Chapter Text
“And we who were raised
By invisible hands
And we who were raised
On government lies
The prodigal children
Of the promised land
Who's gonna open our eyes?”
-Anaïs Mitchell, Quecreek Flood
It was morning in the suburbs of Cokeworth, and the only sound that pierced the pouring rain was that of police sirens.
Though the town had been full of crime in its prime, the mill’s closure had made even most lowlifes leave. What was there to plunder in a dying town?
But the crime that had just occurred was not a small robbery or something of that ilk.
Eric and Violet Evans had been found dead inside their house, which at the time of the police’s arrival had been completely locked.
Stranger still, both bodies were intact, as was the rest of their residence.
The only thing that proved that the deaths were not natural was a note written on a piece of parchment that said:
Let their demise be a warning; the Dark Lord sends his regards.
Relinquish the child and you will be spared.
William Perks, the young policeman in charge of the investigation, sighed. He had never signed up for mysterious murders and pretentious criminals calling themselves “Dark Lords”. All he had expected in accepting his dead-end job had been making enough money from arresting hooligans and picketers to support Susie and baby Sally-Anne.
But if he had to investigate this mystery, then investigate he would.
The Evanses had been perfectly normal: they were both retired, married for years and had two adult children. If their deaths were indeed a warning, who was it for?
He hoped their daughters would be able to answer his many questions.
The first to arrive was a red-haired woman whom he recognised as their youngest. A little girl and an old, bearded man clad in bright purple robes accompanied her.
The man looked at the Evans woman and pointed a stick at him; the only thing William would remember of that day would be a flash of red light and the word Obliviate.
~•oOo•~
Lily watched as the policeman fell to the floor. Even after her years at Hogwarts, she was still startled at how powerless muggles were when faced with magic.
Was it better that they knew nothing of it?
The Headmaster placed the man back in his car and turned towards her.
“It’s a miracle Anthea survived, Albus. If she hadn’t been with me, she’d be...”
The Headmaster put his hand on Lily’s shoulder, but it did little to comfort her.
Her parents had not deserved to die because of her war, nor to have seen the magic they had admired turned against them. But how lovely her parents had been would not have mattered to their killer. To Voldemort, they were but muggle scum.
Anthea looked up at them and spoke, “Mummy, who’s that?”
“You can trust him, Anthy, ” Said Lily, crouching to caress her pale cheeks. “This is the one and only Albus Dumbledore. You remember him, don’t you?”
Anthea perked up at that, sporting a toothy smile. Albus did so too, but there was no twinkle in his eyes.
Giving Anthea some space to bombard Albus with questions, Lily took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. The police department would need a visit from the Order’s Obliviators, Petunia an explanation, and after that would come the legal affairs. Then, finally, the mourning.
The war had wonted Lily to such situations, but none of them had involved her drunken dalliance’s fruit. She still remembered that night with unfortunate clarity, and it haunted her.
Severus had been so friendly then, almost like the Death Eaters had never corrupted him. It had been the first time for both of them, and she had found his awkwardness charming. He had been intoxicated too, perhaps to drown his sorrows like her or to celebrate some horrific victory.
Only months later did she discover, now out of Hogwarts and about to be betrothed to James Potter, the night’s biggest consequence.
“Is it true that you’re 100 years old?”
Albus and Anthea had been talking for 5 minutes now, and the headmaster seemed unbothered by even her silliest questions. Much like it had been for her sire, discussing Hogwarts was an antidote to Anthea’s dour demeanour.
Once more approaching them, Lily asked, “Albus, what will we do now? I can’t take care of Anthy, and I’m scared that… Severus and his… friends might find her.”
For what seemed like an entire minute, Albus said nothing, and Lily had the strange feeling that he knew something about this situation that she did not. Anthea too had quieted, and looked away from the adults to play with the flowers in the front yard.
“Worry not, Lily. I know a member of the Order who would be willing to raise her with the care she deserves,” said Albus. “The war has left him bereft, and I am sure Anthea would brighten up his life as much as he would hers.”
A member. Albus was fond of vagueness, but Lily understood his reasoning. Openness within their organisation led to increased awareness from their enemies, and there were growing fears of a spy within their ranks.
“Very well,” she said. “Anthy, come here.”
Anthea turned away from the garden and stared at her mother with her dark brown eyes. “What is it, mummy?”
“Pa and Nana may be gone, but Headmaster Dumbledore has found someone to take care of you. My smart, beautiful, Anthy, I’ll always love you. When this war is over, everyone will know that,” she said, as tears fell from her eyes. “Now please take the Headmaster’s hand. If all goes well, we’ll see each other soon.”
“See you soon, mummy,” said Anthea as she took Dumbledore’s hand.
The two went inside the empty house and apparated away.
Lily did not yet know that this would be the last time she would see her daughter, nor would she ever discover her fate. She needed to protect Harry now, and hope that he and Anthea would grow up in a kinder world.
~•oOo•~
Arriving in his office with Lily and Severus’s daughter in tow, Albus had much to ponder. For three years this little girl had lived with her grandparents, unknown to even he. Lily had seemed embarrassed as she recounted the events of their tryst, and Albus could empathise.
Anthea likely knew little of the war that had torn her parents apart and their society asunder, but her existence complicated it.
Defeating Tom would take careful planning, and Albus’s turncoat Death Eater was an essential asset. He knew just how well seeing kin in need could serve to temper one’s darker desires, but he could only hope that young Severus would be able to balance unexpected parenthood with his duty to the Order.
Suddenly, Anthea, who had been gobbling lemon drops, spoke, “Mr Dumbledore, why can Harry stay with Mummy but I can’t?”
Albus took a deep breath. There would come a day in which the girl would have to face the darkness that surrounded her family. But the time was not now.
“You will understand why when you are older, dear child. But remember this: you should not envy your brother’s fate.”
The girl nodded in silence.
“Now let us go fetch your father.”
~•oOo•~
“Mr Shafiq, what is a Bezoar?”
The addressed, a florid-faced Slytherin, stared at Severus blankly. The Gryffindors (curse Albus for arranging the timetables this way!) had started to snicker, and the other Slytherins, desperate to regain their dignity, glared at Shafiq. Before his partner could whisper the answer into his ear, the boy cried, “Your mum!”
The attempted retort yielded no laughter, not even from the most immature Gryffindors. Severus too was at a loss for words. Were these the depths the Sacred 28 had steeped to? If so, then perhaps they did deserve to be wiped out, like Lucius feared.
“3 points from Slytherin for your clear lack of dedication to this subject, and 2 more for your pathetic attempt at wit,” snarled Severus. “Now, is any member of my House willing to atone for him? Gryffindor, will you claim this opportunity to humiliate your foe?”
Awkward silence met Severus once more.
“As expected. 2 points from Gryffindor for not seizing this opportunity, and 5 for being as ignorant as Mr Shafiq.”
As the students started to grumble and mumble about complaining about him to their parents, Shafiq’s partner, a boy he vaguely recognised, met Severus’s gaze and quickly averted his eyes.
Hogwarts students were either insolent or indolent, it seemed; exceptions were seldom. The rest of the lesson only proved that.
When the torment was finally over, Shafiq’s partner lingered in the classroom, dismissing his friends’ offers to play together during their lunch break. After the last student had left, the increasingly nervous boy approached Severus.
“Um, Professor. I don’t know how to say this, but I need to tell you something…”
“If you have come to voice your regret for not saying something you clearly knew, then it is far too late. Prove your worth next lesson.”
“No, it’s not that!” The boy sputtered. “It’s about my family, and the Cause…”
Severus’s eyes narrowed, and he surveyed the room for any stray students before grabbing the boy—Jason Pyrites—by the arm and taking him to his office.
When they arrived, Severus locked the door and cast a non-verbal Muffliato.
“Do not speak of the Cause with such abandon, boy,” said Severus. “You have not yet borne witness to the frightening power of the Dark Lord, nor that of Dumbledore.”
“I understand.” Mumbled the boy.
Severus took a breath. He was not well acquainted with the Pyrites, but their heir had been, only a few months prior, a guest at a Death Eater revel. The Cause’s future was important, the Dark Lord had said, and his followers’ children would forge it. Baby Draco had been there too, and even the unfettered Lucius had seemed disturbed.
Severus had felt Pyrites’ fear then, and it remained now.
“Speak of your feelings, boy, but only within the confines of this room,” said Severus at last. “Most of my brethren would not have entertained your worry.”
“I’m scared, Professor. My parents say that everything will be alright when we win, but Uncle Argo is going mad,” he cried. “He laughs madly and only speaks of rats, some important mission and of being the Dark Lord’s most valued servant. He’ll get himself killed!”
The boy stopped, and Severus had to focus to avoid losing himself in memories of days past. Pyrites the propagandist was not the only one to have called themselves the Dark Lord’s second. Severus had cherished that title and the position it would bring to a lowly Half-Blood in the New World Order, a testament to how he had risen above his position on merit alone. But such illusions were gone now; to both his masters, he was but a pawn.
He was about to respond when he heard one of them outside the office.
“Severus? Are you there, dear boy?”
“We shall speak of this later, Mr Pyrites. The Headmaster is here.”
The boy nodded and opened the door, mumbling greetings to Dumbledore before scurrying away.
What caught Severus’s attention this time was not the outrageously ornate and blindingly bright robe the elder wore, but the tiny form who accompanied him.
Pale and dark-eyed, something about the girl’s freckled face seemed familiar. Her ash brown hair was tied into pigtails with red ribbons, and the white dress she wore was much more lovingly tailored than anything Severus had owned as a child, but still bore traces of being second-hand.
“What is it, Albus? I am not a troubled youths therapist, and if that is what you desire, you should either double my salary or hire one,” he said, scowling. “Of course, I would likely need a therapist myself from having to endure all these dunderheads’ sundry sorrows.”
Albus smiled and looked at him with that infuriating twinkle in his eyes before he spoke, “Worry not, Severus. Hiring a therapist would indeed be a good idea, but it is not one the Board would currently entertain. No, I have come to speak about a more personal matter.”
He lowered himself to pat the girl’s left shoulder and whisper something to her. Then, he said, “Anthea Eileen Evans, meet Severus Snape, your father.”
Few sentences could have struck Severus as much as that one. He felt the urge to deny it, but he knew it was true. This girl, who had Lily’s face, freckles and childhood dress, also had his eyes and his father’s hair. Even her name evoked the myths that had so entranced her mother.
And of course, he would never forget that night.
“Albus, I can’t take care of a child. What if end up like my father, or even my mother? And what about the Dark Lord?”
“So he doesn’t want me either?” Said the girl—Anthea—his daughter.
“Severus, Anthea needs you. She is 3 now, and was living with her grandparents, but Voldemort has killed them,” said Albus with the most pleading expression Severus had ever seen him muster. “Had Lily not gone out with her, he would have killed her too.”
So the Evans couple was dead. Despite their many differences and Tobias Snape’s reputation, they had been kind to young Severus, even after his and Lily’s estrangement. But there was no time to mourn their deaths.
“I understand that she is struggling, but isn’t there someone more suitable than me? Lily wants nothing to do with me, and I am sure she would desire the same for her daughter. Do you want her to grow up a Death Eater brat?”
“Severus, you are not wrong in saying that Lily despises your associates, and still thinks of you as one of them. But I assured her that the Order member I had chosen, would prove to be capable and caring. She may not know of your change of heart, but wouldn’t she be pleased to know her child is in the hands of someone who has risked so much to defeat her foe?“
Severus wanted to curse Albus for manipulating him, but Anthea was indeed his responsability, and also a chance to prove himself better than his parents. Most importantly, he would also ensure that she would never become a dunderhead like her fellow students.
There was also the matter of having endangered Lily’s other child, but he preferred not to think of that even greater folly.
“I’ll take her, Albus. For hers and Lily’s sake.”
Dumbledore smiled, but the little girl’s elation far eclipsed his. It was so intoxicating that Severus found no strength to resist the hug that followed.