Author's notes: Obviously, the world of Harry Potter is not of my creation, and so all characters in this story that feature in JKR's books are credited to her.
This story is almost entirely canon-compliant. However, in this story, Snape goes to teach at Hogwarts the September after the Potters are killed, so nearly a year later. This was partly to condense two years into one, and because I wanted Snape's return to Hogwarts to be while the wizarding world, torn apart by the war, is trying rather desperately and unsuccessfully to rebuild itself.
We know for example that by this time the Ministry was resorting to very authoritarian and questionable methods, and indeed that society was apparently unable to purge itself of the worldviews (i.e. pureblood) that gave rise to Voldermort's ideology. A lot of people supported him, and people, society, are bound to be asking themselves, how could this happen? I thought this would be quite interesting to explore, through the personal story of Emily Saxon and the man who murdered her brother.
Also, I thought it rather likely that Slughorn would want to hang onto his job at Hogwarts until he knew it was safe to leave.
PROLOGUE
23rd of April, 1978
The sun was setting on what had been a bright day in the middle of April. The evening had turned balmy, and in the heat, tensions all over London were running high. There had already been riots on the streets of the capital, as angry youths clashed violently with the police. After over a decade of promising change but delivering none, young Muggles were losing patience with the Establishment, and idealism was turning ugly.
To the older generation, it seemed as though the country was splitting, fracturing along social and ideological lines. Many were afraid, but in the leafy Georgian street where the Saxon family lived, the danger seemed a million miles away from their comfortable, urban lives.
Unlike their Muggle neighbours, however, the Saxons lived in daily fear of their lives.
There was nothing to mark out this particular evening as exceptional, but it was.
On this night, their fear was well placed.
The father, Lord Magnus Saxon of Northorpe was a gentleman of eminent importance. He was one of the most well known politicians in the Ministry of Magic, but also held a position, albeit a practically unknown position, in the Muggle government.
His great, great, grandfather on his father's side had been a Muggle Lord, who'd fallen in love and married a witch from a well respected pureblood family. Since then almost every successive member of their family had been magical, and had straddled the divide between the two worlds, trying to maintain harmony and above all, secrecy.
The Saxons had been calling for greater understanding between Muggles and wizards for as long as anyone could remember, and although their wealth and influence granted them a relatively high status, there remained an element of disdain towards them. It wasn't so much that their bloodline was less than entirely pure, as their refusal to distance themselves from that aspect of their heritage, indeed, to emphasise it, which disturbed people. Despite this, the Saxons maintained that their position, where male heirs immediately had access to the Muggle corridors of power was useful. It allowed for greater opportunity at co-operation, and an improvement in relations between Muggles and wizards.
When a young wizard who called himself Lord Voldermort started gaining supporters on the back of an anti-Muggle agenda, Mr Saxon, who's title, of course, meant little to wizards, was quick to speak out against him. He appeared in public with Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and most powerful wizard of the age, urging tolerance towards Muggles, and warning of the dangers of Voldermort's ideology.
Unfortunately, the Saxons were people ahead of their time. The Ministry, frightened of losing support to the enigmatic and charismatic Lord Voldermort, did all they could to appease him. By the time they realised their mistake, it was too late. Lord Voldermort and his supporters soon turned their venom towards Muggleborns, and anyone whose blood was less than 'pure'. Their violent words became violent actions, and for over ten years the wizarding world endured a bloody civil war.
Mr Saxon and his wife Evelyn had joined Dumbledore's secret organisation the Order of the Phoenix in the early years. They pledged their allegiance to Dumbledore, to tolerance and to future peace. They fought and struggled along with the others, but it wasn't always easy to stay strong. There were times when the whole thing seemed hopeless, when they worried for the future, for the lives their children would lead.
The Saxons had two children. Their son, Marcus, would soon be entering his final year at Hogwarts. He was tall and wiry, like his father, with dark hair and a somewhat prominent chin. Growing up in the shadow of the war had made him a serious young man. Their daughter, Emily, took after their mother. While her height and build certainly came from her father, her brown hair and dull grey eyes were undoubtedly her mother's. At just thirteen years old, she, like her brother, was a proud member of Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts.
Emily didn't remember a time when the world wasn't a dangerous place, when they didn't have to go through the ritual of enchanting their home against their enemies every time they went outside. Each time she saw her parents during the holidays was a gift, which she knew could be snatched away at any moment. And yet she longed for the freedom and security of Hogwarts. She longed to be able to wander the grounds without having to look over her shoulder at every step.
Despite the relative safety of Hogwarts, student numbers had been dwindling. Many parents chose to keep their children at home, in hiding, while others simply left the country. But there were always some who couldn't return to Hogwarts. The death toll was rising, and Voldermort's Death Eaters felt no mercy towards the children of their enemies.
The war was not discussed in the Saxon family home, at least not in front of the children. Sometimes Marcus and Emily would hear their parents arguing late into the night, while they were meant to be sleeping upstairs. Each argument was the same; Dumbledore's name would be mentioned several times, and it always ended with their mother in tears, being comforted by their father.
"We're going to get through this, together," they heard him say once, when they'd crept to the top of the stairs to listen. "We're doing the right thing."
Emily wondered what he had meant by this, but when she turned to Marcus, she saw that his jaw was set and there was a small crease between his eyebrows.
"Come on," he'd whispered to her, "time for bed."
From then on, Marcus stopped her from listening to their parents' discussions.
On this warm evening, Marcus, Emily and their mother were in the sitting room of their London home, apparently engrossed in their respective activities; reading, studying, nothing particularly unusual for such a family.
But each in turn kept glancing at the grandfather clock that stood at the other end of the room, ticking loudly.
It was getting late. Their father should be back by now. The unspoken dread hung in the air between them.
And then at last, they heard the front door click open, and the sound of someone entering the house. Mrs Saxon jumped up and hurried forward to meet her husband as he appeared in the hallway. He looked tired, but pleased to see them.
"How was the meeting, Father?" Marcus asked immediately.
Mr and Mrs Saxon shared a glance.
"Interesting," Mr Saxon replied, evasively, "Very interesting."
He opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by Mrs Saxon who hissed for him to be quiet, her eyes wide, listening intently.
For a moment they all listened in silence. Emily tried to ignore the way her heartbeat had started galloping behind her ribs.
"I think I heard something outside," her mother whispered, looking with fear at her husband.
They hesitated only a moment longer before Mr Saxon turned to his son. "Take your sister upstairs," he said in a low voice. He made no effort to hide the urgency in his voice.
Marcus rose immediately, grabbed Emily's hand and left the room, while their parents made their way towards the front of the house. Marcus and Emily had only just reached the bottom of the stairs when there was an almighty crash behind them, followed by several voices shouting incantations.
"Run!" Marcus yelled, pushing his sister ahead of him up the stairs. She did run, as fast as she could, without looking back, only stopping when she was halfway down a narrow and seemingly disused corridor. A few paces from where she stood were two doors on either side of the corridor, that both led into rooms that were only used for storage. The one on the left, however, also held a secret.
As well as old and dusty furniture and boxes, this room held a small vial of bluish-grey liquid; a Potion, that would make the drinker invisible. Time and again they had gone over The Plan should they be attacked. Get the Potion. Drink it and hide. As soon as it's safe to do so, get out of the house and get as far away from there as possible. And most importantly, stick together.
Emily had stopped when she realised she was alone. She looked behind her. The empty corridor stretched ahead.
From downstairs she could still hear shouting and crashes, and then she heard a noise that seemed to pierce her heart; the sound of a woman screaming. Mother. Part of her wanted to run back, but fear kept her rooted to the spot.
The crashes and shouting were getting louder; they were getting closer. She backed a little further down the corridor and into the room, but kept her hand on the handle of the door, unwilling to look away from the corridor. Then, amongst the yells she recognised her brother's voice; he was alive, and fighting back. No sooner had she realised this when she saw him, at the other end of the corridor, running towards her.
She turned into the room, found the Potion vial and, with trembling hands, pulled the stopper. She looked back. Marcus had reached her end of the corridor, but was hiding in the doorway to the other empty room. His wand was still drawn and he was breathing heavily. From where she stood, he didn't seem to be hurt, but why had he stopped there, so close to the safety of the Invisibility Potion?
He turned his head, looked at her, and the flicker of a smile crossed his face as he saw that she had the Potion. Then she realised. Its success rested on the assumption that intruders wouldn't be looking for invisible, hidden, children. It bought them time, until help arrived, or until they could escape. If he were to seemingly disappear into a room at the end of this corridor, the Death Eaters would keep looking for him, and would soon discover them both. They'd already seen him, they knew he was here, but she still had a chance.
The horror of this realisation hit her hard, and she shook her head, tears stinging her eyes, willing it not to be true. Marcus was still looking at her, any sign of a smile now gone. He nodded, and gestured for her to drink the Potion.
The creak of the floorboards somewhere nearby jolted her into action. She took a big gulp of the Potion and backed silently into a gap between the chest of drawers and an enormous dresser. From here she could crouch down low, be out of the way should a Death Eater choose to take a walk around the room, but still see what was going on.
She tried desperately to regulate and slow her breathing. She, hidden, and Marcus, not, waited. And then she watched as her brother duelled with an enemy she couldn't see. He was still standing in the doorway, hiding as spells were fired at him, then firing back, shouting incantations she'd never heard of.
For a moment she hoped he might be victorious, but then there was a flash of green light, and he fell, heavily, to the floor. She gasped, and clapped a hand over her mouth. His eyes were still open, glazed and glassy. An eternity seemed to pass, in which she and her brother were the only people in existence.
Then a shadow fell across his body. In fear she crouched even lower, praying her breathing could not be heard. A figure appeared, cloaked in black, the glint of a mask just visible beneath its hood. The Death Eater's wand was still drawn. It stood beside Marcus' body, looking down at it for what felt like a long time; long enough for Emily to wonder what it was doing.
And then quick as a flash, it pulled its mask away and vomited on the floor. Emily recoiled, but didn't take her eyes away from the figure, which had fallen to its knees and was now crouching on all fours, its head hanging forwards. She waited and watched.
Slowly, the figure raised its head, and for a moment looked straight at her. She barely had time to register the dark, greasy hair, the large, hooked nose, and the cold, piercing eyes, before she shut her eyes and started reciting the dates of the Goblin Rebellions of the 17th century, anything, to steady her racing heart.
Chapter 1 - The Trial of Igor Karkaroff
Summer 1982
It was a warm August morning in the wizarding village of Gilfirth's Gowt, and a cool breeze provided momentary relief on what would otherwise have been a stiflingly hot day. There was little movement in the streets at this hour. Those who had to begin their day early would soon be leaving, flooing and apparating to London, the centre of the wizarding community.
From a window seat in the breakfast room, Emily Saxon watched the birds outside swooping and diving across the sky, as she drank her morning coffee.
"You're up early this morning."
Emily didn't turn to respond to the non-question, engrossed as she was in watching a swallow flying after another, matching its every swerve and dive. They reminded her of the Quidditch games played at Hogwarts, which in the last few years of the war had become a sorry reminder of what Hogwarts should be like; lively, jovial and full of children. The melancholy memory seemed to surround her, and she just murmured absent-mindedly, "Of course."
"Of course," came the reply.
"You didn't think I'd sleep in today, did you?" she asked, finally turning and looking at her uncle, who was sitting at the dining table, reading the newspaper. He didn't respond immediately, but Emily could see he had pursed his lips in what looked like disapproval.
"So long as you know that I can't guarantee I can get you in to the trial," he said, glancing up and giving her a serious look. "They don't just let anyone in. It isn't a spectator sport."
She raised one eyebrow, curled her lip and murmured darkly, "I was aware of that."
Before her uncle could comment on her tone, his wife walked in, greeted them both, and lowered herself into the seat next to her husband.
"Where's Barty? Is he not up yet?" she asked.
The question was directed at Emily, who shrugged and joined them up to table. Because of their closeness in age, it was sometimes assumed that Emily knew better than anyone where her cousin was, or what he was doing. But nothing could be further from the truth. She had lived with the Crouches, her only living relatives, for four years, and with each year that passed her and Barty drifted further and further apart.
This didn't bother her in the slightest. As children, Barty would only agree to play with her when no one else was around, and certainly not when they were joined by Emily's older brother Marcus, or one of his friends from Hogwarts. It was always Barty who most wanted to exclude Emily from their games, who began the teasing, and it was always he who took it too far. Nearly a year older than Emily, but a few years younger than Marcus, Barty used this as a way of ingratiating himself with his older cousin, to mixed success.
It took him a while to grow out of this childish cruelty, but as he neared puberty, Barty was struck down with an inexplicable illness. He'd always been a sickly child, but the sudden and severe deterioration of his health meant he was forced to wait an extra year before attending Hogwarts. Being a year older than everyone else in his year was never easy for Barty, and as the years went by, he began more and more to withdraw into himself. Sorted into Ravenclaw, he kept his head down and dedicated himself to his studies. He still had friends, though Emily could not recall their names, nor, quite frankly, did she take much interest.
The truth was that there were far more serious events taking place in Emily's life, and in the wider wizarding community, that consumed her energies entirely. For as long as she could remember, the wizarding world had been at war. He Who Must Not Be Named and his Death Eaters spread fear, destruction and despair wherever they went. They murdered and maimed anyone who stood in their way.
That included Emily's family. She'd been only thirteen That Night, when a group of masked Death Eaters tore down the ward charms around her family's house, and murdered her parents and her brother. She was the only one to survive, to be found later, hiding in her bedroom, shaking with fear. It was left to her aunt and uncle to help her through the crying, the nightmares, and the terror. They coaxed her into returning to Hogwarts, where she found solace in the company of books. Much like her cousin, she had devoted herself to her education.
The war that had ravaged the country and brought the wizarding society to its knees had finally ended on Halloween night the previous year. It had been sudden, and it had taken a while for the truth of what had actually happened that night to spread.
Emily remembered walking into the Great Hall at breakfast the next morning to find that nobody was eating, or even sitting down. What few students that still remained at Hogwarts were rushing around, as were the teachers. Everyone was talking loudly and hugging each other. Some were even in tears.
For days afterwards, little studying took place at Hogwarts. During war time it had been difficult carrying on with school life as if everything was normal, as every year fewer and fewer students returned to study at the school. But now that it was all so suddenly over, the sheer relief made everyone so unwilling to work that the teachers eventually gave up and gave everyone a holiday.
Emily certainly needed that holiday. The war had dominated her life. Although the nightmares were rare these days, she had lived with her eyes fixed firmly on the day when she could leave Hogwarts and join the Order of the Phoenix. She was more than just willing to fight, she longed for it. She longed for a chance to find her family's killers, to avenge them, to show the world she wasn't scared anymore.
But just like that, it was all over.
It wasn't that she was unhappy that the war was over. She, too, felt keenly the relief that at last they could live in peace and safety. It was, after all, what she had always wanted.
And there was still work to be done. Many of You Know Who's followers were still around, and some fought on, unwilling to believe that their master could have been killed by an unarmed infant.
Many surrendered, however. Perhaps they could tell that without You Know Who, they didn't really stand a chance. Or perhaps, as they often claimed, they had been forced or hoodwinked into supporting him. Like her uncle, Emily didn't believe a word of it, but even Bartemius Crouch Snr couldn't persuade the Wizengamot to convict the likes of Lucius Malfoy or Aelred Avery.
Nevertheless, Emily took a keen interest in the pursuit and trial of the remaining Death Eaters, and listened to every morsel of detail her uncle provided as though it were pure gold. It was clear that Uncle Barty rather enjoyed the obvious admiration of his niece, especially since his own son seemed so apathetic and disinterested.
So when the chance came to get a pass for Emily to attend the next trial, he took it. It was in this arena, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, that he was able to truly display his authority within the Ministry.
It was widely expected that he would be the next Minister for Magic, a role for which he was extremely busy preparing himself. It seemed only fair that he should be rewarded for his services to the Ministry. Under his leadership, the Wizengamot had sent more people to Azkaban than in equivalent years under anyone else. The likes of Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody sometimes raised concern over his authoritarian methods, but it was on this very platform that he had seen his popularity and appeal grow. The public wanted and needed a strong, decisive leader, whose morality and integrity was beyond question.
Emily found his approach very appealing. On numerous occasions she had accompanied her Aunt and Uncle to important events, and willingly allowed herself to be used as part of his political campaign. Her role was especially important on such occasions, as her cousin was often notable by his absence.
The name of Igor Karkaroff was already familiar to Emily, who knew that he had already been convicted of Death Eater activity some months ago. On this day he was to be brought to trial again, as it seemed a short spell in Azkaban had miraculously refreshed his memory, and he wished to provide new information, no doubt in an attempt to win his freedom. Emily, again in agreement with her uncle, thought that the whole thing was sickening, and would much prefer that they take whatever information he had and throw him back into prison. As far as she was concerned, being a Death Eater was unforgivable. After all, she had seen at first hand the horrors such people inflicted.
"Ready to go in five minutes?" Uncle Barty asked his niece.
"Absolutely," she said, hurrying to get her shoes on and fetch her wand.
On her way to her bedroom, her cousin emerged from his own room, bleary eyed and still in his nightclothes. He grunted in reply to her morning greeting and disappeared into the bathroom. It baffled her that he could be so disinterested in the world around them. It wasn't as if he was stupid, in fact he had excelled at his OWLs, doing far better than she had, and was due to get top grades in his NEWTs this summer. Not waiting to ponder the mystery that was her dear cousin, she hurried back downstairs, and followed her uncle through the fireplace to the Ministry of Magic.
Emily sat in the press box during the trial, amongst half a dozen journalists who each had their quills poised over some parchment. As they waited for Karkaroff to arrive, the journalists whispered amongst themselves. Some of them glanced at her, nodding in recognition. Rita Skeeter gave her a wink.
Although she had become accustomed by now to journalists, as they, like everyone else, would often clamour for the attention of her uncle, she was nevertheless a little wary of them. They had no loyalty to her uncle's future career, or the work he was doing for the Ministry, and would just as happily destroy him with some damaging information if they could get their hands on it.
Uncle Barty had advised her against speaking to them if she could, rather than risk saying something that could be twisted and used against him. It was the same policy used by his wife, who had been seen at his side for far more years than his niece had been, and was very adept at playing her role as the supportive wife of this important Ministry official.
This role extended beyond the public gaze. In the privacy of their home, she left much of the discussion of politics to her husband and niece. This traditional view of her role rather disappointed Emily, and as she had grown in maturity and confidence, she sometimes wondered to what extent her Aunt really agreed with her husband.
It sometimes struck Emily as surprising that Aunt Celia really was her mother's sister, so different were they in temperament. Emily's memories of her mother were of a woman who was often smiling, who was warm and affectionate, whereas Aunt Celia was, like her husband, serious and formal.
Perhaps it explained the choices each woman had made in their lives. Where Aunt Celia had married respectable, ambitious, pureblood Bartemius Crouch, her sister had chosen to marry a man who liked to laugh, who was an idealist, who, although far from poor, got his money from the wealthy Muggle side of his family.
Emily took a moment to scan her eyes over the Wizengamot at the other side of the room. Uncle Barty was easily spotted in the front row, right in the middle, where he sat talking to the man on his left. A few seats along from him in the other direction sat Albus Dumbledore, Emily's headmaster and a man she couldn't help but admire. Her parents had always spoken highly of Dumbledore, even before Marcus and Emily had met him at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore had always supported her father's long-running attempts to improve and champion the rights of Muggleborns, and to improve relations between wizards and Muggles, continuing the work of his father and grandfather before him. It was difficult to imagine anyone who was more ideologically opposed to You Know Who and his followers, but her parents had paid a heavy price for their outspoken opposition.
The night her family was killed had been the catalyst for a significant change in the way Emily thought of her Headmaster. As the years went by, her idolisation of Dumbledore faded and she saw him more as the man that he was. Certainly he was extraordinary, and she still trusted him, but sometimes felt as though it was against her better judgement to do so. Perhaps it was the effect of living with the Crouches, seeing things from the perspective of her uncle, who had to deal with Dumbledore's conscientious objections on a daily basis.
After all, if Dumbledore had had his way, there was no question that the Ministry wouldn't have made the gains against the Death Eaters that they had. Azkaban, and indeed the morgue, would be emptier of killers, and the latter even fuller no doubt of innocent victims. Idealism was all very well, Emily thought, but when you're dealing with deranged mass-murderers, that kind of luxury can cost lives.
Behind Dumbledore sat Alastor Moody, a more open critic of Uncle Barty, who Emily had met only a few times. If truth be told, Moody unnerved Emily somewhat. He was loud and unpredictable. It was a shame, she thought, that he was Head of the Auror Department at the Ministry, and so the man she would have to impress if she wished to fulfil her ambition of becoming an Auror.
At last, the doors opened and Igor Karkaroff was dragged into the room by two Dementors. He looked ill, but she supposed that was the effects of living in Azkaban. This was the closest she had ever been to a Dementor, and the cold, clammy feeling that reached her even from this distance was enough to know that Azkaban was somewhere she would never care to be.
The chair upon which Karkaroff sat chained him down, and he trembled and sweated under the gaze of the Wizengamot and the press. Uncle Barty's tone was cold and full of contempt as he questioned the Death Eater, and Emily felt a glow of pride as she listened and watched intently.
The information Karkaroff provided wasn't entirely new. Many of the names he gave that morning were already known to the Ministry, and to Emily. There were, however, two new ones. Rookwood, of whom Emily had never heard, was given, and Uncle Barty made a note of the name, and Severus Snape.
This name was also entirely new to Emily, but what surprised her was Dumbledore's reaction. He stood up immediately and addressed the whole room, assuring them that he had already vouched for Snape. When Karkaroff protested, insisting that Snape was a Death Eater, Dumbledore did not deny that Snape had been a Death Eater, but said that he had become a spy for the Order of Phoenix before the end of the war.
This intrigued her. Uncle Barty had never mentioned the name Snape, or in fact a spy, and she wondered suddenly how much he knew of this himself. It also occurred to Emily how convenient it was for Snape that he had Dumbledore, powerful and infallible, to vouch for his character and keep him out of Azkaban.
That was all Karkaroff could provide, and soon the trial was over. The Dementors returned for their prisoner, who did not leave quietly, but was drowned out once the door through which he was taken had been shut. People immediately started talking amongst themselves, and filing out of the room. It was clear that she wasn't the only one who found the information about Snape very interesting indeed.
Author's Note: Oh, and I've sort of changed it so that Barty's still at school when the war ends. He's still 19 when convicted of being a Death Eater, but he's also still a student.