A/N: This story was written for the International Wizarding School Championships—an amazing forum I highly encourage you all to join. Looking for a great Harry Potter writing competition? Look no further! Amazing prompts, no bullying, and incredible writers and friends!
School: Mahoutokoro School of Magic
Theme: It's Tardis Time—Modern Era, 1880–1945 (story set during the First World War)
Prompts: 12. [Object] Historical artifact from your era: white feather (sign of cowardice in WWI) (main prompt), 6. [Weather] Thunderstorm (additional prompt), 7. [Colour] Burgundy (additional prompt)
Year: Year 6 (Part-timer standing in)
Round: Round 7
Word count: 3285 words (Google docs; using +10% leeway)
Beta: A huge thank you to Sophie (3cheersforidiots) for beta'ing :D
Additional A/N: This story is a very belated gift to one of the kindest people I have ever met. Thank you, Jenny (Claude Amelia Song) for always being there for me. Happy birthday! Xx
I also quickly want to say thank you to the judges at the International Wizarding Schools Championship not only for reading all our entries and giving great feedback but for the courage you gave me these last few rounds to keep writing :D
I feel like this round was made for me (even though it really wasn't) because I absolutely adore history. The fact that we got a period of time where so much happened is a bonus. I've written two versions, and I think my next few rounds (if I write) may just be history inspired—Cho hiding Jews only for Marietta to spoil her secret, life in Japan with the threat of bombs during WWII as inspired by the film 'In this Corner of the World' (such a beautiful film by the way; makes you realise (if you hadn't already) that people on both sides of a war are affected)...
I do have a few bits of explanation at the end of this story (whether you read or not is up to you lol), but just for now, I want to point out that my beliefs aren't necessarily reflected in this story. Whilst I don't believe in killing a person, no matter what they've done, I do hold high respect for soldiers, including our veterans. With ANZAC Day approaching, I wanted to explore a different perspective of what some people faced.
If anyone is interested in seeing historical artifacts, or just in history in general, please PM me :) Thanks for reading! Xx
White Feathers
England had seen many impressive storms over the years, and the thunderstorm rolling over Cokeworth one summer afternoon in 1967 was no exception. Ominous charcoal-grey clouds loomed over the village, filling the sky with echoing booms.
"I'm warning you, boy, if you don't hurry—"
"But I d-don't want to!"
"Don't be such a coward; it's just a storm!"
Bang!
In one of the houses, the sound of a door slamming clashed with another great boom, causing the windows to rattle.
Edith sighed, but her gaze remained on the clouds outside, watching as they occasionally lit up with lightning. She couldn't help but think it looked more like sparks of gunfire reflected on clouds of smoke, the claps of thunder like the explosion of cannons. As another lightning bolt streaked across the sky, a shiver ran down her spine, and she clutched the white feather she'd been stroking even tighter.
She finally drew her eyes from the window when her grandson came bounding into the room. His chest was rising up and down rapidly, and his dark eyes were wide with fright.
"No running in the house," she said, her eyes focused on his burgundy shirt. Just like the storm, the striking red-brown colour brought back memories of a time gone by.
"S-sorry, Grandma."
"What was all that yelling about, Severus?"
"Father wanted me to walk home with him," he said, jumping at another clap of thunder.
"But you said no?"
His dark eyes looked towards the window, and she could see the storm reflected within them. He gulped. "I didn't want to get struck by lightning."
Edith pursed her lips. She had a feeling that making a seven-year-old walk down the road in such a fierce storm wasn't all that her son did to the boy.
"But I'm not a coward," Severus said, heading towards the door. "I just—I just came to say goodbye."
"You'll do no such thing. You sit your derrière down here," she said, pointing with the feather to the floor in front of her armchair. "Let me tell you something about cowardice…"
March 1915...
"Stop fidgeting with your hair, Darcy, you look fine," Edith whispered, increasing her pace.
A ferry had not long pulled into the dock, and already, men were disembarking. If they didn't hurry, they'd all be lost in the crowd.
Darcy's eyes widened as thunder rumbled across the shoreline, and her hand flew to her blonde curls. "Do you think it'll rain?" she asked. When Edith shot her a glare, she added, "What? I might end up marrying one of these men one day."
Edith rolled her eyes. She'd suspected the blonde had only signed up for the Order of the White Feather to meet gentlemen. Times were becoming tougher, though, and if they didn't concentrate on their job, there was a chance the British Empire would be doomed.
It was certainly not the time to be worrying about finding husbands—
She stopped in her tracks as her eyes fell upon one of the men, her heart thrumming in her chest. The sleeves of his burgundy tunic were rolled up to reveal toned arms, and the chestnut-brown hair poking from underneath his cap seemed to gleam; he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five. He strolled down the dock with an air of confidence, effortlessly carrying a trunk in one hand that she thought would've weighed a tonne. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it felt almost like he didn't belong in their world.
It filled her with hope.
"I've got this one," she said to Darcy.
She pulled out a white feather as she approached him, fixing upon her face what she hoped was her most endearing smile. It seemed to work, for he slowed his pace.
"You look like a strong gentleman," she said, batting her eyelashes. "Will you be meeting the call to serve King and Country?"
The man tipped his hat to her, a bemused smile on his face. "Actually, I'm just here to get away from—to visit family."
Her smile wavered. Standing on her toes, she swished the feather under his chin. "But your country needs you."
The man tried to move past her. "Sorry, but I don't believe in people killing each other. This Mug—this war has nothing to do with me."
Edith huffed, shifting her weight so that he couldn't leave. Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and tucked the feather into his shirt pocket. The white was a stark contrast to the burgundy material, and a little ripple of satisfaction ran down her back. If she couldn't convince him to enlist, she was sure other people would see it and shame him until he did.
He took the feather out and tickled her cheek with it. "No, thank you," he said, forcing it back into her hand.
As he swept past, she crushed the feather in her grasp. He may have been handsome, but if he couldn't make the same sacrifices for the empire as other men, she didn't care.
"Coward!" she yelled after him.
"I don't get it. Why didn't he like the feather? Was he scared of birds, like Father? I know he hates it whenever he sees an owl…"
Edith blinked, returning to the present. Severus was staring up at her with his head tilted.
She looked down at the feather in her hand. It was soft against her skin, the white such a pure colour. It was funny how such a seemingly innocent item could bring about so much pain.
"White feathers were a sign of cowardice. We gave them to men to encourage them to join the war effort."
"Hold on… You said the man had chestnut hair, but Grandad used to have black hair, like mine."
Edith clutched the feather to her chest. "Oh, no, that man wasn't your grandfather, but he was just as frustrating…"
...
"Oooh… come on…"
Edith winced as lightning split the sky in two, sending a torrent of rain down upon her. It soaked into her dress, causing the material to cling to her skin. Biting her tongue, she gave another tug on the leather straps tying her horse to the buggy. It was no use, though; the clamp was too tight. She leapt back as the horse flailed his gigantic hooves, spooked by the thunder.
"Need help?"
Her heart hammered as she turned around, seeing a tall man illuminated by the lightning. She was sure no one had been standing on the road before, but there he was, still wearing the same burgundy shirt from the previous day.
"Oh, it's you," she said, frowning. "No, thank you; I don't accept help from cowards."
"The wheel's fallen off your cart. If you give me a moment, I can fix it," he said, bending down to examine it. "Too easy."
She looked helplessly around, hoping that someone else would come along to help. It seemed no one else dared come out in the storm, however, and she turned back to him.
"Fine, but only because I don't want to catch a cold in this rain."
"Okay. Turn around."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Turn around. I don't like people watching when I work."
She narrowed her eyes at the man, but there was no cheeky smile upon his face to indicate he was making a joke. With a sigh, she looked away.
"All done."
Turning around, she saw him standing up, with the wheel fixed firmly to the buggy. "But, how—"
"We should probably get out of this rain. Do you mind if I drive?"
Edith looked back at the wheel, amazed that it'd been fixed so fast. He seemed to take her silence for a 'yes,' and helped her into the buggy. He soothed the horse, before hopping into the buggy himself. With a flick of the reins, they were off.
"I suppose you want me to thank you, Mr—?"
Now that she was on the road again, she was able to focus on the man beside her. The rain had also soaked his shirt through, defining his muscles further and stirring up his musty scent of sandalwood, lavender, and, less appealingly, what she suspected was goat.
The corners of his lips tilted up. "Dumbledore, but you can call me Aberforth. And yes, that would be nice, Miss—?"
"I'm Edith, but you should call me Miss Fitzgerald."
His smile grew, and there was a twinkle in his blue eyes. "Well, Miss Fitzgerald, it's a pleasure to meet you."
Silence fell over the carriage as it trundled along the road, broken only by the distant sound of thunder. Even when the storm faded away, neither of them spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.
From the corner of her eye, Edith tried to study the man. She'd noticed there was no ring on his finger, so she could only assume he had no wife or children to care for. He didn't appear injured in any way, and his accent was certainly not German to make her think him a spy. If anything, she suspected he could be Fenian based on his strange name, but the war affected the Irish just as much as any of them. So why, then, did he refuse the call to arms?
"Just ask me," he said, guessing her thoughts.
She faced the road, her cheeks burning. "Why haven't you joined the Great War yet?"
"I told you, it's not my war to fight. Anyway, I don't see what's so 'great' about it."
"Where's your sense of adventure? So many young men couldn't wait to sign up."
They'd finally reached the town. A small burst of sunshine had cut through the clouds, bringing people back out from the shops they'd sheltered in. She pointed to a long line of men standing in front of a table, many of whom looked far younger than eighteen, their faces alight with excitement.
Aberforth followed her gaze. "I bet those men," he nodded to another line of uniformed men limping down the street, most of whom had an arm in a sling, a patch over their eye, or, worse still, substituting crutches for a leg, "were eager for an 'adventure' too."
Edith's heart tightened in her chest. She'd heard of some horrific tales from the battlefield in the last month, but she'd refused to believe it was that bad. Although the war hadn't ended by the previous Christmas as had been promised, the government still insisted it would all be over soon and Britain would be better off.
She felt around in her pocket, keen to help them.
"You're not going to give me another feather, are you?" he asked, smirking.
She rolled her eyes and pulled out a sepia-toned photograph. Brushing her fingers over the smiling face, she held it up for him to see.
"This is my brother, Thomas. He was only nineteen when he enlisted with his mates. I couldn't be prouder of him, doing his bit for our safety and freedom."
A shadow crossed Aberforth's face, and his grip on the reins tightened. "Wish I could be that proud of my brother."
"Oh? So he's joined the effort?"
"He's off on an adventure, alright. Just like you, he thinks I'm a coward. Hypocrite. Tells me not to duel, yet says I shouldn't run away, either."
For some reason, Edith felt her cheeks burning with the shame she was supposed to make him feel. "So why not join, then?"
"Again, it's not my fight. I came here to get away from conflict. Besides," the smile returned to his face, but it didn't quite meet his eyes, "I don't want to be a murderer."
His words felt like a slap to her face. Holding up the photograph of her brother, she waved it under his nose. "My brother isn't a murderer! He's out there, defending our country!"
"And how do you think he's doing that?"
Her blood boiled. Stuffing the photograph back into her pocket, she leant over and grabbed the reins. Pulling tightly, she brought the buggy to a standstill.
"Get out."
"What?"
"Get out," she said, pushing Aberforth. "I don't ride with cowards."
"Edith—"
She focused her glare on the road ahead, waiting as he got out of the buggy. As soon as she felt the carriage lighten, she whipped the reins, sending the horse surging forward and away from the fiend.
Not for the first time, she wished dearly that it'd been the last time she'd seen that man.
Severus' head was tilted again. "I didn't know your brother was in the war. What happened to him?"
She peered down at him, her heart clenching. Years of regret had meant that tears no longer clouded her eyes when she thought of Thomas, but it didn't hurt any less.
...
Edith's heart pounded as she ran down the road, streaks of lightning lighting her path.
Crash!
Bang!
She winced, tears mixing with the rain stinging her cheeks, but she didn't slow down. The lightning sounded so much like gunshots, the rumbling thunder like bombs destroying the world around her. Her world was already destroyed, though.
"Woah, hold on there…"
Out of nowhere, hands grabbed her shoulders, but she didn't struggle. Her knees wobbled as she was steered through the chilly rain towards an old, wooden shed along the lane.
"You're shivering." She stared into Aberforth's blue eyes as he rubbed her arms. "Now, what happened?"
More tears slid down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to tell him, but she couldn't. If she said it aloud, then it would be true. With a trembling hand, she held out the scrunched telegram she'd received just an hour beforehand.
He scanned the note. "I'm sorry. There's no chance they're wrong?"
She shook her head. Thomas was gone forever… there was nothing she could do…
Her chest heaved up and down as she stared into Aberforth's eyes, the sympathy within them doing nothing to help her. There he was, a perfectly healthy man, all his limbs intact.
Without warning, she pushed him back, her hands pounding into his chest. "Coward! Coward, coward, coward! This is your fault!"
He simply stood there, allowing her to scream at him. Her anger rivalled the thunder booming outside. When beating his chest didn't feel enough, she felt in her dress pockets and pulled out the white feathers she kept inside.
Throwing them at him, she continued her tirade. "You should've signed up! He needed your help!"
Eventually, weakness overcame her again, and she didn't resist as he gripped her wrists.
In a quiet voice, he said, "There's nothing I could've done. All enlisting would've done would be turning me into a murderer, and for what? To achieve some 'greater good?'"
"You would've been a hero! But no, you run away from everything, don't you? You said so yourself! You're a coward!"
She had no energy left, and with her breathing heavy, she glared at him through her tears. His blue eyes didn't hold the twinkle they'd had when she'd first met him.
"Perhaps I am a coward; I do run when things get tough."
She didn't say anything. The pounding rain and rumbling thunder continued outside, but it seemed more distant.
"Do you really believe enlisting in a war I don't believe in is the right thing to do?"
She bit her lip. "Of course."
"Knowing that innocent men are losing their limbs, or dying?"
"Yes." Her voice shook.
Her mind was still on her brother, how she'd never see his freckles, that cheeky smile, hear his teasing voice… If his platoon had had more backup, if there'd been more men to help, he might still be alive. Then again, he'd still be alive if he hadn't gone in the first place.
The thunder ahead rumbled again, almost as though it was agreeing with her thoughts.
To her surprise, Aberforth chuckled slightly. He brushed a strand of her wet, black hair from her face, sending another shiver down her spine.
"I've never met a woman—Muggle or otherwise—who was so strong in her convictions. You make me want to change."
She didn't know what 'Muggle' meant—it was probably some Fenian slang—but she didn't care. She allowed him to pull her to the dusty floor. He wrapped an arm around her, and finally, it seemed like maybe she could feel warm again.
"I can't bring Thomas back, but why don't you tell me about him?"
He wiped a tear from her cheek as she nodded and began to relay memories of her brother, still wishing Thomas could be there.
"I hope you didn't kiss him," Severus said, wrinkling his nose.
Edith pursed her lips. "That's none of your business."
Severus frowned, opening his mouth as if to say something. He closed it, though, looking a little frightened.
"Go on, spit it out," she said.
He shook his head, but under her glare, the words came tumbling out. "It's just… I agree with Aberforth. Fighting didn't sound so great." He winced and added, "Sorry."
She sighed, hating that he looked so scared for speaking up. "You know what? I agree with him, too."
…
When Edith awoke the next morning, sunlight filled the barn. As she peered around, she found that the storm wasn't the only thing to have gone. Aberforth wasn't anywhere in sight.
A blush rose to her cheeks as she thought about him. They'd spent the night talking, and although it didn't completely absolve the pain in her heart from Thomas' loss, she'd realised she couldn't pressure other young men to enter the same fate.
With another stretch, she stood up, looking for the familiar burgundy shirt. A white feather caught her eye instead, lying in the middle of the floor. Intent on destroying it as her first step of redemption, she walked over to it, soon noticing that it was on top of a slip of rough paper.
A sense of foreboding washed over her as she picked it up and read the single line:
For you, I won't be a coward anymore.
Edith's heart constricted as she held the feather, fresh tears falling down her cheeks. What had she done?
"Did you try to stop him? What happened to him?"
Edith looked down at the feather. When she looked back at Severus, it was with a sad smile.
"I never saw him again. The war office couldn't tell me what happened. Although I'm sure I glimpsed his burgundy shirt from time to time, convinced he was looking over me, my best bet is that he's one of the many soldiers buried in an unmarked grave in France."
"Oh."
Rain lashed against the window as though commiserating with them, competing with the loudest thunder yet. Edith turned sharp eyes to Severus, having almost forgotten why she'd relayed her tale.
"I can't change that now, but I can help you. Listen to me, and listen good. I called someone a coward for sticking to his beliefs—just because they didn't suit mine—and it sent him to his death. Don't do something just because someones tells you that you're a coward; don't let your father make you do something you don't agree with. Got it? Because they're the cowards, not you."
Severus stood up and glanced out the window. Yet again, the harsh lightning was reflected in his dark eyes.
He nodded, looking determined. "Alright."
"Good."
She went to stroke the feather again, but Severus' hands stopped her. Taking it from her, he walked over to the wastepaper basket and dropped the feather. They both watched as it floated into the bin.
"We're not cowards, Grandma," he said, his voice stronger than the storm.
Additional A/N: Okay… so… some more information/ notes that you can read or ignore or think 'well why didn't you just put that in the story?' (answer: because I suck at staying within word limits, oops):
Snape's paternal grandmother is unknown in canon, so I took quite a bit of liberty in things like her name, background, etc. The Order of the White Feather (an organisation where women would hand out white feathers to gentlemen who didn't volunteer for war) was founded by Admiral Charles Fitzgerald in August 1914. Hence, I thought it would be possible that 'Edith,' as a Muggle, could be related.
So, I hope you aren't weirded out, but just as young Albus is sometimes cast as good looking (see Fantastic Beasts for reference), I can see Aberforth being quite the charmer when he was young. This story relies on both canon information and my own headcanon with things like his lack of spectacles in the early years, not immediately setting up The Hog's Head after graduation/ Ariana's death (as canon leads us to believe, the two brothers had quite a few fights), etc. I think that Aberforth was just as good as Albus, but since Albus was always going off on adventures and academically inclined, any achievements of Aberforth could've easily been swept under the carpet (for example, Albus makes a comment that he doesn't think his brother could read, but when I read that part in the series, I thought it sounded more like sibling rivalry than fact; Aberforth always seemed quite intelligent in his brief appearances (street smart, if anything). Furthermore, whilst in canon he does prefer duelling to words, he also couldn't forgive Albus for being around a killer (Grindelwald)/ searching for the 'greater good.' I always got the sense that he thought he was better than Albus for not being willing to pay such a price (ie the death of innocent people, whether intentional or not). Since he was also reluctant to join the Battle of Hogwarts during the Second Wizarding War at first, I doubt he'd have supported the Muggle war any more.
Finally, I've left it open as to whether you think he did enlist or not. We know in canon that he obviously lived many more years, but it's not impossible that he wouldn't have enlisted (given he had a wand and all). Whether he joined or simply returned to his home, he wasn't going to be a 'coward' by continuing to run from his problems, unwittingly leaving Edith only with the belief that she'd sent a man to his death.