Momento Mori
Prologue
On the morning of November 1st, 1981, Lucius Malfoy dressed in steel grey dress robes, doing his best to remain silent while his wife slept soundly. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong indeed.
He reached for his cane, his gaze resting on Narcissa. In spite of everything, Lucius allowed himself a small smile. She was as radiant with messy hair and dark circles under her eyes as she was when she was dressed for a Ministry gala. She had stayed up nearly the entire night with him, waiting for the return of the Dark Lord, only going to their bed when he urged her after she had nodded off at nearly four in the morning. He loved her all the more for it.
Lucius left the room quietly. He walked past the nursery, relieved that there were no cries to be heard.
As if suddenly remembering something, he forcefully whispered, "Dobby!"
The house elf appeared with a crack. Dobby's tiny hands gripped the grimy pillowcase he used to cover himself. "Yes, Master Lucius?" The cowering creature asked.
"Go sit in the nursery. My wife has had a long night, and she deserves her rest. I don't want anything to disturb her until she wakes of her own accord. Is that clear?"
"Crystal clear, master!" squeaked Dobby before running as fast as his short legs could carry him.
"And for Merlin's sake, be quiet!" hissed Lucius before stalking away.
Lucius left for work after that, appearing in one of the various hearths within the Minsitry. He instantly balked at the sight that greeted him. A kind of frenzied excitement had swept throughout the Ministry. He watched as two witches embraced one another before rushing off to hug others. Gerard Cattermole, a man Lucius had never seen as much as smile, was skipping through the Atrium, humming to himself.
A pair of arms seized Lucius's torso from behind. "What the—"
"Lucius!" Alastair Fortescue exclaimed, squeezing the blond man tightly. "Have you heard the good news?"
"What?"
"You-Know-Who is dead! Gone!" Alastair beamed. Icy lead began to fill Lucius's stomach. "He went to the Potters last night and when he tried to kill their son, he failed! Dead!" Alastair released him, pushing his bronze spectacles up his nose.
Lucius felt ill but plastered a semblance of a smile across his face. "How are the Potters, then? I assume they're rather shaken by the encounter—"
Alastair's grin deflated. "Well, uh, no. They're dead, Lucius."
Lucius's mind instantly went to Severus. He'd scoffed at his young friend's supposed love for the Mudblood woman, but knew that the man was probably in great pain at the moment. "That's...a shame," he found himself saying.
"Yes," agreed Alastair, nodding, "they were so young, with a full life ahead of them. Twenty one! Can you believe it? I hadn't even met my Thelma when I was twenty one... still. At least their son's alive!" The man's spirits had brightened once again. "They're calling him a hero! Little Harry Potter!" With that, he raced off, likely to accost another unsuspecting soul.
Lucius felt a bout of nausea sweep over him. Before he could process it, he was running to the nearest lavatory where he found himself kneeling over a toilet, retching and covered with sweat. The Dark Lord was gone. Dead.
It was impossible. How many times had he assured Lucius that he would not meet his demise anytime soon? The Dark Lord was the most powerful wizard to ever live. He had accomplished great feats, he had bested nearly ever witch or wizard that had dared attempt to block his path to greatness. How could he have possibly fallen at the hands of a child, a baby? It made no sense.
The door swung open, and a pair of shiny black shoes walked across the tile floors. "How're you feeling, Lucius?" It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, without a doubt.
Lucius attempted to calm his breathing. "Not terribly well, to tell you the truth," he stated, with strength that he didn't feel. "I think I have caught a virus. Either that or one of the damn house elves gave me food poisoning." He let out a watery laugh.
"That's too bad," Shacklebolt said, not sounding sympathetic to other man's plight at all, "because I have been ordered to take you into custody by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
Lucius closed his eyes. He knew this day would come if his master fell, where he would be asked about his involvement with the Dark Lord, but he hadn't anticipated on it blindsiding him like this.
Still, he thought of his beautiful wife, his beloved son, and the baby girl curled up in his crib beside him. Lie. It is what you must do. It is what he would wish for you to do. Lie.
"Of course. Allow me a moment to collect myself, if you please."
Shacklebolt greeted him with silence and Lucius took his time, wiping his mouth, fixing his hair, and inhaling deeply. He stepped out of his stall, looking as dignified as he had when he left his house that morning. He plastered the infamous Malfoy smirk upon his face, and said "Lead the way."
Severus Snape, looking as tired as Lucius had that morning, stepped out of the Malfoy fireplace. He Vanished the ash off his robes before he set off.
He hated this. He hated Dumbledore. He hated the Dark Lord.
This was a betrayal of the most sinister kind. How dare Dumbledore ask him to do this? He wished he had never allowed the headmaster access into his thoughts. Lucius and Narcissa were two of his dearest friends. They had never mocked him based on his arse of a Muggle father, always invited him for Christmas dinners, and had even named him godfather for their only child, their precious Draco. And how was Severus repaying them for all their kindnesses? By coming into their home and stealing a child from them.
He swallowed his disdain. They would be distraught; Narcissa most of all. He knew that while she adored Draco and loved him with everything she had, she had always craved a daughter. And though she hadn't given birth to that child, she treated the second baby as her own.
The nursery door was cracked open. Severus approached it softly. A house elf was sitting in a wicker rocking chair, asleep. The babies were inside the crib, sleeping peacefully.
Severus reached down, picking up the baby adorned in the pale pink onesie. Her hair was dark, and had began to grow longer down her neck. She opened her eyes, staring at him. Confused, she looked around the room. "Dada?"
Draco stirred, his tiny fist moving closer to his mouth. "No," said Severus quietly. "I'm sorry."
And he was. Even though her parents were dead, this child had a chance to grow up as the Malfoy's second child. She could grow up with all the riches Severus had been denied as the son of a deadbeat Muggle, be educated in the ways of the wizarding world. She would have a sense of family, even though it wouldn't be biological.
But where Severus was taking her, it was unlikely she would find that.
Before the child could speak again, Severus gathered her in his arms and fled the nursery. He raced down the stairs, reaching for the Floo and exclaiming "Spinner's End!"
Three hours later, Severus found himself at the gates of Wool's Orphanage in London. The place looked dirty, rundown. He could hardly believe that the master he had served for nearly four years now had grown up in a dilapidated dump like this. The Dark Lord carried an air of sophistication and eloquence about him; this place was even worse than the home Severus had grown up in.
The baby shifted in his arms again, crying out. Severus swallowed the lump in his throat. How could Dumbledore possibly think this was a good idea? First he was sending Lily's son off to live with that awful snit, Petunia, and now this.
It was unfair.
Severus approached the door, knocking once. Nothing happened. Severus glanced down at the small child, her hair now short. Not for the first time since taking the child, he entertained the thought of Apparating back to Malfoy Manor and returning the child to where she belonged.
But the door opened, revealing a middle aged woman with dark brown hair and a warm smile. "Hello! I'm Dana White, what brings you 'round here?" She asked with a strong Cockney accent.
Severus gulped. "I'm afraid this young girl lost her parents last night."
Her eyes widened as she stared at the child in his arms. "Oh! Poor dear!"
"Yes," Severus said as she squirmed in his arms.
"Daco! Dada!"
"Why don't you come on, Mr.—uh, what was your name again, love?"
"Snape," he replied, not remembering if he had told her his name or not.
"Yes, of course. Silly me, I'm rubbish with names—"
The baby wailed as Severus brought her into the orphanage that would serve as her home for the next ten years.
Lucius had been interrogated for nearly twelve hours. He evaded each question, feigned ignorance, and lied through his teeth. If the Dark Lord had been present, he would have been proud.
When Lucius returned home, he was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to hold Draco and Bethany tightly, to kiss his Narcissa, and to wash himself clean of this dreadful, abysmal day.
But as soon as he stepped out of the fireplace, Lucius felt Narcissa's arms wrap around him, burying her face into his chest as sobs wracked her petite body. "Narcissa—"
"She's gone!" She wailed. "Lucius, she's gone! Somebody took Bethany!"
Lucius's dismay at the loss of his master was nothing compared to this. Without a second thought, the head of the house of Malfoy broke down into tears, pulling his wife closer while he wept into her hair.
"Have you no shame?" demanded Severus.
Albus Dumbledore smiled at him from the other side of his large desk. "Ah, Severus. Please, have a seat."
"No!" The other man snapped. "Do you have any idea how *miserable* day been? And it's all because of you!" He spat.
Dumbledore's smile had vanished. His blue eyes, which almost always held that mirthful twinkle, were solemn. "Severus," he began, "I did what I could do to preserve the life of Lily Evans and her family." At the mere mention of her name, Severus flinched. "But ultimately they put their trust in the wrong person. There was nothing I could do."
Severus, operating on 36 hours without sleep and pure, undiluted grief, blinked rapidly as tears gathered in his eyes. "I'm not talking about that," he said, unable to muster the vitriol he was feeling. "I'm talking about the child."
"Voldemort's daughter?" Dumbledore spoke plainly, as if the notion itself weren't one of the greatest anomalies in recent wizarding history.
Severus cleated his throat. "She's more than just that, you know. She's a child. An innocent child."
"That she is," the headmaster agreed, leaning forwards in his chair. "Which makes it all the more necessary to remove her from her father's supporters."
"Supporters who love her!" Severus burst out. Had he not been so outraged, he would have felt embarrassed by the tear that escaped his eye just then. "Do they believe the bloodlines must be kept pure? Yes. Do they believe Muggles are scum? Yes. But they were all she knew."
"Severus," Dumbledore said, treading lightly, "surely, you must expect that if Bethany Riddle were to be kept in their care, she would undoubtedly be raised to be her father, to conquer over the wizarding world?"
"And how do you know that by forcing her to grow up in the same orphanage as him and without a family, you haven't damned her into becoming him?"
Dumbledore studied a grain in his wooden desk. "There are many couples in this world who seek out to adopt children."
Severus scoffed. "Magical children are never adopted by Muggles. The Dark Lord lived in that orphanage until he was of age. What makes you think she will be any different?" Before Dumbledore could interject, he continued on with, "History will end up repeating itself. An alienated, unloved child will come to Hogwarts ten years from now and it will be your fault."
Dumbledore looked up, his grey eyebrow arched. "If you truly believe that, then why did you take her there?"
For that, Severus had no answer. Why had he done it? He could say it had been for Lily Evans, but the girl he had known would have never wanted such a dastardly thing on any child, nor what Bethany Riddle connected to her legacy in any way. It hadn't been for the Dark Lord, it certainly hadn't been for Lucius or Narcissa— Merlin only knew what hell they were going through right now.
His gaze flickered to the old man, whose wrinkled hands were folded on top of his desk. Trust, Severus decided, was his only reason. He hoped that this act had allowed him to prove himself and to show that he was ready to redeem himself for his past crimes.
"Severus?"
"What?"
"May I have it?"
Severus withdrew a single lock of brown hair from his pocket. "Excellent!" Dumbledore drew his wand of elder, poised overtop it.
"What are you doing with it?"
The older man focused his gaze on the former Death Eater. "A spell that will conceal her identity from anyone outside this room. Nobody shall recognize her, save for you and I, until she learns of her parentage."
Severus resisted the urge to snap at the older man again. Indeed, perhaps it would be wise that Bethany Riddle, whoever she grew up to be, would remain blissfully unaware that her father was a genocidal pure blood supremacist who had wished to conquer the world.
He watched as Dumbedore's wand moved, casting an orange glow upon the hair, before fading to green and ceasing.
That night, a flying motorbike soared across the starry skies, driven by a half giant with a small baby. A wealthy couple sat in their dining room, their table full of food, yet they were both too weary and without an appetite. A woman in the heart of London sat in a rocking chair, desperately trying to sooth the cries of the newest resident. A young man finally collapsed in his bed after a grueling two days and wept. A headmaster met one of his most trusted staff members at a house on Privet Drive. And an entire country celebrated, their glasses clinking together as they toasted to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
A/N: I appreciate any feedback will and gladly accept constructive criticism! It's been a while since I have published anything. I've been inspired lately, and have been writing more in the past few days than I have in maybe a whole year. My hope is that this will be a lengthy story, so if you enjoy it, please let me know!