Light With Darkness Woven Above. To fulfill two solemn vows, Snape rescues Harry from the wreckage at Godric's Hollow. Claiming Harry as his cousin once-removed, Evan Prince, he raises him so that one day upon Lord Voldemort's return, the boy will be ready to assume the mantle of the Dark Prince.
Warnings: This story is rated M for a reason, likewise for the selection of the tragedy/drama category. Be forewarned.
Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and inspiration for this story are all due to great work of the original Harry Potter author, J.K. Rowling, who built the world of our dreams. Any resemblance to other work is incidental.
Honour those who came before, but fear he who yet cometh, for Death accompanies him to the door.
Chapter 1 – The Youngest Prince
As October waned, a cold, thick fog had descended upon the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow, leaving its inhabitants shrouded in the blackness of nightfall. The clouds above let loose a sticky rain towards the rooftops of the lines of houses, which froze as it dripped from the eaves and made contact with the ground. Somewhere in the distance, the hoot of an owl permeated the silence. Even in the daytime, this was not at all abnormal here, for Godric's Hollow was a Wizarding town and owls were the preferred means of communication among magical people, not to mention some of their favorite pets.
By this time of night, the majority of the residents were already fast asleep, slumbering off the weight of Halloween feasts shared merrily with neighbors. Families sheltered inside from the unseasonably frigid weather, keeping their doors firmly locked and their lights out, hoping the war would not also find them here. Yet there were a few unlucky individuals that would not be getting much sleep tonight.
A tall, stiff figure, cloaked uniformly in black, strode quickly down the path towards the end of the main road. He moved with a purpose quite foreign to the village, and yet his footsteps hardly made the slightest crunch on the icy pavement. Based on his stride alone, it was impossible to tell how far he had walked, for his pace had not slackened in spite of the punishing conditions.
The man's silhouette would be hard for any onlooker to make out in the dim light, but he was formidable in stature, with shoulder-length hair, black eyes, and a hard gaunt look to his face that could be only acquired through sheer adversity in times of war. He held one arm at his side, a split second's movement away from his wand holster, with a certain tenseness that would have been irregular for him in any other circumstance. The hem of his cloak billowed backwards into a wind that, by all rights, ought to have blown it the other way. This was Severus Snape, and woe to anyone who crossed his path on this night, All Hallows' Eve, 1981.
Snape paused briefly to gain his bearings, whipping out his wand and instantly illuminating the way ahead. Undeterred, he continued on a little further towards the thick woods on the far side of town, quickening his pace, oblivious to the frigid, Arctic winds heralding a long winter to come.
At last, he came to the end of the road, sliding along a small hedge and wordlessly blasting away a patch of ice on the ground. To any passerby, Snape would now appear a madman, staring intently at what appeared to be a vacant plot of farmland. He scanned the area. It was obvious at once that the Fidelius Charm had already broken; he quickly dissolved the remaining illusions on the property with a wave of his wand. A house appeared from thin air, pushing fields and woods out of the way to fill the expanse.
Snape's eyes took in a scene of destruction and utter violation. The petunias in the front garden had been scorched, parts of the house itself had been blasted away, and even the traditional Halloween decorations on the front porch had been smashed to pieces. In the corner of his eye, he caught a movement in the upstairs window of the house. The Dark Lord was still here.
A cold high laugh echoed harshly through the night, he saw a bright flash of green light-
BANG! The world exploded in front of Snape's eyes, an incredible flare rising up in the air, followed closely by a deafening shudder from the trees buckling at their roots. A whirlwind of flame expelled from the house, outwards toward the roadside. He had just enough time to take shelter behind the low hedge before the shockwave hit him. The ground shook mightily, throwing him from his feet, and for what seemed to be only a moment, everything went dark.
Three months prior.
"Promise me, Severus."
"Anything," he whispered.
Lily looked to him, her shaking hands clasping the silver doe that he had given her so long ago, which was still draped carefully as a pendant around her neck. "Promise me if anything happens to James and I, you'll come and take Harry. Raise him your child as I would, and love him, give him the childhood he deserves."
"Lily," Snape said. "…You know I cannot. You know my responsibilities. My loyalties…it is…impossible – you ask too much." he returned her gaze, dark eyes flashing, challenging her.
She came closer now, reaching a hand out, her fingertips brushing his shoulder. For a moment, Snape seemed as though he wanted to brush her hand away, but relented.
"I cannot play this game with you anymore," he said.
"I didn't ask if you were willing to do anything for me. I asked if you would do it for my son."
There was a pregnant pause. "I am only asking you to do this…only if…it comes to pass – and I will do my best to survive this war, prophecies be damned," Lily said, fighting back tears. "I know that it has been hard for you, that you've sacrificed everything. But I've sacrificed too, and I won't see my son's life go to waste. Do as you must, but please, you must promise me this one thing."
Snape laughed bitterly. "You would have a servant of the Dark, a man who can barely overcome his own demons, raise a child?"
"Please…you know that I don't care about any of that. I never have. I just care about my son, and if that Trelawney woman has a divining bone in her body, he has more ahead of him to face than the two of us put together. You know that…you know you are the only one I can trust," she choked out.
Snape gave her an indiscernible glance, tearing his eyes away towards the small window along the wall, which opened out into the mid summer's night. "But how can I-? He is James' son."
Lily sighed, "Look at me, Severus."
He turned his head slowly towards her, his face betraying his agony, unable to conceal his efforts to contain the pain that he had long since locked away.
"He is my son also," she said.
A long moment passed. Snape raised a hand out to touch the silver doe, and wrapped his fingers around Lily's hand. A light flickered through his eyes, and then extinguished: a remnant of what once was, and that which could never be.
"Very well," he said. "I promise."
He stood from his chair abruptly, fingertips brushing the doe as he released Lily's hand. Sweeping his cloak from the chair and swiftly slipping it over his shoulders, he made straight for the fireplace, taking a pinch of Floo powder from the pot on the mantle and throwing it into the kindling flame.
"-And Severus?"
Snape stopped in front of the fire, the flames roaring to life, flickering upwards and illuminating both of their faces for what would be the last time. He looked to her with a pained expression on his face.
"I think you might surprise yourself as a father, given the chance."
"Spinner's End!" he cried out, and he was gone.
Snape coughed heavily as smoke filled his lungs, consciousness returning in a hazy fog, lights flickering inside his head. He groaned. His ears rung, still echoing from the force of the blast, and his head pounded with the worst headache that he'd felt all year. He rolled over onto his back, struggling to blink open his eyelids in the black, soot-filled air.
When his vision finally cleared, he looked upwards and saw at once a great billowing of smoke towering above Godric's Hollow, like a great signal of the gods heralding a new age. Just beyond, he perceived the faint, green outline of a skull, a serpent emanating from its mouth, projected boldly in the night sky. The Dark Mark.
A feeling of sudden nausea threatened to overwhelm Snape. Lily. The Dark Lord. His mission. Lily. A thousand thoughts flooded his mind, filling him with dread. Concentrate, he ordered himself. You knew what was likely to happen tonight. You helped it come to pass. You must focus on your mission…and what you've promised. Focus.
Trying to push his searing anguish to the side, he reached a hand out towards the hedge he had fallen under, feeling around blindly for its edge, using its charred remains to steady himself to his feet. The ringing in his ears seemed to begin to lessen somewhat, thankfully, and Snape now got a good look at the remains of the house. Merlin…
Bright, orange embers lit up the night sky over Number One Godric's Hollow, consuming the frame and threatening to swallow up the entire property. No more than a few minutes could have passed since the explosion, but the fire was already approaching a raging inferno. All the windows were broken in, and the putrid smell of burning wood and flesh filled the air.
A house cat dashed by Snape's feet, its orange fur singed black with soot and fire, deciding to take its chances outdoors in the cold weather rather than remain in the doomed house. The garden in front was decimated, and the façade was crumpled inwards in a horribly unnatural fashion. Like a ruined first year cauldron, he thought with a twisted smile.
Snape had a passing familiarity with Muggle explosives and the first thought that came to his mind was that it looked like a bomb had been detonated just overhead. The front door was blasted apart and there was nothing to indicate that any of the inhabitants were still alive.
"Lily." The words had escaped his lips without any inhibition, and Snape found himself running towards the front entrance, moving faster than he would have thought possible just a minute before. His wand was out from its holster, a wave of adrenaline washing over his body, reinvigorating him with fresh energy. Deep within his core, a spurt of magic roared to life.
Shielding himself from the heat with an insulation charm, he blasted aside the flames with a jet of water from his wand, clearing a path through the doorway. It was difficult to make out any details through the thickening smoke, but as he moved through the foyer up to the main stairwell, he caught a glimpse of James Potter's body strewn aside, lifeless and spread-eagled on the floor. Swallowing a lump in his throat and climbing the stairs two at a time, Snape found it hard to muster any great sympathy for his hated rival's death.
At the top of the stairwell, the crackling, apathetic flames licked at his feet, spreading without abandon throughout the house. A crushing sense of urgency threatened to overwhelm him. If the Dark Lord had finished with the Potter family, then reinforcements would surely be here within minutes. He didn't have long to find her…and her son. He uttered a tracking charm but it failed, diffusing uselessly in the magically overloaded air.
"Fuck!" With the utmost discipline, Snape resisted the urge to simply blast apart what little remained of the smoldering manor. He paused mid-step in the hall and cleared his mind of all emotion, straining all of his senses to detect even the slightest sign of life. Rage would fuel him right now, but despair could only be a distraction. At last, he heard a child's cry from the end of the hall, off to his right, and turned, pushing aside flame, soot, and smoke to reach the origin of the sound.
There was no need to open the door, since it had been blasted off clean off its hinges. Snape stepped into the little room, an attic space that had been converted into a nursery for the baby. Although the room was rapidly beginning to fill with smoke, the flames had not yet consumed it, and he at once saw the body of Lily Evans…Lily Potter, utterly still on the floor just feet from the cradle. Cold, glassy, emerald-green eyes stared up at him, burning a wrenching hole in his heart that would surely never heal. He bent down to check her pulse, but even before his fingers brushed the vein on her neck, he knew that there was no point.
"Lily…forgive me!" he whispered.
There was no reply.
A single tear rolled down Snape's cheek and for a few precious seconds, Snape grasped her wrist tightly and did not let go. His eyes watered, stung by the caustic smoke, and more teardrops spilled out, pooling down onto the wooden floorboards on which he kneeled, holding Lily's body close to his chest. A moment passed.
He resisted the urge to close her eyes, so that she could be at peace. So he could be at peace. He knew better. When the authorities arrived, the room could not be tampered with, or else it would betray his presence. And Dumbledore would be here soon.
Dumbledore. The word pierced his mind almost as quickly as the flames ate away at the house. Whatever his present situation, Dumbledore would be able to sort this out. Perhaps he should even leave this to him entirely...
No! He had promised Lily. He could not abandon the situation now. In any case, the danger of the fire was very real, and it was out of the question to leave the boy to an uncertain fate. He was not only the one in the best position to save the boy, he needed to be the one to do so. Anything less would be unconscionable.
This thought seemed to immediately snap Snape out of his misery and spurred him to action. Gently, he left Lily's body aside and took inventory of the room. Charred robes were bundled against the wall, the same ones that the Dark Lord had been wearing earlier that evening when he had departed for Godric's Hollow. If there was any other doubt that fate had turned against the Dark Lord tonight, the long, dark yew wand lying on the ground spoke to the contrary.
He blinked. Given the force of the explosion that he had felt, the survival of his Master's wand was surprising. Every other appearance, however, betrayed the impression that the Dark Lord had been blasted away. Snape was all too aware of the precautions Lord Voldemort had taken against death, one of the few entrusted with even some of the Master's closest secrets. A dry feeling passed through Snape's mouth. The Dark Lord is gone. But surely not forever.
It was a risk, a detail that might raise suspicion later, but if the Dark Lord were to return one day, he would be rewarded greatly for recovering the wand, so he reached down and swiped it from the floor. Perhaps, with some luck, the Order would reason that it had been obliterated in the fight. Snape slid the wand in his pocket without another thought to the matter.
He now turned his attention towards the child in the cradle. Harry. The child had been crying when he entered the room, but as Snape approached, he stopped crying at once. Snape reached over to pick him up; a glance at the boy's face caused him to hesitate. A thin, lightning bolt scar bled from the top of his forehead, a little off-center. Hauntingly familiar emerald eyes shown up at him, sparking with life and curiosity. He had to fight the urge not to vomit again. I must be strong now. There is nothing more I can do for her.
Snape glanced around the room. It didn't appear as though any debris could have possibly inflicted the injury. Had the boy been responsible, somehow, impossibly, for the Dark Lord's demise? And this wound, a curse scar from the Dark Lord's attempt to murder him? The thought seemed absurd, but Snape didn't have any time left to contemplate it. He was hot - too hot - exhausted, and in pain. He remembered his oaths, however, and intended to make good on them. Severus Snape was many things, and had failed deeply in more ways than one, but he always followed through on his promises.
He took Harry from the cradle. Shifting him awkwardly to his left arm while drawing his wand with his right, he steeled himself. With one last look at Lily's body, he turned to apparate, but his magic was violently rejected, sending a shudder down his spine.
Damn. How have the wards still not fallen? Fuck. Well fuck if I'm going to die here now. Not a chance in hell. Not now, not with Lily's child.
Steeled with a new determination, he moved towards the door, which was now completely blocked by flame, and once again blasted a path through the fire. A spray of water ricocheted off the walls, splashing them both, but thankfully, miraculously, the child still did not cry. He did not know if he could take the wails of a screaming infant tonight. The migraine pounding in his head was already too severe. A strong headache draught would be perfect right about now…
Shaking his head and clearing his mind once more, he concentrated on fighting his way through the flames as the terrible heat beat down oppressively. A trickle of sweat dripped down his forehead. He glanced down at the boy in his arms. The boy's frightened green eyes stared back up at him, perspiration and blood mixing together in a sort of cocktail, staining his face. He wore an expression that seemed to beg Snape onwards.
You mustn't look at that. Don't even think about it. Not now. Focus.
With another tremendous gush of water expelling from his wand, he cleared the staircase free of flames and burst through to the front door, pressing a hand over the boy's face to protect him from the flames. As he cleared the wreckage, the cold wind blew mercifully to meet him. Tucking Harry under the warmth of his cloak, he made immediately for the woods, running as fast as he could. He didn't dare to look back.
At last, after what seemed like hours, Snape broke free of the wards, collapsing to his knees in a heap of dead leaves on the ground, the last vestiges of autumn. Out of breath and utterly spent, he gave a final glance to the blazing house behind him, which had begun to collapse, the flames just barely abating as they burned themselves out. He had survived, somehow. Thank Merlin.
He let out a strange laugh, the stress wearing on his mind. If any of the locals saw him right now, they would surely think the rumors of a haunt in the forest were true after all…
He peered inside his cloak, readjusting the coverings around the boy nestled within. Then, forcing an image of Spinner's End to the forefront of his mind with his remaining strength, he vanished into the night with a loud crack, Lily's child safely in his arms.
Earlier that evening.
"MORSMORDRE!"
Pettigrew screamed, falling to the floor. He writhed in pain as the Dark Mark seared itself onto his pale forearm, darkening rapidly. A tall, cloaked man stood above him, red serpent-like eyes flickering with idle satisfaction at his servant's discomfort. He held the tip of his wand fast, cruelly branding the symbol onto his skin.
"You are dismissed, Wormtail. Your information has proved…invaluable. You shall too be rewarded."
The rat leaned down and kissed the hem of his robes, stifling a cry. "Thank you, my Lord…you are most generous, thank you, Master…"
"Go." the Dark Lord intoned. Pettigrew wasted no time and stumbled to his feet, scuttling away.
Lord Voldemort was very pleased tonight. "Severus, my most loyal servant…you have done well."
Snape bowed his head. "I am at your service, my Lord."
"Indeed you are. You have remained loyal to me through all your days, and proven yourself useful."
"You guide the Darkness when there is no light, my Lord. I desire only the welfare of our people."
"And yet - you would hesitate to kill the Potters."
Voldemort's red eyes flashed at him, daring him to contradict the statement. Snape's blood ran cold.
"I am aware…of what we discussed, my Lord. But surely it is not necessary?"
The Dark Lord let out a cold, high laugh. "Surely? Surely, Severus, you were never naïve enough to believe that I could afford to spare the Potters. Not when they have defied me repeatedly, set me back so far, and now this…the prophecy."
Snape remained silent. It was never wise to interrupt the Dark Lord.
"The boy must die, there is no other way." Voldemort concluded.
"Very well, my Lord." he said, inclining his head. There was no other acceptable response. Regardless of what he may have felt personally, any sort of horror at the planned massacre of the Potters, he was powerless to resist the will of the Dark Lord. Even being in his presence, the draw of his power was intoxicating.
"But-" Snape's eyes darted upward. "It is not the boy you care for – it is his mother."
Snape paused as the Dark Lord's words cut like a dagger through to his soul. His mouth felt dry, and he had never felt so vulnerable before. "My lord-"
"I care not for the foolish girl, she is a Mudblood." Voldemort spat. "A nuisance to us all. But I will spare her life, if it is possible, as a reward for your service."
"Thank you, my Lord – but...she will never accept that, if you intend to kill the son."
"Then you had better hope that she does, Severus."
Snape opened his mouth to reply, to beg him to reconsider, but Voldemort held up a long, thin hand, silencing any further protests. "Enough! Leave me, and wait for word in Godric's Hollow. I must prepare."
He felt a sinking feeling in his gut. "Yes, my Lord." He turned to leave. His heart pounded inside his chest, clenching horribly, but Voldemort was not finished.
"Severus!" Voldemort said. "Do not forget your oath."
Severus was a man with many conflicting loyalties, and the words felt like cement pouring over his already-hardened heart. The events of his wretched life were aligning fatefully on this very night, and he could see clearly now that he had no recourse.
"Yes, my Lord."
After all, there was no other possible reply.
Severus Snape had forgotten neither of his oaths, and collapsed in the living room of his house at Spinner's End, the young Potter in his arms. He was very tired, but he knew that his work for the night was not yet complete.
Swooping over to his potions cabinet opposite the landing where he had appeared, he selected two vials: a Calming Draught, to focus his thoughts, and the Potion of Awakening, a stimulant that would ensure he could make it through the night and finish his job. His eye paused on a bottle of Ogden's Finest sitting on the counter. The temptation was terrible. It would ease the pain…
No. Lily's son. Harry. He could not rest yet. Perhaps later, he could allow himself. Yes, definitely later.
Downing both potions without another thought, and splashing a little water onto his face, Severus refocused himself on the task at hand. He levied his wand, the words for the Patronus charm forming on his lips. At first, he felt the resolve of his memory fail, and he hesitated. Lily. He remembered her laugh. He remembered her face. He remembered her eyes. They were the same as the boy's eyes. He had promised Lily that he would take care of the boy. He could not fail her now.
He remembered all of the kindness that Lily had shown him, the way that he felt he belonged, that there was still the slightest measure of hope in his life, that he could be redeemed. He recalled how he held onto that precious feeling during the long summers he endured at home – no, at his house - in Cokesworth. He could see her clearly, now. He felt a surge of positive energy, as if somewhere, somehow, her spirit was urging him on.
"Expecto Patronus!" he incanted.
The silver doe burst into life. It seemed more surreal than ever, prancing in a slow circle around him, sending painful tremors through his heart. It turned towards him, and its eyes seemed to bore into his soul for a moment.
He forced himself once more to clear his mind, wrenching painful thoughts away. Severus directed the Patronus with a sharp snap of his wand, focusing on his intended message, and it vanished from sight almost instantaneously.
Come on, Albus...quickly!
There was no longer any apparent present danger, but the gravity of the current situation and the urgency of his responsibility felt almost overbearing. And for a man like Severus Snape, who was used to coping with great stress on a daily basis, this was a remarkable sentiment.
There was a long delay, and it was some time before he received any response, although in reality it may have been only fifteen or twenty minutes.
The response came in a most startling form, as Albus Dumbledore himself materialized from thin air in a burst of flames, his phoenix Fawkes letting out a heart-wrenching cry as the pair landed in the opposite corner of the room, next to the mantle. Normally, this sort of entrance would have unquestionably rude, if not an outright crime, even though Dumbledore was permitted entrance by the wards, but the circumstances tonight did not call for social graces.
Dumbledore did not waste any time with his usual games.
"You have the boy then?"
Severus stepped aside wordlessly, allowing Albus to see past him to the small corner table, on which Harry lay, wrapped tightly with blankets, still singed by the fire that had consumed Godric's Hollow.
Dumbledore came closer now, inspecting Harry with his own eyes. They normally twinkled brightly, but tonight were ashen, lingering an unusually long time on the boy's scar.
"This is a most disturbing development," he mused out loud. "I have just been to the wreckage, but there was almost nothing to recover. I suppose there was nothing left of Lord Voldemort when you arrived? Not even his wand?"
"No," Severus lied. "It appears that, by all appearances, the Dark Lord was somehow defeated in his attempt to personally vanquish the Potters."
"But how? That is the mystery..."
"Indeed, how."
There was a long pause.
"I thank you for your quick action in this situation, Severus. You acted courageously in what I know was a most difficult situation." This was perhaps an extraordinarily twisted view of what had transpired, but now was not the proper time for that discussion.
"It seems, however, that I must now take the boy from your care," Dumbledore continued. "He is to be placed with his relatives in Surrey."
In Surrey? The horrible Muggles? With Petunia and her even more repulsive husband? That would never do. Those Muggles were hardly a step above his own father, and he would never wish his own childhood on anyone.
"No."
For the first time that Severus Snape could remember, Albus Dumbledore looked genuinely shocked. After all, he was not a man that was used to being contradicted, and certainly not from one who was so deeply in his service.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" Dumbledore said.
"I cannot agree that the boy should be placed with Petunia and her husband. They are most unsuitable for this particular task. Surely you must see that!" His voice took on a more urgent tone now, breaking from its usual steady intonation.
"You must not let old grudges cloud your judgment, Severus, after all, the boy will be safer away from the attention – the blood of his relatives will protect him so long as he-"
"Protect him?" Severus spat. Albus Dumbledore had his merits, but his casual dismissal was maddening, if not expected. His condescension could sometimes be unbearable. "What he needs is a proper upbringing, the right sort of training, to be prepared to be a wizard and embrace his heritage. He will never get that with those...Muggles...the young Potter heir in that environment? The Daily Prophet will have a field day when it is announced-"
"It was not my plan to say anything of the sort on the matter."
Of course, Severus already knew that. These were uncannily honest words from the man, who usually refrained from speaking so plainly. He tilted his head, clearly waiting for Dumbledore to elaborate further.
"In any case, such things as you have so carefully outlined may be desirable qualities, but nevertheless, it remains that he will be safer there, with his own family..."
"Safer? His own family? I could hardly disagree more, Albus! No, I refuse."
He dared to make eye contact with Dumbledore, black eyes challenging blue, his Occlumency shields raised to full strength. In this case, his intentions were sincere, but Severus was never off his guard, whether in the presence of Dumbledore or the Dark Lord.
Finally, it was Dumbledore who broke stares.
"I see that you are not taking this well, Severus. I cannot hold it against you, after all.."
There was a longing note in the man's voice, and for the briefest instance, both men were lost to their thoughts. Dumbledore regained his presence of mind first.
"What do you propose then, Severus, given your insistence in involving yourself in this matter? Do you have a better plan than this?"
"I agree that he must be placed somewhere carefully, somewhere that he will be safe, where the fame will not go to his head."
Severus hesitated. He knew it would come down to this from the moment he sent his Patronus to Dumbledore.
"That is why I would like to take the boy in, under my own roof."
For the second time in one night, Dumbledore seemed taken aback.
"Severus," he began, his face contorting to what was probably supposed to be a sympathetic gaze. "Do you have any idea what you are asking for, the preparations that we must make, the trail that we must cover? If it is even possible...there will be many who could oppose us..."
"Make it happen," Severus cut in, suddenly emboldened in his machinations. "I have promised Lily. This was her wish. I will not renege on my vow."
He lowered his occlusion just enough to emphasize the sincerity of his words. Nothing less would possibly sway Dumbledore.
Another long moment passed. He could hear the clock ticking on the wall, counting the seconds towards a dawn that was surely coming before long...
"I am touched, Severus," Dumbledore mused, not for the first time. "Extraordinarily so. Suppose we did carry through with your plan..."
Severus had trouble believing it. Was Dumbledore actually considering his idea now? He had resolved himself to this argument, but he had difficulty imagining that he would actually attain success. He had only resolved to try, for Lily's sake. Dumbledore could, of course, simply overpower Severus, take Harry, and wipe any memory of the confrontation. This was well within his abilities. But to his credit, this was never Dumbledore's way of doing things.
"Would you be prepared to be a father to the boy? Would you manage – you are, after all, in the midst of pursuing a Potions mastery...this is a very trying time for you, and you are still young."
"I will manage, Albus," he asserted. "As I have always managed. I have always found a way."
The old man smiled sadly. "You have been forced to grow up far too quickly, Severus, my boy."
Severus stiffened. He hadn't felt like anyone's boy in years, that was certain, but he had to endure Albus' way of addressing him like some well-meaning grandfather.
"I can see that there will be no reasoning with you, Severus," Dumbledore conceded. "And time is now running shorter than ever, so if we are to act, we must act soon."
"Then I suggest," Severus said, "we begin immediately."