Hello! Oh gosh, it's been at least a decade since I last updated. At least it feels that way. October to February is far too long... But I have a reason! And that reason is... writing is hard. And I'm a perfectionist. And, well, sometimes characters don't behave very well when you're trying to write them and sometimes you get writer's block and... okay, enough excuses. Anyway, this chapter is a long one. Almost 12,000 words, but I think it's worth it. There are some pretty meaty conversations. So, I hope you enjoy it!
To Be a Father, Despite the Mess
And
Trying to Understand
Severus looked up when someone knocked on his office door. He sighed heavily, annoyed at the interruption of his marking. It had been several weeks since his time in the hospital wing and, although he'd made a full physical recovery, his mood and general disposition had taken a significant hit—mostly due to the fact that he'd had no personal interactions with his daughter since that morning.
If that morning had even qualified as an interaction, for Zoe had been asleep.
His relationship with his students and colleagues had therefore suffered recently. Any and all effort he'd made to be more understanding and interactive in his classes, to encourage rather than disparage his students—every bit of progress he'd made over the first term at his daughter's behest—had been thrown from the proverbial window as he reverted back to the moodier, more cynical disposition of a time long past.
He could feel that he'd regressed and he hated it. Not that he'd ever be the pillar of professorial inspiration, esteem, or reverence, and though he'd always demand excellence from his students while finding apathy intolerable and worthy of mockery, he had been trying to be less severe and authoritarian of late. He therefore loathed feeling as if he'd let his daughter down in this regard.
Not that she seemed to care these days. She ignored him as much as was possible and, though he'd noticed the angry looks she shot at him in her Defense class nearly every time he was deliberately unjust toward one of her classmates, she didn't challenge him and she hadn't left a note in invisible ink on her homework in weeks.
That was another matter entirely—Severus had started to notice the decline of Zoe's Defense homework. Her essays, though normally quite insightful and well-written for a first year, had started to resemble the caliber of work he'd expect of a well-educated troll. Even her grammar and punctuation were suffering, though she didn't seem to be able to bring herself to misspell anything…
"Come in," he said grumpily to whoever was on the other side of the door.
He raised an eyebrow when not only Lupin entered, but also Caspar Goode and Filius Flitwick.
"Good afternoon, Severus," Lupin started, holding the door open for his colleagues to come through. He then closed it. "We wanted a word."
"I couldn't have guessed," Severus said acerbically.
"We come as professors concerned for the academic wellbeing of one of your Slytherins," Lupin continued, pulling a few pieces of parchment from a pocket of his robes.
Severus's eyes narrowed.
"Perhaps I'm wrong, but is it not school policy to owl the parents of struggling students before sitting down with their Head of House?" Severus asked.
"Normally, we would do that, yes," Lupin responded. "But this particular student's father happens to reside at Hogwarts. We felt this was a bit more efficient."
Severus gave him a serious look. He hadn't thought… He'd only imagined his and Zoe's strained relationship was taking a toll in his own class, that she was taking her frustrations out on him by deliberately underachieving in his subject. He never imagined she'd compromise her marks in other classes.
"She hasn't turned in an acceptable essay or actively participated in my class in over two weeks," Lupin responded, handing Severus the parchments.
Severus looked down to a series of short essays that were written in Zoe's hand. He skimmed the sentences and immediately noticed the same apathetic and careless writing he'd been barely tolerating in her Defense essays.
"Same for Potions," said Goode. "Her prep work is getting sloppy. Her hair growth serum yesterday was the consistency of cottage cheese."
Severus grimaced at that. Since coming out as a proficient brewer, Zoe's ingredients preparation had been extoled by the resident Potions Master as nothing short of meticulous—much like her father. Just after returning from the holidays, Goode had even hinted to Severus the idea of streamlining Zoe's Potions education in the coming term—putting her on a path to N.E.W.T-level around the beginning of her fourth year.
Severus ran a hand down his face.
"And Charms?" he asked lowly, bracing for the answer.
Filius, for his part, looked decidedly uneasy. "Well, she hasn't taken to my course nearly as adeptly as she has Transfiguration, but she was always slightly above average for her age. I worry, however, that if she can't catch up by the Easter holidays… she risks failing her end-of-year exams."
Severus threw his hands up, exasperated. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it? How long has this been going on?"
"We wanted to give it time, Severus," Lupin placated. "We were unsure of how things were progressing between you and her and—"
Severus held up a hand to halt that line of reasoning.
"We're just trying to help," Goode spoke up, no doubt feeling the awkwardness and tension in the room rise. "This is uncharacteristic of Zoe and we want to make sure she isn't putting herself on an academic path that would be hard to come back from, but we also knew she was dealing with some…er, family issues."
"We know she's been through a lot lately," Lupin interceded. "And, ultimately, Zoe's marks—"
"Will be addressed," Severus finished, cutting him off deftly. He then eyed the professor severely, daring him to continue, for Severus did not intend to listen to some newfangled nonsense about marks not mattering in the long term or any other such rubbish his colleague wished to convey.
What the hell was going through that girl's head? Was it all just rebellion or retribution for his lack of transparency about his past? Or was there something else going on?
The three wizards looked around at each other uncomfortably. It was Flitwick who spoke first, ever the diffusor of hostile conversations.
"Perhaps it would be best that we discuss the sort of work Zoe would need to put in over the next few weeks in order to catch up with her classmates, hm?"
Severus inclined his head.
Classes were finally done for the day. Zoe was sitting next to the fire in the common room, a book called The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore open on her lap, when Rosalie West approached her.
"Here," she said, handing Zoe a folded piece of parchment.
"What is it?" Zoe asked curiously, looking up at the prefect.
"It's from Professor Snape."
Zoe frowned, then set the parchment aside.
"I'd read it if I were you," Rosalie warned. "The tone is pretty strong."
"You read it?" Zoe asked, affronted.
Rosalie had the decency to look apologetic. "It's a boring walk from his office to here. Besides, he didn't seal it."
Zoe frowned even deeper, but she picked up the parchment and opened it.
You will come to my office now. You will not delay and you will not disregard this request. I expect you promptly.
Bring your schoolbooks.
Zoe let out a great sigh of resignation. She supposed she should have expected this. She knew her schoolwork had been horrendous lately—and not just in her father's class. Overall, she'd not been a very good pupil in any of her classes in recent weeks.
Rising from the soft cushion she'd perched herself upon, she trudged to her dormitory to gather her things before making the trek up to her father's office. There was really no point trying to shirk his command anyway.
When she noticed that the door was half-open, she chose not to knock. Instead, she poked her head around the door and looked into the office. Her father caught her eyes instantly, but didn't say anything. Taking a deep breath, Zoe fully entered his office and closed the door behind her. She fidgeted just inside, waiting.
Her father's facial features were inscrutable, but he didn't speak as he stood from his desk and came around it, striding to a student desk Zoe noticed was situated next to the wall near the entrance to his quarters. Upon the desk were several pieces of parchment.
Zoe watched her father pull the chair from beneath the small desk. He looked to her expectantly.
Zoe didn't move.
Her father looked to the heavens in frustration briefly before settling his intense gaze on her once more.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, I am not going to harm you. Come and sit down," he ordered.
Zoe could feel her cheeks flushing slightly and she looked to the ground. Slowly, she moved forward and slid into the chair, which her father pushed in once she was seated. She looked up at him.
"Did you bring your books?" he asked.
In answer, Zoe merely looked down to her rucksack, which she'd placed on the floor at her feet. Her father inclined his head and started back toward his desk.
"I will not force you to speak with me about…other matters that may be on your mind, though you may if you feel so inclined. However, you are behind in all your classes and I demand an explanation for this apathy."
Zoe met her father's eyes for several seconds then looked down into her lap. She shook her head.
"No?" her father asked, his tone rife with annoyance.
"I don't know," Zoe said quickly, trying to deflect an angry outburst by her father. "I don't know why I don't care anymore. I just… I don't know."
She really didn't know why. She supposed her performance in Defense was somewhat conscious but everything else… well, she just hadn't been in the mood for school. She knew that wasn't an excuse that was likely to placate her father—any of her teachers, for that matter—but it was the truth. She just couldn't bring herself to be fussed lately.
And she hated that feeling. It was as if she was malfunctioning in some way.
She felt lethargic and unmotivated every day. She felt isolated and sad. She felt like she didn't know the point of it all. And she'd been spending much of her time reading books about the war, which took up a significant amount of time. If she thought about it, that was most of what she read these days. She couldn't actually remember when she last finished a reading assignment for Transfiguration or History of Magic and she knew that she definitely hadn't been reading through the instructions in Potions very diligently lately either. Her shoddy brews were a testament to that.
And she did feel guilty that she was disappointing her teachers but, for some reason, that guilt hadn't been enough to motivate her.
Her father was silent, merely staring at her. After a while, he gave a single nod of his head.
"Luckily, I have managed to convince your other professors to accommodate this… situation. You will use this time each day—in this office—until you are caught up. The parchments there are all the assignments or essays you've failed to complete or otherwise completed to a mediocre standard. When you finish them, you will give them to me to look over and approve before you hand them in to your teachers."
Zoe merely stared past her father dully and, as the seconds ticked by without an acknowledgement, she could feel him growing angrier.
"Do you have any questions?" he asked through gritted teeth.
Zoe didn't answer him, too caught up in her own thoughts on being forced to spend time in her father's office every day until she caught up to her classmates. This was going to be horrible.
"So everything is understood?"
Zoe shrugged unconsciously, barely hearing his words. That action elicited a growl from her father as he slammed a hand on the surface of the desk. She flinched at the sudden noise and movement and looked at him once more—having achieved her attention.
Her father let out a breath then leaned against his desk and brought a hand up to rub at his forehead, as he often did after his temper had gotten away from him.
"I will be damned if I allow the mistakes of my past to ruin your future," he said lowly, dropping his hand to his side and glaring at her. "I refuse to continue to turn a blind eye to the goings on of your day-to-day simply because you are displeased with me. I am your father and I will not tolerate indifference and mediocrity when it comes to your academic performance." He then turned toward his chair to sit again and spoke less menacingly. "Do your schoolwork. Now."
Zoe's eyes widened. Despite his intimidating stature, that was the first time that he'd acknowledged why she was angry him. It was the first time that he'd conceded that he'd erred in any way. Reading between the lines, she could also sense that he understood her feelings, at least in part, which was the only explanation as to why he was giving her this opportunity to correct her assignments. Had mere laziness or inefficient time management been the cause of her poor academic performance, she doubted her father would be so accommodating. She'd likely just have been issued detentions at school and spent her holidays on restriction at home.
And that notion moved something within her; a part of her was…relieved…that he'd taken offense to her poor marks and lack of class participation. A part of her was grateful that he cared enough to push her in this way. It seemed…normal and familiar. It seemed straight out of their days before…well, before she'd found out.
Zoe reached down into her bag and pulled a quill and her inkwell from her rucksack, as well as her Charms book. Taking the first piece of parchment, she began to answer the questions silently.
Equally silent, Zoe could feel her father's eyes on her for the first several minutes that she worked, but she tried to pretend that she didn't notice.
Zoe had finished two short answer assignments for Charms when she heard her father clear his throat, vying for her attention. She looked up at him.
Their eyes met briefly but, as her father began to talk, he looked away from her.
"If there is anything you wish to say to me—anything you wish to ask—you may, you know," he said softly.
Their eyes met again and Zoe shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "There isn't anything," she responded, equally as quiet. "Not yet."
A hopeful look appeared in her father's eye for a brief moment, but was gone in a flash. Without any acknowledgement, he went back to his work and Zoe went back to hers.
Father and daughter did not talk for the two hours that they remained in the office together and, when it was time for dinner, her father merely dismissed her—but not without making sure she understood that he expected her there again tomorrow followed by a calm reminder that she should continue to practice clearing her mind before bed each night.
"Do you believe that she's depressed?" Minerva asked Severus later that night over a cup of tea.
She had invited herself into his quarters again—as she'd done nearly every night since he'd been released from the hospital wing. He had therefore taken the opportunity to recount his interaction with his daughter that afternoon.
"There's certainly a level of genetic predisposition for it," he stated numbly, looking into the fire. "So, it's possible, but I'm unsure."
Minerva nodded solemnly.
"And there's been no change on her part to talk with you about your Mark or the war?"
"None."
The two professors sat in silence for several moments.
"Well, she doesn't seem to be distancing herself from her friends. If she does so, we should be worried. But for now, what do you propose we do?"
"Continue to wait. What more is there to do when no other tactic has been successful? Even the revered Professor Lupin has been unable to sway her mind."
Minerva took a sip of her tea and gave a small nod. "Do you believe that she'll come to you eventually? That is, if she finds the truth that she seeks in the research she's been doing?"
Severus shook his head. "Merlin knows," he said, resigned. "She may decide never to speak to me again."
"I'm certain that will not be the case," Minerva reassured. "After all, time heals all wounds."
"Speak for yourself," Severus grumbled.
It took Zoe a little over a fortnight of daily, silent work in her father's office to complete all her missed assignments but by the time the Easter holidays were on the horizon, she was back to competing for the top of the class. Her general sadness hadn't abated, by any means, nor had her sense of betrayal or drive to find out everything about the war, but at least she was prioritizing better. She had even practiced Occluding every night, which seemed to help, however briefly.
She could sense worry in her friends, though. Lottie rarely went a night where she didn't ask Zoe how she was feeling. Zoe tried to be upbeat and tell her best friend that she'd been feeling better lately, but she was certain that Lottie never believed her.
Caroline, John, and Glendora seemed to be going out of their way to set up study sessions with Zoe as well. These were a way for them to keep an eye on her, obviously, but they rarely involved studying. Usually, Zoe would ask John and Caroline what they knew about certain parts of the war that she had been reading about. This proved to be somewhat aggravating for them, for they didn't seem to be as concerned or focused on the subject as was Zoe. And, in all actuality, their knowledge of those events seemed to be sparse at best, consisting mainly of sporadic facts of people and vague descriptions of battles—which seemed to be consistent among the children of the Voldemort Wars generation. Nobody was a wealth of knowledge on the topic, not even Rosalie West, Patrick Rhodes, or Lukas Andersen—or any of the other older students she'd asked. Even Angus Longbottom had struggled to answer Zoe's rather specific questions when Zoe cornered him outside Greenhouse Four one morning when they'd crossed paths between classes.
It had all been rather disappointing.
Overall, Zoe had been doing better, though, despite feeling as if she was just going through the motions of her life and not actually living it. Each day, it became a little easier to handle the emotional fluctuations brought on with new bits of knowledge about her father's past, but those fluctuations still presented themselves at inconvenient times.
Such was the case one early afternoon, a little over a week before their holiday break.
She had been in the library, sitting with all her friends. Glendora and John were competing over who could levitate their books the highest while Lottie and Caroline worked together on a Potions essay. Zoe, on the other hand, had continued to delve into a biography of Albus Dumbledore that she'd picked up after completing the Life and Lies book.
She'd nearly finished it—it had been a harrowing tale of secrecy and manipulation, a beautiful story of compassion and familial love, and brilliant in many regards, for Dumbledore had been a sincerely brilliant wizard, despite his odd and sometimes aggravating portrait. The descriptions of his two greatest battles between Grindelwald in 1945 and Voldemort at the Ministry of Magic in 1996 had been gripping, to say the least.
Zoe had just turned to the last chapter, The Final Days, and began reading when, on the next page, her eyes glanced and then instinctually gravitated toward a name that she was all too familiar with: Snape.
Disregarding the beginning of the chapter, Zoe turned her attention to her father's name, moving up a few lines to pick up the context of the paragraph.
Had Dumbledore known that fateful night that Death Eaters would find a way to enter the nearly impenetrable walls of Hogwarts, had he known that he would succumb to an Avada Kedavra curse fired by his own professor, Severus Snape, the Headmaster may not have taken the journey to the seaside cave with Harry Potter that night.
Zoe's eyes went wide and she read the long sentence again. Then she read it once more to make sure that it said what she thought it said. After reading it a fourth time, she sat back in her chair, staring at the words on the page, but no longer really seeing them.
She must have gasped, for she alerted not only her friends but also several others around her.
"Zoe, what's wrong?" Lottie asked, concerned.
Zoe looked up into her friend's eyes as tears began to well.
"Zoe?" Caroline said beside her, putting a hand on her arm. "Are you all right?"
Zoe shook her head, disrupting the pooled tears. They began to run down her face.
"He killed him," she managed to choke out.
Lottie looked confused. "Who killed who?"
"Papa. He killed Professor Dumbledore." The words came out as a sob.
Lottie's brow wrinkled.
"But, how do you—"
"Zoe, we know," John spoke up then. "Everyone knows that."
Zoe shot him an angry, emotional glare. "I didn't know that!"
John looked taken aback. "We assumed you knew. I mean, nobody really talks about it, but—"
"Yes," Caroline spoke up. "When you found out that he was a Death Eater… And you've been doing all that research… We sincerely thought you knew."
Zoe let out a sob and put her face into her hands. She could tell that the library had gone completely silent but nobody seemed to know how to handle the situation.
Soon, the shame of crying in front of everyone and the embarrassment of just discovering for the first time what was clearly common knowledge for everyone else became overwhelming.
She stood then and, leaving all her things behind, she left, running down the corridor, ignoring the Bloody Baron shouting at her to walk. The first girls' lavatory she came to, she entered. Seeing it was vacant, she locked the door, and collapsed against the wall and cried. Cried for what felt like the millionth time in recent weeks.
It was all too much. How could he do such a thing? Why would he do such a thing?
She was mostly indifferent to the Dumbledore Portrait. She didn't like nor dislike him, but he didn't seem like a bad person and the books she'd read had all seemed to paint him as brilliant, magnanimous, accepting, and understanding, for the most part. He'd been very politically and morally progressive in his later life, though he'd come from a rather troubled family situation and had apparently had some grandiose aspirations in his youth. He certainly hadn't seemed like someone who deserved… deserved to be murdered. And it seemed like so much wasted power and wisdom. And for what reason? What possible explanation could her father have for killing him, even in a time of war? Dumbledore had vouched for him to become a professor—though Zoe still didn't know exactly the story there—and he'd stood by her father over the years when others, like that Moody wizard, had tried to discredit him. If anything, it seemed like her father should have been grateful to Dumbledore.
None of it made sense. Her father had been a Death Eater—could possibly still be one for all she knew—yet, she had read so many accounts of his being "heroic" because he had helped Mr. Potter, as if that somehow absolved him of all the bad things he'd done. Because he'd surely done bad things as a Death Eater, right?
None of the accounts she'd read, good or bad, went into much detail, however, and she'd read nearly as many—if not more—excerpts that described her father as "shifty", "enigmatic", and "acerbic" as she had passages that linked him to the various heroes of the war.
It was just all too contradictory and complicated. It was just all too much…
Zoe wasn't aware of exactly how long she stayed in the bathroom, but she imagined it was quite some time for the sun had started to go down. It had to have been nearing dinnertime.
Standing, she walked to one of the sinks and splashed cold water on her face. Feeling more composed, Zoe exited the bathroom and, as she strode through the door, she ran headlong into someone passing by. The person put their hands on her arms to steady her so she would not fall.
"Sorry," she said, looking up into green eyes.
"It's all right, Zoe," Mr. Potter stated. "It was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."
Zoe gave him a weak smile, unconcerned with why the Auror was at Hogwarts. "It's all right."
She moved away from him and down the short corridor that led to the Entrance Hall. Once in the grand, marbled entryway, Zoe paused. She didn't really want to go back to the Slytherin common room, but she didn't have anywhere else to go that she could think of. She therefore walked toward the main stairwell, but she only climbed a few steps before sitting down next to the stone railing, feeling tired and defeated, wishing her brain would just shut off and stop rehashing everything she knew and felt.
She leaned her head sideways against the railing and sighed heavily as a few more tears leaked from her eyes. Several minutes passed, then Zoe felt she was being watched and, when she looked up into the Entrance Hall, she could see Mr. Potter standing beside the tall doors that led to the grounds. He was staring at her.
When their eyes locked, his face conveyed something rather pitying. He came toward her then.
"Hi, Mr. Potter," Zoe said softly, wiping a tear from her cheek.
"Do you mind if I sit beside you?" the wizard asked.
Zoe shook her head and the wizard sat, giving her plenty of space.
Several moments passed and neither said a word. Zoe glanced at James's father many times out of the corner of her eye. He really was exactly as distinctive as the books had described. Jet black hair, round glasses, slender…she could even see the famed lightning bolt scar on his forehead when he ran his hands through his hair.
She'd read that he'd been treated rather poorly by his Muggle relatives after his parents had been killed by Voldemort, that his relatives hadn't wanted him and had, in fact, feared and resented him for his magical abilities. She'd read that the wand that had chosen him when he was just eleven years old had curiously been a brother wand of Voldemort's and that he'd won the Tri-Wizard Tournament as a fourth year. She'd read that he'd married his best friend's little sister, Ginny Weasley, James's mum, and that he was the youngest Head Auror in the history of the Ministry of Magic.
And she'd read that he was only seventeen when he defeated the Darkest wizard of all time.
She'd read many things about Mr. Potter in the last few weeks—learned far more about him than she had her father—but, sitting beside her, it was hard to envision him as the boy hero all the books had talked about. It was almost impossible to think of him as fierce and a vanquisher of Dark wizards for he just seemed…normal. He was kind and endearing, serious but pleasant. Sitting beside her, he just seemed like James's dad.
"That's a beautiful necklace," Mr. Potter observed eventually.
Zoe looked down to her chest where the hummingbird necklace hung just below her clavicle. She looked back to Mr. Potter.
"Thank you. It was my mother's."
Mr. Potter nodded. "I see. Your mother was named Elizabeth?"
Zoe nodded then. "Did you know her?" she asked eagerly.
Mr. Potter gave her a small, conciliatory smile. "No, I'm afraid I didn't. My link to your beginnings is through your father."
"Oh," Zoe said, looking away, disappointed. "I knew that. He was your teacher. James told me. And I've been reading… He also helped you take down that Voldemort wizard."
"He did," Mr. Potter responded. "I couldn't have done it without your father. He's the bravest man I've ever known."
Zoe wrinkled her nose, her anger and resentment coming to the surface slightly. She took a deep breath to try to keep them at bay. She could feel Mr. Potter looking at her, but she ignored him for several moments. Eventually, however, she looked back at him, directly into his eyes.
"I defended him, you know. In class and at dinner when they said he was awful. I defended him to everyone who said he was mean; I defended him to Cecilia Aaron. I got angry—I hexed her—when she called him a coward. But this whole time he was— He was one of them."
Mr. Potter said nothing, merely looking at her, letting her get it out. But she could tell that he was weighing her words. The pensive look on his face was similar to the one her father made, the one Portrait Dumbledore made, when they were doing the same thing.
"It just doesn't make sense," she blurted. "How can he be a Death Eater? How could he do such horrible things? Why would he do such horrible things?"
Beside her, Mr. Potter sighed. Not the exasperated sigh of frustration, but a sigh of resignation.
"Snape was a Death Eater during both of Voldemort's reigns; it's well-documented and there's no denying that as fact," Mr. Potter said. "But by the time I was your age—ten years before that even—he was no longer allegiant to Voldemort. He worked as a spy for Dumbledore instead, only playing his part among the ranks of the Death Eaters."
"That's what I've read, but… even as a spy-Death Eater, he would have—"
Zoe stopped and shook her head. Just the thought of any of the atrocities she'd read about the Death Eaters committing in the past made her feel ill. And the idea that her father had most likely participated… it made her want to weep and rage at the same time.
"He would have had to do some pretty horrible stuff, yeah," Mr. Potter conceded, finishing her thought for her. "Or stood by as others did horrible things."
Zoe looked into his eyes and nodded solemnly. Again, Mr. Potter sighed.
"You know, I've had several conversations with James about this. He's had many of the same questions and feelings on the matter and, like you, he doesn't understand how such a hero could also have such nefarious dealings. I'll tell you what I told him: in war, there are often things that must be done, gruesome things. Nobody wants to do them, but somebody has to. Those people are often the most brutally criticized for their actions when the war ends. But without their sacrifice, the possibility of continued oppression is likely, sometimes imminent. Your father was one of these people, these deceivers of the shadows. He sacrificed much—his own life and career aspirations—to bring a continuous flow of intelligence to the Order of the Phoenix. He put his life in danger for years looking out for me and working alongside Dumbledore to bring Voldemort and the Death Eaters down from within. He never intended to be a spy or a hero any more than I intended to be the Chosen One, but he rose to the occasion gloriously and the world is a better place because of him."
"That's not to say that the actions he took were right, necessarily, or that they were wrong… Maybe they were just the only way to succeed. Maybe his choices were merely the quickest routes to victory—to try to limit the suffering of innocents. Perhaps there were better decisions he could have made. But, regardless, I'm certain he's grappled with the morality of his misdeeds and deceptions far more than any one of us could even imagine. I'm sure he struggles with all of that to this day. That's why I respect him. That's why he's the bravest man I've ever known."
Zoe stared at Mr. Potter, absorbing his words. And, as much as it all made sense, there was still something nagging at her. Mr. Potter's impression of her father was obviously reverent, but he seemed to be sidestepping what Zoe was saying. Yes, her father had done good things and, although she hardly knew specifics, she'd been told that he'd saved hundreds of lives over the years. But did those good things cancel out the bad ones? Did those things cancel out his initial decision to align himself with the Death Eaters and Voldemort?
Her expression must have been extremely skeptical.
"I think the reason this makes no sense to you," Mr. Potter began again, "is because your head isn't listening to what your heart is telling you. You're trying to reconcile everything you've ever known in your life, all your fond memories, with the knowledge of events that happened in your father's past—long before you were even born. But your father is a different man now than he was then. And the Severus Snape I knew as my teacher is far removed from the teacher—the father—he is now, who is equally as different to the boy my mother grew up with. Not all people are as complex as your father, Zoe, but if he did not live through the experiences that he has, he would not be who you know him to be now."
"A liar?" Zoe said moodily, reflexively.
Mr. Potter frowned. "A good man, a bloody brilliant wizard and, from what I've seen and heard, a damn good father to you," he said, his voice very serious.
Zoe looked down to her hands then, embarrassed, fully recognizing his reprimand for what it was.
A few minutes passed in silence. Finally, Mr. Potter spoke again and his tone was much less of an admonishment. It was kind again.
"I heard you were pretty shaken up after the attack at Spinner's End."
Zoe nodded her head as tears stung her eyes again—both from anger and sadness.
"Yeah," she sniffled. "I saw a Death Eater fall from the roof…he was dead."
Mr. Potter nodded solemnly and the expression on his face was pained and, oddly, contrite, as if he felt guilty for what Zoe had seen.
"I'm so sorry for what you witnessed and experienced, I truly am. But, think about it, Zoe," Mr. Potter said, turning inward toward her. "Why would Death Eaters attack your home if your father were loyal to them? Why would they come after him if he still ascribed to their cause? Why would they attack their own kind? Why would they openly call him a coward?"
"How should I know how Death Eaters think?"
Mr. Potter held his chin up, appraising Zoe.
"That isn't a very logically thought-out answer. That comes from anger and doubt. I'm certain you're capable of a more critical analysis than that."
Zoe's eyes narrowed aggressively at his challenge.
"He killed people," she stated, wiping her palm against her cheek to clear the tears away.
Mr. Potter sat a little straighter and looked Zoe dead in the eye, his expression skeptical. After a moment, he reached into his robes and pulled out a wad of unused tissues. As he handed her one, he addressed her accusation.
"Did he?"
Zoe's eyes grew wide. She hadn't expected for him to respond with a question. But… surely, Mr. Potter knew…
"Yes. He killed Professor Dumbledore," she stated peevishly.
Mr. Potter nodded.
"Ah. Yes, I know. I was there that night. I saw the whole thing and, at the time, I thought I knew what had transpired too, but… well, I think Professor Dumbledore might have a very different opinion of that situation."
"But…"
Mr. Potter shook his head. "You've been reading, which is great… but in the complexity of the lives of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, details have been missed over the years. I think with a bit more research, you might find that not everything is as it seems."
Zoe wrinkled her brow.
"People change, Zoe," Mr. Potter said succinctly. "During the war, your father did what he had to do to survive, to assure that others survived—to assure that I survived to end the suffering of our world. And all that with Dumbledore… you might benefit from obtaining your information from the source before you set your mind to anything."
They were quiet again as everything that had been said marinated in Zoe's mind. Despite what had been expounded in the last few minutes, there was still a nagging, an anger and sense of fear. She didn't know where it came from, but it was there and she didn't know how to dispel it.
"Perhaps the best thing that you can do is to not think of your father in a sense of the war, but to think of him as just a man, a wizard, your father," said Mr. Potter eventually. "Think about his relationship with you, his relationship with Minerva, with Scorpius Malfoy, and anyone else you may associate with regularly, anyone else you and your father hold in esteem. What has he done in those interactions that you have experienced that was so Dark and evil?"
Zoe wrinkled her brow.
"He… Er, there isn't really anything that I can think of," Zoe responded, looking down at her hands.
It was true. As her father, Zoe had never had any sort of impression while she was growing up that her father was Dark. Aside from the books in their home… but her father was also an academic, well-versed in a plethora of different subjects. He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Of course he'd have literature of a more…disreputable nature.
"But…" she began, trying to organize her conflicted feelings into a singular question. "How do I… I mean, is he good? How could he be when he was doing what Dark wizards do all those years ago?"
Mr. Potter looked thoughtful. "Someone once told me that the world is not split into good people and Death Eaters. We all have both Light and Dark inside us. It is the part we act on that matters."
Zoe stared at Mr. Potter and he gave her another small smile.
"But, if you want my opinion, yes, I think your father is good. I believe he always was, even when he was doing not so good things. I just think he was in a dark place at a very reckless time in his life and he made decisions that he was unaware at the time would be likely to haunt him for the rest of his life. Do you not think his actions since—at least in the time that you've known him—have conveyed that he is good?"
Zoe didn't say anything. She felt it was a bit of a rhetorical question anyway.
"Think about that," he said to her, "and I think you should also think about talking with your father about all this. He's going to be your best source of information. But in the meantime…"
Mr. Potter then pulled out his wand and swirled it onto the step just below Zoe's feet. She wrinkled her brow, confused, as she reached down to pick up the small stack of parchment that had materialized there. She sat back onto her step.
"What is it?"
"It's a forward. An incomplete forward, but a forward nonetheless," Mr. Potter responded. "More specifically, it's a forward that gives more details of the war for an as-yet-to-be-published book about the last years of Voldemort's terror with specific emphasis on the role of Severus Snape. You're still thinking about his life before, which I personally don't think you should focus on, but… Anyway, I think you'll find nearly everything else you want to know inside those pages—aside from your father's personal accounts, of course."
"Where'd you get it?" Zoe asked, looking up at the wizard once again.
Mr. Potter gave a small smile. "I am acquainted with the forward's author."
He stood then and began down the stairs. Nearly to the bottom, he paused and turned back to Zoe.
"James is exceedingly sorry for not telling you about your father, by the way. He just didn't feel it was something you'd want to hear from him."
Zoe stared at the wizard, her mouth open in slight surprise.
Mr. Potter then walked across the Entrance Hall and exited through the great doors of the castle.
Two days later, Severus could be found tidying up his classroom from a group of seventh years that he had granted permission to practice dueling after classes. He headed into his office just off his classroom, exhausted from the day and supervising undisciplined duels.
Though he left the door open, he did not expect any students to make use of what were supposed to be his office hours—open times for students to come to him with any questions about their Defense curriculum or for members of his House to bring him any concerns for his counsel.
They never came.
No, when a student found him- or herself standing before the desk in the office of Professor Severus Snape, it was not because they wanted to be there, but because he had ordered them there. In such an instance, it was extremely unlikely that said student would leave without buzzing ears and a timetable for detention.
When Severus felt that he was being watched, he looked up from the parchments on his desk toward the doorway and scowled.
"Potter," he practically spat. "What are you doing here?"
Harry Potter merely stood in the doorway, looking around at his surroundings with curiosity. His gaze eventually settled on the Defense professor.
"I was summoned."
"Again? A week's not passed since Minerva last requested a report from the Ministry. Surely there hasn't been any pressing matters in that time?"
Potter shook his head. "I was summoned for a different reason." When Severus merely arched an eyebrow at his former student, the man elaborated. "James. Apparently, he's reached some sort of limit to detentions for this term. I've just come from a meeting with Remus and Minerva."
Severus's scowl deepened.
"If you're here to bargain on behalf of your miscreant, don't bother. Not only will any pleas in his favor be ignored, but I am not the only one to issue him detentions. His other teachers find him nearly as insolent and disruptive as I. Even Lupin and Longbottom have been cracking down on his antics."
The elder Potter shook his head.
"I'm not here to plead a case for him. I'm fully aware of what he's been up to. Minerva felt that I should come have a talk with him before she is forced to suspend him."
"Talk," Severus snorted. "That boy could benefit from more than a talk."
"Yes, well…" Potter trailed off. "I left my thumbscrews in my office at the Ministry."
Severus rolled his eyes.
"Anyway," Potter began again, "he tends to toe the line for a while after I've spoken with him. Even you might be hard-pressed to find a flaw in his behavior for the next few weeks."
"Doubtful," Severus stated plainly. "Is there something I can do for you, Auror Potter, or perhaps you're hoping to reminisce over old times?"
"Not particularly," Potter responded, fidgeting slightly. It was a reaction that Severus was surprised seemed rather uncharacteristic for the Boy-Who-Lived—The-Man-Who-Lived-Again.
"What is it, then?" he snapped. "I may not spend my days capturing Dark wizards or advising the Minister for Magic, but I assure you I am a busy man. I do have work to attend to." He gestured to the papers stacked upon the desk.
Potter nodded solemnly and stepped into the office fully, closing the door behind him. Severus wrinkled his brow. What was this about?
When they were secluded from the classroom, Potter turned to Severus.
"I had no intention of meeting with you while I was here. However, something has been weighing on my mind since the other day when I was here and I thought I'd bring it to your attention."
Potter paused, glancing at Severus expectantly. When Severus merely raised his eyebrows, indicating that he wasn't going to cut the younger wizard off or expel him from his office, Potter continued.
"As I was walking down a corridor toward the Entrance Hall two days ago, I was very nearly knocked over by a very distracted first year Slytherin with tears in her eyes." The younger wizard locked eyes with Severus then for effect. "Her eyes were the most vivid, melancholy color of green I've ever seen."
Severus couldn't help the involuntary wince that took over his face. Composing his expression, he looked up to Potter.
"I'm sure Minerva has clued you in to the reason for that."
Potter shrugged. "She mentioned that Zoe had seen your Dark Mark for the first time and that she hasn't really talked to you since discovering it, yeah."
Severus's jaw tightened in agitation.
"And you're here to tell me how open about your past you are with your children, I suppose? You're here to say that I should have told her before she found out from some other source?"
"No," Potter stated calmly. "I just thought that you should be aware that I had a conversation with Zoe about you."
Severus frowned.
"And what, exactly, did you tell her?"
Harry Potter shrugged. "I'm sure nothing more than what everyone else has been telling her… I told her that she needed to talk to you if she wanted any real information. I said your role in the war was complex and that she really didn't have all the facts. She asked me what I thought about you, whether I thought you were a Dark wizard or not. I told her I didn't think you were…" Potter paused then for a moment. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind. Eventually, he stood a little straighter and locked eyes with Severus.
"After all," he said, a playful tone to his voice all of a sudden, "how could I, Harry Potter, defeater of Voldemort himself, name one of my sons after a Dark wizard?"
Severus wrinkled his brow at the younger wizard, who smiled sheepishly.
"You remember my son, Albus? His full name is Albus Severus Potter."
Severus scowled and Potter smiled instantly.
"He's a whiz at Potions, I must say. Loves to experiment…"
Severus opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, thinking better of it. When he could speak, he only managed to grumble: "Of all the preposterous names…"
"You may not feel deserving and I'm sure you never wanted such a thing, but after everything you did for me, I wanted to honor you," Potter stated. "Please don't hold it against him when he comes to Hogwarts next year."
Severus said nothing for he didn't really know what to say. He couldn't decide whether he was proud or irritated about it. He'd have to think on that later, after he'd figured out what to do about Zoe. Which brought him back to Potter.
"Is that all, Potter?"
"Basically. But also, that James is worried about Zoe. He says it's been weeks since you've talked to each other and, after what I witnessed the other day, it's obvious really…"
"What's that?"
"She misses you. She doesn't understand how the same man who has raised her, taught her, nourished her—loved her—could have such a…questionable past, such a dark past. It's none of my business, I know, but more than anything, I think she's confused—far more than she is angry."
Severus gave a slight nod of his head and Potter turned toward the door. Before he reached it, however, he paused. After several seconds, he turned back, a rather resolved expression on his face.
"I just need to say," he began, "that James has his flaws and he likes a laugh, but he's a good boy, really. He would do anything for his friends and his siblings and when he knows something is truly a serious matter, he's focused, responsible even."
"I thought you weren't here to defend him?" Severus asked, a bit annoyed that Potter had done exactly what he said he wasn't going to do.
"I'm not but, please, hear me out."
Severus sat back in his chair and waved his hand with indifference, allowing Potter to expound whatever it was he wished to extol about his eldest child.
"James sent me a letter a few weeks back. In it, he explained that he had become friends with Zoe, your Zoe, and that he knew you wouldn't approve, but that he would like to be her friend anyway."
"So, you're saying you've come to make sure that I don't fly off the handle—make them separate themselves from each other—in order to make sure your dunderheaded, ill-mannered son doesn't adversely influence my well-behaved, normally reasonably-minded daughter?"
"Not exactly," Potter said. "I told James that your approval or disapproval was none of my business."
"That's the smartest thing you've said so far."
"Right. I'm just asking that you give him a chance. For Zoe's sake. Acclimating to the notoriety may be rough for her. James has lived with that his whole life, he could be of help to Zoe."
Severus narrowed his eyes at Potter, considering the Auror's words. After a few seconds, he inclined his head once again.
"As a matter of fact I know of their friendship or, at least, I'm aware that they've spent time being friendly. I told Zoe I would not forbid it. I…trust…her choice of friends."
Potter smiled triumphantly. Severus pointed a finger at the younger wizard.
"Do not get it in your head that I in any way trust your son, however. I merely trust Zoe's judgment. But I have an eye on that boy."
"Duly noted," Potter said, grinning. "Good evening, Professor."
"Potter," Severus acknowledged as Potter exited.
Zoe paced outside the door of the Headmistress's office. The gargoyles at the bottom of the revolving stairwell hadn't given her an ounce of grief about visiting without an appointment, though they had inquired as to why Zoe was not at dinner. She hadn't answered them as she stepped on the first step and rode them up to the small landing.
She had since been pacing there for several minutes, building up her courage to knock. She didn't know why she was so apprehensive. In the few days since her conversation with Mr. Potter, she'd felt less…angry, less unsure of things, despite all the new information.
Of course, the forward he'd given her had helped somewhat. Even though it was clearly incomplete, it was written in such a concise, personal way that the information Zoe had received over the last several weeks was starting to become less jumbled in her mind. Though the forward wasn't entirely specific, she was beginning to see connections to various people and events that hadn't been there before. She had many questions still, but the facts of the forward had brought about far more understanding than she'd been able to muster as of yet.
Zoe took several deep breaths and paced some more. Before she went in, she wanted to try to work out how best to start the conversation without bursting into tears. She had just closed her eyes in the hopes that her meager Occlumency skills would help to calm her nerves when the thick, wooden door opened inward, revealing her godmother.
"You're aware that I am alerted to the presence of a visitor as soon as they enter the stairwell?" Minerva asked. "I've been waiting for you to knock for over ten minutes."
Zoe looked down to her feet. "I'm sorry," she said lowly and then didn't speak, feeling foolish and anxious again.
The next moment, Minerva had grabbed Zoe's arm and pulled her to her, wrapping her arms around her.
"It's perfectly all right," she said, giving Zoe a squeeze.
Zoe didn't exactly know what it was that had given Minerva the compulsion to hug her, but she appreciated the gesture. It comforted and calmed her.
When Minerva finally pulled away, she looked down on Zoe with the fondness Zoe was accustomed to, but there was worry there as well, though she was clearly trying to mask it.
"How are you?" she asked, moving away.
"I'm all right."
Minerva eyed Zoe critically as she stepped back behind her desk.
"You're sure?"
Zoe merely nodded and looked away. She hated that things were so awkward between her and Minerva.
"Very well," Minerva said, a hint of disappointment in her tone. She sat behind her desk once more as Zoe came forward to stand in front of it. "Was there something specific you needed with me or, perhaps, you just wanted a visit?"
Zoe shifted uncomfortably then. "Er, actually, Min, I was wondering if I could to talk to Professor Dumbledore."
Zoe glanced up to the portrait above her godmother's head and saw the old wizard sit forward with interest.
"You may," Minerva stated, settling her gaze on Zoe before looking up at the portrait herself. "As long as Professor Dumbledore is amenable?"
Portrait Professor Dumbledore inclined his head and observed Zoe, his blue eyes sparkling with fondness.
"I am, certainly. I will always welcome a chat from any member of the Snape household."
Zoe fidgeted, feeling awkward. Her guilt had seeped into the forefront of her emotions as well, though she wasn't sure why that was at that particular time. It was something about Dumbledore's gaze, like he was fully aware of why Zoe was there—which was a bit embarrassing and unsettling. She didn't like this feeling, as if a portrait had more of a grasp and control of the situation than she did.
"Uh…well, I was wondering… I mean, if it's okay with you, er, could I talk to him alone?" she asked, addressing the Headmistress.
Minerva's eyes widened a bit, but she quickly composed any surprise. She stood and gave Zoe a small smile.
"Yes, of course. I'll just be in the antechamber."
Then her godmother left Zoe to face Dumbledore.
Zoe took a deep breath and came around the desk. Moving some parchments aside, she hopped up to sit onto the edge of the desk, settling her feet in Minerva's chair. She looked up to Dumbledore and got right to what she'd come here for.
"Is everything about Papa true?"
"My dear, I'm afraid you'll have to be much more specific, for I'm inclined to say that everything one might hear about any given person is hardly entirely accurate all the time."
Zoe frowned. Dumbledore's way of speaking was so infuriating.
"Okay… so he was really a Death Eater?"
"Yes. He was. He has the Mark to prove it, as I believe you know. I'm unaware of the specifics, but it is my understanding that he joined their ranks not long after leaving Hogwarts."
"But he stopped being a Death Eater and started working for you?"
"Yes, he did."
"When?"
"He'd been with the Death Eaters for about three years when he came to me."
"Why did he come to you?"
Dumbledore paused, then let out a heavy breath. "To try to save the life of the person he loved the very most."
Zoe wrinkled her brow. What was that about? She couldn't be entirely sure, but she was fairly certain that she was the person her father loved the very most. But she hadn't been born yet, hadn't even been thought of yet, and her mother hadn't been in the picture then either for her father hadn't met Elizabeth Agnew until after the war was done.
"Who was that?" Zoe asked then. "The person he loved the most?"
"I believe that is a question for your father."
"I'm asking you," she said pugnaciously.
For his part, Dumbledore showed an astonishing amount of patience, despite his facial features pinching together in obvious disapproval of her backchat.
"Yes, you did ask me, yet it is not a question I am willing to answer, and that is my right. As I said, it is a question best suited for Severus."
Zoe looked away, annoyed.
"All right. Will you at least tell me if he saved that person?"
Dumbledore's features dropped considerably. "I'm afraid not. In those days, few escaped their fates when Voldemort had marked them for death."
That saddened Zoe in a way she hadn't expected for it meant that her father had experienced the death of someone he loved very much. It was a pain she could only imagine, really, despite having lost her own mother before ever having known her. It must be doubly horrible to have someone you'd known and loved in life be murdered—especially when you'd tried to save them from that fate.
"Okay…so, what made you defend him, er, to the Ministry and to the Board of Governors? I read that. Why would you do that if he had been a Death Eater?"
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "He showed me the very best of himself. I therefore deemed his behavior warranted a second chance."
"How?"
"Through love, Zoe. Your father's capacity for love is truly remarkable, especially when you consider all he's been through. And he showed me that capacity when he vowed to protect Harry Potter, years and years ago. He was still a very young man then. He conveyed to me a deep penitence for his past actions and choices and an intense drive to right those wrongs. And…he proved himself indispensable to the war effort—he proved himself indispensable to me."
"As a spy?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, as a spy. And an advisor of sorts. He's a clever man, Severus, and wise beyond his years. He has a keen mind for strategy and logic and he rarely allows his emotions to cloud his judgment—until you came along, of course."
Dumbledore smiled warmly at Zoe once again, but she merely nodded her own understanding and looked away, thinking on what had been said so far.
She understood now how Dumbledore and her father were linked and a little bit about what their relationship had been. She understood why her father had turned away from being a Death Eater, though she wasn't going to get the specifics of that from the portrait of the old wizard, obviously. She remembered that the forward Mr. Potter had given her had made mention of 'great sacrifices' and 'protecting the memory of a dear friend' when making reference to her father's role in the war. Was that dear friend also the person her father had loved? It seemed plausible, but Zoe doubted Dumbledore would even so much as hint at that being true.
She understood now that her father had protected Mr. Potter when he was a student at Hogwarts and she concluded that, by that time, her father and Dumbledore were thoroughly entrenched as allies and mutual advisors. So, it wasn't too much of a stretch to see that, although her father cared little for Harry Potter, that he'd protect him for the greater good—the prophecy of The Chosen One she'd read about—or even just on Dumbledore's orders. There still seemed to be something missing, though…
She added it to the mental list of items to address with him when that time came—because she knew they'd have to have a conversation about all this eventually.
It was then that her mind strayed to what she'd discovered a few days previous and her conversation with Mr. Potter. Her features sobered considerably as she looked back to Dumbledore. He was watching her curiously, awaiting her next question. Before she could speak, fat tears started to well in her eyes.
"But he's a still a murderer," she said eventually, softly.
Dumbledore sat a little straighter in his painted, high-backed chair, then leaned to one side, resting his chin in his palm. Several moments passed and only the ticking of the grandfather clock on the other end of the office and the sound of Zoe's sniffles could be heard.
"I will assume you are referring to the events of the Astronomy Tower the night the Death Eaters infiltrated the school?" Dumbledore asked.
Zoe nodded solemnly. Dumbledore gave his own solid nod of understanding.
"I ask you this, if an old man is suffering from old age and grave injury and asks his most trusted friend to end his misery when the time is right, does that make his friend a murderer?"
Zoe wrinkled her brow. "Er…I— I don't know… I—"
Dumbledore held up a hand. "I'm sorry, my dear. That is not a question posed to many eleven-year-olds and, frankly, it isn't a question I feel comfortable asking you to answer definitively at this time. However, know this: I asked your father to end my suffering months before that night on the Tower and he agreed, despite being quite profusely disgusted by the very notion. But death is a very normal and inevitable outcome of life and that was my time to experience it. I would not have invoked your father's help had it not been absolutely necessary and I'm certain he knows this. He did not enjoy his role in my death, I'm certain of it, and I'm sure he has had more than one internal thought of repulsion for himself every day since that night. But I am grateful to Severus for that sacrifice."
As Dumbledore had spoken, Zoe had been a jumble of emotions. Her father had killed Dumbledore, but Dumbledore had asked him to do it? She didn't think she could ever make that decision. She'd never do it. There had to be something more to it.
"But you might still be alive if he hadn't done it," she voiced then.
Dumbledore merely shook his head. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be. I had suffered a severe curse at the hands of Voldemort and would not have lived to see the next school term. Had your father not done what he did, at the time that he did it, your adversary, the young Mr. Malfoy would likely not have been born to make your brunches and Christmas balls so intolerable. Your father may have ended one life that night—that is not in dispute—but the lives he saved that night are incalculable, including the life of Draco Malfoy."
Zoe felt her jaw drop and she was quiet for quite sometime, soaking all that in, as tears streamed down her face. Eventually, she posed the same question to Dumbledore as she had posed to Mr. Potter.
"Do you think he's good?"
Dumbledore didn't miss a beat in his reply.
"Oh yes. He may be a difficult, complex man, but he's one of the best wizards I ever knew. And… he is a far better man than I ever was." Dumbledore leveled Zoe with a very serious look. "Do not listen to his detractors, Zoe. Your father is no more a Dark wizard than I. And he is no coward."
Zoe nodded again. She took a deep breath but, for some reason, her emotions wouldn't abate just yet.
"Why didn't he just tell me?" she asked quietly, her voice wavering slightly.
She heard a sigh from Dumbledore above her, but she didn't look up. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffled.
"I'm afraid your father made much the same mistake with you that I made with Harry all those years ago," the old wizard stated. "He cares for you deeply, Zoe; he loves you more than life itself. He didn't want to put such a heavy burden onto the shoulders of someone so young. You are an innocent and that is something he wished to protect—still wishes to protect, I'm sure."
"But I could handle it," Zoe countered, looking up to the portrait once more. "I can be strong like him."
"Perhaps he did not wish for you to have to handle it? Strength through adversity is certainly a noble endeavor, but I imagine it is very hard—heartbreaking—for a parent to watch their child suffer that adversity."
Zoe stared at Dumbledore for several seconds but eventually looked down into her lap. That was exactly what her father had told her at Budhmor Firth after the attack on Spinner's End, that he didn't want her to have to be strong, to have to face the horrors that he had faced. She didn't know how she felt about that.
Later that night, Zoe lay awake, unable to get her brain to turn off. She'd already tried Occlumency, tried making her mind blank, but it hadn't worked. She knew that, deep down, she hadn't wanted to Occlude, she'd wanted to think about everything she'd discovered over the last few weeks and reflect on her conversation with Portrait Professor Dumbledore that afternoon. The fact that she was doing all this reflecting very late at night was merely coincidental and unfortunate. Luckily, tomorrow was Sunday and she only had one small bit of reading to finish up for class on Monday.
She thought back on Mr. Potter's question to her about whether she'd ever had any indication that her father was Dark. And, truly, when she thought back on her childhood so far, she never really had. Despite his sternness and proclivity for caustic wit, despite his critical nature, her impression of her father had been the exact opposite of Dark, really.
Like when she'd been ill with elven influenza last term, he'd been there every day, reading to her, making sure she took her potions, keeping her comfortable, even allowing her friends to enter his private space so that Zoe wouldn't feel so isolated and alone.
He'd taught her to brew potions too, how to identify and cultivate magical plants and their various properties… Her whole life he'd encouraged her inquisitiveness and hadn't been too strict with how she used her free time. For as long as she could remember, there wasn't a single book she'd ever wanted for—he'd always given in to her requests for anything educational as well as many things that weren't that educational. And he'd bought her a broom a whole year before she was technically allowed to have one at school.
"People change, Zoe," Mr. Potter's voice stated in the recesses of her mind.
And the more Zoe thought about all of it, the guiltier she felt.
Her father wasn't Dark. He wasn't Dark at all.
What had she been doing?
Hours passed and soon the first rays of sun started to permeate the greenish lake water on the other side of the porthole in her dormitory room. She'd been awake all night and, though she was tired, she knew there was still little chance of sleep, especially now that the day was upon her.
Zoe sat up in her bed and looked to the lump under the duvet on the opposite side of the room. Lottie would worry if she awoke to find her roommate gone from bed. Therefore, after Zoe had rose and dressed, she tore off a small portion of parchment and scribbled a note, which she left under Lottie's wand on the table beside the bed. Then, quietly, she exited the dormitory.
Slowly, she navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the Hogwarts dungeons, determined, but not necessarily in a hurry to make it to her destination.
Her father always brewed on Sundays, even now that his primary job was teaching. Therefore, Zoe knew precisely where he would be, despite it being just after six in the morning.
When she arrived in front of his personal potions laboratory and saw the brass placard with his name inscribed upon it, a fleeting notion to slip through the tapestry beside the door and make her way up to the Entrance Hall instead very nearly overwhelmed her.
But, no, she had to face this.
Tentatively, she raised her fist up to knock and then immediately lowered it, thinking better on it. After several moments of quick, tormented contemplation, she placed her hand on the handle and turned it, rather surprised, but nonetheless relieved, that it was unlocked.
She quickly slipped into the laboratory and closed the door behind her.
Once inside, she quickly scanned the room, observing the chill of the air, noticing that the chairs her father had conjured before Christmas were still sitting before the fire, and recognizing almost instantly that her father was about to brew a rather large batch of coughing solution, based on the cauldron and ingredients meticulously laid out on the workbench across from her.
When her father came out from the corridor that led to his storeroom, Zoe straightened her posture, readying herself for him to ask why she was there. When he merely stared at her, his expression guarded, Zoe looked away from his gaze.
"I… er…"
She fidgeted where she stood. This was harder than she had thought it was going to be.
Closing her eyes, she took several deep, slow breaths to calm her nerves. Then she opened her eyes and met her father's gaze.
"I'm ready to communicate with you now," she said succinctly.
Her father's brow was wrinkled. At first he didn't speak, merely walked toward the workbench and placed upon it the jar of dried nettles he'd clearly gone to seek in the storeroom. He looked back to Zoe.
"Very well," he said before pulling his wand from his robes and pointing it to the fire, bringing up the flames and almost instantly warming to cold room.