The Northern Star in the title is for the song Northern Star by Hole. I listened to it every time I needed to get in the mood to write for this fic. It weirdly sums up everything I was going for with the whole fic. You should give it a listen.


It's strange the way they portray cemeteries in media. They're always secluded, far removed from the local population and the safe familiarity of our own species, from the light and warmth that radiates from such establishments. They show them as places shrouded in mist and ominous miasmas, always surrounded by deep, malevolent woods. Severus has yet to encounter any such cemetery. The ones he has seen have always been in open sunlight, the trees and shrubs cleared away by human traffic and the occasional gardener. The birds still sing, the insects still buzz, and the sun still shines clear and bright.

It's late afternoon in May, 1982. The sun has taken on a magnificent golden hue, the warm rays casting a layer of gilt on everything they touch. He tilts his face to the vast blue sky, soaking in warmth and light like the fresh shoots of spring plants. The air smells of sweet blossoms and new life, fresh damp earth and second chances. He doesn't believe it for a second.

Today is just another day in a long string of days to come, in challenges yet unmet, battles not yet fought, betrayals yet undiscovered. This tentative stretch of peace is new and fragile, but people are easily lulled into complacency. This cemetery will see more than its fair share of bodies by the end of the century.

As it stands, it's a nice graveyard. The markers here are old, many by hundreds of years. They sit close together, packed in uneven rows stretching over the flat land. Most of them will stand for longer than it takes the bones beneath them to turn to earth. The stones are weathered and pitted, many of the designs and epitaphs have eroded away as the days have continuously passed by. Orange and green lichens grow in random patches on some, spores taking root and establishing colonies. Life marches on in one way or another, aimless and clinging. He wishes he had such luxury, to simply be, simply exist.

He is here only as a courtesy, a sense of obligation. She used to mean the world to him. The movements of all the moons and stars in the universe must have been set by her. At one time he thought her his salvation. He's fairly certain he was her doom. This should bother him more than it does. But he has more important things to be concerned with these days. Namely the child he has with him.

Tommy is three now and walking with ease along the neat little path between the markers, his eyes wide and taking in every detail that he sees. He's a quiet boy, and for that Severus is thankful. He has a keen gaze for his age and loves to examine things, loves to turn them about in his hands in that awed way that children have. Severus is quietly proud of him. When he watches him he is aware that there is still a fresh, gaping wound in him that misses Tom, wished he was here to see their son. He thinks it's very likely that wound will never close.

He loved him blindly, maddeningly, stupidly. There was a strange, magnetic quality to Tom that enthralled people, and even with all the beautiful, rich pure bloods groveling for his favor, he had choseen him out of everybody else. For the first time in his life, Severus had been chosen decisively over all others simply by being himself. There was a head rush to being loved, to being truly cared for and cherished. He could feel it in the way his thumb would stroke his cheek, trace the length of his lips. He would have died for Tom if he had only asked.

There was another emotion he felt though, an odd, almost spiteful one. Despite what everyone had tried to tell him, had tried to force down his throat day in and day out, someone loved him. And not just anyone, but Tom fucking Riddle, the god damn Dark Lord, strongest wizard of their time, had pledged his love to him.

Fuck you, Lilly Evans. If you were smart you would have loved me too. And now you and your hypocritical ass of a husband are six feet under.

It didn't matter that his own husband was gone (or a murdering psychopath). He knew it was petty and stupid, but some wounds are too severe, their infection raging deep within the psyche. They never fully heal. He would never forgive James, but he didn't really have to now. But he did forgive Lilly. He understood, too; he wouldn't have wanted to be his friend either. Some people are like black holes, so weighed down by their pain that they suck in all the light around them. Severus knew he was one of those people. He was past his own event horizon, couldn't pull himself from the darkness. And that was why he lost Lilly. She must have felt herself being sucked down into a place so hostile that not even her light would be able to survive. She left at the first opportunity in search of what she must have thought was his opposite. Someone who was so bursting with light and joy it made him sick. In the end, he couldn't blame her. James would be able to give her everything she wanted. Would give her a family. He himself couldn't have done that. Not that she had known. Some secrets are meant to be kept. Kept, locked away, and thrown into the deepest of unreachable pits. But, oddly, he had found himself… glad to be physically compatible with Tom. It had made him squirm and ache in appealing places that had once seemed loathsome.

When he saw Tom he was the brightest light of all. But what he didn't realize until later was that the light did not belong to Tom. That blinding glow was stolen by feeding off of those around him, sucking them down into his own darkness. Severus didn't know that Tom was the biggest black hole. The super massive one that lurked in the center of his universe and was threatening to eat him alive.

Yes, there had indeed been something dark and hypnotic about Tom, but there had been something bright and enchanting about Lilly. She was like a warm home in the depths of winter, beckoning to lost souls who would surely perish without her shelter. So he had clung to her desperately, like wild vines sapping nutrients from a strong and healthy tree. Perhaps he'd taken all she had, drained her dry and begged for more. The only thing he could seem to do was drag people down. Especially the people he loved. God help his son. His beautiful, perfect, innocent son. The son he'd scarified everything for.

Gently he placed his hand on the back of Tommy's head, feeling his downy hair. He could easily fit the circumference of his skull within a single hand. How could something be so small, so fragile? How easy it would be to worry over him ever second. How did his stumbles not break his tiny bones into a million little shards? How could Severus dare touch him without fear of breaking him? How could his fingers caress his tender head without crushing it? And yet somehow, day in and day out, he did. His son was growing, becoming stronger every day.

It was strange, in a way, seeing his son in this field of the dead. Tommy was so warm and alive it nearly hurt to look at him, brought an ache to his heart and a wan smile to his face. Severus clenched his hands into fists, nearly damaging the bunch of flowers he held. Calla lily. They stand for love and purity, but also death; they're perfect for his purpose. He felt a tug on his robe and looked down to see Tommy, his arm outstretched, pointing at the bouquet he held. Severus knelt down to hand him a lily and smiled as his son inelegantly grasped the thin stem.

"Lily," said.

"Lee," was the slightly slurred simplified version that Tommy managed.

"Lil. Ee," Severus annunciated, making sure his child could see the way his tongue hit the back of his teeth to for the second L sound.

"Lil. Ee," he parroted back to him.

"Good. That's very good," he said honestly with a smile. He gently pressed his forehead to Tommy's, making him giggle. This is what was more important than Tom, more important than power, or vengeance, or redemption. Things as simple as these were the greatest reminder of what was really important, were the things that brought him hope and joy. He would do anything to protect his son.

Severus stood and took Tommy's tiny hand in his, held it like the fragile treasure that it was, and lead him further into the cemetery. They came to a stop in front of Lily's grave. The plot of land before her stone was grassy. The rectangle of bare soil had sprouted, taken on new life. The deep wound in the earth had healed, leaving no visible evidence of the tragedy it concealed. Truly an enviable skill, to heal so quickly and so thoroughly, to be so resilient after such upheaval. Gently he placed the bouquet before the stone, leaving tribute to the first person he had loved, maybe the first person to ever love him.

She was down there now, entombed beneath the earth like a seed cursed to never grow. He hoped it was peaceful where she was, that she was far away from all of the strife and indecision. As he contemplated, an odd smell began to creep on his periphery. Sweet grass and bitter smoke. Looking around to find the source, he saw his son, holding the lily he'd been given, watching intently as fire ate away at the delicate blossom.

"Fire!" Tommy exclaimed, entranced by the flames slowly working their way down the stem like a fuse, waiting to burn Tommy's hand. Panicked, Severus slapped the burning flower of his son's grip, quickly checking him for burns.

"Did you do that? Did you start it on fire?" he asked, uncurling tiny hands to check for damage.

"Fire!" Tommy yelled again, pointing to Lily's grave. Turning to survey the damage, Severus saw the burning lily had fallen perfectly, and in a one in a million odds, landed in the bouquet of flowers he had just laid before the grave, igniting the entire bunch. Stunned, Severus watched the white petals curl up and turn to ash as the flames devoured them.