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Chapter Text

How pathetic, Mr. Potter. You shouldn’t be crying for a person you hated and called a coward, even if he’s your professor.

Severus Snape should have given his student this snide remark if not for the hands that applied pressure to the bleeding on his neck. Snape let out a struggling chuckle. Of all people, it had to be a Potter that witnessed his final moments. Potter Senior must have been rejoicing in the afterlife, finally seeing his enemy die a tragic death. Unfortunately, his spawn is crying.

Severus Snape doesn’t know what to feel at this moment. He and Potter Junior don’t have a pleasant past, much like his relationship with Potter Senior and his merry band of bullies, though he doesn’t know if it would be called a ‘relationship’ with all the cruel insults, hexes and petty comebacks. Severus Snape gazed up at the pair of green eyes that he thought he would never see again after the death of his best friend. It’s filled with pity and confusion. Snape doesn’t know why but it is the least he can get from the student who hated him and called him a coward.

The moment Snape realized that the prophecy he gave to the Dark Lord pertained to this boy, he regretted cutting ties with his only true friend all those years ago. He should have apologized and chased her more. He should have infiltrated the Gryffindor Tower even if it meant severe punishment. He had killed so many people before, wizards and muggles, because of the path he chose, but he could never kill the innocent child of Lily. That is why he had gone to Dumbledore for his help. His desperation ignored the disgust the Headmaster had given him, made an Unbreakable Vow to protect the child, and agreed to be a spy for the ‘Light’ side. All to protect them but Lily still died.

Lily sacrificed her life to protect the boy so he decided to honor it. He would give his life just to save the boy from death but he is dying because of a fucking pathetic wand. Because his ‘master’ couldn’t wield the power of one single wand to defeat his underage enemy. The Dark Lord even verbally told him that he regretted killing him. Severus internally laughed bitterly, asking his younger self what he saw in that madman of a lord.

Turning his attention to the younger person, he raised his shaking hands to extract a memory. Feeling the numbing of his tongue, he said to the boy, “Look at me”

For the first time in all the years he had been teaching him, Harry Potter obeyed him and met his dark eyes. Hermione Granger, the ever-diligent student, passes Harry Potter a vial when the former doesn’t get the unsaid instruction. Severus resisted rolling his eyes as he watched his student collect the tears that contained his memories. Severus Snape still isn’t sure if this is the right thing. Severus must contain his past and emotions due to the nature of his ‘work’ and he must maintain his reputation as a mysterious and irritating dungeon bat, but he guessed he wanted someone, at least one person, to remember him after he was gone.

As a spy, his name would not be honoured after this war, no matter which side wins. His fellow Death Eaters are unfeeling and only want the praise and power given by their lord. The light side would question his contributions and shun him for his past and for being a dark wizard. Maybe that is why he wanted Harry Potter, Lily’s son, to at least witness his life since he couldn’t pull his nose out of his business.

Gazing up at the pair of green eyes that have the same shade as Avada Kedavra, Severus calmed down. Accepting his death, his hands tightened at the shirt he didn’t notice gripping a while ago.

“You have your mother’s eyes.” With one final look, his breathing ceased and his vision blackened.

Severus Snape felt pain all over his body. Legends say that one couldn’t feel anything in the afterlife, he guessed it was too foolish for him to hope. He is a man full of sins and this is nothing compared to all the deeds he had done. Severus Snape gritted his teeth and endured.

“Padfoot, you idiot!”

“…..deserved it……his huge nose where it doesn’t belong…..”

“…… him out of here!”

There shouldn’t be voices in his hell. Severus Snape groaned in pain, the wound in his neck throbbing and bleeding even more. Conjuring his remaining strength, his hand grabbed his neck and applied pressure.

“P-prongs, Sniv’s bleeding. I t-think he is bitten.” He heard Black’s voice, sounding hesitant and had a hint of fear. Severus frowned at his tone, he had never heard Black sounding so nervous or scared before, even after almost going mad in Azkaban.

Why is Black in my hell? Magic must have thought this pain wasn’t enough for my punishment.

“No. I saved him before Remus could ever get to him.”

Great, Potter's still here.

“Then he must have been injured when you used your prongs to shove him!”

Severus felt a pair of hands shaking him. The voices became muddled as he bled. He knew he was a minute away from passing out or dying from pain. Groaning, he tried to focus on applying pressure to his neck, but the incessant shaking did not stop.

With a whispered grumble, Severus slowly opened his eyes. His vision is blurry because of the tears but he can recognize this build anywhere. It is Potter with his annoying mess-up hair. Why isn’t he leaving yet? What if the Dark Lord or any death eaters came and saw him with his ‘most trusted right hand’? Honestly, this idiot couldn’t do anything right.

Almost like an omen, Severus’s fear came true. He tried to focus his vision and saw a four-legged creature coming near. Werewolf.  Severus cursed, his hands reaching for his wand – praying he had enough strength to fend it off. The Dark Lord must have ordered Greyback to confirm his death.

Gripping his wand tight, his vow to protect the boy with his life to honour Lily came to mind. It is time to fulfil it. Getting strength from who knows where his hand grabbed the robes of the boy in front of him and stood between him and the creature as it pounced on them.

He was about to use the Killing Curse to kill the werewolf when he found himself unable to speak. Severus let out a frustrated grunt and willed all his remaining magic to cast a protection spell, pointing his wand to the sky.

‘Protego Maxima. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum’

Feeling his strength leave him, Severus Snape fell to his knees. Filius Flitwick taught him that combination of spells when he was employed as the Potion’s Professor. He was the one who had trained him as a teacher the summer before his first term of teaching.  It was to protect the castle and the students when the war broke out. It took him years to cast all of them wordlessly.

The Werewolf slammed into the shield and whined in pain. Making sure the protective shield was functional, he turned to his student with a sneer. Still finding himself unable to speak, he willed his magic to his throat.

“Always be vigilant, Harry. You are brainless and lazy, just…. like your… father…” Severus fell back as his vision spins. With one final curse, his world darkened.

Chapter Text

Severus woke up to the familiar ceiling of the hospital wing. He slowly sat up and immediately felt nauseous. He covered his mouth to stop himself from shamefully retching. He regulated his breathing to calm himself and looked around. There is no sound of unrest now chaos. Hogwarts is much more peaceful than when he left it to meet with the Dark Lord. The war must have ended.

So I’m….alive?

He didn’t expect to survive the second wizard war with the Dark Lord Voldemort. He accepted his death after he accepted Dumbledore’s offer to spy. Severus felt his magic dance around him, almost as if it was soothing him. But he immediately noticed something was wrong when he raised his hands to look at it. It was thin and long as always but they lacked the scars and callouses that he had incurred while making potions or tortured by the Dark Lord. Looking at the full-body mirror not far from his bed, a surprised gasp came out of him as he took in his current form.

“Mr. Snape! I see that you are finally awake!” Madam Pomphrey said in surprise and relief. The mediwitch waved her wand and a scroll appeared in the air, a quill writing his current medical condition.

“Your magic is still recovering and your wounds as well. You just have to rest here for a few days and you’re all set.”

Several questions rushed through Snape’s head as he took in the familiar person in front of him. He stared down at his hands again, pinching them harder in hopes of waking up. But instead of seeing the war, the environment stays the same and the mirror is still giving him the reflection of his teenage self. Snape let out a shaky breath and rubbed his palms on his face. Using Occlumency, he schooled his expressions into a blank one.

“Mr. Snape?”

“What happened?” Severus asked, his throat hurting as he spoke. The witch handed him a cup of warm water, looking at him in slight surprise. “Oh my. Do you not remember?”

Of course, he remembers. But if he came back to the past like he suspected, he can’t let anyone know that he is fully aware of what happened to the past. He refused to take a vow for the sake of the Marauders, even if it was insisted by the very man that he once respected.

“You are awake, my boy.”

Severus Snape sharply turned his head towards the entrance of the hospital wing. Madam Pomphrey must have alerted him when she noticed him waking up. Dressed in those absurd matching orange robes and hat, the headmaster stood there with his equally absurdly long beard and half-moon glasses. Ah, Dumbledore, the revered hero of the Gryffindors. Severus fought to conceal a sneer and reinforced his Occlumency shields.

As much as he respected and trusted the headmaster after they had an agreement to protect the Potters, it doesn’t mean he believed him to be a good person. Headmaster Dumbledore is a war general. He would do anything to win the war and defeat the Dark Lord. That is why instead of helping him break free from the dark mark, he offered the position of a spy. Instead of training young Harry Potter to protect himself from the madman who made him an orphan, he dropped him off to his muggle relatives who wanted nothing to do with him. The boy had lived in a cupboard for the first eleven years of his life for goodness’ sake and the headmaster claimed to do that for the boy to have a happy and ordinary childhood when he didn’t even take time off to visit the boy to make sure of that.

Severus was enraged by the time he had fished those memories out of Potter during their Occlumency lessons. It was also by that time that he had learned Harry is a Horcrux, that Lily’s son is just a sacrificial pig to be slaughtered at the right time.

“But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”

“For him?” shouted Snape. “Expecto Patronum!”

Severus should have admitted that he had cared for the boy even if he’s a carbon copy of that arrogant toe-rag, James Potter. He should have accepted that the boy reminded him of his younger self, thrust into a world that only brings him harm and growing up in a less ideal environment. But no, Severus is so consumed with his rage towards James Potter that he has forgotten that Harry Potter is just a boy and the son of his beloved best friend.

Severus is so ashamed and he hates himself for doing exactly what James Potter did to him towards the boy. He wanted to apologize badly but the Dark Lord was revived by his damn creation, which Dumbledore allowed him to give to the maniac and that boy’s blood. His actions are monitored not only by his fellow death eaters but also by the children that he teaches. Maybe it is because of his guilt that he gave Harry all of his memories.

“Headmaster, Mr Snape here can't recall what happened,” Madam Pomphrey informed the older man, waking Severus up from his musing. It spared Severus from having to explain himself, although he was certain he would face an interrogation later.

“What is the last thing you remembered, my boy?”  Albus Dumbledore asked him. Severus can feel his shields being poked and he lets the old man see a fake memory. He confidently told him that he was rushing to his Charms class with his roommates. The headmaster’s eyes twinkled and nodded, confirming the Slytherin’s words. Severus remained impassive, not worried he might find out. This method worked for the Dark Lord for years, surely it would work for the headmaster.

“Unfortunately, you were attacked by a centaur when you unknowingly entered their territory while collecting ingredients for Professor Slughorn. You were saved by James Potter and Sirius Black.”

Severus frowned at the made-up scenario the old man told him. The audacity of this old man. Severus didn’t bother hiding his hate. James Potter didn’t save him out of pure kindness, he saved him just to save his brother-in-arms’ skin! Remus Lupin could have killed him or turned him into a werewolf and Sirius Black would have led a person to death because of his stupid prank. James is no saint, he was just saving their arses when he saved his life.

“That’s impossible, Headmaster. Those people and I hate each other.” Severus answered, trying to calm himself.

“But it is true, my boy. I am afraid you owed James Potter a Life Debt.”

Severus almost laughed at that. A Life Debt! That was the thing that bonded him and James Potter in the past and he religiously waited for the day to pay it to cut his ties with that person but no, his friendship with Lily ended before that. The Life Debt drove the Marauders to be more confident in tormenting him every day in the open, which is why they sexually harassed him in front of all Hogwarts students and staff. They became even cruel when he called Lily that word. The former Potions Professor closed his eyes and calmed himself. If this is what the headmaster is going to do, then he will let him do it.

“I know this is hard to swallow but you must accept this truth.” Albus Dumbledore said, appearing sincere. The Slytherin did not answer and turned his back on them. The old man saw him calming himself by regulating his breathing so he excused his attitude.

He already confirmed that the boy could not recall what happened. He could just Obliviate him if his memories returned. James Potter and Sirius Black are essential for the group he would be assembling to defeat Tom Riddle, His job should have been done but alas, he should tell the news to the Slytherin.

“My boy, there-”

“Sev!” a high-pitched voice echoed in the hospital wing. A girl wearing a Gryffindor uniform came rushing towards the bed, behind her was a group of boys wearing the same colours as her. She passed by the Headmaster and the mediwitch who was scolding her for disrupting the peace and hugged the Slytherin boy from behind.

Severus Snape tensed at the sound of his ex-best friend's voice. He dreaded facing her, fearing that his carefully constructed emotional barriers would collapse at the sight of her fiery red hair and piercing green eyes. His hands clenched into tight fists as he sensed her familiar warmth drawing near. No, he couldn't allow himself to succumb to this. He had to escape.

“Sev, I am sorry. I am sorry.” The dark-haired teenager heard her sobs behind him. He should be the one saying sorry. He was the reason she was dead and he couldn’t even protect her son from his carefully manipulated soon-to-be death.

“Aunt Eileen…. Sev, she’s gone… I am so sorry, Severus.” Lily choked out, tightening her hold on the boy.

That was the last straw. The Slytherin's magic, in the process of recovering, suddenly surged out, hurling everyone away and shattering the windows in the room.

Chapter Text

Lily Evans hastily gathered her belongings and made her way to the common room. Today, she had Potions class, and the thought of facing Severus after their heated argument the day before left her feeling unprepared. Lately, their interactions seemed to be filled with nothing but conflict, and it was taking a toll on her. She knew she needed to have another conversation with Sev and persuade him to distance himself from those wannabe Death Eaters.

Marlene and Alice had shared distressing news about Mary Macdonald's recent ordeal. Mary had been attacked by Mulciber using dark magic, resulting in severe bruises and wounds from a cutting curse and other unknown hexes. Upon seeing Severus with a group of unsavoury individuals in the Great Hall, laughing at sinister jokes, Lily was overcome with anger. It was inconceivable to her that Severus would find amusement in someone else's suffering. When she later confronted him near the lake and questioned his continued association with Mulciber despite what had happened to Mary, Severus callously dismissed it as a joke. Lily was deeply shaken by his response, and it ignited their argument.

As she strode purposefully toward the Great Hall, determined to elicit an apology from Severus, she realized that she hadn't even caught a glimpse of him during breakfast. She strode to their usual spot in the Potions classroom and waited for him. Severus did not come to class and she was forced to partner with Potter, causing a bit of ruckus in class as Potter blushed like a girl. He usually pairs with Black but Lupin and Black were absent and Pettigrew was stuck in the bathroom for eating something bad at breakfast. His face has a few cuts but Lily thinks he just did that to himself to appear like a popular bad boy.

Lily rolled her eyes in exasperation as she began preparing the potion. She barely acknowledged Potter, speaking only to correct his clumsy attempts at preparing ingredients. It baffled her that he could be so inept, especially when his father was renowned for creating the popular Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Hadn’t his father taught him even the basics?

With a huff of annoyance, she completed the potion and handed him a concoction that was less than perfect—far from the standard she maintained when working with Severus. She felt the familiar weight of disappointment as she exited the classroom, ignoring Potter’s attempts to engage her. Her focus shifted entirely to finding Severus. She made her way to the empty classroom where he often experimented with potions, but it was deserted. He wasn’t by their usual spot near the lake, nor could she find him in the library.

Worry began to gnaw at her. What if Mulciber and Avery had done something to him? The thought made her stomach churn. She considered heading to the dungeons to check on him, but the idea of facing the Slytherin dorms filled her with dread. She knew she would be met with hostility, her blood status a constant target for their taunts and slurs.

After attending her morning classes, she dashed to the Great Hall for lunch, scanning the room for any sign of Severus, but he was nowhere to be found. Where could he be? Was he avoiding her? The uncertainty churned in her mind like a storm.

Just as her worry peaked, Sofie, her owl, swooped in, delivering a letter from home. She tore it open, her heart racing as she read her mother’s words. Her mother was inquiring about her well-being and, rather worryingly, mentioned Severus. Lily’s heart sank; it seemed he was needed at home, and the urgency of the message sent a shiver down her spine. Yet, her mother had not explained the reason why.

Lily recalled that Aunt Eileen often couldn’t send letters directly to Severus due to her husband’s allergies, and instead relied on her mother to deliver them. So why, then, would mum write a letter for Aunt Eileen and send it to her? Confusion mingled with concern, and Lily felt a growing sense of unease. What was happening? Where was Severus?

Lily hastily penned a response to her mother, detailing her studies and providing a summarized account of the recent arguments she had with Severus. She assured her mother that she would pass along the message to him if she managed to find him. But as the days dragged on, she realized with mounting anxiety that she hadn’t seen Severus Snape for three whole days.

Worry gnawed at her insides as she paced back and forth in front of Professor McGonagall’s office. Desperate for help in locating her missing friend, she knocked urgently, but the stern professor merely ushered her toward the Great Hall, instructing her to wait for the Headmaster’s announcement.

What could Professor Dumbledore possibly need to announce about Severus? The very thought filled her with dread. Had he done something wrong? Was he in trouble? The notion of expulsion flashed through her mind like a cold bolt of lightning. She knew Severus would be devastated if he would cease attending Hogwarts. Finally, the announcement began.

“Last weekend, a student was unfortunately injured while collecting herbs in the Forbidden Forest under Professor Slughorn’s instruction. He inadvertently entered the territory of the centaurs and was attacked by a centaur guard. He will be staying in the hospital wing to recover. This serves as a reminder that no students shall enter the forest without a professor present. Severe punishment will be enforced for those who violate this rule.”

The words hung in the air like a thick fog, and whispers erupted among the students. Although the professor did not name the student, Lily’s heart sank; she instinctively knew it was Severus. She caught sight of James Potter and Sirius Black, their usual bravado replaced by an unusual silence in response to the news of their rival's situation. Normally, they would revel in such gossip, eagerly sharing their opinions on how Severus deserved whatever misfortune came his way, but this time they said nothing.

Lily frowned, sensing something strange in their behaviour, but she didn’t have the luxury of time to analyze their reactions. Her focus sharpened, fueled by an urgent need to see if Severus was alright. Without a second thought, she dashed from the Great Hall, intent on finding him in the hospital wing.

Lily had braced herself for the sight of her friend with nothing more than a few superficial cuts and bruises. But as she stepped into the hospital wing, her heart plummeted. There lay Severus, unconscious and comatose, his body swathed in bandages, some soaked with blood. A wide, dark stain marred his neck, sending a jolt of terror through her. She struggled to breathe, tears spilling down her cheeks as she grasped his hand tightly.

How could they do this to him? Professor Dumbledore’s announcement had downplayed the severity of his injuries, but Lily could see the truth: he was on the brink of death. Panic gripped her as she sobbed, the weight of helplessness crashing over her.

Her cries caught the attention of Madame Pomphrey, who entered the room with an air of authority. “You need to leave!” she said sternly, kicking Lily out of the room. “You’re disrupting his healing process!”

Heartbroken, Lily hurriedly scribbled a letter to her mother, detailing Severus’s condition, but before she could send it, Professor McGonagall summoned her. “Pack your things, Miss Evans,” she said, her voice firm yet sympathetic. “You’re permitted to leave for Christmas two weeks early at your mother’s request.”

Lily’s heart sank further as she processed the professor’s words. The urgency in McGonagall’s tone made it clear that something was terribly wrong. She learned that the professor had sent a letter to the Snape residence, but it was Mrs. Evans who answered, explaining that Eileen Snape had passed away and that Tobias was currently unavailable.  Her mother had also insisted that Severus be treated at Hogwarts, explaining that Muggle hospitals were ill-equipped to handle wounds inflicted by dark creatures.

When Lily finally arrived home, she was met with devastating news. Aunt Eileen had been murdered by her husband, who was now being hunted by the police. An investigation revealed a long history of abuse that had been concealed within the walls of their home. Horror washed over Lily as she grappled with the implications. She couldn’t fathom that Severus had lived in such a nightmare, and the realization hit her like a physical blow. They had known each other for years and shared countless moments, and yet she had never seen any signs that hinted at the darkness he endured. Had she been so blind?

At that thought, Lily's mind flooded with memories of Severus: the oversized clothes he wore, the way the huge boots seemed to swallow his feet, the excuses he made when he hesitated to invite her for a sleepover at his house. Each recollection felt like a stab to her heart, particularly the bruises he’d claimed were from “falling.” A shiver ran down her spine as the realization sank in. She should have noticed the signs. What kind of friend had she been? How could she have overlooked his suffering all these years?

Her parents took charge of the funeral arrangements, but the day was marked by an unsettling emptiness. Only a handful of people came to mourn, far fewer than one would expect for such a loss. The absence of anyone from the wizarding community was stark; Eileen Snape had been a pureblood witch, yet no one paid their respects. The knowledge that Severus couldn't even attend his mother’s funeral twisted the knife deeper into her heart.

In the weeks that followed, Lily and her parents visited Hogwarts as often as possible, eager to be there for Severus. When she accompanied Professor Slughorn to the Slytherin dorms to gather his belongings, she was taken aback by the apathy of the other Slytherins. As the professor announced Severus’s condition, their reactions were cold and dismissive. They seemed far more concerned about her presence—her status as a “Muggle-born” tainting their sacred space—than about their fellow student’s well-being.

Even Mulciber and Avery, whom she had thought were Severus's friends, only laughed at him for trying so hard to fit in, mocking his efforts to be accepted among purebloods. The disdain in their voices echoed in her ears, a reminder of the cruelty that pervaded their world. It wasn’t long before she was unceremoniously kicked out of the Slytherin dorms, forcing Professor Slughorn to personally retrieve Severus’s trunk, a small act that felt like a small victory amid so much pain.

As she stood outside those hallowed walls, the weight of reality pressed down on Lily like a heavy shroud. All her assumptions about Severus's well-being in the Slytherin dorms crumbled before her. What if he was being coerced into joining the Death Eaters? The thought sent a chill through her, tightening around her heart.

Lily felt utterly ridiculous. She had convinced herself that Severus was managing, that he was navigating the treacherous waters of Slytherin life with some semblance of success. But now, it seemed the truth was far more sinister. The way they treated him mirrored the disdain they showed Muggle-borns, perhaps even worse.

Her worst fears solidified when she caught sight of his trunk, filled with vandalized items and crumpled parchments of his homework, the ink smeared and barely legible. Each damaged piece spoke volumes of the torment he had endured, the mockery he faced daily from his so-called friends. The sight of it was a gut punch, confirming everything she had feared but hoped was untrue. She felt anger rising within her, mixed with a deep sadness. Severus deserved better than this, better than the betrayals of those who should have been his allies. He had always been there for her, even when the world seemed determined to tear them apart. How could she not notice this?

Days turned into weeks, and Severus remained unresponsive. With each passing day, Lily and her parents felt their anxiety grow. Madam Pomphrey, her tone grave, suggested transferring Severus to St. Mungo’s for more specialized care. However, they needed to establish themselves as his guardians first, since his relatives should have been the ones to care for him. But no one came; no one even checked on him.

When her parents announced their decision to take in Severus, it ignited a fierce argument with Petunia. Her older sister had always despised him, labelling him as poor and hurling other cruel insults. “I won’t have Snape as a brother!” she screamed, her voice a blend of fury and disdain. “We have enough freaks as it is!” The words struck Lily like a physical blow. To hear her own sister call her a freak shattered something inside her. That day, she cried in her parents’ arms, feeling the weight of her family’s disapproval and the isolation of being different.

Just as they were about to file the adoption papers in the wizarding world, a message arrived from Madame Pomphrey: Severus had awakened. Relief surged through Lily as they were in Diagon Alley when the news broke. She dashed toward the Leaky Cauldron, her heart racing with hope and anticipation.

When she finally entered the hospital wing and saw him, her heart soared at the sight of a thinner but awake Severus. But that joy was short-lived. As soon as he learned of his mother’s death, his magic erupted in a chaotic burst of energy.

The force sent them all crashing against the walls, and panic surged through the room. Professor Dumbledore swiftly conjured a protective barrier, while Madam Pomphrey waved her wand, casting a spell to put Severus back into a magically induced sleep. With a wave of her hand, his magic began to calm, settling back into a more manageable state as he slumped back onto the bed.

Madam Pomphrey examined him carefully, her expression serious. “His magical core is depleted again. He simply needs rest to replenish it before he can wake up,” she informed them, her voice firm yet sympathetic. Once more, Lily felt the sharp pang of being escorted out of the room, along with the group of boys who were with her in the hospital wing.

Lily hadn’t even noticed the others in the hospital wing, her focus solely on Severus. She was about to leave when a conversation caught her attention, halting her in her tracks. “This is all my fault,” Remus Lupin moaned, his voice choked with emotion, teetering on the edge of tears. James Potter quickly moved to his side, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. “No, it’s not. He was only in that situation because of Sirius. You shouldn’t feel guilty; it’s not on you.”

Lily’s heart raced as she listened. The weight of their words hung in the air, laden with responsibility and regret. She could feel a storm of emotions swirling within her—confusion and an overwhelming anger.

“Hey! Snivvy’s just too stupid to –“

Sirius was interrupted when Lily Evans grabbed James Potter’s collar and demanded what he meant. When no one answered, she dragged all of them away from the hallway.

"What did you do to Severus?!” Lily demanded, her voice echoing in the empty classroom as soon as they stepped inside. The tension was palpable; the four of them had been acting strangely ever since news of Severus's condition spread. She had been unaware of their whereabouts while he was missing, and the explanation provided by Professor Dumbledore—that Severus had accidentally trespassed into centaur lands—didn’t sit right with her. She knew Severus too well; he navigated the Forbidden Forest like the back of his hand.

After that announcement in the Great Hall, their demeanour shifted to one of hesitation and low-key anxiety. While she initially dismissed her suspicions as mere coincidence, she couldn’t ignore overhearing them suggest that Sirius Black might be involved in Severus's predicament. She couldn’t let that go unchallenged. As Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew moved to leave, hoping to let James Potter and Remus Lupin handle the situation, Lily swiftly cast a binding charm, followed by a Stinging Hex to ensure they wouldn’t escape until she uncovered the truth.

“Don’t you dare fucking leave! Answer me!” Lily roared, sending another Stinging Hex crackling through the air toward the four of them. She knew it was cruel to resort to such methods to extract information, but desperation consumed her; she would do anything to uncover the truth. Normally, her conscience would have scolded her for such behaviour, but the guilt and sorrow that weighed heavily on her from the past few days dulled any remorse she might have felt.

The four of them froze, shock etched on their faces. While she had been angry before, this was a different level of fury. Tears threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She scrutinized their expressions, analyzing every twitch of their eyelids, every subtle shift in their posture. Among them, Black and Lupin appeared the most guilty.

Suddenly, memories of her last arguments with Severus flooded her mind. She turned her icy gaze to the scarred brunette, her heart racing with rage. Without thinking, she grabbed the collars of both boys, her face twisted with hatred and determination.

“Which one of you is it?” she demanded in a low, menacing tone, locking eyes with the confused stares of Lupin and Black. “Who sent Sev to the werewolf’s den?!”

The room fell into a tense silence, four pairs of eyes widening in disbelief at her accusation. James Potter instinctively backed away, his posture shifting to a guarded stance as he assessed the situation. Lily pushed the two boys back, her wand trained on them, her grip unyielding.

As her breathing quickened, the tension in the air morphed into something absurd, and suddenly, she burst into laughter—an unsettling, manic sound that filled the classroom. Her mind raced, concocting theories that were far more plausible than Dumbledore's centaur explanation. She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to breathe through her nose—a calming technique that Severus had taught her during their quieter moments. But even that couldn’t quell the storm raging within her.

"My dear, I know Severus Snape is your friend. Can you tell him to contact his home, please? There is something he needs to know, and he must come home immediately."

As those words echoed in her mind, Lily felt a wave of grief wash over her. She recalled the letter from her mother, the funeral arrangements for Sev's mother, and the legal battles her father had initiated against Tobias Snape. Memories flooded her: the exact smile on Severus’s face as he secured a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, his excitement as he animatedly described the Hogwarts houses and the deep hurt that shadowed his eyes when James Potter and Sirius Black ridiculed him for his fondness for Slytherin. She felt a deep sense of shame for not shielding him from their cruelty, for offering only hollow comforts and arguments that had stemmed from her own biases.

Lily loathed how she had misjudged Severus, hastily assuming his desire to join the Death Eaters without understanding the oppressive environment he faced at home. While she thrived in Gryffindor, living her dream, he had been left vulnerable, unable to find solace even within the walls of Hogwarts, a place he had hoped would be a sanctuary from his abusive upbringing.

What was supposed to be a haven for him had instead become another hell, plagued by the arrogance of bullies and her negligence. "This is all our fault," she murmured, her body sagging as the weight of the truth pressed down on her. Her vibrant green eyes dulled as she turned to face the group that called themselves the Marauders, her voice barely a whisper.

“You, who take pleasure in the suffering of others because their ideals differ from yours, and I, who stood by and did nothing. Severus Snape did nothing wrong, yet he bears pain he doesn’t deserve.”

Suddenly, her voice shifted, filled with fierce determination as she raised her wand, pointing it at them. “I will not let this happen again. Hurt Severus once more, and I will become a demon far more evil than the one you accused him of being.”

Chapter Text

Severus was only three years old the first time he saw his mother cry, her shoulders shaking silently in the dim light of their cramped living room. By five, he had witnessed the first of many violent encounters, his father’s hand striking his mother with a force that echoed through the house like a thunderclap. At six, he felt the sting of his father’s anger himself, a sharp slap that marked the beginning of a new kind of fear. By seven, Severus had begun to grasp the unsettling truth: something was profoundly wrong with his home.

At nine, the realization deepened when he encountered the Evans family, who embodied the warmth and affection that he so desperately craved. The Evanses were what most would consider a happy family—full of love, laughter, and the kind of tenderness that never left a bruise. Violet Evans, the matriarch, was a beacon of nurturing light. She showered her daughters, Lily Barbara and Petunia Carmen, with hugs and kisses, teaching them to be independent and strong in a world that often felt harsh and unforgiving. Her husband adored his girls, protecting them fiercely and providing without reservation. The sisters wore their smiles like armour, radiating confidence and articulating their thoughts with ease.

Severus was captivated by this family dynamic, his heart aching as he silently observed their interactions. Why couldn’t his own family mirror that warmth? As an innocent, naïve nine-year-old, he mustered the courage to ask his mother, but the question only drew tears and choked sobs from her. The sound pierced him, a painful reminder that some questions had no answers, and he learned to bury his inquiries deep within.

Years passed in a fog of neglect and despair. His father, a man ensnared by alcohol, continued to unleash his wrath on both Eileen and Severus, directing his bitterness toward them like a weapon. He blamed Eileen for trapping him in a marriage he resented, convinced that their very existence was a curse. To Tobias Snape, his wife and son’s blood and magic seemed to summon only misfortune.

In his young life, Severus could not recall a moment when laughter echoed through the walls of their home. Birthdays were mere shadows, slipping by without celebration, and achievements went unacknowledged. He had no frame of reference, and no friends to share his milestones, until Lily Evans entered his world, illuminating the dark corners of his insecurities and lack.

Despite the pain her perfect family caused him, Severus cherished his friendship with Lily. She was a lifeline, the only person who saw him amidst his turmoil. He remembered his mother, too—the way she haggled for secondhand clothes that looked more like rags than garments, the unappetizing soups she served for dinner, the way she sacrificed her own dresses so he could have something to wear, and the gentle way she trimmed his hair when it grew too long.

Severus often pondered his mother’s choices. How could a woman of such promise, who once belonged to a wealthy pureblood family, settle for a life with a muggle like Tobias Snape? The disparity tormented him, and he yearned to pull her from the depths of despair, a plan he hatched during his first year at Hogwarts. Yet the distractions of school life, the Slytherin House, and the cruelty of the Marauders constantly derailed his intentions.

Eileen Snape’s death came as a devastating blow, just days after the chaos of the Shrieking Shack incident. She should have gone to Hogwarts to check on her injured son, but instead, he received the shattering news of her murder. The police spoke of a violent encounter, detailing how Tobias had struck her repeatedly before pushing her down, resulting in a fatal blow. The hand marks on her neck showed she was choked, the skin on her nails screamed of her struggle, and the blood from her head spoke of her death. The images in the reports haunted him—he couldn’t bear to look, yet the evidence against his father was irrefutable.

Alone, he arranged the funeral and signed the death certificates, both in the muggle and wizarding worlds. The weight of despair threatened to engulf him entirely. Severus teetered on the edge of darkness, contemplating his own life, yet clinging to the fragile threads that Lily provided, alongside the recognition he was beginning to earn from his housemates and the Dark Lord.

But the two most important things in his life could not coexist. Lily despised his associations with Slytherins, while he spiralled deeper into the shadows, desperate for validation. Arguments with his best friend escalated, and his demeanour morphed into something harsh and cruel – thanks to the powerful influence of the Dark Lord’s underaged recruiters. The darkness within him intensified that he had managed to call the light of his life a “Mudblood.” It was a betrayal that sealed his fate, solidifying his path toward Voldemort and his cause.

With no one to rescue him, he took the Dark Mark just after his seventeenth birthday, immersing himself in a world of raids and murder. The blood of his father marked his hands forever—the first life he took, a twisted initiation into the darkness he had so long feared. It was a descent into despair, the only wake-up call coming when he unknowingly endangered the one person who had ever cared for him: Lily.

***

James Potter’s heart raced, pounding in his chest like a drum, as he sprinted through the moonlit hallway of the Shrieking Shack towards the Slytherin student, his form transformed into that of a majestic stag. A wave of anxiety washed over him. What in Merlin's name was Sirius thinking? How could he have led that insufferable, snivelling coward right here, especially with Remus in his vulnerable werewolf state? If Sirius was intent on killing the dark wizard, he should have left Remus out of it entirely!

The werewolf, a fearsome embodiment of primal instinct and raw power, was faster than James had anticipated. With a surge of desperation, he cursed under his breath and used his powerful antlers to shove the Slytherin aside, narrowly avoiding a tragic encounter. In the chaos, he felt the sharp bite of fangs pierce into his ribs, pain igniting in his side. Instinctively, he kicked out with his powerful legs, striking the creature with a mix of fear and determination, hoping to divert its attention. Thank Merlin he was in his Animagus form—if he had been in his human body, he would have faced the horrifying prospect of being turned into a werewolf himself.

This harrowing scenario wasn’t new; they had been doing this for months. It all began on that fateful Christmas during their second year when they stumbled upon the truth about Remus’s “furry problem.” The revelation had shaken them to their core, but rather than shy away, they vowed to support their friend. They delved deep into research, exploring every text they could find, searching for a way to ensure Remus wouldn’t have to endure the full moon alone. It had taken years of relentless dedication to master the complex Animagus transformation—a feat requiring immense concentration and discipline—that they finally achieved just before their fifth year. James felt the weight of their shared history pressing down on him—the laughter, the camaraderie, the countless nights spent planning their next adventure. He remembered their late-night meetings, huddled around stacks of books, piecing together the complicated process of becoming Animagi. They had done it for Remus, for their friendship. The four of them had become unregistered Animagi, a dangerous secret that could land them in Azkaban if discovered. Yet Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, had given them his solemn promise to keep their secret safe, providing them with a sense of protection that emboldened their resolve.

James noticed the huge black dog pushed the werewolf into one of the rooms and he transformed into his human form to help trap the creature inside. He immediately flings his wand, casting a magic wall at the entrance of the room. James Potter screamed as his friend transformed. “Padfoot, you idiot!”

“What the hell are you thinking bringing Snivellus here?!”

“He fucking deserved it! If he wasn’t sticking his huge nose where it doesn’t belong – sniffing some dirt on Moony, I wouldn’t -” Sirius shouted even louder, his voice raw with fury, as he flung his arms up in frustration.

His gaze burned with anger as he stared down at the unconscious boy on the ground, and without a second thought, he delivered a hard kick to his stomach. As always, Sirius was quick to point the blame on the Slytherin—his usual scapegoat whenever they got caught brawling in the hallway. Normally, James would have backed him up without hesitation, but this time was different. A minute ago, Moony had nearly been forced into committing murder because of his ‘prank’. James couldn’t simply take Sirius’s side like he usually did.

"Shut up! Remus is still Moony, so we need to get him out of here!" James snapped at Sirius, his tone filled with disdain. His mind raced with frustration, not just at Sirius, but at the situation as a whole. Honestly, James couldn’t help but blame the wannabe Death Eater for following them here in the first place. If he hadn’t been so intent on sticking his nose into their business and trying to get them expelled, none of this would have happened.

"P-Prongs, Sniv’s bleeding. I t-think he’s been bitten," Sirius stammered, his usual bravado gone, replaced by a nervous tremor in his voice.

James spun around sharply at the sound of Sirius’s words, his heart dropping. His bespectacled eyes widened as he saw Snape lying on the ground, blood pouring from a wound on his neck. Without hesitation, James dropped to his knees beside the unconscious boy, his hands moving quickly. The hand Snape had feebly pressed against the wound was trembling, barely applying any pressure, and doing little to stop the bleeding.

“Damn it,” James muttered under his breath, panic rising in his chest. He shook Snape, his hands gripping his shoulders in desperation, hoping to wake him up before it was too late.

“No. I saved him before Remus could even get to him,” James insisted, his mind racing as he tried to recall the chaotic scene. He was certain Moony hadn’t had time to sink his teeth into Snivellus before he had flung him out of harm’s way. But Sirius, wide-eyed and panicking, wasn’t convinced.

“Then he must’ve been injured when you used your prongs to shove him!” Sirius shot back, his voice frantic.

“Shut up! Snivellus! Hey, wake up!” James shouted directly into Snape’s ear, desperation lacing his tone. But Snape seemed too dazed, barely able to register the words. In his growing panic, James didn’t notice the barrier keeping the werewolf contained beginning to collapse, brick by magical brick. As Snape’s eyes fluttered open, James sighed in relief, but before he could comment on how fragile the boy seemed, Snape abruptly shoved him aside with a surprising burst of strength.

Blood was still gushing from the wound, staining his uniform in dark crimson streaks, but despite that, Snape stood with a fierce determination, positioning himself between James and Sirius, adopting a guarded stance.

That’s when James saw it—Moony, eyes wild and predatory, charging toward them with terrifying speed. James and Sirius both screamed in unison, instinctively raising their arms to shield their faces. They braced themselves for impact, but instead of claws or teeth, they felt something different—warm, protective magic enveloping them. It felt like a comforting embrace, like a soft, warm blanket wrapped around them on a freezing winter’s night.

A blinding white light flashed around them, and the deafening roar of the werewolf was suddenly muffled. James blinked, his vision adjusting to the scene before him. Moony was now slamming helplessly into an impenetrable magical shield, his savage attacks rebounding off the thick barrier. James’s mind raced. What had just happened? They were safe, but how?

He looked around frantically, expecting to see Dumbledore or McGonagall rushing to their aid, perhaps the ones responsible for the shield. But to his shock, he saw no one—no professors in sight. Only Snape stood in front of them, wand raised high toward the sky, his face pale but resolute.

Snape collapsed to the ground, shivering and still bleeding heavily. James didn’t move because of shock. Snivellus turned his head slightly, meeting James’s gaze with an expression that was both melancholic and strangely mocking. For reasons James couldn’t quite grasp, there was a hint of something else in Snape’s eyes—perhaps a flicker of fondness or indulgence, though it made no sense in this moment of danger and chaos.

“Always be vigilant, Harry,” Snape muttered through laboured breaths, his voice weak but laced with a bitter edge. “You are brainless and lazy... just like your... father…”

James frowned in confusion, his brow furrowing. Harry? Who in Merlin’s name was Harry? And why was Snape speaking to him with that strange, almost wistful tone? It felt like Snape wasn’t even addressing him, as though he were speaking to someone else entirely, lost in some delusion. Before James could make sense of it, Snape’s eyes fluttered closed, and he fainted, his body going limp as the blood continued to seep from the wound. Panic surged through James as he crawled towards the person and pressed down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Moments later, Wormtail appeared, panting and out of breath, with McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey hot on his heels. The two women immediately rushed to Snape’s side, with Madam Pomfrey expertly attending to his injuries while McGonagall issued sharp commands to keep things under control. James stepped back, feeling a knot of unease in his stomach. Snape’s words echoed in his mind, but there was no time to dwell on them.

Dumbledore arrived shortly after, his presence commanding as always. He surveyed the scene before calmly asking what had happened. To James’s surprise, Sirius was the first to speak up, confessing the details of the situation. James hadn’t expected Sirius to come clean so quickly, but there was no time to dwell on it. When the conversation shifted to the strange, powerful shield that had saved them, they all pointed to Snape, assuming he must have cast it. But Dumbledore shook his head slowly, his expression thoughtful. “No,” the Headmaster said softly, his blue eyes glinting with curiosity. “That magic didn’t come from Severus.”

“That is a bit impossible, my boy,” Dumbledore began, his tone gentle but firm. “That shield was a combination of three powerful spells: Protego Maxima, Fianto Duri, and Repello Inimicum. Protego Maxima on its own is hailed as an incredibly strong protective charm, but when combined with the other two, its power grows exponentially. This kind of magic isn’t taught in the Hogwarts curriculum, and only a few freshly graduated wizards are even aware of how to perform it. Not to mention, the sheer amount of magical energy required to cast all three would be considerable.”

“But Snape did cast the spell!” Sirius interrupted, his voice rising with conviction as he pointed to the unconscious and bloodied Snape, who was still being examined by Madam Pomfrey. “I saw it with my own eyes!”

The mediwitch, after a brief glance at her parchment, chimed in. “The boy might be right, Headmaster. Mr. Snape is showing clear signs of magical depletion. He must have used an immense amount of magic to protect them from the werewolf.”

She held up the parchment for Dumbledore’s inspection, detailing Snape’s health. James watched closely as Dumbledore’s usual calm expression shifted to a thoughtful frown, his eyes darting between the weakened boy on the bed and the document in his hand. Finally, the Headmaster gave a slow nod, his signature warm smile and twinkle returning to his eyes.

“I will handle the matter with Mr. Snape once he wakes up,” he said, his voice reassuring. “Rest assured, Mr. Lupin’s condition will remain a closely guarded secret.”

With that, Dumbledore turned and left the hospital wing, his robes sweeping behind him, leaving James, Sirius, and the others to watch over Snape in silence. It wasn’t until the room fell quiet again that a realization hit James like a thunderbolt—Snape hadn’t spoken a single incantation when he cast that shield.

Chapter Text

James felt a wave of relief wash over him as Madame Pomfrey finished fussing over Snape. Her skilled hands had worked quickly, getting healing salve all over Snape’s wounds. James sat beside Sirius in the hospital wing, but his thoughts were consumed by Snape's unexpected power; it was astonishing how the Slytherin had managed to cast such a complex spell without uttering a word. The sheer force of it sent chills down his spine.

The following morning, a sense of unease settled over the Gryffindor common room. Sirius, usually the first to rise, didn’t bother to come down for breakfast or their morning classes. Peter was supposed to join James for Potions, but he had gotten himself trapped in a bathroom, a victim of his own gluttony from breakfast.

As fate would have it, James found himself partnered with Lily Evans for their Potions class. A surge of excitement coursed through him, pulling him away from thoughts of Snape. Lily was everything he had ever dreamed of. Her beautiful face was framed by cascades of fiery red hair, and her deep green eyes sparkled with intelligence and determination. He remembered the first day they had met on the Hogwarts Express, crammed into a compartment. The moment he laid eyes on her, he felt an undeniable connection, as if he had glimpsed his future wife.

He envisioned a life with her, a warm home filled with laughter and the pitter-patter of tiny feet. He imagined her nurturing their children, creating an atmosphere brimming with love and joy. In his daydreams, she awaited his return from work, her smile lighting up their home, a perfect wife who adored him unconditionally.

But his fantasies were abruptly shattered. Lily, usually soft-spoken and sweet, unleashed a barrage of stinging curses and incarcerous spells to extract information from them. He had witnessed her get angry on behalf of Snape before, but those moments had been filled with only cute glares and harmless jinxes aimed to defend him. This was different. Watching her cast those spells with such ferocity, he realized that Lily was not merely a soft girl; she possessed a fierce strength and a willingness to fight for what she believed in.

“This is all our fault,” James heard her say, her voice trembling slightly. He watched as the pain and guilt swirled in her deep green eyes, a storm of emotions that reflected the turmoil inside her. With each steadying breath, she tried to calm herself, but it was clear that the weight of the situation bore heavily on her shoulders.

James hated that look on her—an expression reserved for someone else, for someone he could never understand. It infuriated him to see her vulnerability directed toward a person like Snape, a boy he viewed as nothing more than a coward. To him, Lily was like a radiant diamond, dazzling and extraordinary, illuminating the lives of those around her with her kindness and brilliance. In stark contrast, Snivellus was akin to muddied water, murky and useless, serving no purpose in anyone's life.

James’s heart ached at the thought of Lily’s affections being wasted on someone so undeserving. How could someone as vibrant and compassionate as Lily ever love someone like Snape? The thought gnawed at him, filling him with frustration and confusion. It didn’t make sense to him, and he felt a swell of possessiveness toward her, wishing she could see the truth about the boy who she had such a deep connection with.

He had spent five long years declaring his love for Lily, each proclamation a testament to his unwavering devotion. Together with his friends, he had plotted to expose the slimy Slytherin, determined to unveil Snape’s dark side and show Lily just how undeserving he was of a girl like her. James had tried to beat the darkness out of Snivellus, intent on revealing his true colours to everyone, hoping to protect Lily from the influence of someone he viewed as a vile, wretched creature. Yet, despite all his efforts, Lily still cared for Snape, as if nothing in this world could ever tear them apart. The sight of her compassion for that boy filled James with frustration and bitterness. How could someone as despicable as Snape have someone so incredible? It infuriated him that a poor excuse for a wizard like Snape could possess the heart of the girl he adored.

The connection between Lily and Snape was something James couldn’t help but envy. It was a bond that seemed so deep, so impenetrable. Growing up, he had never had anyone like that by his side. His parents had given him everything he could ever need or want—material comforts, love, and support—but despite their efforts, he always felt a nagging emptiness within him.

Watching Lily and Snape, he recognized that connection, that unbreakable thread that tied them together, and it stirred something deep within him. It was a longing for companionship that went beyond mere friendship, a desire to share a bond that transcended all else. He wanted that for himself, to feel that kind of closeness with Lily, but instead, he was left grappling with his own frustration and jealousy.

“You, who take pleasure in the suffering of others because their ideals differ from yours, and I, who stood by and did nothing. Severus Snape did nothing wrong, yet he bears pain he doesn’t deserve.”

James recalled the countless hexes and childish duels, the way Snape had glared at him with those piercing eyes, sometimes filled with tears of frustration. He struggled to remember what had fueled their antagonism toward Snape for so long. Why had they treated him so cruelly? What had he done to deserve such torment?

As he delved into his memories, James tried to piece together the events that had led to this relentless feud. He realized, with a growing sense of clarity, that every spell cast in their direction by the Slytherin had always been a reaction to the pranks and insults they had hurled at him first. It was a bitter cycle, one that began long before he had even noticed.

James's mind drifted back to their first meeting, that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express. He could picture Snape clearly, seated beside Lily, a book clutched in his hands. The boy wore a tattered, floral-patterned shirt that looked as if it had been hastily cut and sewn together, an odd choice for someone so young. He dressed in a way that some might consider feminine, but his scowl was anything but endearing—unlike Lily, who sat beside him, radiating warmth and charm.

They had been discussing which houses they hoped to be sorted into, and Snape had spoken proudly of his desire to join Slytherin, declaring it was because of his mother. James remembered feeling a jolt of unease at that admission, knowing the dark reputation that Slytherin held; it was notorious for producing wizards who often turned to the dark arts. After Snape was sorted into that “snake pit,” the dynamic shifted dramatically. James and his friends had begun to follow him, taunting him, unleashing their cruelty upon him without mercy.

Was it really just jealousy that drove their actions? Was it because Snape aspired to be a Slytherin like his mother? The questions hung heavy in the air, a murky cloud of uncertainty swirling around his thoughts. James felt a twinge of guilt as he pondered the motivations behind their relentless torment, grappling with the realization that perhaps their cruelty stemmed from something deeper—an insecurity that manifested as a desperate need to assert their dominance over someone they deemed weak.

 “I will not let this happen again. Hurt Severus once more, and I will become a demon far more evil than the one you accused him of being.”

James raised his head to meet Lily Evans's fierce gaze, and the intensity of her determination sent a fresh wave of jealousy coursing through him. Her emerald eyes burned with an unwavering resolve, a fiery anger directed squarely at them. At that moment, she seemed ready to unleash all her strength to defend Snivellus, no matter the cost. James pursed his lips, feeling an ache in his chest as he witnessed the bond between Lily and Snape grow even stronger. Each word she spoke wrapped around Snape like a protective barrier, and he couldn't help but feel excluded from that connection. The way she fought for him ignited a whirlwind of emotions within James—frustration, jealousy, and a sense of helplessness.

He struggled to ignore how her fierce loyalty made his heart clench tightly, each beat echoing his anguish. It was as if he were watching a part of himself slip away, overshadowed by the undeniable affection she held for Snape. He realized how deep their connection ran, and it made him question everything he thought he knew about their rivalry. Would he ever be able to compete with the bond like that?

***

Snape cried for who knows how long. In the back of his mind, his thirty-eight-year-old self admonished him for bawling like a toddler, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed to mourn for his mother properly, to release the grief that had been pent up inside him for far too long. All the tears he had held back during her funeral poured out of him, gushing forth without pause, a torrent of sorrow that washed over him. He curled up in a fetal position, retreating into the dark recesses of his mind, wishing to remain cocooned in his anguish forever.

“Sev, please don’t cry. I’m here.”

He could hear her voice—soft, gentle, and warm. It was Lily, her presence a beacon of comfort amidst the storm of his emotions. Yet even she couldn't penetrate the thick veil of grief that surrounded him. In a desperate attempt to shield himself from the pain, he curled up even tighter, burying his head in his knees.

“...fessor…nape… Professor Snape!”

It must be his imagination playing tricks on him. It was impossible for Harry Potter to be here in this timeline; after all, the boy hadn’t even been born yet. But he wouldn’t have been surprised if he were. Harry had always exhibited a blatant disregard for Snape’s privacy, a relentless curiosity that left him feeling exposed. Severus tried to ignore the insistent calls, wishing they would fade into the background, but the voice persisted, calling out to him as if he were still in his role as Professor Snape.

“Professor Snape! Wake up!”

The urgency in Harry’s voice struck him like thunder, jolting him out of his stupor. Abruptly, Severus sat up, his heart racing as reality crashed back in around him. He looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings of the hospital wing. He is still his teenage self, the same dark hair framing his face, but he was miraculously healed after his emotional outburst. The room was dimly lit, and he could see the outlines of other beds, a testament to the chaos that had just unfolded.

“Sev?”

Lily was seated beside his bed, her hands gently clasping his. Unlike the last time he had seen her, so many years ago, she was here—alive and well—her vibrant spirit shining through, not the lifeless body sprawled on the nursery floor at Godric’s Hollow. A shiver ran down Severus’s spine as he took in her features. She looked younger, the baby fat still present in her cheeks, and her signature red hair was tied back in a neat ponytail that danced with every slight movement.

At the foot of his bed lay her bag, a jumble of parchment scattered over his legs, evidence that she had been working on her homework while keeping him company. The sight was almost surreal, a glimpse into a life he had thought was forever lost. When his onyx eyes met her vibrant green ones, a rush of emotions flooded him, and he felt himself crumbling under the weight of it all.

“L-Lily…”

His tear-streaked face twisted in anguish as trembling hands found their way to her arms, seeking comfort in the warmth of her presence. Memories of the war, that damn prophecy, and the deaths he took part in or had witnessed overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. The haunting images of his best friend’s lifeless body loomed large in his mind, forcing the air from his lungs.

He opened his mouth, desperate to convey the feelings that had festered within him for so long. “I’m so sorry.” The words came out choked and broken, laden with the grief he had carried for years. If they were to meet again in the afterlife, he had wanted to tell her this, to apologize for the choices that had led to their tragic end.

Hurt flashed across Lily’s face as she instinctively pulled Severus into a tight hug. “What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of disbelief and concern. “I should be the one saying sorry! I can’t believe I let them bully you like that. How neglectful I’ve been as your friend.”

But in Severus’s mind, a whirlwind of guilt spun violently. No. Severus thought, I gave the prophecy of your child to the Dark Lord and caused both your death and your husband’s. I bullied your child, just like his father bullied me.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out, the words tumbling from his lips, heavy with the weight of his remorse. He shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks as he cried out, “It’s all my fault.”

I called you a Mudblood. I am the reason you died young, the reason your son was relentlessly hunted by a madman to whom I swore my allegiance.

“Sev, you have nothing to apologize for! It’s absolutely not your fault!” Lily’s voice shook, her attempt to be strong faltering as tears cascaded down her cheeks. She clutched him tighter, her hands gently rubbing his back, a soothing gesture meant to ease his pain. Seeing Severus in such anguish was unbearable for her.

Gently, she pushed him back so she could see his face, forcing a smile despite her own tears. She tenderly wiped the wetness from his cheeks with her thumbs. “I will be here as long as you need me,” she promised, her eyes bright with determination. “I’m going to protect you like we promised when we were kids. I swear nothing like this will happen again. I’ll hex the Marauders into next week if I have to. Just please, don’t cry.”

Severus swallowed hard, pushing the pain down his throat as he gazed at his best friend. In her youthful presence, he felt a flicker of hope. Nothing bad had happened yet—no prophecy looming over them, no bitter slurs. He had not yet committed any actions he would later regret. He realized he had a chance to make things right. Nodding, he squeezed Lily’s hand, a silent vow forming in his heart to keep her safe.

“Me too. I’ll protect you, I promise. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done, for the words that hurt you,” Severus replied, his voice filled with sincerity as he pulled her into another embrace, savouring the comforting scent of her hair and the warmth radiating from her.

“I’m sorry too,” she said softly, her expression brightening. “Let’s do better from now on. Gosh, Severus, what would you do without me?” Her tone turned playful, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

The teasing remark drew a genuine laugh from Severus, the first since he had arrived in this timeline. It was a small, but significant moment, one that momentarily lifted the weight of his sorrow and reminded him of the joy they once shared.

Chapter Text

His routine gradually returned to its familiar rhythm after his discharge from the hospital wing. Well, familiar except for the conspicuous absence of his lifelong tormentors. The Marauders, who had relentlessly pursued him with hexes and curses even after the incident at the Shrieking Shack in his first lifetime, had fallen into an uncharacteristic silence over the past few days. It was disconcerting, this newfound quiet. Severus mused that perhaps it was due to the severity of his most recent injuries, graver than any he had sustained before. Yet, deep down, he doubted they were capable of guilt—not for him. The Marauders had always reveled in their cruelty toward "Snivellus," and he could hardly imagine them feeling remorse for their actions now.

Choosing to disregard their strange absence, Severus immersed himself in his studies. His time was spent with the solace of books and potions, his sharp mind focused on the task at hand. There was much to tend to, especially the matters left to him after his mother's death

The Headmaster and the Board of Governors had granted Severus a special leave of absence, recognizing the unusual circumstances following his mother’s death and his father’s subsequent disappearance. With no immediate guardians left to care for him, the Evans family—who had assisted while he was unconscious—were given temporary authority over him until the Ministry of Magic could assign formal guardians. Their involvement was a peculiar twist of fate, but Severus saw the practicality in it. First and foremost, he needed to navigate the complexities of the Muggle world, and Mr. Evans, ever eager to help, had offered his assistance. Together, they would handle bureaucratic tasks like filing his mother’s death certificate, providing testimony in the domestic abuse case against Tobias Snape, and overseeing the transfer of assets into Severus’s name.

There would be no reading of wills, as neither of his parents had bothered to prepare one. It was just as well, Severus thought bitterly; the absence of any foresight on their part was entirely predictable. Yet, practical matters still needed to be addressed, like the sale of the decaying house on Spinner’s End—a place Severus had no intention of keeping. Arranging that would mean contacting a real estate agent, and time was of the essence. Hogwarts had only granted him a month and a half to sort through the mess of his dual worlds, and the clock was already ticking.

On top of his dealings in the Muggle world, Severus had to contend with the added burdens of the wizarding world. As the son of a pure-blood witch, he was required to undergo a blood test to determine if any vaults or heirlooms had been passed down to him. The very notion made him scoff, and he pushed the matter to the bottom of his list. He knew the truth—Eileen Prince had been the last heir of the once-proud Prince family, but like many ancient pure-blood families, they had clung tightly to their bloodline’s so-called purity. Her marriage to a Muggle like Tobias Snape had been the ultimate transgression, and as a result, Eileen had been disowned and cut off from her inheritance and family legacy.

Severus doubted there was anything left for him to claim. The Princes would rather see their wealth and line vanish into obscurity than fall into the hands of a half-blood, even if he was their disowned descendant’s only child. He had seen this same play out in his first life—no inheritance, no title. He hadn’t bothered with a blood test then, either. After spending years in the company of blood supremacists, he knew better than to expect any kindness from them. They would sooner die than let someone of his lineage take up the mantle of their family. And so, the blood test remained low on his list of priorities, just another formality in a long line of tedious tasks.

Mr. Evans, a legal counsel at a factory, was highly skilled in his profession, making it surprisingly quick and efficient for Severus to handle the necessary matters in the Muggle world. With his expertise, the filing of paperwork and other formalities seemed almost effortless. Beyond his professional duties, Mr. Evans also went out of his way to assist Severus by finding a reliable real estate agent to help sell the house on Spinner’s End. His generosity didn’t stop there—both he and his wife extended the offer for Severus to stay in their guest room, an invitation that was accepted with some reluctance, particularly on the part of their elder daughter, Petunia.

Petunia’s dissatisfaction with Severus’s presence in their home was palpable, though she kept it under control for the most part. The two of them rarely crossed paths, save for the shared silence at dinner. For the rest of the time, they were largely confined to their respective rooms, each absorbed in their studies. Severus was deep in preparation for his upcoming OWLs, while Petunia was diligently revising for her Higher Exams, a crucial step for those planning to attend university.

Severus had overheard her discussing her ambitions with her parents and learned that she intended to study business at university—a field considered somewhat unconventional for women at the time. Yet, despite his personal disdain for Petunia, Severus had to grudgingly acknowledge that she had the intellect to succeed in such a demanding discipline. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, he was mildly impressed by her resolve, even if their shared household remained an uneasy arrangement.

Since no one in the Evans residence appeared to be “allergic” to owls or showed any violent reactions to magic like his father had, letters were exchanged between Severus and Lily almost every other day. Their correspondence flowed easily, much like their conversations at Hogwarts, as they shared notes about the latest happenings at school—the latest gossip, and their academic struggles. These letters brought Severus a profound sense of comfort, creating a bridge to his old life and making it considerably easier for him to endure his days in an unfamiliar environment.

Mrs. Evans, who insisted he call her Violet, was exceptionally kind and accommodating. She welcomed him into her home with a warmth that was both genuine and disarming. However, after growing up in a household that lacked such affection, Severus found it difficult to adapt to this new atmosphere of warmth and openness. The bustling life of the Evans family, filled with laughter and chatter, contrasted starkly with the solitude he had known for so long.

After two weeks of relying on the Evans family’s hospitality, Severus had a particularly strange and uncomfortable encounter with Lily’s sister, Petunia.

“Are you and my sister dating?” Petunia asked abruptly as she joined Severus in the living room, a plate of freshly baked cookies in hand. Severus choked on his saliva, coughing violently as the unexpected question caught him off guard. What on earth was she saying? He shot a glare at the older girl, hastily cleaning up the mess he had made on his side of the couch.

“No,” he replied, confusion evident in his tone, which rose slightly as if he were asking a question himself. Petunia met his gaze with an unamused expression, her arms crossed defiantly. Severus cleared his throat, steeling himself, and repeated his answer, this time with more conviction. “No.”

“Right, with all the owls constantly knocking at your window,” she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she took a bite of her cookie. Severus silently prayed that she might choke on it, but it seemed that fate was not inclined to grant him such a small mercy.

“We’re just sending notes to help each other study for our exams,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. In an act of defiance for making him uncomfortable, he snatched a chocolate chip cookie from her plate and took a large bite, earning himself a murderous glare and a sharp slap on the arm.

“You damn thief!” Petunia whisper-yelled, making sure their mother, Violet, didn’t hear her from the kitchen. Mrs. Evans was not fond of fights breaking out in her home. Severus ignored her indignation and continued nibbling on the delicious pastry. They were far too good to resist.

“If you break my sister's heart, I’ll end you,” Petunia hissed, pulling her plate away from him as if he were about to take another cookie. Severus thought bitterly that it was already too late for that, but he also knew he would rather end himself than cause Lily pain again. He nodded seriously at Petunia, a sudden thought entering his mind. When had Lily started dating Potter again?

“Do you understand?” Petunia pressed for a verbal answer, lowering her voice in a way that was meant to sound threatening. But Severus was hardly intimidated by her.

“I do, ma’am,” he replied, rolling his eyes in mock submission. “But you’re barking up the wrong tree here.”

It was true that Severus had harboured small a crush on Lily during their teenage years, but he doubted it had ever escalated into a genuine romantic affection, especially with all the turmoil his life had endured at that time. Now, he viewed Lily Evans as a sister—someone he could rely on—but he could only see their relationship as platonic. She was a good girl, and many boys, including Potter, sought her attention, but Severus couldn’t imagine her as the kind of person he would pursue romantically or sexually. He shook his head in disgust, turning his attention back to Petunia, who was looking at him with a strange expression.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Then who should I be ‘barking’ at?” Petunia shot back, and Severus couldn’t help but smirk. “Wow, I didn’t think you took pleasure in barking like a good puppy.”

“You complete arse!” Petunia screamed, throwing a pillow at him. Severus dodged it with ease, the cushion sailing harmlessly past him. Violet, hearing the commotion from the kitchen, stepped in to investigate, her eyebrows raised in surprise at the sight of her elder daughter arguing with their guest—someone she had noticed Petunia openly disdained.

“What is going on here?” Violet asked, her gaze flitting between Petunia's flushed face and Severus’s smug expression. While she wasn’t entirely pleased with the idea of them arguing, a sense of relief washed over her at the sight of Severus smiling, even if it was at the expense of her daughter’s ire. Perhaps this was a step toward bridging the gap between them after all.

“Nothing,” Petunia whined, curling herself into a ball on the couch and covering her face with her knees. Violet paused for a moment, her brow furrowed in concern, but ultimately decided to leave them be, returning to the kitchen to finish her last batch of cookies, the comforting smell of chocolate chip filling the air.

Minutes passed in silence before Petunia broke it. “Who is it?” she asked, her voice muffled as she peeked out from her makeshift cocoon.

“What?” Severus replied, momentarily confused by the abrupt question.

“Lily’s boyfriend!” she exclaimed, frustration lacing her tone as she threw her hands in the air in exasperation. Severus stared at her, taken aback by the raw emotion behind her words. Despite their estrangement, it was clear that the sisters still cared for each other in some capacity. But as he thought about the neglect Harry had experienced at Petunia’s hands, he felt a deep conflict stirring within him. Should he really be helping her?

Harry could have had a normal childhood if Petunia had treated him better. The boy shouldn’t have had to endure starvation, be confined to a cupboard for a room, or be forced to complete endless chores just to earn his keep—all due to this woman’s harshness.

Severus contemplated the many possibilities that might have led to Petunia’s behaviour. Perhaps something had happened to her that fueled her hatred for magic and, by extension, her sister Lily, which caused her to mistreat Harry. Maybe a confluence of unfortunate circumstances had shaped her into the Petunia he knew now. Severus pondered what Harry would want for his aunt. Although he was not Harry Potter himself, years of observation had taught him that Harry wouldn’t wish harm on her; it would sadden that child to know she hadn’t been given a fair chance. Harry Potter has his famous saviour complex, after all.

With a determined nod, Severus made up his mind. “Maybe you should send her a letter,” he suggested to Petunia, his tone softer now. He stood up to head back to his room, but not before sneaking a cookie from her plate, a mischievous grin breaking through his serious demeanour.

Consider this a payment.

Chapter Text

As Severus prepared for his visit to Gringotts that day, he found himself grappling with the unexpected. He had anticipated a routine experience: a simple blood test to confirm his lineage. In his mind, he envisioned the scene unfolding smoothly—he would feign surprise upon learning that he was part of the Prince family, then promptly dismiss any notion of entitlement or inheritance. He planned to process the formal report, submit it to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and finally put this chapter behind him. However, it seemed that fate was intent on complicating his new life, throwing a wrench into his carefully laid plans and leaving everything in disarray.

With a heavy heart and the weight of uncertainty pressing on him, Severus paid the fee of ten galleons—an amount graciously covered by the Ministry of Magic. He took a deep breath as he pricked his finger, wincing slightly at the sharp sting. The blood droplets fell onto the enchanted parchment, each drop a tangible connection to his heritage.

He had mentally rehearsed the expressions he would wear after the test results were revealed, steeling himself for the moment. But as he caught sight of the parchment's contents, a wave of dread washed over him. His personal details glared back at him, and he instinctively forced himself to occlude his mind, reinforcing his mental shields. The unexpected reality of his situation threatened to unravel him, and he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of this unwanted revelation.

Severus Tobias Snape

Half-blood

Date of Birth: January 09, 1960

Place of Birth: Spinner's End, England

Sire: Tobias Arthur Snape

Date of Birth: September 17, 1929

Carrier: Eileen Valeria Snape nee Prince

Date of Birth: July 01, 1930

Betrothed: Sirius Orion Black III (bonded magically)

~

Magical Core: Neutral

Abilities:

Natural Occlumens

Natural Legilimens

Male Bearer

Heightened Magic Sense

......

Inheritance:

Prince Family Lordship/Heirship

Prince Main Manor, Cotswolds, England

Prince Villa, London, England

Octavia Manor, Scotland

Prince Laboratory, Scotland

List of Properties below…..

Vaults 234, 621, 789, 837, 492

The list of family heirlooms follows…..

The young Slytherin wanted to faint. The parchment slipped from Severus’s trembling hand, his mind racing as he exhausted his vocabulary of curse words, pacing back and forth in a frenzy of panic. This cannot be happening. Why in the world was his name listed on this document? The words stared back at him with a chilling finality:

Betrothed: Sirius Orion Black III

Severus shook his head vigorously, a cry of anguish escaping his lips and glaring at the name of the bane of his existence. He didn’t care that the goblin processing his service was watching him with a mix of curiosity and indifference. Why? Why?! Thoughts raced through his mind, each one more frantic than the last as he searched for a reason, any reason, for this shocking revelation. He had never taken a blood test in his past life, and the thought of inheriting the Prince Lordship had never crossed his mind. Now, he was faced with a reality he could not comprehend: the concept of being a male bearer tied to a betrothal he had never agreed to.

“How could I possibly be betrothed to Sirius Black?” he demanded, his voice a mix of anger, shame, confusion, and desperation. He glared at the goblin, who seemed unimpressed by Severus's emotional turmoil.

“It was common for old families to arrange marriage contracts even before a child is born,” the goblin replied, his voice flat and devoid of empathy.

“But my mother was disowned, and I was born a half-blood! The Prince family would never have entered into a marriage contract with someone like me,” Severus retorted, his anxiety growing with each passing moment. The implications of such a contract were terrifying. If it truly existed, it would bind his magic to Sirius Black, making escape impossible—a nightmare scenario. He now understood the dread that Harry must have felt when forced into that wretched Triwizard Tournament.

“Where is the contract? Can I have a copy of it?” Severus asked, his determination hardening as he sought any loophole he could exploit to free himself from this connection. The goblin’s response, however, was disheartening.

“The copy of the contract from the Prince family vaults is not on the list,” the goblin stated, his tone unyielding. “I’m afraid you will need to search for it in the library or perhaps within a secret compartment in the Prince Manor. Furthermore, as this marriage contract has been activated, the Black family was notified immediately of this matter.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Severus felt the tight grip of panic begin to close around him as if he were suffocating in a whirlwind of anxiety. The knowledge that the Black family had been alerted sent a fresh wave of dread coursing through his veins. They—along with Sirius Black—would be arriving any moment now. A surge of frustration welled up inside him, the urge to break something or unleash his pent-up magic almost overwhelming. Yet, he knew that such displays would be utterly disrespectful in the goblin enclave. With a deep breath, he reinforced his mental shields, willing himself to calm down. The thought of hiding, of fleeing this nightmare, flitted through his mind, but he feared that escaping would mean losing something important.

Male Bearer.

The term echoed ominously in his thoughts, pulling his focus back to the parchment. Severus frowned, troubled by the implications. He had heard whispers of the rare phenomenon known as the Male Bearer—many considered it a mere myth in this age. The ability of a male to conceive and give birth to heirs was extraordinary, something reserved for only the most powerful and enigmatic of wizards. Historians claimed that any heirs born to a Male Bearer possessed immense magical cores and extraordinary abilities. Some history books even suggested that the last known Male Bearers hailed from the illustrious Potter and Ravenclaw families, but nothing had been documented about them in over a century. So why had a Male Bearer—him—suddenly surfaced in the Prince family? Severus's mind raced as he vowed to delve deep into the ancestry of the direct line of the Prince family to uncover the truth.

The goblin's reminder of his claim to the Prince heirship echoed in his mind. With Augustus Prince, Eileen’s father, having succumbed to dragon pox nearly a decade ago, no one currently held the title of Lord of the Prince line. Consequently, all inheritance and vaults associated with the title remained dormant until Severus reached the age of emancipation. The goblin had mentioned that Eileen Prince was notified of her father's death, but the letter had been rejected, leaving the matter of inheritance unaddressed. It seemed that Augustus Prince wanted to give the Prince Family to his only daughter but his mother had chosen to ignore the correspondence out of spite of being disowned. And because Severus was not implicitly taken out of the Prince Line after the Lord had accepted Eileen back to the family, he became the sole heir after his mother’s death thus registering him as the male bearer of the Prince Line.

In his previous life, Severus Snape never claimed the heirship. After his mother’s death, Gringotts sent letters summoning him for a blood test, but he ignored them. By then, he had already severed his last real connection to the world by calling Lily that terrible word, and he was alone. He had no time to deal with inheritance matters, as he was being pulled deeper into the dark circle of Death Eaters, attending secret gatherings and preparing for war. He relinquished all ties to the Princes, convinced he would not live long enough for such things to matter.

When the first war ended, he was overwhelmed by grief for Lily’s death and the existence of the Potter spawn. This emotional devastation eclipsed everything else. He remained ignorant of his status as a male bearer because he lived in isolation, never taking a lover, male or female. There were no moments of intimacy where he might have accidentally discovered this secret.

Now, with the clarity of hindsight, he realized just how fortunate he had been. Had anyone known that he was a male bearer, especially during the height of the war, he would have been in grave danger. He would have been seen as a prize to be offered to the Dark Lord, his body reduced to nothing more than an object for that maniac and his vile followers. A bed warmer for the worst of them. The thought was horrifying, but in that life, his ignorance had unknowingly protected him from a fate far worse than death.

With a weary sigh, Severus felt the weight of his predicament settle heavily on his shoulders. Just as he was starting to process his thoughts, the moment he had dreaded finally arrived nearly an hour later. He had managed to sort through all his affairs with the Ministry of Magic by the time they appeared.

Clad in an elegant black dress, Walburga Black entered with measured, swift strides, her demeanour imposing and regal. Beside her stood a gentleman in finely tailored robes—Orion Black, her husband. Both wore solemn expressions, expertly masking their emotions behind the polished veneer typical of purebloods. The tension in the air crackled as Severus braced himself for the confrontation ahead, acutely aware that everything in his life was about to change.

Walburga Black cast a single glance in his direction, her face immediately twisting into a mask of disgust and disdain. Her expression was as cold and severe as the pure-blood traditions she so fervently upheld. Though Lord Orion Black maintained a more composed façade, his tightly controlled features couldn't hide the flicker of dissatisfaction in his eyes. Severus, ever perceptive, easily sensed the barely concealed contempt emanating from both of them.

Fortifying his mental shields and discreetly reinforcing the protective spells around his person, Severus allowed himself a subtle, derisive roll of the eyes at their reaction. If they refused to be civil, their haughty airs drenched in the prejudice of his half-blood status, then Severus saw no reason to extend any courtesies. You get what you give—and he had no intention of cowering to their narrow-minded superiority.

Though his magical core was still gradually recovering, Severus knew with unwavering certainty that he could easily overpower two grown wizards, even ones as pedigreed as the Blacks. He hadn’t survived as a Death Eater and risen to the esteemed rank of Professor in his previous life for nothing.

Straightening his posture with practiced dignity, he greeted them formally, his voice even and cold. He offered them only the minimal bow required by etiquette, just enough to satisfy protocol, but devoid of the respect they no doubt expected from someone of his "lesser" blood. He was grateful he had not let Mr. Evans accompany him here. He would have been shunned by these hypocrites. Severus had no intention of pretending to admire or fear them. Let them feel the weight of their own arrogance; he owed them nothing.

“This is Mister Severus Tobias Snape, Heir to the Noble House of Prince, and the last of his line. He is the one fulfilling the marriage contract with the Blacks,” the goblin introduced formally, his sharp voice echoing in the room. Severus remained still, his face an unreadable mask, as the Black couple performed their obligatory greetings—perfunctory, devoid of genuine respect, much like his own earlier gesture.

“Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, Orion Polaris Black, and Lady Walburga Lyra Black,” Orion responded, his deep voice resonating with the weight of his lineage as he fixed his gaze upon the young man before him. Unlike the typical heirs and youths he had encountered over the years, Severus displayed none of the usual reactions—no trembling anxiety, no defiant rebellion, and certainly no forced submission. This boy neither cowered nor sought to impress, standing tall and projecting a calm confidence that belied his youth.

There was something in the quiet strength of his posture that intrigued Orion. Most teenagers in his presence either flaunted false bravado or buckled under the pressure of his reputation. But this one—this Severus Snape—did neither. His expression betrayed no sign of insecurity or the pretense of courage often seen in others. He was steady, composed, his dark eyes sharp and watchful.

A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of Orion’s lips as he appraised the teenager further. There was no weakness on display, yet neither was there an effort to mask any vulnerability behind arrogance. Severus Snape was unlike any heir Orion had encountered at the countless balls and gatherings over the years. This one had the presence of someone accustomed to both war and diplomacy, someone whose confidence came from more than mere birthright.

He was not dressed in robes befitting his status; instead, a set of unkempt Muggle clothes clung to his slight frame, a stark contrast to the opulence surrounding him. His overall appearance was not entirely unappealing, save for the crooked nose that marred his otherwise striking features and the unhealthy pallor of his skin, which spoke of neglect. Though he stood with a straight posture, the boy’s petite body was alarming—perhaps not surprising, given his status as a male bearer, but still thinner than what could be considered healthy. Did the last descendants of the Prince family not care for him?

“We are here to confirm if the last descendant of Prince is truly a male bearer. We have the contract, and that is the only reason for the marriage alliance between the Blacks and the Princes,” Orion began, his voice steady but firm. He shot a pointed glare at his wife, willing her to restrain any comments regarding the boy’s appearance or his blood status. Although Orion had his preferences—ideally, he would have favored a pure-blood male bearer—the contract itself did not stipulate such a requirement. In the grand hierarchy of wizarding society, being a male bearer held more value than any bloodline, even if it belonged to a Muggle-born or a half-blood.

The implications were clear: a male bearer could bring honor to the family, along with a powerful heir capable of elevating the House of Black to greater glory. The very essence of a male bearer was steeped in potential, bestowed with unique powers and abilities that could fortify the family’s legacy.

Depending on the bloodline from which a male bearer hailed, he would possess abilities that highlighted the strengths of his house. If this boy indeed descended from the Prince family, he would likely excel in Potions and Spell Crafting—skills that had rendered the Prince family renowned and formidable at the time the contract was forged over a century ago.

“A blood test was conducted, and the Prince heir is indeed a male bearer,” the goblin announced, his tone crisp and authoritative. He took the contract Lord Black had handed him and began making a copy, which he would present to Severus. The young heir offered a muttered thanks, his mind already racing as he examined the marriage contract in front of him.

The document was a relic, crafted over a century ago when the Prince line still wielded considerable power, rivaling that of the Blacks. It had been established by Procyon Black and Caesar Prince, both of whom held the titles of heads of their respective houses at the time. The contract’s history intrigued Severus; a Potter male bearer had once been wed into the Prince line, a union forged in hope of producing another male bearer to inherit the legacy—a goal Procyon Black had coveted deeply.

The purpose of this contract was not rooted in settling debts or obligations; instead, it symbolized a bond of friendship between the two families and the aspiration to merge their powerful magics, to be enhanced and wielded by the male bearer’s heir.

What troubled Severus most was the lack of a time limit on the contract. This meant that any descendant bearing Prince blood who was also a male bearer could fulfill the agreement, even if centuries passed. He felt a wave of frustration as his eyes fell on a specific clause within the parchment. Because the contract had been established by both lords of these noble families, any qualified individual who sought to fulfill it could not refuse without facing dire consequences. Such refusal would be interpreted as defiance toward their lords and ancestors, resulting in the loss of their family magic and magical core.

The most disturbing clause that sent a chill through Severus was the stipulation regarding heirs. His heart trembled at the thought of bringing a child into the world—a concept so foreign to him that it felt utterly surreal. Never in his life had he dared to dream of fatherhood, especially after enduring a childhood that no child should ever have to suffer. He could barely care for himself, let alone nurture another life in this unforgiving world. The idea of raising a child filled him with a deep sense of dread and inadequacy.

The very notion that he might have to bear a child with Sirius Black turned his stomach. Disgust twisted his features as he imagined the reality of such a union. If Severus felt unworthy of fatherhood, then that insufferable bastard certainly did not deserve to be a father either. He shuddered at the thought of a child bearing the Black name, tainted by the very essence of Sirius’s arrogance and entitlement. The prospect of producing a child with even a hint of Sirius’s character was repulsive to him.

Severus's mind raced with the implications: he could not allow a child to emerge from this twisted arrangement, especially if that child risked becoming a reflection of Sirius. He could not bear the thought of raising a son or daughter who might inherit the same flaws and failings as their father. He refused to have a child only to see them follow the tragic fate that had led to his own ruin. The very idea was unbearable, stirring a profound fear within him—fear for a future child, a fear of the potential for darkness and pain that might echo through generations.

A surge of anxiety surged behind his Occlumency shields. Severus read the contract again, searching for any loophole that could free him from his obligation to Sirius Black. However, the terms clearly stated that the Black must be the eldest heir of the direct Black line. Although Sirius would eventually run home in disgrace and be burned from their family tapestry, that event would not change the present binding of the contract. Should Sirius be removed from the tapestry, both of them would lose their magical cores—an outcome Severus desperately wished to avoid.

Cursing his predicament, Severus grappled with the reality of being connected to the Potter family—a concept he still struggled to understand. Additionally, he felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him: he had to ensure that Sirius Black, his tormentor and a significant source of his anguish, was not disowned by his mother. The thought gnawed at him, mingling with his growing frustration and unease as he contemplated the tangled web of family legacies and obligations that now ensnared him.

Orion Black was not a man known for his patience. As he noted that the gravity of the marriage contract had finally sunk in for the teenager, he decided it was time to address the next step: the prenuptial agreement that would establish the specific clauses binding his son to the Prince heir.

However, before he could articulate his thoughts, Walburga, who had been forced into silence up to that point, erupted with indignation. “This Mudblood does not deserve any agreements meant solely for pure-bloods!” Her voice rang out, loud and scathing, echoing throughout the meeting room. “He should be grateful that he is to be married to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black and carry its heirs!”

Walburga's words dripped with disdain, reminiscent of the portrait version in his past life, who would always yell at anyone during Order meetings at 12 Grimmauld Place. Severus could feel the sharp edges of her contempt cutting into him, intensifying the tempest of emotions swirling behind his carefully constructed shields. He responded with an impassive look, refusing to care about her outburst. He wanted that prenuptial agreement, and he was determined to secure it, regardless of what his future ‘mother-in-law’ and ‘husband’ thought. If he couldn’t escape being tied to that arrogant arse, he would ensure that he garnered every possible benefit for himself. Severus watched as Lord Black silenced his wife with a single, authoritative glare and a firm grip on her arm.

“Sirius will be here any moment now, together with Regulus,” Orion said, turning his gaze to the goblin. “I request Master Goblin Ragnok to witness our agreement and bind our magics.”

Severus forced himself to maintain a stoic expression, even as a hurricane of emotions raged behind his shields. Their agreements would involve binding all their magics, akin to making a vow—something that felt disturbingly reminiscent of taking the Dark Mark all over again. As if fate itself was in motion, the door swung open, revealing the dishevelled figure of Sirius, who stumbled in, closely followed by Regulus. Both brothers froze, their expressions shifting to surprise as they registered Severus’s presence in the room. And it didn’t take long for the Gryffindor to grace them with words from his crude mouth.

“What the fuck?!”

Chapter Text

Orion Black had long lost count of the times his eldest son, Sirius, had disappointed him. He had come to expect it—preparing himself for future letdowns to soften the inevitable blow of the next mistake or act of rebellion. But this particular disappointment was on an entirely different level. Listening to the heated argument between the two teenagers in the goblin’s office, Orion pieced together enough to realize that civility between his son and his new fiancée was worse – akin to a blood feud between two pureblood families. From what he could gather, Sirius had made the boy’s life a living hell from the moment they met.

Orion knew his son well—he had raised him, after all—and while he was certain Sirius regretted his past actions, or at the very least realized they were wrong, that didn’t change the present situation. There was a noticeable hesitation in Sirius' voice when speaking with the Prince heir, and that was telling in itself. It meant that Sirius wasn’t just blindly hateful anymore; he was processing something. And it wouldn’t be long, Orion suspected, before his son would make an effort to truly know the boy—not to seek understanding, but to confirm his suspicions, to prove to himself that the Prince heir was just as evil as he believed, just like Orion and his wife.

This was a familiar pattern with Sirius. Whenever he encountered something or someone he didn’t understand, his first instinct was to torment it. He would lash out, provoke, push boundaries, and sometimes commit irreparable acts. Yet, if something unexpected happened, if the object of his hatred surprised him, Sirius would shift. His cruelty would turn into obsessive attention—following, observing, scrutinizing every detail until, slowly but surely, his hostility faded into fascination. It had happened before, and Orion remembered it clearly.

When Sirius was younger, it had started with a house-elf. He despised them as a child, finding joy in playing cruel pranks on them, deliberately making their work more difficult. Walburga, his mother, had taken pride in his disdain for the elves, encouraging him to treat them with even more cruelty, especially the ones in their own household. But then there was that day—when Regulus, Sirius’ younger brother, had fallen terribly down the stairs, hitting his head. Hilly, one of their house elves, saved Regulus’ life by quickly apparating him to safety and kidnapping the family’s healer.

Perhaps for the first time, Sirius felt a glimmer of gratitude toward the creature he had tormented but still doubted her intentions. After that, he began following Hilly around, observing her work and her actions. Soon he started offering her delicacies from the finest pâtisseries, though his gestures were often clumsy. He nearly freed her by mistake once, handing her a piece of clothing without understanding the significance. His careless act made Hilly cry, but Sirius hadn’t meant it. For the first time, he was seeing the house elf not as an object of mockery, but as something more.

Unfortunately, Walburga noticed this shift in Sirius, and her disapproval was swift and brutal. When Hilly served her a cup of tea that was deemed ‘too cold,’ Walburga slaughtered the house-elf without hesitation, as if to remind her son of the proper order of things. Orion would never forget the look of resentment his son had given them that night.

That was the beginning of Sirius’ rebellion. His defiance first aimed at his mother, but soon it extended to the entire family and their beliefs. When the whispers of the Dark Lord began infiltrating their home, it only solidified Sirius' resolve. He no longer saw his family the same way and from that point onward, he treated them with the kind of distant contempt that spoke of a deeper, unbridgeable divide.

The two heirs, bound by an arranged marriage neither wanted, continued to exchange sharp words, with Regulus occasionally chiming in to support his fellow Slytherin. Orion, tired from years of Sirius’ rebellious outbursts, didn’t bother to intervene. He focused on the task at hand, initiating the agreement and asking the Prince heir for his conditions, all while tuning out Sirius’ furious protest: “I will not marry that slimy git!” Prince, unfazed by the outburst, laid out his demands, many of which were meant to secure his future—support for his education, Apprenticeship, and Mastery. However, it was the fidelity clause that immediately drew Walburga’s ire.

"If I’m going to suffer through this, then he will suffer with me," he added with a biting tone.

Sirius exploded at the idea, yelling, “Suffer with you?! I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than follow your pathetic demands!”

Walburga, siding with her son for the first time in years, hissed, “No son of mine will be shackled to your petty whims!”

Walburga Black, regal and fierce, could feel her blood boiling at the audacity of the Prince heir’s demand. Her sharp eyes narrowed dangerously as she spat out, “Fidelity clause? How dare you, boy? No one tells a Black what to do! Sirius is a Black—he doesn't answer to your pitiful demands, you insolent little snake!” Her voice, filled with venom, echoed through the room, a testament to her fury. She had spent her life cultivating the strength and pride of her family, and to hear this upstart of a boy suggest that the Black Heir would be bound by such a humiliating condition was unthinkable.

The Prince heir, however, was unfazed by her wrath. He met her glare with a cold, calm stare, his lips curling into a sarcastic smirk. “And yet, here we are,” he replied, his voice smooth and composed, almost mocking in its calmness. “The contract binds me just as much as it binds him. I see no reason why we shouldn’t both be equally… restricted.” His words were deliberately measured, each one landing like a sharp cut. He spoke as though this was all a minor inconvenience, as though the wrath of the Black matriarch and her eldest son didn’t concern him in the least. Orion was impressed by his boldness, not everyone could stand up to his wife, after all.

Sirius, standing a few feet away, bristled at the heir’s words. His dark eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think you can control me?” he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. “You think you can just add whatever twisted rules you want, and I’ll go along with it?!”

There was a dangerous edge to Sirius’ tone, a fury barely contained. His rebellious spirit, the same one that had driven him to defy his family for years, flared up violently at the thought of being tethered by someone like Prince. The reason is not because of that fidelity clause, his views are very much alike to his father's on this one, but the idea of following a Slytherin makes him so uncomfortable.

Walburga, still seething, stepped closer to the Prince Heir, trying to intimidate the boy – which Orion disapproves of. Her voice was vicious, almost a growl, as she addressed the Prince heir once more. “No son of mine will be shackled to your petty whims,” she spat. “A member of the Ancient and Noble House of Black has no obligation to remain faithful to the likes of you!”

She couldn’t stomach the idea of the Black Family being forced into a humiliating fidelity clause, especially not for this half-blood boy, whom she regarded with such disdain. The heir had no right to lay such claims, and she was not about to let that stand.

Orion, who had been watching the escalating tension in silence, finally spoke. His voice was calm but carried the weight of authority that years as head of the Black family had given him. “That’s enough, both of you,” he said, cutting through the heated exchange. He looked first at Sirius, then at Walburga, his expression stern but composed.

“The Prince heir’s demand is reasonable. If the contract restricts him, then Sirius must be held to the same standard. This clause will be included.” His words were delivered with finality, as though the matter was already settled in his mind. There was no room for further debate, and it was clear he would not tolerate any more objections.

Sirius turned to his father, disbelief and anger etched into his features. “Father, you can’t be serious!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in frustration. “You’re actually agreeing with him?!”

The betrayal he felt was evident in his tone. For all his defiance and clashes with his parents, there had always been a part of him that believed his father would never side against him in something as personal as this. Walburga, equally indignant, rounded on her husband. “Orion, how can you condone this?” she demanded, her voice sharp with incredulity. “Sirius is the heir to the House of Black! He is not some—some object to be handled like this!”

Orion, ever the pragmatic one, remained calm in the face of their outrage. His eyes, dark and calculating, moved between them before settling back on Walburga. “It is done,” he said simply, his voice low but firm. The Prince heir’s condition would stand.

Sirius stared at his father in disbelief, his fists still clenched, while Walburga, her face pale with fury, struggled to contain her seething anger. For a moment, the room was thick with the tension between them, a silent standoff between duty and rebellion, tradition and change. But as always, it was Orion’s word that stood unchallenged in the end.

The final condition from the Prince's heir, however, ignited even more fury in the room. “When to have a child is up to me. No one can dictate that,” he declared, his voice cold and defiant.

Walburga, shocked at the audacity, spat, “You insufferable wretch! You think you can decide anything concerning the Black line?!”

Sirius, ever defiant, taunted her, “What’s wrong, mother? The idea of not having a grandson to mold into a pureblood puppet bothering you?”

Ah, it seems like their united front is just temporary.

His mother’s face flushed with anger as she retorted, “This marriage is to ensure the future of our house, not your childish rebellion!” But the Prince's heir remained unbothered, calmly stating that he alone would decide when he would have a child. Sirius, not wanting to pass up mocking his mother further, added, “Guess you’ll just have to wait, mother. I’m sure that’ll be fun for you.”

For the first time since entering the goblin’s office, Orion found himself leaning towards his wife’s side on this particular issue. While it was true that wizards could live long lives and remain fertile well into their fifties, Orion was eager for something more immediate. He wanted to hold his first grandchild, to know that the Black legacy would continue. The looming war between the forces of light and dark was an ever-present threat, and in the back of his mind, he knew that a grandchild would be essential—especially if he were to fall in battle. A continuation of the Black Line was crucial, and waiting until Severus reached his fifties was far too long for Orion’s liking.

“Perhaps we can agree on something,” Orion finally spoke, his voice steady but with a hint of persuasion. He was attempting to negotiate, for the first time since the meeting began. Severus Snape remained as impassive as ever, his sharp black eyes betraying no emotion. He looked entirely unfazed, as if nothing Orion could say would sway him from his decision.

“You can decide when to have a child,” Orion continued, choosing his words carefully, “but perhaps you would consider conceiving in your thirties? By then, I’m certain you will have finished your Apprenticeship and will be preparing for your Mastery. You will have time to focus on raising an heir since earning a mastery can be done in your own time.”

Severus didn’t so much as blink. His reply was as cold and firm as ever. “No. A normal wizard can conceive until their fifties. I will not change my mind on this matter, Lord Black.” There was a flash of icy resolve in Severus’ dark eyes, a subtle warning that there would be no compromise. Orion could see the boy’s iron will behind his calm demeanor. He wasn’t budging.

Orion felt his frustration rise. The boy was stubborn—unyielding. It was infuriating, but more than that, it was risky. Though unsatisfied, Orion knew he was walking a fine line. Severus Snape was not like other heirs. He was a boy who had nothing to lose, and that made him dangerous. If pushed too far, Severus could very well violate the entire marriage contract, turning his back on the magical world and dragging Sirius down with him. Orion knew all too well that people with nothing to lose were the most difficult to control. The idea of a grandchild being delayed for years grated on him, but he couldn’t risk losing the agreement altogether. With a sigh of resignation, he inclined his head, his voice carrying reluctant acceptance. “Very well.”

With the issue of children reluctantly settled, the goblin mediator moved the discussion forward to finalize the rest of the pre-nuptial agreement. The division of assets was addressed meticulously, as was the sharing of their respective family properties. Most of their family traditions was observed, and every condition was carefully considered. The Blacks, with their old money and vast estate, would ensure their house remained secure. The Prince heir, though of more modest means, was no fool; he ensured that his own interests were protected.

Finally, after what felt like hours of tense negotiation, the agreement was polished to perfection. The goblin, who had silently observed and documented every detail, initiated the ritual to bind the contract. He produced a long scroll of parchment, engraved with magical runes, and placed it between the two heirs. With careful precision, he invoked the ancient magic of bloodlines. A faint shimmer of power rippled through the room, touching all present.

Orion watched as the ritual unfolded, his heart heavy with a mix of triumph and resignation. Severus and Sirius placed their hands upon the parchment, their magic pouring into it as witnesses gathered around. Walburga, despite her obvious displeasure, participated without protest. The room filled with a low hum as the bond solidified, binding not just the two young men, but the future of their families. The pre-nuptial agreement was completed, sealed by the magic of the betrothed and the witnesses.

Orion’s eyes flickered to Severus. Though the boy had held his ground, Orion couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a battle that would last for years. But for now, the contract was sealed, and the future of the Black family—though uncertain—was at least secured in some form.

Severus was eager to return to the Muggle world as soon as the contract was finalized. He needed peace, a sanctuary to process everything that had transpired. But the mutt had made it impossible. Ever since leaving Gringotts, Black had been shadowing him relentlessly. At first, Severus thought he might eventually give up and go away, but deep down, he knew better than to expect such courtesy from Sirius Black. The mutt trailed him from shop to shop, like a stray dog sniffing out trouble, even following him into a sweet shop where Severus stopped to pick out some gifts.

"Can you stop following me, Black? I don’t recall ever owning a dog," Severus snapped, his voice dripping with disdain as he grabbed a cart. He’d come to pick out a few treats. Lily had written to him recently, craving sweets, and he’d remembered how Violet and Petunia had enjoyed the liquorice wands and Honeydukes chocolates Lily had sent from Hogsmeade.

"You think you own this place, Snivellus?" Black retorted, ever so eloquent. Severus only rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. He was far too tired from his earlier encounter with the Black family to be riled up by the likes of Sirius. Let him bark; Severus had no time for it.

He continued gathering an assortment of wizarding candies that the Evans family might appreciate, carefully avoiding anything too eccentric like chocolate frogs or sweets shaped like mice and bugs. As amusing as it would be to see Petunia’s horrified expression, he didn’t feel like dealing with the aftermath of such a prank. Once his shopping was complete, Severus headed to the post office to send Lily the treats she craved, all the while ignoring Black’s continued presence like an annoying fly buzzing around his head.

With his errands finished, Severus made his way to the Leaky Cauldron to use the Floo. The warm whoosh of green flames delivered him back to the Muggle world, a comforting boundary that Black wouldn’t cross. Once there, he unshrunk his luggage, hailed a cab, and set off for the Evans’ residence. As for Black? Severus hadn’t noticed if the mutt followed him after he left the wizarding world, nor did he care.

Chapter Text

Severus released a sigh of relief after finishing the last of his OWL exams. A few had taken place after his month-long summer vacation, dragging the tension well into the new school year. But now, it was over. He could finally relax, at least for a little while.

Meanwhile, something unexpected was happening back in Cokeworth—Lily and Petunia were slowly mending their broken relationship. The sisters had begun exchanging letters and gifts, an olive branch after years of hostility. The Evans couple couldn’t have been more thrilled. Petunia was still skeptical of the magical world, of course, but Severus, despite everything, may or may have developed a soft spot for Lily’s sister, though he would not admit it to anyone. So, before he left for Hogwarts, he may or may not have slipped a few drops of Felix Felicis into Petunia’s exam bag—just in case. A little luck never hurt.

When Severus told Lily about the secret gesture, she laughed, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Sev, you know she’d never take it. She’s so sure she’ll ace the exams on her own.”

Severus shrugged. “You don’t know that. Maybe it’ll come in handy for something else.”

He knew Lily had questions about where he had gotten the rare potion, but she didn’t press him, much to his relief. Yet, she still found a way to bring up a subject he’d rather not discuss.

“So... you and Black, huh?” she asked, her tone teasing but curious.

Severus rolled his eyes, suppressing a groan. Lily’s nosiness mirrored the endless questioning from Petunia and her friend Violet when he’d shown them the contract over the time he stayed with them. Even Mr. Evans, who knew little about Wizarding Law, had scrutinized the marriage contract with concern. That had been one of the most exhausting days of his life, but oddly, there had been a strange warmth in their curiosity, as if he was part of their family.

He had tried explaining the situation to Lily through letters, but she wasn’t one to be satisfied with written words. She wanted to hear it from him in person.

“Engaged? Sev, that’s completely messed up,” Lily continued when he remained silent. Though she didn’t like Sirius Black, the irony of the whole arrangement amused her. Still, if Black ever hurt her best friend/brother, she’d make him regret it.

“Not funny, Lily,” he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice. But he wasn’t angry—he could never be with her. Instead, he let out a sigh and handed her the bag of sweets he’d promised, nudging her playfully.

Lily’s face lit up as she tore into the bag, grabbing a liquorice wand and taking a bite. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for this,” she said, chewing happily. She had made him promise to buy her sweets after their exams, calling it her reward for all the "troubles" she’d gone through.

As they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, they crossed paths with the Marauders. Severus didn’t spare them a second glance. Even though there was an engagement between him and Sirius Black, it didn’t mean he had to acknowledge him—or his obnoxious friends. In Severus’s mind, the engagement was nothing more than an agreement between their families, a way to unite them and produce an heir.

The thought of having a child with Black repulsed him. Severus had no plans of procreating any time soon, perhaps not until the latest possible age. He saw no reason to endure Sirius’s presence until absolutely necessary—when the time came to produce an heir, and even then, it was purely for formality.

The usual hexes didn’t come, nor the usual insults about his greasy hair, his pale face, or his impoverished background. Severus walked forward, his head held high, his posture confident and measured, as if those he passed by were nothing more than insignificant air, undeserving of his attention. He didn’t quicken his pace nor falter, simply moving as if the Marauders didn’t exist.

Beside him, Lily’s green eyes flicked to the group, glaring at them cautiously. Her hand hovered near her wand, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. She’d done it before—dragging them into an abandoned classroom to teach them a lesson when they’d crossed the line. And she wasn’t above doing it again.

Then something strange happened.

Lily noticed Sirius Black open his mouth as if about to sling a taunt or make some cutting remark. His hand even reached out, fingers brushing the air in Severus’s direction. But he stopped—mid-motion—and turned away.

It wasn’t just Sirius. James Potter and Remus Lupin, usually full of snide comments and sneers, were watching Severus too, but this time their eyes weren’t filled with the usual hostility or disdain. Lily could sense something different. There was something behind their gazes—something that looked like guilt.

But no apology came. No words of remorse, no amends for the years of torment and bullying. And for Lily, anything less than an apology meant nothing. Silence was meaningless, empty. She could care less if their looks held guilt or shame. Without words, without action, it was all for nothing in her eyes.

She clenched her fists, her fury simmering just below the surface, but she held her tongue for now. If they made a move, she was ready. Severus, however, remained unbothered. He kept walking, shoulders back, giving the Marauders no more than a passing glance before returning his attention forward. To him, their silence didn’t matter either. Let them feel guilt, let them be weighed down by it. He wouldn’t waste his time on it—not anymore.

The only thing that made Severus pause in the middle of the Great Hall was the sight of Albus Dumbledore seated at the head table, his calm gaze surveying the students. Severus’s feelings toward the man were a tangled knot of resentment, loyalty, and bitter understanding. His relationship with Dumbledore had always been complicated.

Dumbledore—the brilliant, enigmatic headmaster—had turned a blind eye to the torment Severus endured during his school years. He had ignored the bullying, the hexes, and the insults thrown by the Marauders, no matter how many times Severus had returned to Hogwarts bruised and battered, sometimes from home, other times from his peers. The man who claimed to champion justice and equality allowed Severus to suffer, unnoticed or uncared for.

Worse still, Dumbledore had broken his most critical promise: to protect Lily Potter, the one person Severus had ever treated as family. Severus had gone to him, grovelling, offering up his soul in exchange for her safety, abandoning Voldemort, ready to be used however Dumbledore saw fit. And use him he did. Severus had been made a pawn, a tool to be wielded at Dumbledore’s convenience, his emotions cast aside in favour of some greater good that always felt just out of reach.

Albus Dumbledore was no saint. He was a Machiavellian general, a master manipulator in the war against darkness, using people like chess pieces, discarding them when they were no longer useful. Severus knew this now—had known it even back then. But strangely, he hadn’t hated him, not even when he should have. Despite everything, Severus had stayed loyal. He had become Dumbledore’s man, through and through, up until the very end when he fell, not at the hands of an enemy, but at the fangs of the Dark Lord’s pet, Nagini. Even then, Severus hadn’t cursed Dumbledore. He had admired the old man’s twisted dedication to ending the war.

Dumbledore had the ambition of a Slytherin and the courage of a Gryffindor. And for Severus, at the time, that had been enough. The end of the war meant safety and peace. That’s what Severus had clung to. But Dumbledore had planned his own death long before it happened, using his passing as a symbol, a rallying cry to inspire others to fight for his cause. It was a brilliant move, but it was also what severed Severus’s faith in him for good.

But it wasn’t Dumbledore’s manipulation of him that broke the final thread of trust; it was Harry.

Albus Dumbledore was the one who had left Harry Potter, a defenceless toddler, on the doorstep of the Dursleys, knowing full well the kind of neglect and abuse the boy would suffer at their hands. Starved, mistreated, and emotionally battered, Harry had been raised in a house devoid of love. And worse still, Dumbledore had made Harry fight a war—a war Harry should never have had to face. All because of a damn prophecy. The prophecy he had willing gave to the Dark Lord.

Severus’s hands clenched at the memory of that fateful prophecy—one that had turned an innocent boy into a sacrificial lamb for the greater good. Severus might have informed the Dark Lord of the prophecy but Albus had sealed his fate by placing the whole burden of the wizarding world’s fate on Harry’s young shoulders without a second thought, making him the face of a conflict he had been too young to understand. Even in death, Dumbledore had left instructions for Severus to protect the boy, to safeguard Hogwarts. But in reality, the headmaster had used Harry and other young students just like he had used Severus—sending them to face a Dark Lord with decades more experience, without even the proper training to protect themselves. Letting Harry die at the hands of the person who killed his parents just because he is a human horcrux.

Harry wasn’t meant to be a soldier in a war orchestrated by the whims of old men. That was the task for people like Dumbledore, Severus, and others older, not a child. Yet Dumbledore had orchestrated it all, even while claiming to care for the boy. He was Harry’s magical guardian, yet he had placed the boy directly in the line of fire, preparing him to be a martyr instead of a survivor.

Severus’s lips curled in distaste as he looked up at Dumbledore from his spot in the Great Hall. He admired the old man’s intelligence and dedication, but he couldn’t forgive him for what he’d done to Harry. No amount of lofty ideals could erase that.

Severus’s thoughts drifted to Harry, the boy who lived but had suffered so much. He remembered the bruises Harry hid beneath oversized clothes, the confusion that clouded his young face as he struggled to understand why he was treated so differently from his cousin. The hateful words Petunia and Vernon Dursley hurled at him, calling him a freak, an unwanted burden. Harry’s silent resentment toward the world and his circumstances was painfully familiar to Severus. It was like looking into a mirror of his own childhood—his own neglect, his own bitterness.

But it wasn’t just the memories of Harry’s suffering that haunted him. What truly broke Severus was the day Albus Dumbledore told him the truth—that Harry was meant to die, to be sacrificed at the hands of the Dark Lord. Harry wasn’t just another victim of this endless war; he was its pawn, raised like a pig to die when the time was right. Albus had revealed his plan without a flicker of emotion, speaking of Harry’s fate as though it were a necessary evil, just another step in ending Voldemort’s reign.

Severus had been devastated.

From that moment, Severus had become obsessed with finding a way to save the boy. He remembered the countless hours spent in darkened libraries, poring over ancient tomes and forbidden texts, searching for a way to extract the Horcrux that lay inside Harry without killing him. He had visited every Death Eater family library he could access, scouring their collections for the faintest glimmer of hope. He had consulted magical theory so complex that it bordered on the impossible, hoping against hope that there was a way to save Harry from the terrible fate Dumbledore had assigned him.

But it was useless. All his efforts, all his research, led to dead ends. The war loomed closer, and the inevitability of Harry’s death weighed heavily on Severus’s heart. He had taken an oath to protect the boy, but in the end, he had failed. When it mattered most, there had been nothing he could do.

And then, there was the final moment—his own death. As he lay dying in the Shrieking Shack, his life slipping away in Harry Potter’s arms, Severus had realized the bitter truth. He had spent years fighting, sacrificing, working in the shadows to protect a boy who was destined to die anyway. Every secret meeting, every dangerous mission, every lie he had told—it had all been for nothing. In the end, all he had done was delay the inevitable.

Everything he had tried to do for Harry, everything he had tried to do to save him, had been utterly useless.

“Sev?” Lily waved her hand in front of his face, pulling him from his dark thoughts. Severus blinked and refocused, meeting her concerned green eyes. For a fleeting moment, he thought he was staring into Harry’s eyes—those same bright emeralds that had haunted him for so many years. The resemblance was enough to twist the knife in his chest. How would Lily have reacted if she knew her son had been mistreated by her own sister, neglected and hurt?

“Are you okay?” Lily’s voice broke through his thoughts again, this time laced with genuine worry. She scanned him quickly, her gaze darting around his body as if checking for signs of a hex or injury that the Marauders might have cast without her noticing.

Severus shook his head, as if trying to shake off the grief and guilt that had overwhelmed him moments ago. “I’m fine,” he said quietly, though he knew he wasn’t. He needed to push it aside, needed to get through this day, this conversation, without letting the weight of his guilt bother him.

Gently but firmly, he nudged Lily toward the Gryffindor table, steering her back to where her friends were waiting. He felt their eyes on him, no doubt questioning his, a Slytherin, presence, but Severus ignored the stares. His focus remained on Lily, offering her a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Just eat,” he said softly. “I’ll meet you in the library after, to review the exams we had.”

Lily hesitated for a second, still unsure, but she nodded, her trust in him clear. She took a seat with her friends, though her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, still checking, still worried. Severus turned on his heel and headed toward the Slytherin table, knowing full well what awaited him there. The whispers, the sneers, the insults—about befriending a Muggle-born, about his status, about everything that set him apart. But after everything he had endured, after all that had been lost, their words felt empty. Meaningless.

Let them talk. He had far heavier burdens to carry.

****

Sirius loosened his tie. Sirius stood in front of the grand family tapestry, his hands clenched in frustration. He was in the Main Black Family Manor to pick a residence. The Black family had a tradition of choosing a residence for courting and Sirius felt like a noose tightening around his neck. How had things come to this—him, of all people, choosing a place for Snivellus Snape?

He'd been dreading this moment, not because he feared the commitment, but because the idea of sharing any space with Snape felt like a curse. The thought of living together, waking up to that sneering face every day, made his blood boil. Yet here he was, forced into tradition by the ridiculous customs of pure-blood society. A part of him wanted to rebel, to refuse outright, but the other part knew it was inevitable. Neither of them could escape it.

He flicked through the options with growing irritation. Each manor was more suffocating than the last—symbols of the Black family's obsession with power and dark magic. Every instinct in him screamed to reject them all. But then his eyes landed on a parchment at the bottom of the list. The house is small and could be called a cottage by the Black family standard but it is enough for more than two people. It is unplottable and has enough charms for protection but it was built on a hill not far from a muggle village.

Sirius took the paper and read through the history of the place. It had been built by Cygnus Black I in 1846 for his firstborn son, Sirius Alphard Black I, a distant ancestor whom Sirius knew very little about—aside from the fact that he’d died young. Yet he knew more about another relative: Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius Black I’s younger brother and the grandfather of his own grandfather, Arcturus Black III. Phineas had once been the headmaster of Hogwarts, although he was largely disliked by his students due to his staunch pureblood elitism and disdain for anyone who didn't share his views.

Sirius remembered that Phineas’s portrait hung not only in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts but also in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place, where his ancestors glared down at him even in childhood. Sirius had made a point of never speaking to their portraits—seeing only the smug, scornful faces of family members whose legacy was bound up in prejudice, cruelty, and a blind pride in their bloodline. Reading about them in the family’s genealogy records was the closest he’d come to knowing them, and he was content to keep it that way.

The house had once served as a place of healing for Sirius Black I, who had been sickly from birth. Cygnus Black I had chosen this location carefully for its ideal, secluded environment: clean air, an abundance of natural herbs growing wild, and a welcome distance from both Muggles and wizards. Here, he hoped his son might find strength and respite away from the complications of their society.

Sirius recalled reading parts of a diary kept by Cygnus’s wife, Ella Max, during his reluctant studies of family history. She had written about Cygnus’s immense devotion to his firstborn—a love so deep it had compelled him to break with longstanding Black family traditions. Typically, a Black Lord and Heir were bound to reside in the main Family Manor until they came of age, protected by the heavy wards surrounding it. Yet, Cygnus had built this separate sanctuary for his son’s well-being and had even moved in with the entire family to personally care for the child. Despite Cygnus’s efforts, Sirius Black I’s health never fully recovered, and he died only a few years after they had settled into the house.

Sirius examined the house once more. It was quiet, set apart, and a bit close to a Muggle village. Of all the Black properties, it was the farthest from 12 Grimmauld Place—a feature he appreciated more than he expected. This place seemed ideal: peaceful, distant, and full of wild plants that would be perfect for brewing potions. Snivellus could make good use of them, though Sirius loathed to admit it.

Without a second thought, Sirius took the parchment and made his way to his grandfather’s study. As he had expected, his father was already there, a familiar figure in the dark, wood-paneled room. He felt a wash of relief that his mother wasn’t present; she would be livid over his choice.

“Good afternoon,” Sirius greeted reluctantly. Though he often showed open disdain for his parents, his grandfather was another matter. Sirius despised the man’s rigid pureblood beliefs, but the elder Black’s presence still made him uneasy, and he knew better than to cross him outright.

Despite his father’s title as Lord of the family, everyone knew the true authority lay with his grandfather, who retained control of most decisions. Sirius sometimes wondered if the old man had only passed the title of Lord to his father to relieve himself of the troublesome work—yet somehow, he still held all the real power. The hierarchy was clear, even if the titles suggested otherwise. To Sirius, it seemed like a calculated tactic to maintain influence while pushing the daily responsibilities onto the next generation.

“A residence in the countryside?” Arcturus asked coldly, looking over the parchment Sirius had handed him. Sirius instinctively straightened in his seat, bracing himself for the scolding he was sure would follow. He was already crafting retorts in his mind when, instead, his grandfather tossed the parchment aside, seemingly unbothered, and turned his attention to a ledger on his desk.

“Orion, prepare a ball for the presentation of the Heir Prince. Sirius, inform your betrothed, and I expect both of you to be ready,” Arcturus commanded, his tone crisp and indifferent.

Orion Black obeyed his father’s order with deference, while Sirius nodded, momentarily stunned. He hadn’t been mocked or reprimanded for his choice, nor had his grandfather made any degrading remarks about Sniv, even calling him by his title instead of the usual slurs that pervaded family discussions. This unexpected acceptance left Sirius momentarily at a loss.

“Before the ball, I want a private audience with you and the Prince Heir,” Arcturus added, his gaze unwavering as he dismissed both father and son from the study with a simple gesture. Sirius and his father left, the weight of unspoken expectations settling heavily on Sirius’s shoulders.

Inform Snivellus? Sirius scoffed internally. He doesn’t even acknowledge me once after coming back from his bloody trip—how am I supposed to “inform” him of anything? He scowled, still fuming, until a hand landed on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to find his father staring down at him. The usual cold, stern expression etched across his father’s face was there, but Sirius caught something else—a flicker of pride, maybe even…concern? It was a rare, guarded moment, and Sirius froze, his thoughts jumbled.

“You did well. Make sure Severus comes to dinner after you two get off the Hogwarts Express,” his father said, his tone unyielding but carrying a weight that Sirius couldn’t quite place.

Sirius just gaped as his father turned and made his way toward the grand, dark fireplace, the one still grimly decorated with house-elf skulls. He knew he should feel a pang of disgust, but for once, he felt nothing but shock. Did he just—compliment me? The idea was baffling enough. But did he just call Sniv… “Severus”? The thought sent his mind reeling, as if the world had tilted off its axis.

He stood there in silence long after his father had vanished in a flash of green flames, still staring blankly at the hearth.

That night, Sirius returned to Hogwarts alone, opting to skip the dinner with his family. It wouldn’t have felt right. Not after... whatever that had been. Besides, the last thing he wanted was more puzzling “compliments” from his father. When he stepped back into the familiar warmth of the Gryffindor dorms, he was met by the comforting sight of James and Remus sprawled across their dorm floor, books and parchment littered around them.

Remus was patiently helping James through an assignment, though James looked on the verge of meltdown, practically steaming with frustration. Sirius smirked, feeling some of the tension in his chest ease. Whatever madness was brewing at home, at least here, with his friends, things were blissfully predictable.

"Hey," Sirius muttered, slumping onto his bed and tugging off his shoes.

James glanced up with a mischievous grin. “How’s the family reunion?” He tossed his quill onto the table, abandoning his half-finished work.

Before Sirius could respond, Remus grabbed James’s chin, forcibly redirecting his face toward his homework. He pushed a textbook in front of James, who let out a dramatic groan, leaning back in exaggerated agony. Remus simply rolled his eyes and pushed James’s head down toward the open book.

“As cold and irritating as always,” Sirius replied, stretching his legs out. “Where’s Peter?”

“Went off to ask that Hufflepuff girl to Hogsmeade,” James said, smirking. Remus sighed, shaking his head as he gave James a light swat with his textbook. James yelped, clutching his head with a dramatic wounded expression.

“Charity Burbage? Isn’t she a bit young?” Sirius asked, raising a brow. He imagined the small, baby-faced third-year Hufflepuff alongside Peter—short, yes, but still looking oddly out of place next to the even younger-looking girl.

“Third year. She’s only 2 years younger, technically,” Remus shrugged, though his faint grimace showed he agreed with Sirius.

“Well, good luck to him,” Sirius said, eager to change the topic. His hand came to rest on his ring finger, where the platinum band glinted faintly in the dormitory light. Remus caught the glint, his gaze lingering. Sirius raised his hand a bit self-consciously.

“Before my grandfather made me choose a House, he told me to pick a pair of rings from the treasury at the manor,” Sirius explained, twisting the ring thoughtfully. “This was the simplest one I could find.”

The band was a minimalist platinum design with tiny black diamonds embedded in the band’s curve. The ring was probably one of the least ornate pieces in the vaults, yet Sirius had taken a liking to it. He had no idea what Snape would think, but this ring would be among his “courting gifts” whether he liked it or not.

“When are you going to give Severus the other ring?” Remus asked quietly, and Sirius’s eyes flicked up, caught off guard by the unexpected use of Severus’s first name. Remus just shrugged at his look. “Come on, we can’t keep calling him ‘Snivellus,’ not if he’s going to be… well, in your life.”

He paused, grimacing. “Besides, we don’t want to set Lily off more than we already have. She’s furious enough with us as it is.”

They’d had to agree after a heated conversation in an empty classroom—no more of the cruel nickname, much to Sirius and Peter’s annoyance. Remus, however, had his own reasons. He’d been watching James’s subtle glances lately—the way he looked at Lily hadn’t changed, still filled with his usual longing and restraint, but there was a difference in how he regarded Severus now, something complicated, especially after that night in the Shrieking Shack. He’d pieced together that James had saved Severus, preventing him from being attacked. Peter had only seen the beginning before he’d dashed off to get the teachers, and Sirius and James never breathed a word about what exactly had happened.

Remus didn’t know if the shift was for the better, but he was relieved they seemed done tormenting Severus, at least. He wanted a chance to apologize for what happened in the Shack, to make things right somehow.

“So?” Remus ventured, eyeing Sirius. “Are you going to ask him to Hogsmeade?” The question hung heavily in the air, and Sirius looked stricken as if the very thought overwhelmed him. Remus could understand—it wasn’t easy to imagine courting someone he’d spent so much time despising, or who had nearly suffered because of him. Before Sirius could respond, however, James, still scribbling away at his homework, spoke up.

“Too late,” he said, sounding more bitter than he’d intended. “Lily already asked him to go with her this weekend.”

Sirius froze, his stomach twisting, but he masked his reaction quickly. “Lily asked Snape to Hogsmeade?” he echoed, incredulous.

“Yep,” James said, eyes narrowing. “Apparently, they’re going to the Three Broomsticks.”

Remus looked between them, sensing the storm building. “You weren’t planning to... follow them, were you?” he asked carefully.

Remus thought that it was impossible that James – who is so obsessed with Evans would not take this lying down. James smirked but didn’t answer his question, his quill scratching furiously across the parchment. Sirius’s hand tightened slightly around his ring, his mind reeling with emotions he’d rather not examine.

Chapter Text

This is a terrible idea, Remus thought, trailing a few paces behind Sirius and James as they made their way down the path to Hogsmeade. Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall were leading the way, herding the eager third-years like mother ducks. Behind them, the older students grouped together, talking and laughing as they strolled down the path toward the village.

But Remus’s attention wasn’t on the usual camaraderie of these Hogsmeade trips; it was locked on the scene unfolding at Hogwarts’ grand entrance. Standing there, waiting, was Lily, scanning the crowd until her face lit up at the sight of Severus. The Slytherin arrived exactly on time, dressed with an unusual polish in a crisp white dress shirt and fitted black trousers that clung sharply to his frame. His hair, often stringy and unkempt, gleamed as though it had been touched by magic, falling softly against his collar. Even Remus had to admit — grudgingly — Severus looked… striking.

But Remus quickly shifted his gaze to Sirius’s reaction. The look on Sirius’s face was unreadable but intense, and Remus could see James glancing uneasily at his best friend, just as attuned to Sirius’s response. Whatever he was feeling was palpable — jealousy, irritation, something stronger. Sirius’s jaw was tight, his hands clenched. The slight air of menace around him was a reminder of the bitter rivalry between him and Severus, one that only seemed to intensify over time.

“Sev! You’re here!” Lily’s cheerful voice broke the tension as she reached up and gently brushed her hand through Severus’s hair. “You look amazing. Did you do something with your hair?”

Lily, that was a dangerous move. Remus cringed internally. You’re playing with fire. He threw a cautious look at Sirius and James. The change in Severus had clearly affected them, and Lily’s innocent gesture only fanned the flames. James’s glare at Severus became murderous, while Sirius’s gaze seemed almost predatory, as if he could barely restrain himself from lunging forward and cutting Lily’s hand. The jealous tension hung in the air, sharp enough to cut.

“Oh,” Severus replied, almost shyly, “it’s thanks to some products Cissa gave me after… well, after last spring.”

That answer shocked them all, even Lily. “Cissa? You mean Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy’s fiancée?” Lily’s expression shifted from delight to caution, and her fingers stilled as she studied Severus’s face.

Severus nodded, seemingly unaffected by his best friend’s reaction. “Yes. She’s quite skilled with potions and healing charms. She treated a few injuries I had, ones from… encounters with the Marauders,”

Remus felt the shift in the air, the murderous looks on his best friends were no longer there. The atmosphere would always get awkward and silent every time someone mentioned their rivalry, pranks, and ruthless exchanges with Severus. While they are walking, Severus slipped a soft, knit cardigan from his bag and draped it over Lily’s shoulders, the warmth and familiarity between them striking. There is that connection again, Remus thought and he knew that James had seen it too. The connection between Lily and Severus binds them to be together forever, almost like an Unbreakable Vow between the two of them. Remus couldn’t help but be jealous like James. They would do anything to have anyone like that.

“In fact, Cissa gifted me this last Christmas. It’s part of a pair. The other one was a black sweater, but Petunia nicked it out of my room weeks ago,” he added with a small, fond smile as he fussed over making sure Lily was comfortable.

“Ah, I’m sure Petunia loved it,” Lily giggled, smoothing the sleeve of the cardigan with a grin. “If it’s anything like this one, you’re never getting it back. Narcissa must’ve spent a fortune.”

The mention of Narcissa’s involvement, the subtle display of their bond, made Remus uneasy. Sirius’s obsession with Severus… it’s evolving into something else, isn’t it? He glanced at Sirius again, watching his friend’s rigid stance and the barely masked storm in his eyes.

“Are you still in contact with Lucius Malfoy?” Lily’s voice was cautious, and a flicker of concern crossed her face as she studied Severus.

For a few seconds, he didn’t answer. The hesitation made her tense. Topics of purebloods and the Dark Lord’s followers had driven deep rifts between them before. She braced herself, already preparing words for a potential argument when Severus surprised her, letting out a sigh and reaching to hold her hand, his grip gentle.

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice so low it barely carried over the wind. “I’m still exchanging letters with Lucius Malfoy. He reached out when I stopped going to… meetings.”

The three Marauders huddled nearby froze, straining to hear. Only their heightened senses — a benefit of being Animagi, or in Remus’s case, a werewolf — allowed them to catch those words.

“Meetings?” Lily’s brows knit together with a trace of alarm, and a sadness lingered in her eyes, as if she’d feared hearing this all along. “You mean… Death Eater meetings?”

Severus gave a small, resigned nod. “Yes. I started going at the beginning of the term, after Mulciber and Avery pressed me. But I stopped after my… hospitalization.” He paused, gaze flickering away, perhaps to hide whatever bruised emotion might show. “Lucius noticed I wasn’t showing up and reached out. I told him I was busy with OWLs and…” Severus’s mouth twisted as he continued reluctantly, “my engagement.” His expression was almost comical in its distaste.

“Well, that should keep him at a distance for a while,” he muttered, taking Lily’s hand as they began to walk again, his other hand gently guiding her to avoid the tree roots jutting from the path.

Lily cast a sidelong glance at him, her brow still creased. “And if he asks you again?”

“Then I’ll reject it again.” His voice was firmer, and the Marauders’ eyes widened. “I’m not interested in… their cause.”

The words struck like a thunderclap, forcing the Marauders into stunned silence. From the earliest years at Hogwarts, they’d been certain that Severus Snape — dark, withdrawn, and a Slytherin to his core — was destined for the Death Eaters. His fascination with dark magic seemed like confirmation. But now, hearing him quietly vow to reject them was a jarring revelation, one that left a bitter taste in their mouths.

A question crept into Remus’ mind, unspoken but heavy: If they had been wrong about him, if Severus wasn’t who they’d always assumed… what did that mean about the way they’d treated him? Were they just as cruel as the people they called evil?

“What if they retaliate? What if Malfoy and his lackeys in Slytherin hurt you?” Lily’s worry was no longer masked; it spilled into her voice, her hand tightening around his as her brows drew together with genuine fear. She hated the thought of Severus navigating the dangers of his house and the school alone, in places where she couldn’t watch over him.

But Severus only smiled softly and squeezed her hand in return, a gesture as reassuring as he could muster. “It’s all right, Lily. Things… things are different now.” He paused, a flicker of unease passing over his face before he continued. “I may despise this arrangement with Black, but I could use the connection to his family to shield me from Lucius or anyone else who might want to harm me.”

Lily’s worry didn’t ease; in fact, her gaze sharpened as she gave a small shake of her head. “But the Blacks are also pureblood elitists and followers of Voldemort!” Lily’s voice dropped lower, her face filled with genuine fear.

The Marauders, hidden nearby, exchanged surprised looks. Severus’s reaction to the Dark Lord’s name was immediate; he flinched, the discomfort clear in the brief tightening of his jaw and a flicker of shadow crossing his eyes. But that expression vanished just as quickly, and he paused, turning to hold Lily’s shoulders gently but firmly. Looking into his eyes, the Gryffindor seemed to calm, as though he were transmitting his resolve to her.

“Yes, Orion Black and his wife are known followers,” he said, his tone grave. “But Arcturus Black isn’t. He still holds the most sway in the family, even after passing the official title to Sirius’s father. If I can find a way to earn his protection, it could keep Malfoy and his ilk at bay.” He released one shoulder, his hand lingering a moment before slipping away. “So, please, don’t worry, Lily. I’ll be alright.”

The determination in his eyes seemed to soften her tension, though the worry lingered in her gaze. She nodded, reluctantly reassured, as he released her shoulder and they continued walking. The quiet that followed was laden with the weight of his words, filling the air between them.

The Marauders, still concealed, were left unsettled. Each one of them was grappling with this new, complex version of Severus Snape — a Slytherin who wasn’t merely consumed by dark ambition but a friend willing to navigate a maze of alliances and enemies for his safety and Lily’s peace of mind.

It didn’t take long for the group to reach Hogsmeade. The professors paused at the entrance, gathering the students around as they went over the rules. Their voices carried above the bubbling chatter, emphasizing the importance of sticking together and not wandering off alone. The third-years buzzed with excitement, unable to stand still as they whispered and pointed at the village shops. James rolled his eyes, smirking as he watched them acting as if it were their first glimpse of paradise, then quickly refocused on his true targets: Lily and Severus.

“The sweets first?” Lily asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she looked up at Severus, who grimaced in response. She laughed, the sound light and warm as she took hold of his hand and pulled him toward the nearest sweet shop. “Come on, we have to buy some for Petunia! She’s earned a reward after her exams, hasn’t she?”

Severus groaned, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You and your sister are hopelessly spoiled, you know that?”

“If I remember correctly,” she countered, her eyes dancing with mischief, “you were the one who introduced her to magical sweets in the first place.”

He raised an eyebrow as if daring her to disagree. “I simply dared her to eat the sweets you sent home after she lost a bet. Not exactly my fault, is it?”

Lily grinned, undeterred. “Well, someone kept buying her favourites every single week after that. I may have started it, but you were definitely the one spoiling her, Sev.”

Severus shook his head, unable to hide a smirk as they entered the sweet shop. Shelves lined with colourful candies and enchantingly packaged chocolates filled every corner, and the warm, sugary smell surrounded them as they stepped inside. Lily immediately started perusing the shelves, picking out bright packages of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum and Fizzing Whizzbees. Severus, despite his grumbling, scanned the shelves for Petunia’s favourites as well, his fingers hovering over different candies as he remembered which ones she’d liked best.

As Severus turned to inspect the next shelf of sweets, he stopped short, coming face to face with Sirius Black. Sirius stood there, arms crossed and gaze icy, the sharpness in his eyes unmistakable. The look was unnervingly familiar, and Severus’s fingers instinctively went to his wand. But before he could even ask what Sirius wanted, Black moved swiftly, grabbing Severus’s wand arm and twisting his wrist just enough to wrest the wand from his grasp.

“Hey!” Severus snapped, attempting to pull his arm free, but Sirius merely ignored him. Instead of following up with the aggression Severus anticipated, Sirius did something entirely unexpected. With precise movements, he gently took the basket of sweets from Severus’s arm and placed it on the floor.

Severus scowled, uncertain of Sirius’s intentions. He felt no malice in the Gryffindor’s touch, yet the entire encounter was disconcerting. Before Severus could demand an explanation, Sirius slipped his wand into his own pocket, then grasped Severus’s left hand, holding it firmly. There was a strange, almost formal energy to his actions, and, to Severus’s shock, he felt something cold slide onto his finger. He looked down, heart pounding as he took in the gleam of platinum on Sirius’s own ring finger, a match to the ring that now sat on his own.

The band was simple but striking, platinum inlaid with dark, gleaming black diamonds. Carved along the edges were runes that mirrored the tattoos on Sirius’s hands, ancient symbols Severus recognized from his own studies of protective charms. The platinum shone coolly against his skin, yet as Sirius’s fingers lingered briefly on his, an unexpected warmth rose within Severus, quieting the anger and confusion that he’d expected. He hadn’t ever imagined wearing matching bands with anyone — least of all Sirius Black — yet somehow, the ring felt like it belonged there.

“Consider this a courting gift,” Sirius muttered coolly. His expression remained impassive, though his grip on Severus’s hand was firm and unmoving. “My grandfather insisted I get you something to wear in public. He also told me to inform you that there’ll be a formal ball soon. They’ll be presenting you as an official member of the Black family.” Sirius released Severus’s hand and stood tall, adding flatly, “You’re expected to buy appropriate attire. And my father wants us to have dinner at Grimmauld Place before the holidays.”

Without another word, Sirius gave his wand back and turned on his heel, his robes sweeping around him as he left Severus standing alone in an aisle in the shop. Severus’s mind was whirling, his eyes on the platinum ring now encircling his finger. Of course, he thought, this was Sirius Black — anything he did for Severus was just another duty imposed by his family. No sign of sentiment or care, merely an obligation. And yet… why had he slipped the ring on so carefully?

With a low, exasperated groan, Severus ran his thumb over the smooth surface of the band. The thought of attending a Black family ball made him queasy; he’d rather be confined to his lab for weeks than spend an evening mingling with the pureblood elite. But meeting Arcturus Black — that was an opportunity. He would need all his wits to convince the old man to extend him the protection he sought. The dinner at Grimmauld Place, though? That was a thought he couldn’t bear to entertain for long.

Shaking off the strange encounter, Severus sighed, collected his sweets basket, and made his way to the cashier, his thoughts heavy with possibilities and lingering questions he had no intention of voicing.

Lily and Severus strolled from shop to shop, savoring their last day in the village. They filled bags with gifts, potion ingredients, and clothing — anything they might need or wish to bring home. Severus had anticipated this final shopping spree, and with money drawn from the Prince Vault, he paid for everything despite Lily’s persistent protests.

“Severus, really, I can get my own,” Lily insisted for the third time, trying to reach for her own pouch. But Severus shook his head, steering her away from the counter each time.

“Consider it my revenge on a family that would’ve left me and my mother with nothing,” he replied with a half-smirk. His voice softened as he added, “It’s been far too long since my mother saw any use of this wealth. And now, it’s going toward people who actually matter.”

The Prince Vault had been withheld from his mother, Eileen, by pureblood relatives who had shunned her for marrying a Muggle. That fortune — which could’ve spared her so much suffering — had gone untouched. Now, Severus wielded it himself, and he would use it as he saw fit.

Lily’s objections faded, though she gave him a grateful smile, and together they filled his expandable messenger bag with their purchases, using a feather-light charm on them. Severus even indulged in new robes, which Lily picked out with an enthusiasm that was more contagious than he’d care to admit. Once the last items were stashed away, they began making their way to the Three Broomstick to get a snack and to rest.

Then, out of nowhere, a deafening explosion shattered the quiet afternoon. They whipped around, eyes wide as they saw smoke pouring out from the direction of a small stationery shop, not far from where they’d been standing just moments ago. Severus instinctively pulled Lily closer, shielding her as the ground trembled with the shockwave, scattering debris and filling the air with a heavy, acrid scent of burnt paper and ink.

Lily gripped his arm tightly, her expression one of shock mixed with concern. “Sev, what just happened?”

As Severus surveyed the scene, the crowd swarmed toward the exit, everyone scrambling to escape the village. Professors Sprout and McGonagall emerged swiftly from the Three Broomsticks, calling for students and quickly organizing a headcount. They stood by the entrance, ushering students into safer areas. Severus released Lily’s hand as Lupin came forward to enlist her help, momentarily forgetting that, as prefects, they had a duty to assist in times like these. The professors and prefects spread out, guiding the panicked students to safety.

Once his responsibilities with the Slytherins were complete and he had confirmed his house’s attendance, Severus spotted Regulus running toward him, looking tense and anxious. He instinctively reached out, steadying Regulus by the shoulders as he checked for any signs of injury.

“Are you hurt?” Severus asked, his voice low but firm as he met Regulus’s worried gaze.

Regulus shook his head quickly, his dark eyes serious, and then, unexpectedly, he wrapped his arms tightly around Severus, pulling him into an embrace. Severus stiffened at the unexpected gesture, not accustomed to this sort of contact, even with those he cared for. He hadn’t thought Regulus, always so composed and controlled, would ever show this much vulnerability.

This moment brought Severus back to their first meeting. He remembered walking into a deserted bathroom and finding Regulus crying alone. Sirius had been ignoring his younger brother since he was sorted into Slytherin, and Regulus, though he tried to hide it, was heartbroken. Severus had silently offered him a handkerchief and sat beside him without a word. They hadn’t spoken then, but that quiet, shared moment had marked the beginning of their peculiar friendship. Since then, they’d often studied together, and when alone, Regulus would drop his guard, confiding in Severus and occasionally sharing moments of wit or curiosity he kept concealed in public.

Severus knew that Regulus had been raised as the model pureblood heir, polished, intelligent, and dignified. But behind that facade, Severus saw the same loneliness and isolation he himself had long endured. Regulus’s brother, Sirius, had never looked back after being sorted into Gryffindor, leaving Regulus to navigate the Black family’s expectations alone. Severus, in turn, had let Regulus be himself, offering him a place of quiet companionship without the pressure of their families’ legacies.

At first, Severus had been wary — Regulus looked so much like Sirius, it was nearly painful to see him up close. But over time, he had come to realize how different Regulus was, a young man who bore the weight of the Black family name without the joy or reckless abandon Sirius seemed to relish. Severus eventually grew protective, seeing in Regulus a reflection of his own struggles. In their past lives, Regulus had continued to offer his friendship in secret, and they’d come to each other’s aid countless times during raids and Death Eater gatherings, risking their own safety to shield each other.

But here, in this life, Severus felt the ache of memory tug at him. Regulus had died young in his previous life, only eighteen, and Severus had mourned him like a lost brother. He had agonized over the mystery of Regulus’s disappearance, his death shrouded in whispers. Only later did he realize that no Order member had been sent to take Regulus down — meaning that the Dark Lord had claimed him, another victim of his ruthless ambition.

Now, in the present, Severus wrapped his arms around Regulus, gently rubbing his back to ease the younger boy’s tension. There was no need for secrecy between them anymore; their bond had become one that even Regulus’s family wouldn’t question, given the engagement between him and Sirius. He could feel Regulus’s relief at the closeness, a silent comfort in a world where both of them had been betrayed and cast aside. And for the first time, Severus allowed himself to hope that this life, where he had a chance to protect Regulus openly, might lead them both down a path where loneliness and fear would no longer haunt them.

Severus gently pulled away from Regulus, casting a final, critical eye over him to make sure he truly was uninjured. Once reassured, he gave Regulus a faint nod.

“You should head back with the others,” Severus advised, gesturing toward the path leading to Hogwarts. “They’ll be needing everyone gathered as quickly as possible.”

Regulus shook his head, lips pressed into a stubborn line. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Suppressing the flicker of fondness that rose within him, Severus placed a steadying hand on Regulus’s shoulder. “It’s not safe here, Regulus,” he said firmly. “And they need someone watching over the younger students on the way back. I’ll catch up once things are sorted here.”

Reluctantly, Regulus gave in, though he still lingered for a moment before stepping back, his gaze lingering on Severus until he finally turned to join the Slytherins gathering by the edge of the village. As Regulus disappeared into the crowd, Severus felt a surge of determination—an instinctual resolve to keep him safe in this life, far from the fate that had claimed him once before.

Taking a steadying breath, Severus scanned the area, noticing Professors McGonagall and Sprout rallying students into organized groups. Some Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were missing, evident from the anxious way both professors scanned their surroundings and counted the students hurriedly gathering.

“Professor McGonagall,” Severus called as he approached. McGonagall turned, her usually unflappable demeanor tinged with visible worry.

“Mr. Snape,” she acknowledged, her voice firm. “Have you seen any Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs nearby?”

“Not around this side,” Severus replied, casting a quick look around the vicinity. “I can search the alleys and behind the shops if you wish.”

McGonagall hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Very well. Be swift—and do take care.”

Severus nodded, turning to slip through the maze of narrow side streets and darkened alleyways, wand gripped tightly. The remnants of smoke from the explosion lingered in the air, its sharp scent mixing with the unsettled quiet of the village. Gone was the usual warmth of Hogsmeade; in its place lay an eerie stillness that only heightened his senses.

Rounding a shadowed corner behind a cluster of shops, Severus caught a flicker of movement and heard a muffled voice. His heart quickened, and he steadied his grip on his wand, moving cautiously toward the sound, each footstep deliberate as he braced himself for what—or who—he might find.

Severus froze, eyes wide with disbelief as he stood before the small figure huddled by the broomstick shop. The child’s clothing was far too large, hanging off his frail frame like a discarded rag, and his bare feet were marred with blisters and wounds. Severus's heart sank at the sight—hand-shaped bruises marred the boy’s arms, and the fear in his wide green eyes echoed memories that twisted like daggers in his chest.

“Potter?” Severus managed, the name slipping from his lips like a desperate prayer.

The boy flinched at the sound of his voice, tensing as if bracing for a blow. Slowly, he turned, revealing the unmistakable face of Harry Potter, younger and more vulnerable than Severus had ever seen. This couldn’t be real. How is this possible?

Severus took a cautious step forward, but Harry flinched again, sinking down and wrapping his arms around his head as though to shield himself from an impending attack. Panic washed over Severus. Does he think I will hurt him? The realization hit him hard, constricting his heart in a vise. He wasn’t here to harm the boy; he wanted to protect him.

“Harry, it’s okay!” Severus called gently, trying to soften his tone, hoping to convey his intent. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Just then, he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. His instincts kicked in as he noticed a dark figure lurking at the edge of the shop. A spell!

Without thinking, Severus raised his wand, ready to cast Protego, but it was too late. The air was filled with a deafening crack as the spell struck the shop front, exploding with violent force. Time slowed as Severus watched the debris hurtle toward Harry, the boy’s small frame still huddled on the ground, oblivious to the danger.

“No!” Severus shouted, adrenaline coursing through him. He ran towards the boy and lunged forward, arms outstretched to shield him from the chaos. But before he could protect the boy, there was another explosion and something hit him hard.

The explosion rocked the street, sending shards of wood and glass raining down. Severus felt the heat of the blast against his back and left arm. The world spun in a cacophony of noise and destruction, and when the dust began to settle, he pushed himself up, scanning the area for any signs of the child.

“H-Harry?” Severus asked, voice barely above a whisper, his heart hammering as he turned to the place the child was in a while ago. But his stomach dropped as he realized, in horror, that the boy was gone.

“Harry!” Severus shouted, panic surging through him as he frantically searched the wreckage. He moved debris aside, desperation clawing at his throat. “Harry, where are you?”

The remnants of the shop lay in ruins around him, but there was no sign of the boy. No tiny hand reaching out, no frightened face peering from the rubble. It was as if Harry had vanished into thin air, swallowed by the chaos that had erupted around him.

Severus felt his heart pound in his chest, disbelief morphing into dread. The child had been there, just moments before, and now—nothing. A chill washed over him as he staggered back, realization sinking in. This can’t be happening. He can’t be gone.

“Harry, come out now. This is not a joke!”

Severus dropped to his knees, still searching through the debris with shaking hands. What have I done? I failed again. The weight of helplessness pressed down on him, and tears stung at the corners of his eyes. The boy he had been trying to save was now lost, and a profound sense of grief settled over him like a shroud. The world around him blurred as he continued to search through the chaos.

Another explosion shattered the air, the sound ringing in Severus’s ears like a death knell. He barely registered it, hands still clawing at the debris, desperately digging through the wreckage. Please, please, please be here. I cannot lose you. Pain shot through his fingers, blood trickling from the cuts and scrapes, but he pressed on, ignoring the agony. The world around him was a blur, tears streaming down his face, but he couldn’t stop.

“Harry!” he shouted, voice cracking with desperation. Where are you?

A sudden jolt yanked him up, his arm pulled sharply as someone shouted at him. “What the fuck are you doing?! Did you not hear the explosions around you?!”

Severus blinked through his tears, finally looking up into the face of Sirius Black, his familiar curly hair framing a look of intense frustration. “Black?” Severus gasped, trying to comprehend the situation.

“Are you crazy?! Do you want to die?! You were hit for acting stupid and were nearly hit again!” Sirius shouted, his voice laced with fury as he gripped Severus’s arm and began dragging him away. But Severus fought against him, panic flooding his veins.

“Let go! Let go of me, Black! We cannot leave that child behind! He was here. He needs help!” Severus’s voice was wild, desperation making him reckless.

Confusion flickered across Sirius’s face. “A child? There is no child here before the explosion,” he said, trying to regain his hold on Severus’s arm, but Severus evaded him, returning to the chaos.

“No, no! Harry is here! I know it—I saw him. He… he looks so small, and he needs to be checked. His relatives must have been mistreating him! I need to take him away!” Severus mumbled, tears falling freely now, not caring who saw him like this. His heart raced with a frantic need to find the boy.

“What are you talking about? There is no one here!” Sirius shouted back, his voice rising over the chaos, frustration morphing into concern. “You’re not making sense!”

But Severus shook his head vehemently, resolute. “I can’t leave him. I can’t lose him!” He resumed his frantic digging, pushing aside shattered wood and shattered dreams, each moment stretching into eternity.

“Sniv, stop!” Sirius's voice cut through the fog of despair. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” He grabbed Severus’s shoulders, forcing him to look into those piercing grey eyes. “I know you’re scared, but you need to come with me. We have to get out of here—now!”

Severus’s heart sank, frustration boiling within him. “Harry is gone. I just saw him! He was right here!” His voice broke, the weight of despair suffocating him. He is desperate. He just saw Harry being covered by falling debris. Sirius hesitated, searching Severus’s eyes as if trying to understand the depths of his panic. “If there was a child, we can find him later—”

“No!” Severus shouted, a guttural sound of anguish that echoed through the wreckage. “There may not be a later! I can’t let him suffer any more! I need - ”

Just then, another explosion rocked the area, and the ground trembled beneath them. Severus’s heart pounded in his chest, fear coursing through him like wildfire. The world was closing in, the chaos surrounding them, and he felt a desperate need to protect Harry from it all.

“Let’s go, Severus!” Sirius pleaded, voice urgent. “Please! We can’t stay here!”

He could not abandon Harry.

“I won’t leave until I find him,” he said fiercely, tearing himself away from Sirius’s grip, heart pounding with worry and panic. He kneeled and resumed digging, hands shaking. Sirius’s frustration boiled over, and in a moment of desperation, he whipped out his wand, pointing it directly at Severus.

“You’re not thinking clearly!” he shouted, the chaos around them drowning out his voice. “Petrificus Totalus!”

The spell hit Severus on his back, locking him in place. Panic surged through him as he felt the world around him blur, the noise of explosions fading into a muffled roar. He couldn’t move—couldn’t reach for Harry—couldn’t do anything but stand there, helpless.

“Sorry, Severus!” Sirius shouted as he rushed forward. He quickly began to levitate Severus’s frozen body, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. “You need to get out of here!”

With a firm flick of his wand, he maneuvered Severus through the chaos, dodging shards of glass and splintered wood that littered the ground. Another shop exploded in the distance, sending a wave of heat and dust crashing against them. The urgency of the moment fueled Sirius’s movements as he focused on getting them to safety.

Sirius kept levitating Severus, guiding him through an alleyway and pulling him behind a sturdy stone wall just as another explosion erupted, the force sending tremors through the ground. Once they were shielded from the blasts, Sirius gently lowered Severus to the ground and released him from the spell. The weight of his paralysis lifted, and Severus stumbled forward, breathless, anger flaring within him.

“You shouldn’t have done that!” he shouted, his voice sharp. “I was trying to save him!”

Sirius’s eyes were fierce, but concern lay just beneath the surface. “You were going to get yourself killed! If you think you can just rush in there, you’re wrong. We need to regroup and find the others first!”

Severus’s glare was venomous, but his eyes held a raw, desperate fear. His heart pounded as though it were trying to break free from his chest, each beat echoing with the image of Harry’s terrified face burned into his mind. “No. No. You don’t understand!” His voice cracked under the weight of his panic. “I can’t just abandon him! He needs me!”

“You’re losing it, Snape! There is no one there! You are—” Sirius’s retort was cut off by a deafening roar as yet another blast tore through the building, sending rubble and dust everywhere. The place where they had been standing moments before was obliterated, leaving nothing but smoldering remains. For a heartbeat, time stood still.

Severus’s scream sliced through the chaos, filled with such anguish that Sirius felt it cut right to his core. Severus stared at the wreckage, his face twisted in agony, as if watching someone he loved being torn away from him. Silent tears poured down his cheeks, his usually guarded face raw and exposed, horror and fear etched into every line. His body shook violently, haunted, unable to look away from the destruction before him.

Sirius faltered, frozen in shock. He had seen Severus angry, scornful, vicious—but this was something else, something painfully human. For a moment, he was at a loss. Then, as if by instinct, he dropped to his knees beside the Slytherin and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. Severus continued to shake and cry, his agony spilling over like a dam that had finally broken.

Sirius tightened his hold, feeling Severus’s pain reverberate through his own chest. Just moments ago, he had been unnerved by the mere sight of a few tears slipping down Severus’s face. But this was something else entirely, a despair so deep that Sirius didn’t know how to confront it.

What the hell is happening?

Chapter Text

Severus had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined himself appearing weak in front of Sirius Black, of all people. Yet here he was, gripping the rumpled, unironed robes of the Gryffindor as if they were the only thing anchoring him to reality. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, despite all the mental fortifications he had painstakingly built through years of mastering Occlumency. But no amount of mind-clearing could erase the image that haunted him—the explosion, replaying in an unrelenting loop behind his eyes. Each time it surged to the forefront of his mind, his heart seized, wracked with worry, pain, and guilt, as if a cold hand was squeezing the life out of him.

The memory, or perhaps the distorted product of his own guilt-riddled imagination, flashed again—the small, fragile child caught in the blast. His rational mind told him it couldn’t be real. He shouldn’t be here. It must have been a figment of his tortured conscience, a ghost conjured by his deep-seated remorse. But no matter how he tried to reason it away, the terror that had gripped him in that moment of helplessness held firm. The child dying before his eyes—it was a nightmare he couldn’t wake from, a fear so visceral that it clung to him like a shadow.

And now, here he was, of all places, breaking down in front of Sirius Black—the very man he had spent years loathing. Severus was trembling, his composure shattered, leaning into the last person he would ever have expected for comfort. Tears, which he had always held back as a point of pride, were now spilling over, leaving him vulnerable, exposed, and utterly undone.

Severus’s world felt like it was spinning, narrowing to the shallow sound of his own breaths. The weight of the room, the hospital bed beneath him, felt distant and faint, as if he were floating somewhere between awareness and oblivion. His memories clashed painfully with reality, and in the gaps of his consciousness, an image of Harry flashed—his determined gaze, his stubborn hope. Severus’s heart clenched painfully, raw grief slicing through him as he tried to push the memory away. When he finally managed to clear his head, he found himself staring up at the white ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

It took a moment for his eyes to focus. Lily and Regulus sat beside him, each holding one of his hands with a grip both steady and firm, grounding him. Lupin and Potter were also there, standing quietly nearby, their faces solemn. Severus could hardly stand the thought of them watching him like this, so helpless and exposed. He knew he should reassure Lily and Regulus, put on a brave face, tell them he was fine—but the words simply wouldn’t come. It was as if his voice had abandoned him, and in its place was only the hollow, aching void Harry had left behind.

“I’ve treated the wounds on his fingers and his broken left arm,” Madam Pomfrey said, her brisk tone cutting into his daze as she carefully wrapped his arm. “Now, I need to address the burns on his back.” She glanced at the others, and her firm gaze silenced any protests. “All of you—out. You can see him later.”

Reluctantly, Lily and Regulus released his hands, and he felt their warmth slip away as they followed her orders. Lupin and Potter cast him one last glance, worry etched uncharacteristically into their expressions, but Severus kept his gaze lowered, unwilling to meet their eyes. He had no need for their sympathy, nor for the reminder of his vulnerability.

But then, as Madam Pomfrey turned, she spoke sharply again. “Mr. Black, I meant everyone. That includes you.”

A cold chill crept through Severus. Black? Why was he here? He turned slowly, and there, mere inches from his own face, was Sirius Black. Severus’s breath caught, and his immediate instinct was to recoil. But his body felt heavy, his mind too weighed down by grief to fully react. Sirius’s expression was unreadable—a strange mix of tension, confusion, and, to Severus’s horror, something like empathy.

“Get away from me,” he tried to mutter, but his voice was too faint, too frail to be a challenge. He tried to pull away, but his body was sluggish, too drained to keep up with his anger. His world tilted, and he nearly fell, but Black’s hands were there, steadying him. Severus bristled, despising the warmth in Sirius’s touch, the tenderness in his grip. But he was too exhausted, too grief-ridden to fight it.

“Just rest, Snape,” Sirius murmured, his voice unusually quiet. “Let Madame Pomphrey treat you.” He helped Severus settle onto his stomach, adjusting him with a gentleness that was somehow more infuriating than any jeer or insult. Black’s presence only intensified the ache in Severus’s chest, the hollow emptiness where Harry should be. He couldn’t bear to be seen like this, to be helped by someone who had brought so much hatred into his life.

“I’ll be back,” Sirius said, his voice a murmur, and finally, mercifully, his footsteps faded away. Severus felt the mattress shift as Madam Pomfrey prepared to tend to his burns, but his mind lingered on Sirius’s unexpected actions. His grief was too raw, his hatred too ingrained, to process anything else. The last image of Harry’s horrified eyes haunted him, mingling with the strange memory of Sirius Black’s pity. Severus lay there, seething quietly, clinging to his hatred because it was the only thing left that didn’t hurt.

Sirius carefully tied the letter to the owl’s leg, securing it just above the talons. The bird shifted, flapping its wings with anticipation. He hesitated for a moment, feeling a strange twist in his stomach as he watched the owl take flight, its silhouette shrinking against the darkening sky. He hadn’t sent a letter home in years—since his first weeks at Hogwarts, really. He’d stopped after that one humiliating Howler from his mother, her shrieking voice condemning his sorting into Gryffindor. The memory still left a sour taste, and yet here he was, writing to his father. The message was simple: They wouldn’t be coming home tomorrow after the train ride; spitting out some lame excuse that kept them here.

Leaving the owlery, Sirius’s mind drifted back to Snape. He had to check on him in the Hospital Wing before curfew—not that he cared much about the curfew itself. But Madame Pomfrey didn’t tolerate nonsense, and he knew better than to get on her bad side. His friends had wanted him to join the year-end feast in the Great Hall, but he found himself strangely uninterested, his stomach still twisted from the afternoon's events.

When Lily and Snape entered the sweet shop like a pair of love birds, Sirius’s jealousy and anger had churned into something else entirely, something possessive and raw. He’d caught himself acting out the first thing that came to mind. He found himself slipping a ring onto Snape’s finger then and there—a bold, unmistakable mark that Snape had been taken. He wanted the world to know, and more than anything, he wanted Lily to see. He’d smirked when he finally saw the look of bewilderment and shock in Snape’s eyes, the way he hesitated, unsure what to make of it. That moment alone filled Sirius with a rare sense of satisfaction.

Rejoining his friends, Sirius barely registered Remus’s knowing look, but he could feel his friend’s silent judgment. James, meanwhile, had been focused on flirting with Lily, only to return looking miserable when she brushed him off. She still seemed furious with him, despite his efforts. Watching Lily and Snape go from shop to shop while James’s frustration grew was almost as amusing as it was painful. James’s face had contorted with jealousy, especially after their last stop in the clothing store. And then, just when the tension seemed unbearable, came the explosions that tore through the peaceful hum of the village.

Remus, ever the perfect prefect, immediately sprang into action, his voice calm but commanding as he ushered panicked students out of harm’s way, guiding them back toward the safety of the main street. James joined in without hesitation, rallying their housemates and making sure everyone stayed together. Amidst the chaos, Sirius’s focus remained firmly on Snape. He tracked him through the crowd, making sure he was safe and in a protected area before tearing his gaze away to survey the scene around them.

Smoke billowed from the first explosion, obscuring his view of the culprits. The darkened street was thick with confusion, and students ran in every direction. Another explosion erupted a few shops down, rattling the ground beneath him. The force of it sent a shock wave through the narrow street, and Sirius staggered back, searching frantically for the source. Through the smoke and flames, his heart stopped as he caught sight of two figures in long black robes, their movements sharp and deliberate. They were casting spells—powerful ones that caused the very walls of the nearby shop to shudder and crack.

Sirius’s eyes widened as he took in the glinting silver masks that obscured the figures’ faces. He would recognize those masks anywhere: Death Eaters. The sight of them sent a jolt of cold fury down his spine. He had heard the stories, and knew the dark intentions behind those masks, but seeing them here, in Hogsmeade, so close to Hogwarts, filled him with a rage he could barely contain. Brandishing his wand, he attacked anyone wearing that mask. And before any of them could retaliate, the Hogwarts professors and Aurors came, making the Death Eaters retreat at the sight of Albus Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall sent him a glare as she snatched his arm and dragged him towards James and the other Gryffindors.

“Pads, you okay?” James came and scanned his body for any injuries. Sirius nodded with a smile. “I’m okay. Remus is still not done?”

“No. Peter and his date is still missing.” James answered while Sirius scanned his surroundings for his friend. In a distance, away from the duel between the Aurors and escaping Death Eaters, Remus and Lily were guiding Peter and a scared Hufflepuff towards them.

Sirius frowned. Lily was just beside Snape a while ago. He turned towards the group of students in green ties, looking for Snape but he was not among those who were already retreating to the castle. Sirius felt his heart drop, he looked back at the place where he had last seen him but he was not there. Sirius left the group and began looking.

It took him a few minutes but he saw him kneeling not far from a store. He was reaching out his arms as if he was expecting something to come. What the fuck is he doing? Sirius hurriedly went to his location but was stopped by a powerful explosion.

“No!” He heard him scream as he rushed towards the explosion, a rubble hit his back. Sirius cursed as he tried to cast a shielding spell but it was too late. He can see blood staining Snape’s clothes. He cast a shielding spell again as another shop exploded.

“Harry! Harry, where are you?” Snape screamed, digging through the rubble with his bare hands. That name made Sirius stop. That name again. The last time he heard that name was when Moony almost tore them into shreds. Snape used a powerful spell to protect them and he was looking at James while calling that name.

“Harry, come out now. This is not a joke!”

Sirius felt anger just thinking of it. He doesn’t know who that person is but the way Snape is desperately looking for him and worriedly screaming out his name, it is clear that the person is very important to the Slytherin.

Another explosion shattered the air, waking Sirius up. Snape is still looking for that non-existent boy as if the dangers of the explosions are insignificant to him as long as he finds that Harry.

“Harry!” Sirius let out an annoyed huff and ran towards the boy, yanking him up by the arm. “What the fuck are you doing?! Did you not hear the explosions around you?!”

Sirius had a hard time, saving Severus because of his stubbornness. He went as far as stunning him to get him away from the explosions. Over and over again, he heard Snape looking for that person. Even after Sirius tells him that there is no one there, he is still adamant. Snape was hysterical for a moment but what shook his is seeing the Slytherin cry in agony. They had seen Snape cry a few times during their first year but it slowly stopped and was replaced by a glare and a bunch of hexes. However, the tears he was spilling were not from being bullied or due to anger and injustice. It was as if he lost someone precious. And with instinct taking over, his arms reached around the Slytherin’s shoulders, pulling him close to his body. Never in his life did he imagine himself hugging his mortal enemy.

Snape’s body sagged and lost consciousness. Sirius can still see the horror on his face even after fainting. Once the explosions calmed down, Sirius picked up Snape and went to regroup with other students. He can see the anger on Lily’s face as soon as she sees them coming. Remus and James were just behind her.

“What the fuck did you do?!” She was cursing, that’s not good. He was about to explain when he remembered the injuries Snape got. He shook his head at the girl and rushed towards the castle. He can see Snape opening his eyes on the way but still looking delirious. The tears keep on flowing, making Lily worry even more.

As soon as they entered the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomphrey was busy tending to the last injured student. It’s his younger brother, Regulus.  As soon as he saw the unconscious person in his arms, he stood up in worry, asking what happened. Madame Pomphrey asked them to strip the Slytherin’s robes and Lily and Regulus immediately followed the order, leaving the boy’s shirt in.

Sirius hoisted Snape's limp body, growling under his breath at the hands daring to touch his betrothed. He couldn't explain the surge of possessiveness coursing through him, but he forced it down, aware of the curious glances his friends were casting his way. Refusing to let go, Sirius propped Snape into a sitting position, allowing the witch to heal the injuries on Snape's hands first. Once they were mended, Lily and Regulus each took one of Snape’s hands in their own.

As Sirius observed them fretting over Snape, his gaze lingered on Regulus. It struck him—he had never seen his younger brother worry like this for anyone. Not for Sirius, not even for their parents. Sirius recalled the moment at Gringotts when Regulus had defended Snape during their argument. At the time, he dismissed it as Regulus siding with a fellow Slytherin out of spite for Sirius. But now, it seemed there was more to their connection than he had assumed.

Disturbing questions gnawed at him—how had they become friends? And if he wasn’t the Black heir, would Snape have been more open to the idea of marriage? Sirius shook his head sharply, biting his tongue to ground himself. The anger and irritation bubbling within him needed to be suppressed. He couldn’t fathom why he was plagued by these thoughts, especially when he claimed to want nothing to do with Snivellus.

By the time Sirius returned to the Hospital Wing, Lily Evans and two people who seemed to be her parents were standing beside Severus Snape’s bed. They were deep in conversation with Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. As Sirius’s betrothed, he was technically a ward of the House of Black. However, both Sirius and Lily had pleaded with Madam Pomfrey not to notify his parents. Instead, they had asked that the matter be brought to the Evans family. Reluctantly, Madam Pomfrey agreed, understanding the delicate nature of the situation. She had, after all, treated injuries Sirius himself had sustained at the hands of his mother. Severus had also made it explicitly clear in their agreement back at Gringotts that he would not live with the Blacks until their marriage at the age of maturity. For now, Severus had the right to choose a family willing to stand as his legal guardians in the Muggle world and it seems like he picked the Evans Family.

“I’ve already processed the papers, making Severus my legal ward in our world,” Mr. Evans explained, handing over a stack of documents to Dumbledore. His tone was steady but firm. “Even if he’s tied to the Blacks through engagement, we have every right to take him into our home.”

Dumbledore sighed, his gaze softening as he skimmed through the documents. Finally, he nodded. “Very well, Mr. Evans. If Severus feels safer with your family, I will provide whatever assistance is necessary in transferring him.”

Mr. Evans had a rugged appearance, with red hair and a warm tan, while Mrs. Evans exuded elegance with her blonde hair cascading down her back and a pair of striking green eyes. It was clear where Lily got her features—her mother’s green eyes and delicate face, but her vibrant red hair unmistakably came from her father. They seemed so... wholesome. A sharp contrast to the fractured and toxic family Sirius had grown up in. He stood at the doorway for a moment, observing the scene, before finally stepping into the room.

His presence drew their attention immediately.

“Black?” Lily asked, her tone a mixture of curiosity and caution as she glanced at him.

Sirius squared his shoulders, mentally bracing himself. Pureblood etiquette was ingrained in him, whether he liked it or not, and so he bowed, offering a formal introduction. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Evans. I am Sirius Orion Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and Severus’s betrothed.”

The words tasted bitter, and he had to suppress the urge to wince at how rehearsed and pompous they sounded. Sirius chanced a look at their faces, half-expecting rejection or discomfort. To his surprise, Mr. Evans returned the bow with an awkward but sincere effort, while Mrs. Evans smiled warmly and pulled him into a quick, unexpected hug.

“Lily’s told us about you,” Mrs. Evans said, her voice kind. Sirius couldn’t help but wonder if Lily had painted an unflattering picture of him in her stories. He wouldn’t blame her. Given their tumultuous past, she had every right.

“Are you leaving early?” Sirius asked, his gaze shifting to the unconscious Severus. His face was tense, brow furrowed as if caught in a restless dream. Sirius resisted the urge to reach out, to smooth the lines with his thumb. He looked vulnerable in a way that Sirius rarely saw, and he suspected Severus was reliving what had happened earlier that day, dreaming of that person. Harry.

“Yes. We think it might be better to take him home earlier since he won’t be fit to take the train tomorrow,” Mr. Evans said, meeting Sirius’s gaze. “Although, we’d like to know what happened first.”

Sirius nodded, sitting down beside Severus’s bed. “I noticed he wasn’t among the Slytherins heading back to the castle, so I went to look for him. I found him near the broomstick shop, and that’s when the explosions started. They went off one after another. He got injured—his arms were hit by debris, and rubble struck his back. He lost consciousness, so I carried him back here.”

It was the truth, though Sirius had left out some details. Severus wouldn’t want him to mention the panic attack. Besides, Sirius himself still didn’t fully understand what had happened or why. Mr. and Mrs. Evans nodded, their faces a mixture of concern and quiet gratitude, as Dumbledore stepped forward.

“Did you see any Death Eaters at the time?” the Headmaster asked.

Sirius didn’t lift his gaze from Severus. Instead, he carefully pulled the blanket up to Severus’s chin and smoothed out the wrinkles. “No. I didn’t see anyone.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said, his expression unreadable. “I’ll relay this information to the Aurors. Please excuse me.”

With that, the Headmaster turned and left the Hospital Wing. A soft pop echoed in the room as a house-elf appeared, carrying a trunk. The Evans couple jumped slightly, exchanging curious and wary looks.

“Lizty is carrying Master Snape’s things,” the elf said, setting the trunk gently beside the bed. Madam Pomfrey waved her hand dismissively, noticing the unease of the Muggles. “Thank you, Lizty. You may go now.”

Once the elf vanished, silence hung in the air until Mr. Evans cleared his throat. He turned to Madam Pomfrey with a grateful smile. “Thank you for all you’ve done for Severus. We should be going now.”

“I’ll arrange for someone to escort you safely home,” the medi-witch replied. “I believe Mr. Black and Miss Evans are more than capable of helping you to the gate.” After exchanging thanks with the Evanses, she exited the room.

As Mr. Evans stepped forward to lift Severus, Sirius immediately intervened. “I’ll carry him. I can manage.”

There was a tension in Sirius’s voice that made Mr. Evans hesitate. After a moment of studying him, the older man stepped back with a nod and instead gathered the luggages of Severus and his daughter. Lily led the way as Sirius wrapped Severus snugly in a blanket and lifted him effortlessly.

It struck Sirius how light Severus was—lighter than anyone he’d ever carried before. He had always known Severus to be thin, but this… this was different. The unhealthy weight stirred something uncomfortable in his chest.

Lily glanced over her shoulder, her expression guarded. She wasn’t entirely convinced by Sirius’s account of what had happened, but there was no hint of deceit in his words or demeanor. Still, it was the way he looked at Severus that unsettled her. His expression was confused yet concerned, as if grappling with emotions he didn’t understand. She watched as Sirius gently brushed stray hair from Severus’s face and adjusted his hold as if Severus’s weight was nothing. For a fleeting moment, Lily thought she saw his features soften—a rare tenderness she never expected from him.

They reached the castle gates, where the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey waited with two Aurors. Sirius hesitated as he handed Severus over to one of them, his reluctance palpable. The moment his hands were free, he pulled a small box from his pocket. Opening it, he took out a silver bracelet inlaid with emeralds and rubies.

With careful precision, Sirius slipped the bracelet onto Severus’s wrist, tucking it beneath the blanket. He stepped back, watching as the Auror prepared to Apparate with Severus. A moment later, they disappeared with a crack. Dumbledore offered to escort the Evanses home, leaving Lily with the other Auror. She reached out for the Auror’s hand, but her attention lingered on Sirius. His face was unreadable now, his mask firmly back in place. Yet, the way he had handled Severus spoke volumes.

As they Apparated away, an unpleasant pulling sensation in her gut matched the unease in her thoughts.

Sirius Black may be developing feelings for Severus, but she doubted Severus is ready for them. And Lily wasn’t ready to forgive Sirius for the pain he’d caused her best friend—not yet.

That night, Lily woke to the faint creak of floorboards outside her bedroom. Groggy, she dismissed it at first, assuming it was just Petunia sneaking downstairs for a midnight snack. But as she lay there, her drowsiness ebbed, replaced by curiosity and unease. The faint sound of doors opening, followed by soft but distinct footsteps on the second floor, caught her attention.

That’s odd, Lily thought. If it were only Petunia, why would their parents also be up?

Frowning, she slid out of bed, grabbed the robe draped over her chair, and wrapped it around herself. As she tied the sash, low voices murmuring outside her door made her pause.

“…Where is he?” Petunia’s hushed whisper was unmistakable.

Lily cracked her door open to see her sister standing with their parents at the top of the staircase. “What’s going on?” she asked softly, stepping into the hallway.

Petunia spun around, her expression sharp. “Shhh! Keep your voice down,” she hissed, darting toward Lily and grabbing her arm. Their parents remained focused on something downstairs, their postures tense.

“Whatever you see,” Petunia whispered urgently, her fingers tightening on Lily’s arm, “don’t make a sound.”

Confused and slightly alarmed, Lily allowed herself to be pulled along, the knot in her stomach tightening. Their parents descended the stairs first, moving quietly but purposefully. Petunia tugged her forward, following close behind. As they reached the foot of the stairs, Lily’s breath caught.

Standing in the open doorway, barefoot and clad only in his thin pajamas, was Severus. His dark hair was disheveled, and his small frame looked frail in the moonlight. He was stepping slowly outside, oblivious to the cold wind that rushed in, tousling his hair and tugging at his clothing.

“Sev—” Lily’s instinctive cry was abruptly cut off by a sharp pinch on her arm.

“Shut up,” Petunia hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at her. Lily bit back a gasp of pain and clamped her mouth shut, the urgency in her sister’s gaze silencing any protests.

“Dear, get Severus a blanket,” their father said quietly to their mother, his eyes never leaving the boy. He was watching Severus carefully, his expression a mix of concern and hesitation, as though unsure whether to approach too quickly.

Their mother nodded and retrieved a soft blanket from the couch. Lily blinked in confusion. Why is there a blanket there? Their mother hated keeping blankets and food on the couch, considering it untidy. The only time it ever happened was during one of her parents’ arguments when her father would sleep there. But they weren’t fighting now.

“Let’s go,” her mother said softly, clutching the blanket to her chest. They all stepped outside, the chill of the night air biting at Lily’s cheeks. She shivered, wondering how Severus could bear the cold without so much as flinching.

Severus had stopped on the lawn, his frail form a stark contrast against the lush greenery. He sat cross-legged on the damp grass, the chill of the night air seeping through his thin pajamas, but he didn’t seem to notice. His dark, messy hair hung in tangled strands around his face, which was pale in the moonlight—too pale, as if the life had been drained from him. His thin shoulders were hunched, slumped under an invisible weight, as if the world itself was pressing down on him. His head hung low, his chin nearly touching his chest, and the way his body was curled inward made him seem smaller, more fragile than usual. There was a vacantness to him, a stillness that made him look like a shadow of the person Lily once knew.

His eyes—those once sharp, calculating onyx eyes—were now nothing but dark glass, lifeless and unfocused. They stared straight ahead, unblinking, as though they could see nothing at all. Severus was staring into nothingness, lost in some internal torment that no one could reach. His face, usually so guarded and full of sharp edges, was now a mask of sorrow. His lips, once prone to sharp retorts or sneers, were parted slightly in quiet despair, and the lines of his face were softened by the weight of grief. A few stray tears had streaked down his pale cheeks, their path glimmering faintly in the moonlight, as if even his sorrow had become part of the night.

Lily’s heart clenched in her chest as she watched him. The boy who had always hidden his pain so fiercely, the one who wore his bitterness like armor, now seemed utterly exposed. It was as if the fragile thread that had kept him tethered to the world had snapped, and he had fallen into an abyss he couldn’t escape from. Her best friend—the person she had known for so many years—was gone, replaced by someone who looked like him but wasn’t. She barely recognized the boy sitting there on the lawn, and that thought alone sent a chill through her bones.

Her mother knelt beside him, her movements slow and gentle, almost reverential. She draped a soft, warm blanket over Severus’ thin frame, the fabric a stark contrast against his pallor. “It’s just us, Severus,” her mother murmured, her voice quiet and soothing, as if speaking to a child. “You’re safe now. There’s no one else here.” The tenderness in her tone was enough to make Lily’s heart ache even more. She wanted to reach out, to say something, but her voice stuck in her throat, choked by the sadness welling up inside her.

Her father crouched down next to Severus, his movements deliberate and careful as he reached to place a hand on the boy’s trembling shoulder. “Come on, son,” he said softly, helping Severus to his feet. His voice was calm, but there was a tremor of concern beneath it. “Let’s get you back inside.”

But Severus didn’t respond. He remained completely still in his father’s grasp, his body unnervingly limp. His eyes, still wide and unseeing, seemed to stare into a place beyond the present, beyond anything that Lily could reach. The sorrow on his face was overwhelming, and Lily could do nothing but watch in helpless agony. She had never seen him like this before. She had never seen him so lost, so far gone. The boy who had always been so fiercely independent, so sharp with words and actions, now seemed as though he had been shattered by something too terrible to comprehend.

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, and she clasped her hands together, pressing them against her chest as if to hold back the rush of emotions threatening to spill over. Her breath quickened, her heart hammering in her chest. What happened to you, Sev? she thought desperately. The words stuck in her throat, impossible to voice, just as the urge to run to him was held back by the weight of her own fear.

She wanted to reach him, to touch him, to shake him from the nightmare that had swallowed him whole. She wanted to tell him it was all right, that he didn’t have to bear it alone. But instead, she was frozen—rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak. Her body was as still as his, bound by a confusion so deep that it made her feel as if she were sinking into the ground with him..

Her parents guided Severus back into the house. Her father carried him up the stairs while her mother retrieved a basin of warm water and a towel from the kitchen, following closely behind.

Lily felt a gentle tug on her arm and turned to see Petunia leading her back inside. Her sister’s expression was unreadable, but her movements were steady and purposeful. Once the front door was locked, they stood in silence, watching their parents disappear into Severus’s room.

Lily turned to Petunia, searching her face for answers. For once, her sister’s usual sharpness was gone. Instead, a faint, bittersweet smile played on her lips, her eyes filled with an unfamiliar sadness.

It confirmed what Lily had suspected but didn’t want to accept: Severus is still suffering and the effects are something neither of them could fully understand.

Without a word, Lily stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her sister. She buried her face in Petunia’s shoulder, tears streaming freely. For the first time in years, Petunia didn’t push her away. Instead, she held Lily close, letting her cry.

Chapter Text

Remus Lupin stood before the mirror, his gaze heavy and solemn. He took a deep, steadying breath and ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to tame it. The lines etched on his face seemed deeper this morning, the weariness from the previous night’s full moon transformation weighing heavily on him. He could still feel the phantom shiver coursing through his body, a lingering reminder of the moonlight's cruel touch that unleashed the beast within.

His friends had been there, loyal as ever, accompanying him in their Animagus forms to ensure he wouldn't be alone in his torment. Yet, despite their unwavering support, the fear remained. It coiled in his chest like a serpent—fear that, even with their precautions, he might lose control and harm them. The thought haunted him, feeding the guilt that never truly left him.

It had been worse when he was younger—far worse. As a child, the aftermath of his transformations often left him bedridden for days. His body, small and fragile, bore the marks of the wolf's violence: claw marks and bite wounds, inflicted in the beast's mindless rage. The pain was excruciating, but the emotional scars cut even deeper. He remembered the first time his parents witnessed his transformation. His mother had fainted at the sight, and his father had frantically tried to restrain him, barricading the basement door against the feral monster their son had become.

His mother, Hope Lupin, had always been a loving presence in his life, but after that night, something shifted. She became hesitant, her fear of him manifesting in her fidgety demeanor and avoidance. It broke Remus's heart to see her recoil, but he understood—how could anyone see their child transform into a beast and remain unchanged? It took months before she could meet his eyes without flinching. Even so, he knew her love for him never wavered, even if her understanding of his condition fell short.

His father, Lyall Lupin, had taken on the burden of care with a quiet determination. The guilt was palpable in his every action, every word of comfort he offered after a painful night. Remus had overheard the truth about his condition when he was just a boy: Fenrir Greyback had bitten him out of revenge. Lyall's outspoken condemnation of werewolves as dangerous creatures had provoked the attack, and now he bore the weight of his words through his son's curse. The Lupins were forced to flee their village, relocating to a remote, secluded hill far from prying eyes—Muggle or wizard. Lyall and Hope lived in constant fear that someone would discover the truth and take their son away to a Ministry holding cell or worse. Remus wasn’t even registered as a werewolf; to the outside world, he was just a sickly, reclusive child.

Loneliness became his constant companion. Despite his parents' best efforts, the isolation was suffocating. They loved him deeply and did all they could to bring joy into his life, but the fear of discovery loomed over every decision. He wasn’t allowed to venture into the nearby villages, Muggle or magical, or make friends with the local children. For years, his world was confined to their home, his parents, and the vast, empty hills that surrounded them.

It wasn’t until he turned nine that Lyall began teaching him at home, a decision born of necessity. They were unsure if Remus would ever be allowed to attend Hogwarts or any wizarding school. For all his parents' reassurances, Remus had already resigned himself to a lonely life, his dreams of camaraderie and normalcy buried beneath the weight of his curse.

The course of Remus Lupin’s life shifted unexpectedly one quiet afternoon. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, engrossed in one of his father’s books on magical creatures when the door suddenly opened. Startled, he scrambled to his feet as a tall, peculiar-looking man stepped gracefully into the living room. The man’s silver beard glinted in the afternoon light, and his blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon glasses. His robes, deep purple and embroidered with constellations, billowed slightly as he cleared his throat. Despite his strange and imposing presence, the man’s expression was warm and kind.

“Ah, you must be Remus,” he said, inclining his head. His voice was calm and steady, carrying an air of both wisdom and gentle authority. “My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I believe we have much to discuss.”

Remus stared, frozen in place. He had heard of Dumbledore—every wizarding child had. But what would someone like him want with me? he wondered, his heart thudding against his ribs. As if sensing his unease, Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope with a wax seal bearing the Hogwarts crest.

“This,” Dumbledore said, holding it out, “is your letter of acceptance to Hogwarts.”

The world seemed to stop. For a moment, Remus could only gape, his mouth slightly open. Acceptance? Him? The words felt impossible. His hands trembled as he took the envelope, tearing it open to see the beautiful script inside. It was real—his name, written clearly on the parchment. Remus John Lupin.

“B-but…” he stammered, glancing between the letter and the man before him. “How? Don’t you know what I am?” As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened in horror. His hand flew to his mouth as if he could pull them back. He was not supposed to say that. His dad told him they might be separated if he told anybody of his condition. He looked at the headmaster fearfully and began to explain with his hands.

“What I mean is—” he began, but Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him, his expression softening.

“It’s quite alright, Remus,” Dumbledore said gently, taking a seat in one of the armchairs by the hearth. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a matching chair for Remus and gestured for him to sit. “I am well aware of your… condition. That is precisely why I am here.”

Remus hesitated, his pulse racing. Dumbledore’s calmness unnerved him. His condition was a curse—a dangerous secret that no one should know. But the smile the old man is giving is warm, and he wants to trust the man. The headmaster explained his presence while they were playing the Gobstone his father bought for him. He was about to win when hurried footsteps thundered from the hallway. Hope and Lyall Lupin burst into the room, their faces pale and alarmed.

“Remus!” Hope cried, rushing to her son and pulling him behind her protectively. She glared at Dumbledore, ready to pounce at him without using any kind of magic. She might be a muggle but she would do anything to protect his only son. “Who are you? What are you doing in our home?”

“Headmaster or not, you’ve no right to be here uninvited,” Lyall added sharply, stepping forward with a tense posture. He recognised the intruder, of course. He was his former Transfiguration Professor after all.

“Hope, Lyall,” Dumbledore said, his tone calm but firm, “I mean no harm. I came here to speak with you about Remus’s future. Please, sit. Let us discuss this like reasonable wizards.”

Neither moved, their wariness etched on their faces.

“My son’s future?” Lyall asked suspiciously. “What do you mean? And how do you know about his… his condition?”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “I assure you, your secret is safe with me. I have known for some time. It is my duty as Headmaster to ensure that every magical child has the opportunity to learn, regardless of their circumstances.” He gestured toward the letter still clutched in Remus’s trembling hands. “That is why I am here—to offer him a place at Hogwarts.”

Lyall’s grip on his wand tightened. “And what will happen if his condition is discovered? Do you know what people will do to him?”

“I do,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “And that is why I have already made arrangements to keep Remus safe. There is an abandoned house in Hogsmeade. During the full moon, he will transform there and I will make sure no one gets investigate it.”

Remus blinked, his stomach twisting. “You… you’d do that for me?” he asked softly. Dumbledore turned to him with a small smile. “Of course, my boy. You are no less deserving of an education than any other child. Your condition is a challenge, yes, but it does not define you.”

His parents exchanged a long, wary look. Lyall’s face was tight with distrust, while Hope’s held both fear and hope.

“I won’t lie to you,” Dumbledore continued, his tone earnest. “It will not be easy. But I give you my word that Remus will be protected, and his secret safeguarded. He will not face this alone.”

After a tense silence, Hope spoke first. “If we agree… you promise he’ll be safe? That no one will find out?”

“I promise,” Dumbledore said firmly. “On my honor as a wizard.”

Lyall let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. But if anything happens to him…”

“It won’t,” Dumbledore assured.

The next day, Remus’s parents took him to Diagon Alley to gather his school supplies. For the first time in years, Remus felt a glimmer of something he hadn’t dared to feel in a long time—hope, just like his mother’s name. When the day came for him to board the Hogwarts Express, his parents escorted him to King’s Cross Station. His mother fussed over his hair one last time while his father squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll do great, son,” Lyall said with a smile that didn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes.

At Platform 9 ¾, he stepped onto the scarlet train, his heart pounding with both excitement and nerves. It wasn’t long before he met James and Sirius after saying a tearful goodbye to his parents. They took one look at his scars and declared him “cool.”

“And those scars make you look like a proper warrior,” A boy added with a grin. He had sleek, dark hair and a confident air about him.

“Definitely,” One of them agreed with a mischievous grin. He had unruly black hair and glasses that framed hazel eyes. “You’re sitting with us. Non-negotiable.”

Later, they encountered a small, nervous-looking boy named Peter Pettigrew, and the four of them quickly bonded over sweets and jokes. Remus felt something unfamiliar and wonderful—friendship. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’d found a place where he belonged.

Having no friends before Hogwarts, Remus had struggled to understand the nuances of social interactions. In his first year, when James and Sirius began their pranks on Severus Snape, he assumed it was just how friendships worked—teasing and laughter at someone else’s expense. He felt uneasy at times, particularly when their pranks turned physical or destructive, like shoving Snape into walls, hexing his textbooks to crumble into dust, or tossing his belongings into the lake. Yet, Remus stayed silent. He told himself it was harmless fun.

Deep down, he feared voicing his objections. What if they turned on him? He couldn’t bear the thought of losing the only friends he’d ever known. By their second year, the group’s bond grew tighter after James, Sirius, and Peter discovered his secret. Remus had been terrified, trembling as he awaited their disgust or rejection. Instead, they shocked him with their acceptance.

“You’re still Remus,” Sirius had said with a shrug, as if being a werewolf was no different than having a cold. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“If anything, it makes you cooler,” James added with a grin. “We’ll figure out a cure someday.”

Their acceptance had been a lifeline, and Remus clung to it. Grateful beyond words, he overlooked their increasingly cruel treatment of Snape and students from other houses. He justified it, telling himself it wasn’t his place to interfere. By fifth year, Remus had been made prefect. His parents beamed with pride, and his friends celebrated by sneaking Butterbeer into the dormitory. But even as he pinned the badge to his robes, guilt tugged at his heart. Shouldn’t a prefect set an example? Shouldn’t he stop the bullying?

Still, he stayed silent.

It all came crashing down the night Sirius revealed the secret of the Whomping Willow to Snape.

The morning after, Remus awoke in the hospital wing, his transformation complete. His body ached, and his mind was foggy, but the whispers around him grew louder. He caught snippets of the story: Snape had been injured. James had saved him just in time. But it was the sight of Severus Snape himself—pale, bloodied, and barely conscious on the other side of the ward—that made Remus’s stomach churn. The guilt was suffocating.

In the Gryffindor dormitory, Remus confronted Sirius. His anger boiled over, something he had never allowed himself to feel.

“You!” Remus stormed into the room, his voice shaking with fury. Sirius barely had time to react before Remus shoved him hard against the wall.

“Remus, what the hell—” Sirius started, but Remus cut him off.

“Do you hate me that much?!” Remus’s voice cracked as he pressed his hands against Sirius’s shoulders. “Do you hate me so much that you’d use me as a weapon to get rid of the people you despise?!”

“What are you talking about?” Sirius asked, his face a mixture of confusion and defiance.

“You told Snape about the Whomping Willow! You exposed me!” Remus screamed, the force of his words echoing in the room. For the first time in his life, he didn’t hold back, his anger and despair spilling out like a flood.

Sirius’s confident smirk faltered. “It was just a joke,” he muttered. “Snivellus has been sneaking around, trying to get us expelled—”

“A joke?!” Remus roared, his voice raw. He flung Sirius aside, his chest heaving. Peter, wide-eyed, stepped forward hesitantly.

“Come on, Remus,” Peter said weakly. “He didn’t mean anything by it. Snape deserved it—”

“Deserved it?” Remus turned on him, his voice a broken whisper. “I could have killed him. Don’t you get it? I could have been a murderer!” His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, his hands clutching his face as sobs overtook him.

The weight of it all crashed down on him—the years of silence, of ignoring his friends’ cruelty, of justifying their actions. He was complicit. Every hex, every insult, every cruel prank they pulled on Severus and others had been done with his silent approval.

Sirius knelt beside him, his face pale and stricken. “Remus, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I didn’t think—”

“No,” Remus whispered through his tears. “You didn’t think. None of us did. And now… now I don’t deserve this.” He gripped the prefect badge on his robes, yanking it free. “This should’ve gone to someone worthy. Not me.”

James approached, his face unusually serious. “You didn’t hurt him,” he said softly. “I stopped it. You didn’t—”

“But I could have!” Remus shot back, his voice rising. “And it wouldn’t have happened if I’d just stopped you. If I’d said something… anything.”

Sirius’s shoulders sagged, his bravado entirely gone. “I didn’t think he’d actually go,” he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I… I was angry. I wanted to scare him, humiliate him, but…” He trailed off, his eyes darting to James as though seeking reassurance.

James ran a hand through his hair, frowning. “We’ve always hated Snape, but I didn’t think—well, we didn’t think it’d go this far. Merlin, Remus, we never meant—” He faltered, confusion and hesitance flashing across his face.

"You’re so cruel—for all the pranks and harassment. But I’m even worse… crueler and a coward for not stopping you or saying anything."

As Remus listened to their apologies, shallow and confused as they were, he realized something profound. His friends weren’t monsters, but they weren’t heroes either. They were just boys—flawed, reckless boys who didn’t fully grasp the consequences of their actions. And neither did he.

Remus forgave his friends that week, but he was resolute—he would no longer tolerate their cruel pranks. If they started again, he was determined to stop them. He observed Sirius’s behavior around Snape, noting the unspoken tension between them. Sirius’s actions were telling—how he hovered near Snape, possessively holding onto him, growling at anyone who dared approach.

Right then and there, Remus realized Sirius was doomed, though he didn’t voice it aloud. Perhaps it was a lingering sense of revenge for the Shrieking Shack incident or a silent wish for Sirius to learn his lesson. Either way, Remus decided to let fate play out its course when it came to Sirius and Snape.

After seeing Snape’s critical condition in the hospital wing, James finally admitted to Remus what had transpired that night at the Shrieking Shack. James was puzzled—why had Snape been so severely injured when he was known for his exceptional shielding charms? Surely he could have protected himself as he had done before.

The Marauders parted ways at King’s Cross after the end-of-year feast. Sirius mentioned that the Evanses had taken Lily and Snape home the previous night, so there was no need to wait for them. James, as he did every year, invited the group to stay at his house. Sirius and Peter readily agreed, but Remus politely declined, explaining that he wanted to visit his parents first and would join them after the full moon.

When Remus arrived home, he poured his heart out to his parents, recounting everything that had happened and how he felt. He wept in his mother’s arms that night, and his father consoled him, telling him how proud he was of his kindness and willingness to take responsibility for his mistakes. Lyall Lupin even offered to take Remus to the Evanses to personally apologize to Snape.

Encouraged by his parents, Remus nodded and began drafting a letter to Lily Evans the next day. Initially, Lily was hesitant to entertain his request, as Remus couldn’t share the full details of what had happened the night Snape was sent to the hospital wing. All he could admit was that Snape’s injuries were his fault. Lily rejected his apology at first, citing a lack of sincerity and clarity. Yet, Remus persisted, sending regular letters begging for a meeting with Snape and her family to formally apologize.

After two weeks of relentless letters, Lily finally conceded, though not without a stern warning: “If Severus is ever hurt because of you again, I’ll curse you.”

Grateful but increasingly anxious, Remus spent the days leading up to the meeting nervously rehearsing what he would say. Apologizing was harder than he expected. He truly hadn’t intended to hurt, let alone kill, Snape, but how could he convey the depth of his remorse?

On the day of the meeting, Remus’s mother entered his room, smiling softly. She helped him tame his unruly hair and reassured him with a gentle squeeze on his shoulder before ushering him out to the living room, where his father waited. Together, they used the Floo network to travel to Cokeworth, then took a Muggle taxi to the Evans residence.

The house was lovely—a cheerful two-story Muggle home painted white and blue, with a garden full of vibrant flowers, herbs, and vegetables. The fences were adorned with whimsical paintings of flowers and stars, exuding warmth and joy.

After a polite knock, the door swung open, and a tall man with fiery red hair greeted them with a welcoming smile.

“You must be Remus Lupin,” Mr. Evans said, extending a hand. “Lily’s told us about you.”

Ah., I’m sure she told you how much she hates me.

Remus shook his hand nervously, murmuring a polite greeting. Mr. Evans also acknowledged his parents warmly, inviting them into the house. As they stepped inside, Remus’s sensitive nose—still heightened from the transformation the night before—was greeted by the comforting scents of tea and freshly baked pastries.

Mr. Evans led them into the cozy living room, where he struck up an easy conversation with Lyall Lupin. Remus, however, could barely focus. His palms were clammy, his heart raced, and his mind spun with the words he hoped would make Snape see his sincerity.

Chapter Text

Severus awoke in his room at the Evans house, the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. His sleep had been plagued by relentless nightmares, each one replaying the horrors he’d witnessed at Hogsmeade. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away the dampness left by silent tears, and as his hand fell back to his lap, something caught his attention. A bracelet—exquisite and unfamiliar—encircled his wrist.

Frowning, Severus examined it closely. He couldn’t recall wearing any jewelry before his trip to Hogsmeade. In fact, he avoided wrist accessories entirely; they interfered with his precise movements while brewing potions. Yet, this bracelet bore a striking resemblance to something else—a ring, specifically, the one Black had given him. The bracelet was adorned with rubies and emeralds, their deep hues representing the colors of Gryffindor and Slytherin. The intricate cuts of the jewels reflected light in mesmerizing patterns, and Severus sighed. He didn’t remove it. There was little point—he couldn’t brew here at the Evans house anyway.

The days that followed were largely uneventful, save for Lily’s peculiar behavior. Severus couldn’t quite place what had changed, but her sudden overprotectiveness set him on edge. Still, everything else in the Evans household remained comfortably routine. Rose Evans bustled about with her usual activities—tending to her vibrant garden and baking pastries so divine they often sparked petty fights between Severus and Petunia. Petunia, meanwhile, was anxiously awaiting her exam results while meticulously preparing university applications. Lily, ever diligent, was buried in her textbooks, anxiously waiting for the release of their O.W.L. results.

It was a peaceful rhythm that soothed Severus, a stark contrast to the chaos of his life at Hogwarts and Spinner’s End. But that peace was disrupted one morning when Lily received a letter—an owl-delivered missive from none other than Remus Lupin.

The letter was a request for a meeting, an apology for what had transpired in the Shrieking Shack. Severus’s feelings about Lupin were complicated. He disliked him, not for malice, but for his association with Black and Potter—and for his cowardice. The memory of Lupin’s werewolf form still haunted him, leaving scars deeper than those visible until now in his second life. But, with time, Severus found himself too weary to hold onto such hatred.

Deep down, he knew Lupin couldn’t be blamed for what he became once a month. It wasn’t Lupin who owed him an apology for the Shrieking Shack – it should be Black. Still, Severus agreed to the meeting, though Lily was adamant about protecting him.

“You don’t need to deal with him, Sev,” Lily had argued, her tone sharp. She rejected Lupin’s request outright, but the werewolf was persistent, sending one letter after another. Eventually, her resolve cracked under his insistence. Severus smirked as he watched Lily, visibly frustrated, draft her reluctant agreement. With a final huff, she tied the letter to her owl, Athena’s leg and sent it on its way.

What Severus expected to be a private, tense encounter turned into an elaborate affair. The Evans family insisted on hosting the Lupins for dinner, urging everyone to dress their best. Rose Evans prepared a feast, and even Mr. Evans took the day off to join the occasion. Unbeknownst to Severus, Lily’s parents had used Athena to correspond with the Lupin family, arranging a formal dinner. The Evans were unaware of Lupin’s lycanthropy, though they knew he’d been involved in the incident that had left Severus injured. Unlike Lily, who was vocal in her disapproval of Lupin, they reserved judgment and wanted to meet him in person. The evening arrived, and Severus found himself in the kitchen with Lily, Petunia, and Mrs. Evans as the Lupins were welcomed.

“You must be Remus Lupin. Lily’s told us about you,” Mr. Evans said warmly as he greeted their guests.

Severus, overhearing from the kitchen, smirked. He wasn’t the only one who caught the irony in Mr. Evans’s words. While polite on the surface, the statement carried an undercurrent of Lily’s unflattering opinions about Lupin. Petunia and Mrs. Evans exchanged amused glances, delighting in Lily’s visible discomfort. She scowled, her cheeks flushed with irritation as she glared at her father next door. With a stern look at Lily to behave, Mrs. Evans left the kitchen carrying a tray of tea, and Petunia followed with a platter of pastries. Severus tugged gently at Lily’s sleeve, silently urging her to follow.

Once everyone was gathered, introductions were made. Surprisingly, Remus Lupin bore a striking resemblance to his mother, Hope. He had inherited her chestnut-colored hair and soft, kind features. However, his eyes, piercing yet warm, were unmistakably from his father, Lyall’s.

The Lupins wore Muggle clothes for the occasion, but it was evident that neither Lyall nor Remus was particularly comfortable in them. They frequently tugged at their collars or adjusted their cuffs, betraying their unfamiliarity with the style.

Hope Lupin and Mrs. Evans quickly found common ground, launching into an animated discussion about gardening and cooking. Their laughter filled the room as they swapped tips and anecdotes about everything from stubborn weeds to recipes for berry tarts. Meanwhile, Lyall Lupin and Mr. Evans engaged in a spirited conversation about the intricacies of magical and Muggle law. Lyall was particularly fascinated by the nuances of Muggle legal systems, and Mr. Evans, ever the patient explainer, was more than happy to oblige.

Lily, however, was steadfastly ignoring Remus, her posture rigid and her gaze fixed anywhere but on him. Petunia, in contrast, had inherited their father’s patience and unfaltering ability to maintain a calm façade. With a polite smile, she handed Remus a cookie from the plate of pastries she’d brought out.

Severus, meanwhile, quietly sipped his tea, taking full advantage of the distraction to swipe pastries from both Lily’s and Petunia’s plates. He nibbled on them leisurely, enjoying the subtle sweetness and the amusement of Lily’s oblivious indignation.

Dinner preparations began as soon as the food was ready. Severus and the Evans sisters moved to the dining room to set the table, arranging plates, silverware, and glasses with practiced ease. Moments later, Remus entered, carrying a large paper bag that hadn’t been visible earlier. It seemed they’d used magic to shrink it for easier travel.

“Uhm, Mom cooked something before we came,” Remus said hesitantly, his voice soft as he approached the table. Lily turned her head away with a huff, her disdain for the boy palpable. Petunia, less openly antagonistic, stepped forward to take the bag from his hands.

“I can help. Just tell me what to do,” Remus offered earnestly, standing awkwardly at the edge of the room.

Petunia and Lily exchanged a look. Lily, who had clearly been itching for an excuse to assert control, seized the opportunity. She began giving brisk instructions, her tone somewhere between authoritative and impatient.

“Transfer the food to these plates,” she said, pointing to the neatly arranged serving dishes.

Remus nodded, unperturbed, and set to work. As he opened the containers, the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked pies and a rich mushroom risotto filled the room. Severus, watching from the corner of his eye, had to admit the dishes looked—and smelled—impressive. Hope Lupin’s cooking seemed as warm and inviting as the woman herself.

Severus was placing the last of the plates on the table when he noticed Remus beside him, diligently transferring food to the serving dishes. Their proximity startled him for a moment, but he quickly composed himself, masking his surprise with his usual stoicism. Lupin, for his part, seemed focused solely on his task, his nervous energy now channeled into careful precision.

The dinner went smoothly, the atmosphere filled with light-hearted conversation between the two families. Topics flowed easily, with discussions bridging both the magical and Muggle worlds so that no one felt out of place. Severus noted how well the two couples navigated the conversation, each doing their part to ensure it was enjoyable. However, there was a subtle enthusiasm radiating from the Lupins, perhaps because such an exchange was rare for them, considering their son’s condition. It wasn’t often they got to converse with other parents without the shadow of Remus’s secret looming over them. The Lupins occasionally included Severus and the Evans sisters in the discussion while The Evans did the same with Remus Lupin., and though Severus didn’t particularly care, he couldn’t help but observe the dynamics around him. As long as the Evans were enjoying themselves, he thought, that was all that mattered.

But then came the moment Severus had been dreading. The meal was over, and Lily and Petunia took to clearing the dishes. The two couples retreated to the living room to continue their conversation, leaving Severus to try and avoid the inevitable.

It was then that Lupin approached.

“May we talk, please? Alone?”

Severus, who had been hoping to avoid this moment, only gave a slight shrug. He had no intention of prolonging the interaction, but neither did he wish to be rude. Wordlessly, he led Remus up the stairs to his room, a space that had quickly filled with his books and other belongings, a room he had come to call his. As Severus stood at the threshold, watching Lupin enter, a small, bitter smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His room—his sanctuary—had become just that, a personal retreat away from the weight of the world.

He didn’t bother to close the door fully, knowing that Lily and Petunia would inevitably be lurking nearby, eager to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“So,” Severus said, sitting casually on the edge of his bed, his arms crossed, his gaze unwavering. “You can talk now.”

Remus seemed to hesitate, his eyes darting around the room, as if looking for something to steady his nerves. Then, with a deep breath, he met Severus’s gaze, his expression heavy with regret.

“I’m sorry for what happened at the Shrieking Shack,” he began, his voice shaky. “I shouldn’t have attacked you.”

Severus arched an eyebrow, the words landing with little more than a ripple. “Technically, you were not your sane self,” he replied flatly. “Therefore there’s nothing to apologize about.”

Remus flinched at the cold dismissal, but he pressed on, his words coming faster now, tinged with regret.

“It’s not just that. I’m sorry for the bullying you’ve received from my friends,” he continued, his voice growing more strained. “You don’t know how sorry I am… for being a coward… for not standing up to them… and… and..”

He faltered, his words tumbling out in a disjointed rush. Severus watched him, unfazed, but something inside him shifted as he observed the raw vulnerability in Lupin’s eyes. The boy had clearly practiced this apology, but now that it was finally being spoken, the words seemed to escape him.

“I…” Remus swallowed hard. “I... I am the same as them. I may not have hexed you or destroyed your things, but I let it happen. I never said anything. I never stopped them. I’m so sorry, Snape.”

Severus remained emotionless, his stare fixed. The silence between them stretched long enough for Remus to second-guess himself, wondering if the words were even reaching the boy he sought to apologize to.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Remus couldn’t read Severus, couldn’t gauge if his apology had been heard or rejected. Just as he was about to speak again, to try and salvage the situation, Severus uncrossed his arms, his voice cutting through the stillness.

“It was all in the past,” he said, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. “There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

He paused, his gaze hardening. “You, the Marauders, have already inflicted more harm than I can count over the five years we’ve been at Hogwarts. It was all because of a comment I made about favoring Slytherin.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said quickly, his voice filled with anguish. “Sirius and James shouldn’t have—”

Severus held up a hand, silencing him with a flick of his fingers. “I will accept your apology for turning a blind eye, for being a coward, and for taking part in the plans to hurt me. But I will never accept your apology on behalf of those idiots. I could never forgive you for that. But I will accept your apology, Lupin.”

Remus stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at Severus, seeing the anger simmering just beneath the surface, but there was something else there, something honest. Remus could see that the Slytherin didn’t care about all of this, his apologies, but he was willing to be past this. Severus wasn’t forgiving him—but he was accepting the apology, and that, in itself, was more than Remus could have hoped for. His own guilt felt like a heavy weight lifting ever so slightly.

“I… I’m sorry,” Remus whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And… thank you. Thank you so much.”

Severus said nothing, his expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in the air between them, a fragile understanding. They stood there in silence for a moment longer, the weight of the conversation hanging between them. It wasn’t a resolution, but it was progress.

The peace was interrupted when Rose called out to them from downstairs, her voice filled with excitement. She had apparently become fascinated by magical photography and wanted to take a photo to commemorate the evening. Remus gave Severus a final, appreciative nod, and the Lupins left shortly after, promising to send them a copy of the photos, and offering warm and polite goodbyes. As they departed, Severus was left to reflect on what had transpired. He hadn’t forgiven Remus, but he had accepted his apology—something neither of them had expected.

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir’, Professor.”

The voice echoed in Severus Snape’s mind as he jolted awake, his heart pounding in the quiet of his room at the Evans’ home. Harry Potter’s defiant, cheeky response from a long-ago Potions class lingered, sharp and clear. Severus exhaled slowly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Though that spark of sass had always reminded Severus of Potter Senior, as annoying as that had been, it also revealed a flicker of Lily’s fierce, unyielding will and temper.

But this wasn’t just any memory. It was one of those rare dreams where Severus saw Harry alive—cheeky, vibrant, and frustratingly himself. The weight of guilt and grief he carried didn’t lessen, but this time, he felt a sliver of gratitude. At least I could see him again.

Shaking off the lingering haze of his dream, Severus sat up and swung his legs over the bed. He took a moment to ground himself, his gaze falling on the soft morning light streaming through the curtains. After freshening up, he dressed simply—a gray sweater and well-fitted trousers, practical and comfortable. Today was a good day, or so he hoped.

The kitchen in the Evans household buzzed with warmth, the usual hum of chatter filling the space. Today, however, there was an extra spark of excitement as two owls swooped through the open window, delivering their letters. Mr Evans, who got the mail, also happily gave Petunia her letter.

“Oh, let’s open it together!” Petunia’s voice was filled with infectious excitement, far more than Severus would have expected from her. Lily nodded in agreement, her own green eyes alight with anticipation. The parents watched with smiles as both sisters tore open their letters at the same time, their joy palpable.

“I passed!” Petunia and Lily squealed in unison, holding up their letters for their parents to see.

Petunia’s results were more than impressive, securing A* grades in all her core subjects and As and Bs in her complementary subjects. This was enough for her to pursue her goals of attending a prestigious university in the UK, possibly even abroad. Severus gave her a proud, approving smile, the slightest hint of admiration in his gaze as he saw her success. But then, his eyes fell on Lily’s letter.

Ordinary Wizarding Levels (OWLs) Examination Results

Name: Lily Barbara Evans

Astronomy: Exceeds Expectations (EE)

Charms: Outstanding (O)

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Exceeds Expectations (EE)

Herbology: Exceeds Expectations (EE)

History of Magic: Acceptable (A)

Potions: Outstanding (O)

Transfiguration: Outstanding (O)

Arithmancy: Exceeds Expectations (EE)

Care of Magical Creatures: Acceptable (A)

Muggle Studies: Outstanding (O)

Her results are the same as before. The Evans parents’ faces lit up with pride, and to Severus’ surprise, Petunia hugged Lily instead of sulking or retreating to a corner. The tension between the sisters seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a genuine sense of shared joy. Lily beamed with happiness, and for once, Severus felt a true sense of peace. Perhaps, in this timeline, things were different, and the sisters would no longer be divided by envy or rivalry.

Severus couldn’t help but sigh quietly, allowing himself a rare moment of satisfaction as he watched their happiness. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to hope, but this scene—this unity—made him wish that it could be this way for good. Finally, he looked down at his letter.

Ordinary Wizarding Levels (OWLs) Examination Results

Name: Severus Tobias Prince

Astronomy: Outstanding (O)

Charms: Outstanding (O)

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding (O)

Herbology: Outstanding (O)

History of Magic: Outstanding (O)

Potions: Outstanding (O)

Transfiguration: Outstanding (O)

Arithmancy: Outstanding (O)

Ancient Runes: Outstanding (O)

Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding (O)

Muggle Studies: Outstanding (O)

His results, as expected, were perfect. Severus allowed himself the smallest, most fleeting smirk—if his marks had been anything less than Outstanding, it would have been a disgrace, given his role at Hogwarts as a teacher. But still, the sense of pride was brief.

Prince.

It seems like the goblins went ahead and changed his name after he had taken up the Heirship. Severus hoped that the goblins had also changed his second name since it reminded him of his shitty childhood full of abuse and pain, but it didn’t matter. Unlike his teenage self in his previous life, he doesn’t care anymore. It was a reminder, yes, but he was not hurt by it anymore, nor did it produce anger and hate. The name doesn’t matter anymore.

“Show-off,” Lily teased from behind him, peeking at his results. Severus pulled from his thoughts and replied to his best friend.

“Hardly,” Severus replied dryly, folding the parchment with an air of detachment. Despite the outward calm, a small part of him enjoyed proving his worth, even now.

“Damn, how could you get an O in the History of Magic? Binns don’t even teach properly!” Lily grumbled but was still happy for Severus. Wrapping an arm on his shoulders and giving him a gentle squeeze, Severus allowed himself to enjoy the warm embrace, watching with a strange sense of contentment.

Severus ventured out alone after receiving permission from the Evans couple. He had no pressing errands to run, but he craved the solace of fresh air and an escape from the routine confines of his current surroundings. His steps initially led him to a small, well-kept park in the more picturesque part of town. The crisp autumn air and the gentle rustle of leaves underfoot soothed his restless mind. From there, he caught a bus heading toward the city, intent on wandering its bustling streets, exploring its parks, and perhaps visiting a library or museum along the way.

True to his plan, Severus spent some time ambling through urban gardens and admiring the statues and fountains that adorned them. The museums he visited were modest but quaint, offering just enough distraction. However, his aimless exploration came to an abrupt halt when he stumbled upon a quiet city library. Tucked away in the corner of the building was a section of medical books that immediately captured his interest. While the library's collection was far from the grandeur of Hogwarts' library and entirely devoid of magical texts, Severus found an unexpected sense of peace among the muggle volumes.

Time slipped away unnoticed as he immersed himself in a dense, yellowed tome, its worn spine and faintly musty pages suggesting years of silent use. The stillness of the library was broken only by the occasional shuffle of patrons and the distant murmur of voices.

“How you’ve managed to endure staying in this hole, I’ll never know.”

Severus flinched at the familiar voice, low and laced with mocking amusement. His fingers tightened on the book as he looked up sharply, his sharp black eyes meeting an all-too-familiar face.

Sirius Black stood before him, an infuriating smirk curling his lips. His usual wild appearance was subdued; his long hair was tied neatly into a low ponytail, and he wore a sleek, black pinstripe three-piece suit that looked startlingly muggle—and shockingly well-tailored. It was a far cry from the untidy, devil-may-care Gryffindor Severus had known, and it unsettled him as much as it annoyed him.

Severus’s mind raced. What was Sirius Black doing here, in the West Midlands of all places? It was far from London, where 12 Grimmauld Place—the Black family home and former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix—was located. Severus had visited that place countless times during the Second Wizarding War, preparing Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin and brewing various other concoctions for the Order in its dingy basement. Yet here Black was, far from his usual haunts and standing over him like an apparition of bad luck.

"How I live my life is none of your concern, Black, though I suppose meddling where you're not wanted is the only skill you’ve ever mastered." Severus said coldly, his tone biting as he returned his gaze to his book. His left hand, hidden beneath the table, edged toward his wand, just in case Black had some reckless plan in mind.

Behind him, there was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, followed by the rustle of fabric. To his chagrin, Black settled into the seat across from him, crossing his legs with a casual air that only heightened Severus's irritation.

"I am your fiancé. How you live your life is my concern," Sirius retorted, the word fiancé dripping with mockery as he leaned back with a smug expression.

Severus scoffed, not even dignifying him with a response. It was bad enough that he was bound by the absurdity of this arrangement—being engaged to Sirius Black of all people—but to let that overgrown Gryffindor oaf think he had any say in his life? Unthinkable. Just accepting this ill-fated betrothal was exhausting enough without Sirius’s constant meddling.

"I went to the Evanses, but you weren’t there. Imagine my surprise when I found out Lily has an older sister. They don’t look alike," Sirius said nonchalantly, grabbing a random book from the pile in front of Severus and flipping through it with all the enthusiasm of someone forced to read an instruction manual.

Severus rolled his eyes, finishing the book in his hands before snatching the one Sirius was holding. The Gryffindor scowled at him, but Severus met his glare with one of equal intensity, practically daring him to make an issue of it. Sirius, unsurprisingly, shrugged and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table in a manner Severus found entirely too casual.

"My parents want to have dinner with you," Sirius announced.

Severus raised an eyebrow at that. The dinner had been mentioned before, but it had been called off when he was injured in Hogsmeade. Severus had assumed—hoped, really—that the idea had been abandoned entirely. Evidently not. The prospect of enduring an evening with the Black family made him want to brew a batch of indigestion potions in preparation.

"It was supposed to be just my parents, Regulus, and me," Sirius continued, his tone too casual to be innocent. "But my grandfather decided he wants to meet the illustrious heir of the House of Prince."

That gave Severus pause. Arcturus Black, the former Black family patriarch and the Black brothers’ grandfather, was an intriguing figure. Severus had intended to create an opportunity to meet him privately during their engagement party, hoping to gauge the elder Black’s temperament – perhaps glean some useful information and strike a deal with him. For Arcturus to take the initiative to meet him now? That was unexpected—and potentially significant. Severus schooled his expression into neutrality, though his mind was already racing. Whatever the elder Black's motives, he would need to be prepared.

"When is the dinner?" Severus asked, his tone curt. Sirius straightened up, surprised by the question as though he hadn’t expected Severus to care.

"Tomorrow night," Sirius replied, his voice laced with a hint of reluctance. "I was supposed to bring you to the Main Black Manor tonight, but you weren’t at the Evans'."

"And why in the name of Merlin didn’t you tell me sooner?" Severus snapped, frustration bubbling over. He hated being blindsided like this, especially with no time to prepare.

Sirius gave a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. "I didn’t want to have this dinner at all, so I delayed it as long as possible. Besides, I thought you wouldn’t agree, so I was even preparing a letter to tell them you were still ‘too unwell’ to attend." He pulled out a sealed letter, his expression one of mild annoyance.

Severus shot him a glare that could cut glass, then began gathering the books he’d been perusing. He carried them to the librarian’s desk, where they could be sorted later, before striding toward the exit.

"Where are you going?" Sirius called after him, his footsteps echoing as he followed.

"I’m going back to the Evans' to say goodbye and pack my things," Severus muttered without looking back, his irritation palpable.

"No need for that," Sirius shot back, his voice laced with something like smugness. "I already told them, and they packed your things for you—your wizarding robes, though, I must say, they're not fit for an heir."

Severus turned just in time to see Sirius holding up a trunk that had been shrunk down to the size of a small box. The polished black trunk told him that it wasn’t his, though the Black family crest was unmistakable on its surface. His frown deepened as he snatched the trunk from Sirius’s hand, the weight of his frustration building.

"How did you manage to use magic with a trace on your wand?" Severus muttered, more to himself than to Sirius, not expecting an answer. But of course, Sirius had one ready. With a sly smirk, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wand Severus had never seen before—its dark wood gleaming faintly in the light.

"Surprised?" Sirius said with a grin, his tone as irritating as ever.  “I used a different wand,”

Of course. Severus rolled his eyes. He forgot about this little detail. Sirius Black, no matter how much he loathed his noble bloodline and tried to distance himself from it, was still a pureblood. It was common knowledge that many underage wizards, especially those from ancient magical families, had another wand to avoid being tracked by the Ministry’s trace. After all, underage magic outside of school was strictly prohibited. Purebloods, who had access to more resources, would often practice with a secondary wand during the summer, making them far more advanced than their muggle-borns and half-bloods. Severus, being a Slytherin, knew this all too well. He’d even dreamed of having a second wand himself in his past life, but his poverty and the tragic destruction of his mother’s wand by his father had made such an acquisition impossible.

"Come on. We need to go quickly before the sun sets. We also need to get new robes for you."

"I do not need any more robes," Severus grumbled, but Sirius merely shrugged and hailed a taxi without missing a beat. How Black had learned to navigate muggle transport was a mystery Severus would never quite figure out. It seemed his childhood rebellion had, in some strange way, made him resourceful. Sirius told the driver to take them to the outskirts of the city, eastward.

The taxi sped through the streets, passing rows of quaint red-bricked houses and wide, open parks, their greens dotted with patches of late afternoon sunlight. As the city’s bustle faded into the distance, they stopped in front of an imposing black gate. The design was intricate, almost regal, with twisting iron vines and sharp points that seemed to mimic the elegance of an ancient family crest. It reminded Severus of the tapestry he’d seen in the dark hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place that depicts the Black Family tree. A sudden realization struck him. This had to be the Black Manor.

Beyond the gate, a thick mist clung to the ground like a shroud, obscuring whatever lay beyond. Severus could make out no buildings, no grounds, just an expanse of tall grass and a dense, shadowy forest that loomed in the distance. The whole place seemed to be shrouded in mystery, as if it belonged to another era. Sirius paid the fare and the taxi sped off, tires screeching as it disappeared into the distance.

"Here," Sirius said, handing Severus a small piece of paper

.

Severus unfolded it, his eyes scanning the scrawled words: Black Ancestral Manor. Outskirts, Huddersfield, Yorkshire, UK. So, this was why Sirius had come today. He’d just returned from this place. It also explains the reason why he looks so neat.

Severus looked up, his gaze sweeping across the looming estate that was slowly coming into focus. The gate creaked open on its own, revealing a grand manor that seemed to rise from the mist like a specter. It was a striking contrast to the humble houses they had passed on the way. A long, brick pathway stretched ahead, lined by tall, dark cypress trees. The mist began to lift, revealing more of the manor in all its gothic glory. The building was constructed from the same red bricks as the houses in the area, but the addition of shining little black stones accents on its wall gave it a mysterious aura. The stones shimmered faintly in the dying light, their surfaces sparkling like distant stars in the night sky. Severus could only imagine how breathtaking the manor must look under the moonlight, bathed in silvery glow.

As they approached the entrance, Black suddenly grabbed Severus’s hand, tugging him forward as the massive wooden door creaked open. Severus froze, confused by the sudden, intimate gesture. He instinctively tried to pull his hand away, but Sirius tightened his grip, forcing Severus to follow him into the manor.

"What—?" Severus began, but Sirius only shot him a glance, his expression unreadable. Severus froze, confusion washing over him as he met Sirius’s intense gaze.

"Let’s go," Sirius said, his voice firm, and with that, Severus was swept along, helpless against the pull of the moment.

Chapter Text

Severus fiddled absently with the hem of his robes, his unease growing with every step as Sirius Black dragged him toward the west wing of the sprawling manor. The air seemed to shift as they crossed the threshold, heavy with an almost tangible sense of power. Traces of dark magic clung to the walls like an unseen mist, emanating from the countless artifacts that adorned the corridors—each a relic of the Black family’s proud, if sinister, lineage.

Severus couldn’t deny that this manor exuded a grandeur far beyond the decrepit 12 Grimmauld Place he would come to know a decade later. Despite being steeped in everything Albus Dumbledore deemed malevolent, these artefacts seemed less like instruments of harm and more like curated memories—testaments to a long and storied history. Still, Severus couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of how much Sirius Black must despise this house, as its every corner reflected the pureblood supremacy and ancestral pride that he so vehemently rejected.

“This is my room. Regulus’ is the one beside it. The other rooms are for my cousins, in case they visit Grandfather,” Sirius announced, coming to a halt in front of a distinctive red-painted door. Severus’s gaze flitted over the other doors lining the hallway, their stark black paint giving them an ominous uniformity. Sirius’s door, however, stood out sharply.

A wreath hung in the center, its twisted branches adorned with tiny silver daggers glinting menacingly in the dim light. For a fleeting moment, Severus nearly mistook it for a holiday decoration—until he noted the macabre details. It seemed as though Sirius had ransacked the manor for anything remotely decorative and pieced together something fittingly theatrical. Severus eyed the garish red paint with thinly veiled disdain, but he held his tongue.

“Since the engagement wasn’t exactly planned, there wasn’t time to prepare a room for you. So, we’ll have to share mine,” Sirius added casually, pushing the door open and tugging Severus inside with an impatient jerk. The mutt still hadn’t released his grip.

Of all the things Severus had imagined Sirius Black might say, this was nowhere on the list. The thought of sharing quarters with his schoolyard tormentor made his stomach churn. His instinct was to protest, to demand a separate room, but Severus bit back his objection. He was, after all, a guest in the stronghold of the formidable former Lord Black. Making a scene over sleeping arrangements would hardly leave a favorable first impression. Stifling a groan, Severus resigned himself to the unpleasant reality.

The room was a predictably chaotic reflection of Sirius’s personality. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled in a careless heap, and clothing was strewn haphazardly across every available surface. There wasn’t a single book in sight—an absence that Severus found both appalling and entirely unsurprising. A desk and chair sat in one corner, neglected and almost bare.

But despite the disorder, one detail arrested Severus’s attention: the ceiling. It was charmed to display a breathtaking view of the night sky, constellations twinkling against an inky black expanse. The enchantment was exquisitely detailed, with stars that seemed to shimmer and pulse softly as though alive. The constellation of Canis Major, Sirius’s namesake, dominated the center, its brightest star, Sirius, gleaming with particular brilliance.

For a fleeting moment, Severus felt an unwilling sense of wonder. The spellwork was intricate, a testament to whoever had crafted it. Yet even as he admired the enchanted ceiling, he couldn’t help but wonder if Black had done it himself—or if it was a relic from a time before the Gryffindor rebel had claimed this room as his own. Suppressing his awe, Severus allowed his gaze to drift back to the clutter around him. This was his reality now: sharing space with Sirius Black, amid chaos and constellations, in a house steeped in history and dark magic. His lips curled into a faint sneer. What fresh torment have I gotten myself into?

“You can start unpacking,” the Gryffindor said, finally releasing Severus’ hand and pulling out his wand with a practiced flick. The sudden gesture made Severus flinch instinctively, his own wand whipping into position, its tip now aimed squarely at Black’s throat.

Black froze, his eyes widening as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, take it easy,” he said quickly, leaning slightly back to avoid the threatening wand tip. “I just wanted to unshrink your trunk. I promise I won’t do anything.”

Severus didn’t lower his wand immediately, his glare slicing through the space between them like a blade. His heart hammered against his ribs, a mix of indignation and lingering paranoia flooding his senses. After a tense few seconds, he finally lowered his wand, though the resentment in his gaze remained sharp. With deliberate movements, he extracted the miniature trunk from his pocket and unshrunk it himself, his lips pressing into a thin line.

He turned his back to the other person, his shoulders rigid as he began unpacking, but he remained acutely aware of the man behind him. The faint rustling and popping noises from Black’s direction did little to ease his unease. He could only imagine what sort of reckless, Gryffindor antics he was up to, but Severus forced himself to focus on his task, his wand never straying too far from reach.

As Severus placed his belongings in the newly assigned drawers, he noticed subtle changes in the room. There were now two desks instead of one, each identical in design and bearing the Black family crest—an elaborate sigil that exuded both prestige and menace. A drawer of one desk was neatly stocked with parchment and other fine writing materials. Curious but wary, Severus placed his books on the desk and sat down, letting his sharp gaze wander the room for anything else that had been altered.

The bed had grown significantly larger, now outfitted with two sets of blankets and pillows, their colors complementing the room’s crimson and newly added green accents. The blend of Slytherin green and Gryffindor red was subtle, almost tasteful, though Severus couldn’t help but wonder if Black had done it deliberately to mock him. He also noted that the once chaotic mess of clothing and clutter had been tidied, likely by a house-elf at Black’s command. An empty bookshelf now stood near the desk, its polished surface practically inviting him to fill it.

The changes, though welcome, irritated him. The casual ease with which Black had imposed his will on the space made Severus feel oddly displaced, as though he were merely a guest in a theater Sirius controlled. His lips twitched into a brief sneer before he turned his attention back to his unpacking.

“Are you done? Let’s go to Diagon Alley if you are,” Sirius said suddenly, lounging lazily on the now-expanded bed. He didn’t wait for a response before springing up, crossing the room in a few strides, and grabbing Severus’ hand again.

Severus stiffened, yanking against Sirius’ grip. “Let go. I can do my own shopping, Black,” he snapped, his voice biting with indignation. Yet the Gryffindor idiot only smirked, dragging him out of the room and toward the fireplace with maddening determination.

“Oh, really?” Sirius drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Do you even know the type of robes you’re supposed to wear to a formal dinner?”

Severus glared at him, his lips parting to deliver a cutting retort, but the words died in his throat. He hated to admit it, but he had a point. His mind flitted to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s impromptu lessons in pureblood etiquette—the endless lectures about selecting the right attire for balls and formal gatherings. Narcissa’s disdainful corrections echoed in his memory, her tone always teetering between sharp instruction and exasperation.

Severus had paid little attention at the time, dismissing the lessons as irrelevant to his life. Why would he, a half-blood, ever find himself at a pureblood gala? Outside of the Malfoys, no pureblood family would deign to invite him, not even for tea. Now, standing in Sirius Black’s ancestral home, faced with the uncomfortable reality of his situation, Severus felt the sting of his own neglect. He remained silent, refusing to give Black the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, he scowled, his hand still trapped in Sirius’ unrelenting grip. It seemed the mutt was determined to drag him into another chapter of indignity, and Severus had little choice but to endure it.

Oh, joy. Another thrilling adventure . Severus thought bitterly, bracing himself as Sirius guided him toward the emerald flames that awaited in the hearth.

"Are we done?" Severus asked, his voice laced with irritation as he shrank the paper bags containing the myriad items Black had purchased. What was supposed to be a simple errand for robes had spiraled into an all-out shopping spree, orchestrated entirely by Sirius Black. Severus swore they had entered every single shop in Diagon Alley under Black’s relentless leadership.

Black shot him a smug grin—a grin that all but screamed they were far from done—and snatched the shrunken bags from Severus’s hands. Before he could protest, Black seized his wrist and dragged him out of the store. It had been the same exhausting routine for hours: Black tugging him along like a disobedient dog, picking out items for him to try, and purchasing them without so much as a nod to his objections and opinions.

"Relax, Snape," Black had said earlier with an insufferable shrug. "It’s our money, anyway. Grandfather set aside this fortune to be spent on you. Call it… pre-spouse funding."

Severus, mortified by the insinuation and deeply uncomfortable with the arrangement, had tried to pay for his items with his own money. But Sirius was far too quick, always managing to press the coins into the shopkeepers’ hands before Severus could reach his pocket.

“What’s the problem? It is your money,” Black had said with maddening nonchalance, adding, “I’m pretty sure Grandfather probably skimmed it off the vault set for the Black Heir’s future spouse.”

Severus had shot him a glare sharp enough to flay skin but held his tongue. If such a vault truly existed, as Black claimed, then there was little point in arguing. The Black family fortune was so vast that Black could burn through a thousand Galleons a day and barely scratch the surface. Still, the idea of being dragged around like some doll for Black to dress up irked Severus to no end.

With a weary sigh, he wrenched his wrist free from Black’s grasp. “Enough,” he muttered, eyeing a bench near the entrance of a sweet shop. Ignoring Black’s protests, he stalked toward the shop. He needed a break. Besides, the stash of sweets he kept for the Evans family was running low.

“When did you become such a sweet tooth?” Black called after him, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable. Severus didn’t dignify him with a response. He pushed open the door and headed straight for the shelves, selecting sweets he knew the Evanses favored and tossing them into a basket.

Naturally, Black wasn’t far behind. He began adding his own selections to Severus’s basket with reckless abandon, grinning like a cat who’d cornered a mouse.

“What are you doing?!” Severus snapped, the frayed edges of his patience finally giving way.

“Relax. I’ll carry it,” Black replied breezily, plucking the basket from Severus’s hands with mock gallantry and gesturing for him to continue.

Severus groaned, too drained to argue further. Rolling his eyes, he resumed picking out sweets, determined to ignore Black’s antics. By the time they reached the counter, their combined haul had filled two baskets.

It was then that an unmistakable shriek pierced the air.

“I can’t believe it! So it’s true? Severus Snape and Sirius Black… engaged?!”

Severus’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing at the source of the voice. It is a girl wearing a shop uniform with a chewing gum wrapper in hand.  She looked positively gleeful, her smirk practically splitting her face in half. Standing behind the counter, her ginger hair pinned up with a cupcake-shaped clip, was Alice Whitethorn—better known in his previous life as Alice Longbottom.

Severus nearly flinched, his instincts betraying him, but he quickly enforced stronger Occlumency shields to suppress the storm of emotions threatening to surface. Neville Longbottom bore an uncanny resemblance to his mother, Alice. The round face, the large, expressive brown eyes, and the gentle contours of their features—so strikingly similar that, for a fleeting moment, Severus could almost see Longbottom boy reflected in her. Yet, Alice Longbottom stood there with an air of confidence, smirking knowingly as though she had stumbled upon a juicy piece of gossip. She was so unlike her son during his younger years—timid and perpetually unsure of himself.

Memories of the Longbottom boy came flooding back unbidden. Severus vividly recalled the student who once trembled before him, whose boggart had taken the form of his imposing Potions Professor. He had despised the boy back then, though the reasons were more complicated than he cared to admit. The endless mishaps in the classroom—cauldrons melting, potions erupting into smoke—had grated on his nerves. It was maddening. How could someone excel in Herbology, with its intricate knowledge of magical plants and their properties, and yet fail so spectacularly at brewing even the simplest concoctions? Even Harry who was particularly ridiculous in Potions managed to get an EE in his OWL Potions. Severus had dismissed him as hopeless, a bungler whose efforts were as clumsy as his demeanour.

But as the years passed, that boy proved him wrong. Subtly, steadily, the boy grew into himself. The nervous, bumbling child gave way to someone capable of remarkable resilience. Though still soft-spoken, Neville had developed an undeniable charisma and an innate ability to lead. Severus couldn’t ignore the stories—how Longbottom had taken charge of Dumbledore’s Army during Harry’s absence, rallying the students against the tyranny of the Carrows. Though Severus had been preoccupied with his precarious double life under Voldemort’s watchful eye, he had overheard the murmurs from the portraits and ghosts in the castle after he took over as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. The boy had become a figure of resistance, defiant and brave. If that Longbottom were to face a boggart again, Severus doubted he would see the spectre of him again.

Now, looking at Alice, Severus couldn’t help but notice how her son had grown to resemble her in more than just appearance. Alice was tall, her frame sturdy and boyish, yet there was an undeniable charm and beauty to her. Severus heard of them before the attack on October of 1981. She and her husband, Frank, had joined the Auror ranks together, training side by side under the same mentor. They had been formidable, renowned for their skill and courage. After their apprenticeships, they married and had a child—a child whose life Severus had unwittingly endangered.

The prophecy.

The memory was a thorn that never dulled. Severus could still recall the desperation with which he had hoped the prophecy referred to the Longbottom boy and not Lily’s son. But Voldemort had chosen Harry, marking him as his equal and sealing the Potters' fate. Still, that hope had been a betrayal in itself, a prayer that another family, another innocent child, would bear the brunt of Voldemort’s wrath.

Alice and Frank, like Lily and James Potter, had defied the Dark Lord three times. Their work as Aurors had placed them in Voldemort's crosshairs repeatedly, yet they had survived every encounter with their skill as Aurors. Severus had heard tales from both fellow Death Eaters and citizens of the Light—they were the brightest stars among the Auror Office’s new recruits, surpassed only by the infamous duo of Potter and Black. But even the best can falter. Bellatrix Lestrange had laid a trap, and the Longbottoms had fallen, not in a dramatic battle but in the sanctuary of their own home.

Severus swallowed hard, detaching himself as best he could from the weight of the memories. And yet, no matter how firmly he fortified his mental walls, the grief and guilt seeped through the cracks like poison.

Severus could still hear Rabastan Lestrange’s voice in his mind, recounting the events with sickening glee, as though reliving a fond memory rather than a grotesque atrocity. It was shortly after Severus had killed Dumbledore and assumed the mantle of Hogwarts Headmaster, an act that weighed heavily on him even now. Rabastan had cornered him, eager to share the tale of the Longbottoms’ fall like an excited little child that finally got the toy he wanted, his words laced with twisted pride. The memory left Severus with a lingering disgust, bile rising in his throat at the sheer delight the man had taken in the couple’s torment.

It seemed the Longbottoms had incurred the unbridled wrath of Bellatrix Lestrange during one of their final encounters with the Dark Lord and his followers. Fighting valiantly, they had managed to kill several of Voldemort’s monstrous creations and, astonishingly, even left the Dark Lord himself with a scratch. Bellatrix, ever the fanatical devotee, her twisted loyalty mingled with her obsessive lust for Voldemort, had taken it as a personal affront. She vowed vengeance—not swift, but cruel, calculated, and utterly devastating.

When Severus had delivered the prophecy to Voldemort, the Lestranges were among the first to volunteer for the raid against the Longbottoms, dragging Barty along with them. Their plan, Rabastan revealed, was not a frantic effort to locate the vanished Dark Lord after his fall at Godric’s Hollow, as many believed. No, it had been orchestrated well before that night. Bellatrix, ever cunning, had discovered that the Longbottoms’ infant son, Neville, was hidden well at the time of the planned attack. To force the couple into lowering their wards, they used an orphaned baby from the war, disillusioned to appear identical to Neville Longbottom.

Rabastan’s account had been chillingly vivid: how the Longbottoms had dropped their defenses in a desperate bid to protect their child, only to be met with unimaginable horror. Bellatrix, her brothers, and Barty Crouch Jr. stormed the manor, their laughter mingling with the screams of their victims. The Cruciatus Curse was their weapon of choice, applied relentlessly until the Longbottoms’ minds fractured under its pressure. Rabastan had omitted what became of the decoy baby—whether it was spared or discarded—but Severus had little doubt it met a grim fate. Another child used for the sake of evil.

The couple had survived, if one could call it that. Left as hollow shells of their former selves, Frank and Alice Longbottom were condemned to a living death, spending their days in the sterile confines of St. Mungo’s. Severus could only imagine what that existence was like for Longbottom boy, growing up with parents who couldn’t recognize him, let alone nurture him. And all of it—the chain of events that led to their suffering—had started with him. The prophecy. His stupid loyalty to the Dark Lord.

The weight of it clawed at Severus’s insides as he stood in the sweet shop, the scene around him a distant blur. He watched Alice Longbottom bantering lightly with Black as they totaled the bill. The lightness of their exchange felt like an affront, a stark contrast to the storm raging within him. He tried to reinforce his Occlumency shields, but his grief and guilt were a tide too powerful to contain. The walls in his mind cracked, splintered, and the noise of his memories began to drown out everything around him.

He couldn’t hear their words anymore, nor the hum of the shop. The world was muted, save for the pounding of blood in his ears. His breath hitched, shallow and unsteady, as his lungs clawed for air. Desperation clawed at him, and he turned on his heel, stumbling toward the exit in a bid to escape.

The moment he stepped outside, the cacophony of Diagon Alley hit him like a wave—vendors hawking their wares, the chatter of passersby, the distant laughter of children. The sound collided with the chaos in his mind, and his vision swam, the edges of the world blurring and spinning. His head throbbed, and a dull ache began to bloom behind his eyes.

Severus staggered toward a nearby bench, his movements wooden, his legs barely able to carry him. Collapsing onto the seat, he sagged forward, his back resting heavily against the wood. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he clutched desperately at the tattered remains of his mental defenses. Each breath felt like a lifeline, a fragile tether keeping him from being pulled under by the maelstrom of guilt and sorrow. Forcing himself to rebuild his Occlumency, Severus clung to the only thing he could control—the fragile barrier between himself and the pain that never quite left him.

The engagement between Black and Snape was such a scandal as soon as it came out of the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory. The Hogwarts Quibbler has it as their front page for weeks, and it was all that the students were talking about. It seems like someone heard Sirius’ group of friends talking about it in the hallway of their dormitory, and that information somehow got to the editor-in-chief of the school’s journalism club. No one usually paid attention to their prints since it mostly contained so many ‘undiscovered/imaginary’ creatures and the ramblings of the club president, but that particular gossip had shocked the whole student body, making it the talk of the town.

It is no secret that Potter and his friends didn’t get along with Snape. Ever since their first year, it was common for them to see them exchanging hexes in the hallway or butchering each other’s potions in the laboratory. Sirius Black is one of the people who is so cruel to the Slytherin boy. But now they are engaged?

Who would not be confused by this? According to the article, the eavesdropper heard that there was some kind of agreement between the Black Family and Snape’s family that bound the two into marriage. However, everyone knew that Snape is an unfamiliar surname in the wizarding world, and a Slytherin confirmed that Snape is a half-blood – which means Snape must be a muggle name.

Anyone who knew the House of Black can testify that they hate muggles. They are also known to have an unfavourable perspective against muggle-born because they are not born knowing magic their entire life before coming to Hogwarts and have no respect for the purebloods and their traditions. Bellatrix Black, a daughter of the House Black, was also feared for her tendencies to curse half-bloods and Muggle-borns regardless of age and house. Only Merlin knows how many times she got punished or detentions for her acts of violence. Every house gives a speech to the first years avoiding her at the time she is attending Hogwarts.

Thankfully, that Bellatrix Black had already graduated by the time Alice entered Hogwarts; otherwise, life would’ve been nothing short of a nightmare. The stories about Bellatrix—her haughty sneer, sharp tongue, and wand that moved faster than a snitch—were the stuff of legend among the older students. Alice didn’t doubt for a second that the woman would’ve made her life utterly miserable.

It was a quiet afternoon at her family’s sweet shop when the bell above the door jingled, signaling a customer. She glanced up and froze mid-chew on her Drooble’s gum. The man stepping in was tall, dressed sharply in tailored robes that hung just right over his lean figure. His long, dark hair gleamed like polished onyx, tied neatly at the nape of his neck. His pale skin seemed to have a healthier hue than she remembered, and there was a sharp elegance to his features—hawk-like, almost aristocratic.

She blinked, and blinked again

That couldn’t be Severus Snape.

And yet it was.

Alice nearly choked. When in Merlin’s name did Snape get a full bloody makeover?! The last time she’d seen him, he’d been a scrawny, sallow-faced boy whose oversized robes hung off him like an old rag doll’s clothing. Back then, he looked like he belonged in the dungeons, lurking among cobwebs and cauldrons. Now? He looked like he’d stepped straight out of the pages of Witch Weekly’s “Most Eligible Wizards Under 30” feature.

Snape didn’t seem to notice Alice gaping at him like a stunned flobberworm as he made his way toward the shelves. She quickly busied herself arranging chocolate frogs, though she couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him.

Alice Whitethorn had never been fond of Severus Snape. He wasn’t just a Slytherin—he was the Slytherin, with his greasy hair, perpetual scowl, and a dark aura that seemed to repel anyone who got too close. He is also rumoured to enjoy the dark arts! Still, he was a frequent topic of conversation in the girls’ dorm. Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadowes led the charge, gleefully airing every grievance they had about him, from his sour attitude to his penchant for skulking around corners. Mary Macdonald, quieter by nature, would occasionally nod in agreement, though she rarely contributed to the verbal pile-on.

Even outside their dorm, whispers about Snape circulated. His appearance was always the easiest target, but what baffled most students—Alice included—was his strange, almost inexplicable friendship with Lily Evans.

Lily, with her fiery red hair and warm smile, seemed to belong in the sunshine, while Snape… well, he looked like he thrived in the shadows. The fact that they were from rival houses, with Gryffindor and Slytherin’s centuries-old animosity, only added to the oddity.

Marlene, never one to mince words, once told Snape to his face to stay away from Lily, calling him an “ugly slug with greasy hair.” Snape retaliated with a flick of his wand, and suddenly Marlene’s own hair was dripping with something suspiciously like grease. Chaos ensued. The Marauders, predictably, leapt to Marlene’s defense, but before they could hex Snape into next week, Lily stunned all of them—Snape included—and cast a jelly-legs curse for good measure.

That was the first and only time Lily earned detention from Professor Slughorn. For weeks after, she didn’t speak to Marlene or the others, her fury as sharp as a freshly-sharpened quill. It was only after Snape reluctantly apologized at Lily’s insistence (though they all suspected he only did it because she asked), and they also apologized to the boy for the insult that Lily softened enough to forgive her friends.

Still, the question lingered in the dorm for years: Why was Lily friends with him of all people?

“He wasn’t a Slytherin when I met him,” Lily once said defensively during one of their dorm arguments. “And he’s not slimy—stop saying that. Besides, snakes are cute!” She shot a pointed look at Marlene, who was mid-eye roll.

Alice, usually silent during these debates, couldn’t help but grimace at the words cute and Snape being used in the same sentence.

“Oh, come on!” Lily had continued, oblivious to their reactions. “He looked a bit… disheveled now, but when we were kids, he was adorable! We were in the same kindergarten class. He had the cutest little face, and I swear I wanted to pinch his cheeks so badly. We didn’t really get to know each other until we were nine, but he was sweet. You just don’t see it.”

Now, watching the very same Severus Snape walk into her shop, Alice couldn’t help but wonder if Lily had been onto something all along. The crooked nose was still there, but it suited him better now, as though he’d grown into it. He was still slim, but no longer looked malnourished. His pallid skin now had a touch of warmth to it, which she chalked up to living with the Evans family after his mother passed away last year.

The bell jingled again, and Alice’s jaw nearly dropped for the second time that day. Sirius Black strode into the shop, looking every bit the heir of an ancient wizarding family. But what left Alice truly flabbergasted was the way Sirius practically beamed at Snape.

Gone was the smirking animosity Alice remembered from their school days. Instead, Black’s expression was one of fond amusement. He reached out and took the basket from Snape’s hand with an ease that spoke of familiarity, even affection. Alice gawked. What in Merlin’s name was happening?

I thought the engagement was forced. Arranged! But this? This didn’t look forced at all. If anything, Black seemed utterly smitten, his teasing smile softening whenever Snape turned away.

“I can’t believe it,” Alice couldn’t help but scream, her curiosity bubbling over like a cauldron on high heat. “Severus Snape and Sirius Black… engaged?!”

Sirius approached the counter, greeting her with a warmth that was almost disarming.

“So… the engagement?” she asked, her voice laced with barely-contained excitement as she rang up their purchases. Sirius chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s up to Severus here when it happens, though.”

Alice barely registered the answer. Severus?! Sirius Black, the bane of Snape’s Hogwarts existence, was calling him by his first name—and not a cruel nickname? She didn’t know whether to faint or firecall her friends immediately. Snape, however, didn’t seem as charmed. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked out the door, leaving Sirius scrambling to follow. As Sirius shrank the packages with a quick flick of his wand, Alice smirked to herself. This was definitely going in her next letter to Marlene and Dorcas.

Sirius would do anything for the people he considered family. He would betray anyone—everyone—just to see them happy. He had long planned to leave the Black family for the Potters if he had the chance, and he would do it without hesitation, without a second thought. The moment he came of age, that was his escape. But that plan was shattered when the engagement to Severus was thrust upon him. If he were to leave—or be disowned—he would lose his magic, and Severus would lose his too. Fortunately, the rules of the family were strict, and Sirius knew that if not for the need to justify any disownment, he would be entirely at the mercy of his grandfather and parents.

But Sirius couldn’t afford complacency. He needed more power—more control—to protect himself, and to protect Severus. Severus had already angered his mother at Gringotts, and Sirius was certain that his mother would strike again soon, now that the engagement was sealed. He had to shield Severus, keep him safe—until they were in the privacy of their own home once they come of age – the home that he picked for the tow of them. Their residence would be their sanctuary after becoming legally adult. Not even his grandfather, would be allowed to breach its walls.

But then came this. This event.

Sirius couldn’t understand it—couldn’t grasp how it escalated so quickly. One moment, they were sitting down to dinner, and the next, the air was thick with magic. Wands were drawn, and the tension was suffocating. Sirius’ heart raced as he instinctively raised his wand, pointing it at his grandfather, ready to unleash the dark curse that simmered on his tongue. Across the room, Orion and Walburga’s wands were trained on Severus, their eyes blazing with anger.

“Such a rare display of remarkable audacity, daring to lift your wands in defiance of me.”

Chapter Text

Arcturus Black never accepted loss. He was always one step ahead, as if he could see the threads of fate itself. He bore an unshakable confidence in his family, proud heirs of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. For centuries, the Blacks had thrived where other pure-blood families withered, their legacy surviving wars, betrayals, and the slow dilution of wizarding bloodlines. As the decades passed and the world changed, many pure-blood families crumbled into obscurity — but not the Blacks. They remained steadfast, powerful, and untouchable.

Confident in his success, Arcturus stepped down early from his position as the Family Head, allowing his eldest son, Orion Black, to inherit the day-to-day management of the family affairs. Though the ancient Black Family magics did not yet fully recognize Orion — for a Head must die before the mantle passes completely — most of the burdens already lay upon Orion's shoulders. Arcturus was certain their bloodline would endure for generations to come.

That certainty shattered the day his grandson was born.

Sirius Orion Black.

The moment Sirius drew breath, Arcturus was plunged into a living nightmare — a vision of the Black Family's ruin. He saw it all with horrifying clarity: his descendants dying before his eyes, the fall of their once-proud house as swiftly as a star burning out. He lived to see it unfold.

Arcturus outlived his own son, who died prematurely under grim circumstances. That same year, Regulus Arcturus Black — his younger grandson — vanished without a trace, swallowed by forces even the family's darkest spells could not uncover. Then came Sirius — reckless, rebellious — imprisoned in Azkaban, branded as a murderer and traitor to his blood. Walburga, his once-formidable daughter-in-law, wasted away from grief and loneliness, dying only a few years later.

If that was not the fall of House Black, what else could it be called?

Arcturus became a prisoner within the Black Family Manor. For reasons unknown, the manor’s ancient magics — magics older than any living Black — barred him from leaving. His library yielded no answers. Spells and rituals, once loyal to him, now turned unresponsive or incomplete. Even his attempts to warn Orion had been in vain: no voice, spell, or written word could break the binding that silenced him.

He had seen Orion consort with monsters — forces that would spell the Black Family’s end — and yet he was powerless to stop it. Some ancient, merciless law had chained him to silence. Family magics are supposed to protect the family, why does it stop him from saving them?

Desperate, Arcturus ransacked the family’s darkest artefacts, delving into magics forbidden even by the Ministry of Magic. Cursed relics, blood magic, even the whispers of time — none could explain the visions, none could free him. He damaged his own magic in his attempts, unraveling spells older than the family’s written history, and still, he was no closer to an answer.

He turned to the goblins of Gringotts, but found no allies there. Bound by the iron-clad contracts of confidentiality, they refused to assist him. Arcturus, once the cunning and implacable Head of the Most Noble House of Black, found himself powerless.

In his desperation, he reached out to every pure-blood house connected to the Blacks by marriage. Using threats, manipulation, and the last vestiges of his prestige, he wrested ancient family tomes from their unwilling hands. He read every line, studied every spell, but none offered salvation. No other family held magic that could twist time, foresee ruin, or trap a Head within his own ancestral walls.

And so, Arcturus Black — once proud, once invincible — spent his last days surrounded only by the hollow echoes of his family's grandeur.

In that future he saw, the House of Black had not merely fallen. It had rotted from within.

Not until a certain marriage contract was activated.

Arcturus was in his usual place — deep within the Black Family library — when it happened. Without warning, the ancient magics of the manor shifted, violently swirling through the halls like a brewing storm. Walls trembled, and then, with a low rumble, a secret chamber revealed itself within the library — a chamber Arcturus, even as Family Head, had never known existed.

For the first time in decades, hope flared in his chest.

He thought, perhaps, this was the answer — the key to his imprisonment, the explanation for the cursed vision that had plagued his life. He entered the chamber, heart pounding with the thrill of long-awaited revelation. But all he found was a single object.

A lone marriage contract, ancient and sealed in Black Family magic, binding the Heir of the House of Black to the Heir of the Noble House of Prince.

At first, Arcturus stared in disbelief. The Princes? He knew them — or rather, he knew of their fall. Once, long ago, they might have been worthy of the title "Noble House," but by the time of his grandfather's birth, they had been cast down, stripped of wealth, status, and influence. They were not among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They were not wealthy enough to reclaim their name.

So why? Why would the Black Family magic, so selective and proud, recognize such a contract? Why would it surface now, after lying hidden for centuries?

For the first time since the day of Sirius’s birth, a new possibility emerged. This had not happened in the vision. For years, every detail he foresaw unfolded exactly as he had seen — inevitable, merciless.

But today, something had changed.

He knew none of his family had visited Gringotts; their movements remained painfully predictable. Thus, it could only have been the Prince heir who triggered the contract.

The Princes... the heir... Whoever they were, they were the anomaly. They were the key.

Arcturus needed to know everything. Without wasting a moment, he summoned his son, Orion, and entrusted him with the precious contract. Orion was ordered to go directly to Gringotts and demand the full details — names, circumstances, obligations. For the first time in years, Arcturus Black felt it:

A change in the pattern of fate.

Arcturus had the Prince Heir investigated after Orion gave him a name: Severus Snape. A half-blood.

Unlike before, Arcturus didn’t feel the same disgust upon hearing that word. Not anymore. Before the vision, such words would have ignited a flame of contempt in him. But now, after nearly two decades of isolation in his manor — with only the silent company of his loyal house-elves to keep him from madness — his views had shifted. He had learned, through pain and loss, to treat his elves with the respect they deserved, something he had never done before. His isolation had made him more humble, more willing to see worth in all forms of life, no matter the blood that ran through their veins.

If he could come to see his house-elves as someone worthy, perhaps he could accept a half-blood too. And so, he allowed the elves — those who had the freedom to move beyond the manor’s walls — to investigate every scrap of information they could uncover about this Severus Snape, the Heir of the Prince family.

The results were... perplexing.

Severus Snape was born of a pure-blood witch, Eileen Prince, and a Muggle man, Tobias Snape. Eileen, a recluse from childhood, had been nearly impossible for the elves to track down. Details of her life were scarce, but they learned enough to know that she had fallen for a drunkard, a Muggle with no wealth or status.

Her marriage to him, though not sanctioned by any noble house, had produced a son, Severus. In a desperate act of defiance, Eileen had made her son take his father’s name.

The Muggle man despised magic. He saw it as the work of the devil. His hatred only grew when his son began to exhibit accidental magic at the age of six months. It was then, the elves speculated, that the abuse began. By the time Severus was five, his father had begun to beat him. The boy found only fleeting relief from this violence when he was away at Hogwarts.

But even the walls of Hogwarts couldn’t shield him entirely.

It was there, at school, where Arcturus’s grandson came into the picture. Together with his foolish Gryffindor friends, Sirius Black had often sought out the Prince heir, initiating duels, hexes, and curses. These violent encounters began in their first year, escalating into something far more dangerous during their fifth.

Arcturus shuddered at the reports.

The most horrifying incident, however, occurred when Sirius tried to feed the Prince Heir to a werewolf — a creature whom his grandson considered his best mate. Arcturus couldn’t hide his disgust. Sirius, his own grandson, had resorted to using a creature of the dark as a weapon in an attempt to eliminate a rival. That was beyond the pale. It was absurd. But even more absurd was the fact that the very person they sought to destroy had ended up saving them from the monster they had intended to use.

That, Arcturus thought, was the height of ridiculousness.

Yet, there was something else—something far more intriguing—about Severus Snape. The Prince heir had shown a remarkable display of magical prowess that night. Despite being only in his fifth year, he had performed one of the most advanced shielding spells Arcturus had ever read about — a spell that even seasoned wizards struggled to master.

In another report, it was mentioned that Severus had created new spells, some of which the Ministry would likely deem Dark if they knew. Arcturus’s lips curled into a small, grim smile. There was potential in this boy, potential far beyond what Arcturus had expected from someone so seemingly broken.

But something had changed in Severus after that night. The elves reported that Severus had suffered a grave injury to his neck during the confrontation, but the injury had been healed with magic and potions. The mediwitch who treated him had suggested that the boy had experienced some form of trauma, one that might explain the drastic shift in his demeanour.

From that moment on, Severus seemed a different person — more mature, but with a new darkness in his eyes. The elves described him as distant, almost hollow. It was as though the life had been drained from him, leaving behind someone far older than his years.

Arcturus frowned, a sudden chill running through him. This behavior, this despair... it was all too familiar. It mirrored his own reaction after receiving the vision that had trapped him in the manor.

Could it be? Had the Prince heir witnessed an omen too? If so, it meant their fates were inextricably linked.

Arcturus read on, his brow furrowing as he observed his grandson’s changing behavior. Sirius Black, ever the rebellious troublemaker, seemed to have developed a particular interest in Severus Snape. The elves had reported that Sirius seemed now to find something more in the Prince heir than just a rival.

The idea of it struck Arcturus like a bolt. Sirius, the boy who had once railed against everything the Blacks stood for, was now drawn to Severus. The change in him was unmistakable. Arcturus had been confined to his manor, but he had kept a watchful eye on his family. He knew their likes, their dislikes, their every move. And now, he was certain: Sirius had developed an interest in the Prince heir. It was no longer just about rivalry.

It was something more.

The marriage contract, one Sirius should have seen as a curse and a burden, was something he seemed to embrace. Arcturus couldn’t have been more surprised — yet, in a way, he was pleased. If Sirius was indeed becoming attached to Severus, the union could work in their favor. The Prince heir, however, remained unimpressed. Severus Snape hated the Black heir, and he did everything to delay the marriage. The report from his son had proven that. It is up to the Prince Heir to decide when the marriage will take place and when to have their own heir. But Arcturus didn’t care about that.

As long as he got answers. As long as he could finally break free of the prison his family’s fate had locked him in. He wouldn’t interfere with the marriage — not unless it held the key to his freedom.

Sirius woke up in an unexpectedly good mood. Not only had he gotten a decent rest after spending hours tending to Severus, but he also felt like he was finally taking a step closer to his fiancé. The minute his eyes opened, there was a flicker of worry — what if Severus hated him for showing vulnerability? What if his actions had pushed him too far? But as the morning unfolded, Sirius found himself breathing easier. Aside from the usual cold shoulder, there were no hexes or curses. In fact, Severus did something that, in its own way, was even more surprising — he let Sirius pick his clothes for dinner. Severus, of all people, allowed him to choose his attire. It was a small victory, but Sirius couldn't ignore its significance.

For hours, they lingered in Sirius’s room in quiet company. The only sounds were the occasional rustling of pages as Severus worked at his desk. They didn’t speak much, but there was a comfort in the silence. They shared breakfast, then lunch, without the need for words. Sirius was content, despite the lack of conversation. He was just glad to be near Severus. Still, his thoughts kept wandering to something else. He had sent a letter to Evans — and he was waiting for a response. It had been hours, and though he tried not to dwell on it, he couldn’t help but wonder if she hated him enough to ignore his letter completely. Bt how could she just ignore it when it was about Severus?

Rolling his eyes in frustration, Sirius shifted his gaze back to Severus, who was still engrossed in whatever he was doing at the desk. Sirius’s gaze lingered a moment longer than he intended, watching the way Severus’s dark hair fell over his forehead, the way the sunlight caught the blue of his robes.

He couldn’t help but smile. Blue. It was a color Severus rarely wore, but it suited him better than Sirius could have imagined. The contrast to his usual black robes made him seem almost… alive, like a breath of fresh air in the otherwise gloomy darkness that Severus often surrounded himself with. Sirius found himself already thinking ahead, imagining the next outfit he would pick for him. What color would accentuate his features even more? Would Severus like it?

After hours of silently watching Severus, lost in thoughts he couldn’t quite name, Sirius finally pulled himself together and began to prepare for dinner. The mere thought sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

Dinner with his grandfather was never just a meal—it was a ritual. Cold. Tedious. Suffocating. He still couldn’t comprehend why Arcturus Black insisted on these formal gatherings with the direct line once a month, and full-family assemblies every three. It was as if the family, after Arcturus stepped down as its head, clung to these dinners like relics of power.

Whispers claimed the old man was lonely. Sirius dismissed that notion entirely. The Black family wasn’t built on love or warmth—it was built on fear, legacy, and unrelenting tradition. Emotions, especially ones as soft and human as longing, were seen as fatal flaws. Weakness had no place in their bloodline. Every Black child was raised under shadowed expectations: dark arts, ancient rituals, and the twisted pride of their purity. Sentiment had long been burned out of their bones.

And Arcturus Black? He saw his descendants not as children but as chess pieces—well-groomed pawns in a legacy too grand to question. It was why they had aligned with the rising Dark Lord, why they bent their knees to madness masked as vision. As long as the family stood untarnished and feared, nothing else mattered.

That was what Sirius hated most. They didn’t care—not about each other, not about right or wrong. Only about staying on top. The Black name was everything. Human lives? Optional.

For years, Sirius had dreamt of being sorted into Gryffindor—a lion birthed in a den of snakes. But contrary to what many assumed, his rebellion wasn’t born of his parents’ cruelty.

It began with his grandfather.

From as early as he could remember, Sirius had feared him. There was something in Arcturus’s gaze—cold, sharp, accusatory—that unsettled him more deeply than any punishment. It was as though the old man held him responsible for something unnamed, something Sirius couldn’t even fathom. And so, he rebelled—not only against his parents, but against that silent, stinging judgment.

Ironically, it was Arcturus who took charge of Sirius’s education. As heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, he was expected to be mentored by another heir. With his father too absorbed in business and public appearances, Arcturus stepped in to take that role. From childhood, Sirius found himself walking the dim corridors of that bleak manor, struggling to decipher the man who loomed over his life.

Somehow, Arcturus knew what Sirius wanted. Knew his unspoken desire to be in Gryffindor. And so he fought it. Trained him like a Slytherin. Taught him to wield ambition like a dagger, to manipulate, to command. Yet Sirius had never once uttered his wish aloud – not to Reg nor his parents. His grandfather just knew.

One afternoon, in a fit of defiance, Sirius stripped the silver and green from his bedroom walls and replaced them with roaring reds and gleaming golds. Gryffindor colors. The look on his grandfather’s face that evening—at dinner, surrounded by cold roast and colder stares—was unforgettable. Not fury, as Sirius had expected, in fact it was his parents that was furious.

Not disgust. No, not disgust.

Resignation. Sadness. A strange, hollow kind of grief.

It rattled Sirius. Arcturus had never looked at him like that before. Why would rebellion spark sorrow in a man who claimed to feel nothing? Did it shame him that Sirius had tainted the family image? Perhaps. That, at least, was easier to believe than the possibility of something deeper.

After that night, something shifted. His grandfather no longer tried to stop the rebellion. He still taught Sirius about the duties of an heir, the weight of a legacy, but he no longer tried to extinguish what his mother called his “Gryffindor tendencies.” He simply... let him be.

Sirius would never admit it aloud, but in a twisted, unspoken way, Arcturus was the first to accept that he was mean to be a lion. To stop trying to reshape him. Sirius thought his grandfather would evict him as heir because of this but nothing happened. But because he is still the heir, his parents had only grown more desperate, taking harsher measures to mold him into their perfect Slytherin son. And for that—perhaps more than anything else—Sirius had come to hate them.

They met Regulus just outside the grand doors of the Black family’s dining hall. Regulus offered Severus a small, flickering smile—tentative, almost guilty—and nodded curtly at Sirius. A tension hung in the air, not quite spoken, not quite ignorable.

“The elders are already inside,” Regulus said, his voice low, strained. His eyes flicked toward Severus with a silent warning—a glance so weighted it could only mean one thing: something was wrong.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. He had always known that Regulus and Severus shared a quiet understanding, but tonight… it felt deeper. Real. Maybe it had always been that way. After all, Regulus had defended Severus at Gringotts—in front of their parents. A move that wasn’t just rebellious—it was dangerous. Regulus wouldn’t have done that for anyone. Something bitter and hot rose in Sirius’s stomach. He crushed it down. Now wasn’t the time.

He reached for the door and pushed it open.

The dining room was aglow with candlelight, its long mahogany table already set with silver goblets and ornate dishes. His parents sat comfortably, speaking to the man at the head of the table—a figure carved from the same unforgiving stone as the Black family name. Arcturus Black, former head of the Noble and Most Ancient House, looked every inch the monarch fallen from grace: regal, cold, and unnervingly still. His gaze, when it rose to meet them, was ice slicing through bone.

Sirius instinctively stepped forward, a subtle shift that placed him between the old man and the two at his back. A shield. A silent warning. No words were exchanged. They took their seats. The air shimmered—the pulse of ancient magic. A ritual. The dinner had begun.

House-elves appeared soundlessly, laying out a feast crafted with eerie precision. Sirius saw his favorite dishes lined up in front of him, just as they had been since he was a child. It should have brought comfort. It didn’t. Then, like a sudden thunderclap in a silent forest, the table exploded with magic.

The warmth of Severus’s aura hit Sirius before he could process the movement. Severus had stood, wand drawn, pointed directly at the one man who should never be challenged in this house.

Arcturus Black.

The room fell into stunned silence—but only for a moment.

Sirius was on his feet in an instant, wand in hand, panic burning through him. He didn’t know why Severus had reacted so violently, but he didn’t hesitate. His wand joined Severus’s, aimed straight at the old man, a curse trembling at the edge of his tongue. Orion and Walburga moved next, twin flashes of fury in their eyes as they turned on Severus. Their wands were already raised, aimed to strike.

And then, chaos twisted further.

A flicker at the edge of Sirius’s vision—another wand. Regulus. Pointed squarely at their parents. Sirius's breath caught. Regulus. His quiet, obedient little brother. Pointing his wand at Orion and Walburga Black. He had never done anything like this before—not even in whispers, let alone in front of their grandfather.

Sirius couldn’t breathe.

The room was electric, the pressure of layered magic squeezing the air from his lungs. And through it all, Severus stood like stone—unflinching, unreadable. He looked utterly impervious to the storm around him. His wand didn’t tremble. His eyes were locked onto Arcturus’s. Ebony. Sirius’s breath stilled. Arcturus’s wand—also ebony. A subtle mirroring. Not coincidence.

Sirius felt it—a ripple of something dark, unseen, unmistakable—crawl across the room and brush against Severus like an invisible claw. His gut clenched. Legilimency. It slithered like cold fog through the air, ancient and intimate in its violation.

His panic was immediate, primal. Without thinking, Sirius threw himself between them, planting his feet in front of Severus, arm half-raised in instinctive defense, as though he could shield Severus from the gaze alone. But it wasn’t a physical attack. That was the most terrifying part—it was quiet. Silent. Invasive. A war fought in the silence between stares.

He knew this magic. Not by spell, not by sight, but by memory.

Arcturus had always known what Sirius was feeling. Even as a child, before he had the words to name his dreams, Arcturus had already been there—correcting them, punishing them, killing them. No matter how tightly Sirius had hidden his thoughts, his doubts, his desire to be something other than a Black… his grandfather had known. Always. As if he'd plucked the secrets right from his marrow.

But now, for the first time, Sirius saw it used—deliberately, visibly—against someone else. Against Severus. And Severus didn’t blink. Didn’t even shift behind him. His voice, when it came, was the steel edge of a dagger dragged through frost.

“Daring of you to use Legilimency on a minor,” he said, laced with venomous sarcasm. “Can’t wait to land yourself in Azkaban?”

The air stilled. Then Arcturus laughed.

It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t even cruel. It was the cold, hollow mirth of a man who had long since burned the meaning out of joy. The laugh cracked the tension in the room, but it didn’t ease it—it tightened it.

“Ah, the Prince Heir bares his teeth,” Arcturus mused, like he was watching a dog snarl at a storm. “Such dramatics. Such fire. But tell me—what is one more crime to a man already cast out?”

Cast out? The word snagged in Sirius’s mind like a hook. What was he talking about? His grandfather had stepped down, yes—but cast out? No one had ever spoken of that. Arcturus Black was still respected, feared, obeyed. He still pulled strings like a puppet master behind the scenes. And yet—

Sirius looked at him more closely now. The stillness. The edge of madness in his laughter. The subtle crack beneath the marble façade. Had they all missed something?

Still, the old man didn’t acknowledge Sirius. Didn’t even see him. His eyes remained fixed on Severus like Sirius wasn’t even standing between them—like he could look through him, or around him, or simply didn’t care that he was there at all.

Those grey eyes shimmered with something wild. “Marvelous,” Arcturus whispered, as though in awe. “Truly marvelous. You are the key, aren’t you?”

Sirius’s stomach twisted in on itself. This wasn’t a spontaneous act of arrogance—it was premeditated. Arcturus had known Severus would come. He’d counted on it. He wanted this confrontation. Whatever this was, it wasn’t about dinner. It was a stage. A test.

And Severus was the sacrifice—or the detonator.

Regulus hadn’t moved. His wand still pointed unwaveringly at their parents. A fragile defiance holding firm, despite the sheer weight of power pressing down on the room. Sirius glanced at him—his quiet, careful brother—and realized that whatever innocence remained in Regulus had just shattered. And Regulus had chosen a side.

Then, Severus stepped forward. Deliberate. Unafraid. Like walking into fire and expecting it to bow before him. Sirius reached out—reflexive, desperate—and caught Severus’s arm. “Don’t—” he breathed, the word barely formed.

But before he could pull him back, he felt it. Magic surged from Severus—not outward in violence, but around them. It curved protectively, encasing Sirius and Regulus in an invisible shield of intent. It didn’t burn. It settled, like silk woven from raw power.

It wasn’t a warning nor a reprimand of not telling him what to do.

It was a promise…. Of protection from Severus. Sirius’s grip faltered, hand slipping from Severus’s arm in astonishment. He had never felt anything like it before. Severus’s magic didn’t just push forward—it included. Protected. And somehow, Sirius knew—if anything moved against them, that shield would snap like a trap.

Arcturus's lips curled upward—not in amusement, but in something darker, colder. It wasn’t a smile so much as a reveal, like a mask slipping just enough to let the madness beneath show. His voice unfurled slowly, deliberately, like ancient smoke from a long-dead fire.

“Let us see, then,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with something unholy. “Whether the door you’ve come to open leads us to ruin… or redemption.”

Arcturus moved his wand—smooth, deliberate, like he’d rehearsed this moment a hundred times in the shadows. Sirius didn’t recognize the spell he whispered. He couldn’t hear it, not with the way the air had turned electric, the walls groaning under the weight of swelling magic. The dining hall pulsed like a living thing. Sirius could feel it under his skin—pressure building, thick and suffocating, warping the space around them. The protective wards Severus had conjured still held, shielding him from the spells that cracked like thunder against the barrier and from the debris now falling in sharp bursts from the ceiling. But it wasn’t the physical damage that shook him—it was the energy. It was wrong. Old.

And then Arcturus looked at him—no, through him—with those pale, grey eyes. Eyes that had haunted Sirius since childhood. But this time, they didn’t hold anger or disdain.

They held purpose.

And in the next instant—light.

Sirius’s breath hitched as it swallowed the room, stealing all sense of direction. For a second, he couldn’t see the others. Couldn’t hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his own heart. His instincts screamed at him to move, to shield Regulus, to protect Severus—but he was frozen. Not by fear. By recognition.

He knew this magic.

He’d felt it before. And now, the ever-present chill of the Black manor, that ancestral cold lodged in its very stones, seemed to vanish—burned away in a silent flash. Just like in the Shrieking Shack, Severus’s magic erupted—not in fury, but in fierce, unyielding protection.

Chapter Text

Severus had perfected his Occlumency years ago. He had no choice but to learn it. From the very start, the Dark Lord had known what he would use him for. It was as if Severus’ fate had been sealed the moment Lucius uttered his name in the presence of that madman: to be a spy.

That was why the Dark Lord offered to personally teach him Legilimency and Occlumency not long after branding him. It caused an uproar among the upper ranks of the Death Eaters. After all, a new recruit—much less a half-blooded "mudblood" who was only ordered to brew potions—was being given the honor of studying under their leader. Of course, the foolish Severus of that time had been elated. For once, he was acknowledged and revered. He had no idea of the hell he would have to endure to perfect a feat that most wizards never achieve in their lifetime.

“You are destined for greatness, Severus. You’ll be useful to your Lord,” the Dark Lord had said, placing his elongated fingers on Severus’ shoulder.

Learning the mind arts from the Dark Lord also meant exposing much of himself. He knew about Severus’ anger, the domestic abuse he had suffered at home, his resentments toward the Marauders, and his obsession with a particular redhead. Facing a formidable Legilimens would always come to this point. Severus had to grit his teeth and force the Dark Lord out of his mind. Having that maniac invade your thoughts was agony, like your body and soul being burned the moment he stepped in. Voldemort was not merciful. He would never hold back or ease the pain as long as he got what he wanted. Severus endured many sleepless nights rebuilding what had been destroyed in his mind. In fact, had he not persevered in mastering Occlumency, he would have gone insane from the cruel regimen he had suffered.

But this experience made the Dark Lord unsuspecting of his true loyalties. That man had been confident he knew Severus completely. That was why, once satisfied with Severus’ progress, he rarely invaded his mind again.

Legilimency came faster to Severus. Having experienced how minds can be invaded, he was determined to master the skill. Still, the madman did not make it easy. For a month, he forced Severus to practice on tortured Muggles, mostly the ones under Greyback, Lestrange, and Mulciber. The memories he encountered left him reeling, disoriented, and struggling to hold on to his identity. Only by using Occlumency to lock away those unwanted memories and with Narcissa Malfoy grounding him in reality, did he manage to recover. But the Dark Lord found out.

“What a pathetic excuse for a man, Severus,” he hissed, followed by a Crucio aimed directly at him. “If you don’t want that friend of yours to feel the wrath of this Lord, she will cease her aid.”

He wasn’t even fully recovered when Voldemort sent him to apply for the position of Potions Professor at Hogwarts. He had just earned his Mastery after being subjected to the Dark Lord’s tortures. As expected of a well-trained pawn, Severus secured the position and became Head of Slytherin House. But in that very same year, he overheard the prophecy and learned of Lily Evans’ pregnancy.

Voldemort had been right in selecting Severus as a spy. He had been pleased with the information Severus provided about his supposed downfall. But he had been wrong about Severus’ loyalties. The moment Voldemort made the false promise not to harm a single hair on Lily Evans’ head, Severus gave up everything to save the woman he loved. As much as he had enjoyed the recognition in Voldemort’s ranks, he would give up anything for the people he called family, even if it meant being used for the rest of his life or dying in the process.

Voldemort never noticed the bits and pieces Severus omitted or the lies he carefully crafted. Not even the mind arts could extract what wasn’t there. Severus had been fully prepared the moment he decided to betray the Dark Lord. Under Dumbledore’s order, he became a double agent. He knew then that his mental defenses had to be polished. He needed it stronger than ever, even surpassing those of Voldemort and Dumbledore. Severus was fully aware of what had to be done. If he didn’t want any information leaked, anything that could destroy what he was fighting for, his mind had to remain a fortress.

Even after Lily’s death and after making that oath, these two abilities remained Severus's lifeline. That was why he could sense anything attempting to cross the boundaries of his mind. It hadn’t even fully reached him when he felt Arcturus’ magic inching toward him. The former Head hadn’t succeeded. Instead, it was he who was infiltrated by Severus. In the brief moment of Arcturus’s surprise, Severus had already seen what he needed to find his answers.

It seemed Arcturus had been given a vision of the future. But unlike Severus’s own experience, Arcturus had not lived through these visions; he had merely seen them. The former head of such a powerful noble house was imprisoned in a manor he could no longer control, no matter what he tried. Not only that, but it also appeared that old magic was preventing him from speaking of it to anyone.

To Severus, this was ridiculous. What use was knowledge of the future if you couldn’t even use it to your advantage? But what puzzled him even more was why he could see this in Arcturus’s mind. If he had interpreted it correctly, Arcturus had done everything he could to pass on this knowledge, even going so far as to train his son to become a Legilimens capable of invading his mind, but nothing had worked.

Was it because Severus already knew these events? Was that why the old magic allowed him to see? Or was it something else entirely?

The surroundings turned white as Arcturus finally warded his thoughts, forcing Severus out of his mind. Severus was thrown back, stumbling, but he quickly regained his footing and immediately reinforced his shields in anticipation of an attack. But none came. Instead, the former Head of the House laughed uncontrollably.

No one moved for a while, allowing the old man to laugh like a maniac. But Severus, who had seen the secret, could hear something more beneath that laugh: relief, even hope. Like a man who had finally glimpsed salvation from an otherwise hopeless situation.

“You saw it!” Arcturus cried between fits of laughter. “The Princes… As I thought, you’re connected to this.” He finally calmed, fixing his predator’s gaze on Severus.

The two younger Black boys stepped forward instinctively, placing themselves between Severus and any perceived threat. Their parents frowned in disapproval. Walburga was about to scream at her sons for doing something so preposterous, but her father-in-law raised his hand to stop her, never taking his eyes off the Prince heir.

“I apologize for the commotion,” Arcturus said half-heartedly, as if what had just occurred were no more serious than a minor mishap at a family dinner. Sirius was furious. He had tried to invade another person’s mind, and now he was acting like it was a simple Quidditch accident? What the hell was wrong with his grandfather?

“Severus Prince, am I correct?”

Sirius held Severus’s hand and stepped in front of him protectively. Under normal circumstances, he would never have done this, especially knowing how much his fiancé hated him, or even his touch. But Severus had felt so distant lately, like he was only half-present in the room. Gone was the bitter, sharp-tongued Severus who used to fight back, spit insults, and glare with fire in his eyes. Now, it was as if he were a shadow always on the brink of fading away. If Sirius lost sight of him for even a second, the panic crept in. So he held on to him, as if his grip alone could anchor Severus to this world.

“Yes,” came a soft, silky voice from behind him. Sirius turned to find his fiancé locking eyes with his grandfather—steady, confident, unyielding. There was no fear in Severus's gaze, only challenge. The former Head chuckled, nodding with something that resembled approval.

“Now that you’ve seen everything, why don’t we discuss it in the study, Severus Prince? I’m sure you have a lot to ask,” Arcturus said, gesturing toward the exit with a graceful arm.

“No fucking way,” Sirius snapped, stepping forward. The entire room tensed. Gasps could be heard from both sides of the family. Sirius glared at his grandfather, something he rarely did in front of his grandfather, let alone toward him directly.

Arcturus Black slowly turned his gaze to his grandson, expression unreadable. For a moment, silence reigned. Then their eyes met, two matching pairs of steel-grey.

“Ah,” the old man said at last, lips curling faintly. “It seems our dear heir has finally grown a backbone. Perhaps being in Gryffindor has done you some good.”

Sirius didn’t look away. “I don’t need your approval. And I won’t let you drag him into your twisted politics.”

Arcturus gave a dry, quiet laugh. “Politics? Is that what you think this is? You always were reckless, Sirius. Emotional. Soft. That’s why you were never fit to lead this family.”

Sirius took another step forward. “You mean I refused to bend the knee to a dying empire built on blood purity and fear. And now you want him, Severus, to carry out whatever vision you’ve failed to realize? Over my dead body.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed, but the faintest hint of something flickered in them. Regret? Recognition? Sirius stands his ground. He can’t afford to be distracted by anything from this old man.

“You speak of things you don’t understand,” Arcturus said coolly, brushing a speck of lint off his pristine robe. “But I have no time for your childish tantrums today.” He turned back to Severus. “Now, what do you say, Prince Heir?”

Regulus clutched Severus’s sleeve, looking terrified. Severus didn’t waver. “What would I gain from this? I honestly don’t care about your circumstances. I’m not the one asking for a favor here.”

Severus calmed Regulus with a few reassuring pats on the hand, then returned his sharp gaze to Arcturus. The elder Black tilted his head, intrigued. “Truly worthy of the Slytherin House. Yes, I am the one who needs your information. So, how about a favor in return?”

“A favor for agreeing to this,” Severus replied coolly. “Conditions will be discussed in private.”

“How dare you!”

“Severus!”

The Black mother and sons exclaimed at once. Regulus and Sirius clung to him tightly, desperate to keep him from stepping into the shadows of their grandfather's web. But Severus kept his eyes on Arcturus as he gently, but firmly, shrugged off the hands holding him.

Sirius’s grip tightened as he refused to let go. Severus’s brows drew together, his irritation sparking. What the hell was Black doing? Of all times, why now? This wasn’t the place for dramatic gestures, not when they were surrounded by people who would use even the smallest crack against them. He raised his head, fully intending to glare. But instead, his gaze locked with those familiar grey eyes.

The same eyes he had despised for years. But they weren’t mocking him now. They weren’t filled with disdain or amusement at his expense. No, they were different—wide, unsteady. They held something else.

Concern. Fear. And that threw Severus off more than any insult ever had. What was Black afraid of? That he’d vanish into Arcturus’s clutches and never return? Or he would join Arcturus in whatever evil plot he or his family has? That he was choosing the Blacks over... whatever fragile thread still tied them together?

Severus scoffed inwardly. He didn’t have time for this. His irritation flared stronger than his confusion. If Sirius truly cared, maybe he should’ve shown it before clinging to him like a lifeline now.

“You’re making a scene,” Severus muttered under his breath, his voice cold and clipped. “Let go.”

But Sirius didn’t move, as if his touch alone could stop Severus from going where he needed to. Severus forcibly tore the hands away, his fingers digging in for just a second too long, enough to make a point. Enough to say don’t test me.

He gave Regulus an assuring look, softened only slightly by the tightness in his jaw, then turned away without looking back. Without giving Sirius another second to plead with his eyes or try to understand emotions Severus himself hadn’t fully processed. And with that, he followed the former Head out of the dining hall.

Arcturus’s study was immediately warded as soon as they entered. Severus added his own protective enchantments on top. The former Head already had tea waiting at a low table, being poured by a house elf. Severus raised an eyebrow when the creature didn’t leave, even after they had taken their seats and all the tea had been served.

“This is Lola,” Arcturus said calmly. “She has been serving me since childhood. You need not worry about her. She has sworn her allegiance to me, not to the House of Black. Any secrets discussed today will not leave this room.”

Severus, however, did not let his guard down. He knew the true nature of these creatures. Loyal, yes, but not without complexity. They obeyed those they deemed family or master, but they would go to great lengths to protect the people they served. His time as Headmaster of Hogwarts, surrounded by house elves, had taught him that much. He had witnessed elves disobey direct orders to ensure the safety of students or staff they had only known for a few years.

“I want the three of us under oath,” Severus said firmly, eyes narrowing.

Arcturus paused for a moment, a smirk tugging at his lips as he realized something. A creature like a house elf, so often underestimated by the wizarding world, was held in high regard by a teenager like the Prince Heir. The former Head nodded slowly and turned to the elf.

“Lola,” he said, his tone now formal, “you are to bind yourself to an oath that you will not speak of anything said in this room today to anyone, not to another elf, not to another soul, unless permitted by me or by Severus Prince.”

The house elf bowed deeply, her eyes glowing faintly as the magic sealed her silence. “I will speak nothing, sirs,” she squeaked. “I swear it on my magic.”

Strings of magic formed around her, golden and luminous, connecting her to her masters. Arcturus nodded, then raised his wand to make his own oath, accepting the strands of magic reaching out to him. With a faint smirk, the old man declared:

“I, Arcturus Black, swear upon my magic that what is spoken in this room today shall remain within it, unless permitted by mutual consent, including that of Severus Prince.”

Severus raised his own wand, accepting the magical threads extending toward him from both the elf and the former Head of the Black Family. “I, Severus Snape, likewise swear upon my magic to keep the matters of this discussion entirely confidential, unless permitted by both myself and Arcturus Black III.”

The room thrummed with silent, binding magic. The golden threads glowed brightly before erupting into radiant white, then vanished altogether as the room returned to its usual gloom. Severus nodded, satisfied that the binding had been successfully made. He picked up his tea and inspected it carefully for traces of Veritaserum or any other potion.

“Why did you think I’m somehow the key to getting you out of this place?” Severus asked first, sipping the tea once he found nothing suspicious.

“Because something involving you happened. It is something that didn’t occur in the vision that was sent to me.”

“My engagement to your grandson,” Severus replied with a grimace, not having truly acknowledged it aloud until now.

“Yes. That was never part of the vision. If I remember correctly, it hadn't even been activated until the moment I died, and I heard no reports of anyone claiming the Prince lordship. So why is it claimed now, and by you? Am I correct in assuming that you’ve also received visions like I did?” Arcturus posed his suspicion directly, skipping over small talk, recognizing that Severus, too, preferred straightforwardness.

Severus remained silent for a few seconds before finally responding. “Unlike you, I wasn’t given visions. I was given a second chance to live my teenage years again.”

He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing. He didn’t know if this admission would compromise him in the future but to achieve what he needed, he required this man’s help. So, for now, he would offer honesty, as much as he could manage. He watched as Arcturus froze in shock for a few seconds, then slowly reached for his tea to steady himself.

“Time travel?”

“You could say that. The moment I ran out of breath during the war, I was transported back to my teenage body, specifically, to the moment your grandson led me to be mauled by his werewolf friend,” Severus replied, making the former Head cough in surprise.

“You remembered? The reports said you didn’t, and many believed centaurs caused it.”

“Of course I remember. No dunderhead could forget something that nearly cost them their life. I simply protected myself from the Headmaster, in case he subjected me to an involuntary oath to protect his precious future werewolf soldier,” Severus added with a scoff.

Arcturus stared at the teenager. No, he really couldn’t see him as just a teenager anymore. If he remembered correctly, the name Severus Snape became widely known when he became the youngest Potions Master in Britain at just 21. Later, his name appeared among the arrested Death Eaters after the war. He had been on the verge of receiving a life sentence in Azkaban, until the very Headmaster Severus claimed to have shielded himself from, Albus Dumbledore stepped in and saved him.

Meanwhile, his own grandson, Sirius Black, had been imprisoned without trial, accused of betraying the Potters. Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore were known allies for years. Severus had been Dumbledore’s spy, and many credited him with helping end the First Wizarding War. So then, why the need to be so guarded against Dumbledore? Was it because this was not yet the Dumbledore that Severus had known before he died? Or... had something happened in that future?

“There was a war? Before you died? I thought the Dark Lord was already killed by that child. Harry Potter, was it?”

Severus flinched at the name. His heart clenched at the mention of that child. It ached, as if something were piercing through it, again and again. He steeled himself, reinforcing his emotional barriers, and schooled his expression. He nodded at the first question.

“The Dark Lord was revived four years after you died.” If Severus was correct, Arcturus Black died in 1991. “He first appeared as a spectre at Hogwarts during Potter’s first year. His vessel was disintegrated into ashes by the same power that vanished him in 1981. Of course, he survived that ordeal... and was revived by his followers in 1995.”

Arcturus’s eyes widened in disbelief. How had the Dark Lord even survived a rebounded Killing Curse and returned from it?

“How? How did he survive and get revived?”

Severus paused for a moment, weighing his words. How had Voldemort survived? Horcruxes, of course. But he didn’t trust Arcturus enough to reveal that.

“A rebirthing ritual.”

“Rebirthing ritual? That’s impossible. You’d need a Regeneration Potion for that. And until now, that ritual was thought to be a myth. Even with the three key ingredients, no one knows what the potion’s base is actually made of.”

Severus scoffed at that. Indeed, most didn’t know how to create the potion’s base. But they had underestimated the extent of the Dark Lord’s research during his years as a wandering spectre, possessing animals and fragile human vessels. Coupled with a copy of the ingredients he had uncovered through murder and theft across Europe and Severus’s own hand, they had completed the potion after two gruelling years.

The “formula” the madman provided had no preparation steps, no dosage notes, no magical sequencing. Just a list of ingredients scrawled with madness. They had to conduct dangerous experiments, sacrificing dark magical artifacts from the Malfoys and other old pureblood families, channeling large amounts of dark magic to make sense of it all.

Severus rolled his eyes at the thought of Pettigrew performing the final ritual and receiving all the credit when his pea-sized brain couldn’t have created even a basic potion without blowing something up. True, the ritual had been used to resurrect a madman, but the potion itself? It was a testament to Severus’s brilliance.

“You made that potion,” Arcturus said, watching him carefully. Severus held his gaze for a few seconds, neither confirming nor denying it.

“So that’s why you protected yourself from Dumbledore? Because you’re still loyal to the Dark Lord?” Arcturus asked slowly, unsure how to feel if his suspicion was correct. Seeking help from someone still loyal to Voldemort could prove disastrous. Severus might exploit this knowledge to bring further glory to the Dark Lord rather than help Arcturus gain freedom.

Such loyalty to the Dark Lord was all too familiar to Arcturus. He was witnessing it now in his own son. Orion had been so blinded by the promises and charisma of that man that he failed to question whether Voldemort would truly honor his word or support the House of Black or any wizarding families in preserving its old traditions and magic.

But the question only made Severus burst into hysterical laughter—loud, sharp, and humorless. As though Arcturus had just told the most ridiculous joke he had ever heard. He laughed and laughed, nearly choking on his tea, his expression cracking through the carefully crafted, emotionless façade. In that moment, Arcturus saw it all: anger, disgust, and guilt flickering across his face before Severus slowly calmed his breathing. A dry chuckle remained, mocking, almost accusatory but not directed at Arcturus or even at what had just been said.

“In that life, I did swear allegiance to that madman,” Severus finally said. “Later, I swore an oath to Headmaster Dumbledore. But now? I am no one’s follower. No one’s slave.” The smirk was gone. In its place was sadness, quiet and raw.

“I am now the future Lord Severus Prince. Severus Snape, who made those countless mistakes, is still here. But he will never repeat them again.”

Arcturus observed him closely. He could feel the truth behind those words, could almost taste the bitterness woven into them. It stirred something in the old man, something close to pride. This young man had endured more than Arcturus could begin to imagine. He had likely experienced a journey far crueler than most wizards ever would. And yet, here he stood—broken, stitched together by nothing more than sheer will and fraying string, but still standing. Stronger, in Arcturus’s eyes, than any hero in the old family books.

Sadness, shame, disgust, grief, bitterness, and rage were all written across Severus’s face. But beneath all of that, Arcturus saw something that could not be mistaken: resoluteness and strength. This young man had found his purpose. And he would do whatever it took to achieve it. This. This was how it should be. This was the kind of leader Arcturus dreamed for the Black Family. No member of the House of Black should ever be another man's servant. They were meant to lead, as they had for centuries. But his son had been bewitched by empty promises, by fleeting power and dangerous charisma. And now, Arcturus couldn't help but admire the Prince Heir.

The old man cleared his throat and looked directly into the pair of cold, steady onyx eyes. “I want to be freed from this place. I don’t need to share what I saw in the vision. I simply want to step outside this manor.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to help with that?” Severus asked. As far as the young Slytherin knew, not even the strongest wizard could defy Lady Magic or family magics once exile or abandonment had been enforced. He had heard of stories like these before. It happened centuries ago but most of it was believed to be myths.

“I don’t believe it’s the Black family magic that wants to imprison me here,” Arcturus replied. “It showed me the downfall of our House. No family magic would ever wish that upon itself. Once all the family members died, family magics vanished with them. I think this is tied to  the Prince family. I didn’t understand why I was given that vision on Sirius’s birthday, but now I believe it’s because of your engagement with him. The Prince blood may be the key.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. Was he blaming the Prince family for this?

“You believe the Princes wanted to banish the Blacks? For what? As far as I know, the Black family has had no dealings nor feuds whatsoever with the Princes, aside from this marriage contract.”

“That is why I want access to your family’s history,” Arcturus said, his voice rising slightly, tinged with urgency and a flicker of hope.

“I’ve read through all of ours and found nothing. No connection to the Prince family. None of our ancestors ever married into theirs. Even I wasn’t aware of the contract between our families until it activated the day you completed your inheritance test.” There was a slight tremble in his words now, not fear, but desperation. Hope, once dead and buried, had suddenly stirred, and Arcturus clung to it like a lifeline.

“The records surrounding that contract aren’t even enough to explain it,” he continued, barely pausing for breath. “I think there might be something hidden in your family’s history. Some kind of ancient agreement between the two Heads. I don’t believe Procyon Black truly coveted male bearers. If that were his goal, he would have struck a deal with the Potters—the line from which the male bearer of the Prince family descended.”

He leaned forward now, eyes sharp, voice insistent.

“There must be a reason for this marriage contract. For my vision. For my imprisonment. There’s more to this than coincidence, and I think the answer lies with the Princes.”

Severus stared into the depths of his now-empty cup, the silence around him thick with contemplation. He had never cared much for his mother’s family, the esteemed and rigid House of Prince. Though Eileen had instilled every drop of etiquette and tradition into him since childhood, he had always regarded it with quiet disdain. They had abandoned her first the moment she married a Muggle. Why should he honor a legacy that cast them aside so easily?

But now, with the ancient betrothal contract between the Prince and Black families suddenly activated without his knowledge, Severus found himself reluctantly reconsidering. Perhaps something within the Prince family library held a clue, a hidden clause or forgotten charm that could dissolve the bond with Sirius Black. After he accomplished what he had set out to do, he intended to find a way to sever it. However, with Arcturus now presenting his own request, it seemed Severus would need to act sooner than expected.

He gave a curt nod and placed his cup down. A house-elf, Lola, if he recalled correctly, immediately rushed forward to refill it. He murmured a quiet “Thank you” before taking it back into his hands.

“I’ll assist you with your research and help you leave this manor,” Severus said, his voice calm but guarded. “But I want a few conditions met in return.”

This wasn’t a favor between allies. Just because they shared some foresight did not mean trust had been earned. Severus still regarded Arcturus Black with suspicion.

“What are your terms?” Arcturus asked.

“I want to establish an apothecary and potions business, one that is fully under my control. It will be managed only by myself and the person I appoint. Neither your son nor his wife is to interfere.”

“That can be arranged,” Arcturus replied with a nod. “You should be able to acquire property in Diagon Alley before the month ends.”

“No,” Severus replied at once. “Not Diagon Alley. I want my shops built in Knockturn Alley. Specifically, I intend to purchase at least a fourth of the commercial space near the edge of the forest.”

Arcturus blinked in surprise. “Knockturn Alley?”

The name alone made many within the magical world wary. While some Purebloods did conduct business there, they stuck to the established shops—those that had been around for decades. These places were trusted only because they were well-known for dealing in rare dark artefacts or books smuggled out from raided pureblood homes. But the forest-adjacent lots? Those were avoided. No steady market, no meaningful foot traffic. And they were dangerously close to the edge of the forest filled with creatures.

“I also want the properties registered under my name,” Severus continued, “but discreetly. No one should know I’m the owner.”

Arcturus studied him closely. “Why do you want that part of Knockturn Alley?”

It was a valid question. That area, especially near the forest, was riddled with dangerous elements. Beyond the trees, there are hidden magical villages, sanctuaries for creatures the Ministry hunted. Vampires, werewolves, and magical beings shunned by wizarding society were said to live there. Establishing a business in such a place was not just bold. It is calculated if it is from a cunning Slytherin like the Prince Heir.

“I do not seek the attention of Purebloods,” Severus said quietly. “What I want is the attention of the creatures.”

Arcturus frowned at the reply. “Why?”

“Because war is inevitable, and it’s fast approaching,” Severus answered calmly. “If I want to survive, I need the allegiance of the dark creatures.”

Arcturus’s expression tightened, his disapproval plain. “Then you should form your own army of wizards like Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. Why place your hopes on beings who have no real stake in this war?”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. Of course, he had known about the Order of Phoenix. But he should not be surprised since Dumbledore had that blabbermouth Phineas Black at his side. That piece of parchment would tell anything to his competent descendant.

“You’ve heard of Greyback, haven’t you? As vile as he is, he was a crucial asset to the Dark Lord in both wars. He followed orders without hesitation and recruited countless werewolves who terrorised civilians, especially during the Second Wizarding War.”

He leaned forward slightly. “If I can prevent that from happening, I will. Neither the Dark Lord nor Dumbledore will have the opportunity to exploit those the Ministry has cast aside. You may dismiss them, but I do not underestimate their value.”

“You want them involved in your shops,” Arcturus said, not asking but stating. Severus nodded.

“Yes. Most of them followed the Dark Lord not out of loyalty, but because he noticed them. He gave them purpose and recognition. I intend to offer them the same, but through livelihood and dignity, not bloodshed.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Even so, they aren’t as powerful as educated wizards. They don’t have wands or formal training.”

“And if that’s the only reason they’re seen as lesser,” Severus interrupted, placing his cup down and folding his arms across his chest, “then I’ll correct that too. As for wands,” he scoffed, “don’t forget that vampires and werewolves possess magic of their own. Magic that is granted by Lady Magic herself, no matter how ‘dark’ it may be.”

Arcturus watched him closely. There was no doubt Severus spoke with conviction. It was unsettling. Though the creatures Severus spoke of did hold latent magical power, the Ministry had gone to great lengths to ensure they remained powerless. Any creature caught wielding a wand would have it snapped immediately. Their laws forbade them from receiving education or holding employment. The world had pushed them into the shadows, and Severus wanted to pull them back into the light.

“And how do you plan to educate them?” Arcturus asked, voice low. “You haven’t even completed your own schooling. Will you teach them yourself? That would take an enormous amount of effort and galleons, not to mention time—something you may not have. You’re already on borrowed time with this war coming. A brilliant young man in Slytherin like you… The Dark Lord must already know of your talent. His followers have children in Hogwarts. They report everything.”

He leaned back. “You won’t be able to avoid him. Refusal will only lead to violence. You’ll be forced to fight, unless… unless you choose to side with Dumbledore.”

Severus gave a short, bitter laugh. “I’ve already been approached,” he said, remembering the letters he’d exchanged with Lucius Malfoy, letters he had stopped replying to weeks ago. “But those advances quieted the moment news of my engagement to Black became public.”

His voice darkened. “I do plan to protect myself and my family from this war. But I will never ally myself with Dumbledore. Not in this life.”

He took a steadying breath, forcing down the tangled mess of emotions the name summoned. He had no intention of speaking about that man further. Not now.

“I want your word,” he said, voice firm, “that you’ll assist me in building these shops.” Arcturus regarded him silently for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod.

“I also have another favor,” Severus added. Arcturus raised an eyebrow, but nodded again. So long as Severus was helping him, so long as this boy might shift fate in his favour, he would grant another request.

“I want training on how to be a Lord. I want you to teach me personally.”

The request made Arcturus pause. Of course, Severus Prince would need training. He was the heir to a noble house, even if the Prince line had all but faded and held little political power. Arcturus had originally considered delegating the task to Orion, but now he saw the sense in handling it himself. If they were to spend time researching together, it would be a practical cover for their association and a means to avoid any suspicions. He summoned a quill and parchment with a wave of his hand and began drafting an agreement.

Severus read through it carefully, making additions and amending clauses to protect his own interests. Negotiations between the two Slytherins took time, as each tried to outmaneuver the other. In the end, Severus remained vigilant. He did not forget the house-elf, Lola, and made her a formal witness to the contract, binding her with a magically enforced non-disclosure clause. That evening, Arcturus Black signed a document that would alter the course of the future he had once glimpsed, unknowingly becoming part of a grand scheme crafted by a cunning young Slytherin who had no intention of repeating history.