before she left, the girl was struck with another idea. One final idea to get back at her aunt. She scooped some cat food out of its container and shoved it into her oversized pockets just before leaving. Then, the next time she gardened she buried the food in the flower beds.
It was worth the planning and storing of cat food when Aunt Petunia went outside one day only to find her flowers swarmed and trampled by way too many cats.
Summer became fall. School began anew and this time, Persephone was prepared. As the summer drew to a close, she had come up with a plan to get into that advanced class. Since she had been kept in the lower class due to her relatives besmirching her name, the girl just had to prove that she was smart enough to move up and trustworthy enough to send there. The only trouble was that it was hard to convince people you were trustworthy when everyone already had preconceived notions. So, Persephone settled for second best—while performing her very best in class, she set about ruining those who ruined her.
It was easy enough. All she had to do was nick a classmate’s work and plant it on Dudley in an obvious enough manner that made it seem as though the boy was cheating. Enough times of the girl doing this and Dudley was caught out, punished, and sent home with a note. Persephone should have anticipated how angry her uncle had been. He had picked her up by her shirt collar, shouted something about how she was an ungrateful brat that was determined to make their family look bad, to which she shouted right back that she had nothing to do with it. She climbed in her cupboard after the man dropped her, breathing like a bull, and stomped off, deciding it had been worth it.
So, she kept doing it over and over while doing her very best in class until another offer to put her in an advanced class arrived with her school report. This time, the girl hid it expertly. That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, the girl snuck to the drawer in the kitchen where the correspondence was kept. There, she painstakingly traced her relatives signatures until she could replicate them perfectly and then she forged them onto the school slip.
She was so very clever about everything that it was inevitable that she had forgotten something—just like she had before. This time, it was Dudley coming home and complaining to his parents that “the girl got to go to the special class, I want to go to the special class too, Mummy, it isn’t fair!”
This had been the final straw for Uncle Vernon, who decided that not only was the girl ungrateful, but that she was a sneak and a creep. He shook her until her brains felt scrambled, and then he threw her forcefully into the cupboard. That night as she lay on her mattress, staring up at the dusty underside of the stairs, Persephone came up with one last prank.
Well, the last one for a little while, at least.
Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
like a buttercup
upon its branching stem-
save that it's green and wooden-
I come, my sweet,
to sing to you.
