Astor

The cupboard was a tiny, dark place, cramped and with only slim lines of light spilling through the cupboard door. The ceiling overhead tilted with the stairs, and if I wasn't careful, I'd bang my head on it. A thin chin dangled from the ceiling, connected to a single, bare bulb that had gone out years ago and never been replaced, because freaks didn't need light, and brushed against me every time I moved.

But the worst part about the cupboard were the whispers.

The voices stirred around me, shadows twisting and dancing into macabre shapes, whispering, kill them, they deserve it… burn the place down… to see their blood splattered on the walls… to rip and tear and cut and-

I sagged back on the bed, pressing my hands over my ears, trying to block out the whispers. But they were still there, in the background, faded but never ceasing, impossible to escape…

How long would I be down here? Another day? A week? I suppose setting a python on Dudley warranted more than annoying them by existing or burning food. The longest I'd ever been locked away was three weeks – it couldn't be more than that, could it?

Gradually, stillness spread over the house, everything settling in and the shadows lengthening and eventually even the whispers grew bored of their tauntings. Night must've fallen. Then–

Quick, almost silent footsteps above me. A soft creak of a floorboard. The lock on the cupboard door scraped, and then the door opened and a skinny girl stood there, red hair turned black in the darkness.

"Are they–"

"They're sleeping," she whispered, "I was careful."

Are you sure? But I bit back the response and slipped off my cot, stepping out into the dark hallway – the only light spilled through the cracks between the curtains, dim and murky. It was wonderful, being out of the cramped space, my muscles aching and straining, and I reached up, stretching my arms towards the ceiling.

Wonderful.

"Are you okay?" Bryony whispered, eyeing me closely.

I turned to her and smiled. "Fine."

She nodded, looking down at her feet. Not believing me. I reached over and took her hands.

"Hey," I whispered, "it'll be fine–"

"It's my fault!" She looked up at me, face twisted. "I was the one who made the glass vanish, I was the one who insisted on talking to that stupid snake–"

"No," I interrupted, "we don't know that for sure. Either of us could've done it."

"But you–"

"Hey," I cut in, clutching her hands tighter, "I'm fine. A little darkness and a small space won't cowe me. And in a few days, I'll be let out, and everything will go back to normal."

"I wish it didn't have to." A tear slid down her cheek. "I wish we could get away."

I forced myself to smile, but it felt strained. "Ten years down, seven more to go, alright?"

She nodded. "Alright."

"Now, why don't we go sneak some food."

Bryony nodded, and we made our way into the kitchen, careful to keep silent, and slipped into the cupboard. A few crackers, a cup of applesauce, some water, that was all I could take without them noticing. And then it was back in the cupboard, the lock clicking shut.

Forgotten and abandoned, once more.

Severus

His hand was hurting again. Or rather it was hurting more than usual; the pain was a persistent ache, one that never entirely faded no matter the time that had passed. Over the past ten years, Severus had gotten used to it – just like he'd adjusted to the pain of bright light, or the continuous stream of noise from the surrounding world, once puberty hit and his family magics with it.

However, when a sudden, sharp spike of pain cut through his hand, tearing apart muscles and tissue, making his very bones ache, he couldn't stop a soft gasp.

Something shattered on the ground, loud and cutting. He blinked, shaking aside the pain, and found several worried faces staring at him.

"... Pomfrey?" McGonagall was saying, her voice distorted, as if spoken from a great distance.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "What?"

She and Albus exchanged a look.

"My dear boy, are you alright?" Albus asked, voice deceptively cheerful, but Severus saw the worry in his eyes, the usual infernal twinkle gone.

"I am fine," he bit out, resisting the urge to rub his hand. It wouldn't help, in any case; even pain potions barely dulled the ache when it became this bad.

Albus settled back in his chair, not entirely seeming to believe him. But then, Severus would claim he was fine as he bled out on the carpet. In fact, he once had, Lily had been furious–

Severus cut that line of thought down quickly, sealing all memories of her away. A box at the back of his mind, always ready to pop open, one he could never quite keep closed.

Unfortunately.

The trio were within Phoenix Tower, in the small sitting area off the grand office used to awe students and intimidate visiting official with the strangely whirring gadgets, books on obscure topics and written in ancient languages, and the persistent hum of magic in the air that only came from someone of true power devoting an extended period to working in the same space.

No, this room was a stark contrast to that, a cozy sitting area with flowered wallpaper and doilies on the end tables that Albus likely crocheted himself. It looked far more like something a dotty old lady would have than the formidable defeater of Grindelwald.

Severus waved his wand, mending the tea cup he'd broken; regretfully, the coffee was now drenched into the white carpet. Though, Albus hardly seemed concerned. "We were discussing Gaunt?"

"His new act is troubling," Albus mused lightly.

McGonagall scoffed. "Muggleborn Protection, as if he cares in the slightest about them."

"I'm afraid I don't know what he does and does not care for," Severus said coolly. "He is well aware my allegiances may lie with another."

Albus nodded. "It is regretful, however what if the other?"

"He is as frustrated with his counterpart as ever," Severus said, "I believe that he caught a couch on fire when he heard news of Gaunt's promotion."

Senior Undersecretary was a step up, if a small one, from Junior Undersecretary; meanwhile, the other one was still trapped in the same position he'd been in for the past two years.

Albus nodded. "Perhaps that has spurred his willingness to assist with our endeavor this year."

McGonagall scowled at the reminder; she'd been the most opposed to the proposal.

"Then he will be providing a challenge?" Severus asked. The third floor corridor would be difficult to traverse as it was; Severus had even heard Sinestra murmuring about stars and mirrors.

"Oh, quite," Albus smiled genially, "he has even agreed to assist with the wards. As a descendant of Slytherin, he will make it far easier to adjust them for this year."

"We shouldn't be adjusting them at all!" McGonagall hissed. "Need I remind you that this is a school, Albus, not a fortress you may alter at your leisure? We will have children here!"

"And I will endeavor my best to ensure their safety." The man didn't even blink at her ire. "However, this task is quite necessary, and it must occur here."

She shook her head. "And while you play with your dark lords and echoes of the past, I will be ensuring that nobody dies!"

Albus smiled. "I am certain that you will do an admirable job."

McGonagall just shook her head and sighed. "I have Muggleborns to visit. Another time, Albus. Severus." With that, the woman stalked out of the room, murmuring under her breath about foolhardy old men and their ridiculousness.

Severus waited until the door closed, until her footsteps faded, to speak. "What of Lily's daughters?" His heart twisted at the names. "How will you ensure their safety with his presence?"

"By ensuring that the most capable man I know protects them." His blue eyes stared at Severus, cutting to the bone.

He scoffed. "You believe I am the wisest choice?"

"Perhaps not the wisest," Albus smiled, "however, you will not want to fail them again."

A pang shot through his heart at the reminder. He straightened, giving him a sour look. "Minerva would do a better job, it will be difficult for me to watch over them."

"I would not presume their house so soon."

Severus suppressed a snort. As if any child of Lily, or James Potter for that matter, would be Sorted anywhere else.

"How are they?" he asked quietly.

Albus's eyes drifted to his hand, and, with a jolt, he realized he'd begun to rub the aching muscles. "They are as well as can be expected."

Nothing more could be expected, Severus had known as much when they were sent to Petunia. Mild discomforts were better than certain death or cruel indoctrination into the Dark. "Mrs. Figg has not reported anything… untoward?"

"Your goddaughter is quite safe, Severus," Albus said in a gentle tone, soothing, and he bristled at the idea that Albus was trying to comfort him. He did not deserve to be comforted, he deserved pain and eternal suffering for his crimes.

"I will see the Dark Lord doesn't touch them," was all Severus said before he, too, swept from the room.

He pretended not to see the sad look Albus leveled after him.

Bryony

Life without Astor was far more unpleasant than ordinary life with the Dursleys. Oftentimes, her twin would be there to diffuse the tension whenever Bryony entered the room, or burned the bacon, or spoke without thinking, or even breathed wrongly. Or, at the very least, she'd draw Aunt Petunia's ire away from Bryony - and wasn't that a horrible thing, wishing her sister was there to be hurt instead?

Over the last two and a half weeks, however, she hadn't been there. She hadn't been able to stop Bryony Baiting, to make Dudley stumble back in fear instead of him punching her in the gut. She hadn't been there to comfort her when Uncle Vernon called her girl or freak, when Aunt Petunia swatted her over the head with a spoon - her favorite pastime involving Bryony -after noticing how all the flowers had begun to wilt in the garden, or to distract them when Bryony burned the eggs three days after Astor's "incarceration" began.

Now, eighteen days in, Bryony stood half asleep over the stove. Her eyes ached and all she wanted to do was crawl back in the bed, but Aunt Petunia hovered over a large metal tub containing her grey and reeking uniform for Stonewall High, and she'd notice Bryony dozing and-

Bryony forced herself to straighten up, to blink, and focused on her task.

Eventually, Aunt Petunia shooed away from the stove with instructions to set the table. It wasn't long after that Dudley came stomping down the stairs, shoving Bryony out of the way, and then breakfast was ready and Uncle Vernon was settling in with his morning paper, while Bryony was left in the kitchen to wait for any leftovers.

Astor wouldn't get anything.

Bryony stood by the sink, trying to ignore the awful smell, and stared out at the backyard. It was a frightfully dull area, just flattened grass and a little tree, a couple flower beds by the fence between Number 4 and Number 2. Like everything on Privet Drive. Dull and boring and vaguely reeking of too many cleaning chemicals.

The letterbox clicked, paper hitting the doormat.

"GIRL!" Uncle Vernon cried, and she flinched. "Get the post!"

She scrambled out of the room and to the front door - pausing to press a hand to the cupboard door, reminding the other girl that I'm here, I won't leave you. Then, she hurried on. If she wasn't fast enough, Uncle Vernon may withhold a meal… or three.

Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's cruel sister, a brown envelope from the power company, and a strange letter. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, with no stamp, and… and written in emerald green ink…

Mss. A. & B. Potter,

The Smallest Bedroom,

4 Privet Drive,

Surrey

Bryony blinked. She'd never received a letter personally, but all the ones she'd seen over the years had never referred to where a person slept.

"Hurry up, girl!" Uncle Vernon called, and Bryony hurried back to the kitchen, shoving the letter under her shirt.

Late that night, Bryony and Astor sat together in the first floor hallway, a tiny ball of light floating above their heads. Bryony's entire body ached from hours of work in the hot sun, weeding Aunt Petunia's precious garden - the woman couldn't stand to see any imperfections in her yard, and weeding often involved uprooting any plant she disliked.

Together, the girls opened the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT & WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederacy of Wizardry)

Dear Misses Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Magic. It was just like all the snakes had said; it was real. Bryony looked up at her sister, grinning, but… Astor was staring at the odd paper with this faraway look on her face.

"Astor?" she asked. "What is it?"

The other girl shook her head. "Nothing… It's just… odd, is all."

"Odd?"

Astor jerked to her feet, pacing - quietly - up and down the hallway. "That we received a letter from a reputed school of witchcraft and wizardry.That, if any of this is true, we are only learning of it now. That we're stuck with them," her face twisted for a moment as she gestured up the stairs, then smoothed out again, "instead of with others like us."

"But… it's our chance."

Astor didn't reply, just stared. Waiting.

"If this school isn't some crazy scheme," it's not, Bryony could feel it, "then this is finally our way out. Away from them. Somewhere… somewhere we won't be different. Somewhere we'll be just like everyone else."

Something passed across Astor's face, then, something there and gone too quick for Bryony to understand. Then, after a long pause, Astor gave a jerky nod. "Alright. We'll… Alright."

Her heart felt like it was soaring. "I suppose we'll need to write a letter, right? Tell them we don't know what's going on?"

Astor nodded. "Write it and mail it tomorrow. Make sure they don't see you."

Bryony nodded, and, when she had to lock Astor back in the cupboard, her thoughts were already a million miles away.

And when, hours later, she slipped a letter to the postman, not a single soul saw her.

Severus

Privet Drive was… mundane. That was the only word to describe the utter sameness of the place: identical two story homes, different colored variants of the same two cars, and the same plastic people. The very concept was utterly foreign and completely eerie, as if something horrific must be hiding underneath the blandness.

Severus's skin crawled as he made his way up the walk of Number 4, Minerva at his side. The woman was clearly not at ease with his presence – she had argued against it, in fact, reminded him of the bad blood between him and Petunia, and had only conceded when he'd reminded her that he was the girl's godfather and had a right to see her – kept glancing at him and clutched her massive green purse tightly, worried and trying not to show it. Unfortunately, Minerva, like most Gryffindors, had never been much of an actress.

With a quick glance at him, she rang the doorbell.

A pause, then–

"Girl!" The cry was muffled through the door, and the rest of the words were too murky to hear, but a moment later the door opened and there…

There stood Lily.

Severus blinked, and it was like seeing through potions fumes. The girl… she wasn't quite like Lily. Her nose was different, more of a button nose, and her hair was longer, more golden than red, and she was skinny, so, so skinny. Her clothes hung a little loosely on her frame, a nice blouse and skirt, but the skirt's hem was tattered and the shirt's fabric was a little thin. Bought second hand, then. Perhaps the family struggles for more money than their nice suburban house would suggest?

But no, the Potters were quite wealthy; not to mention the trust Black had left his goddaughter. So what was it?

"Hello," she said quietly, and his heart twisted. God, she even sounded like Lily. "May I help you?"

"We are here in response to your letter," McGonagall said, and the girl's eyes went as wide as saucers. "Are your guardians-"

"So it's true!" She sounded utterly awed, much unlike Lily - she hadn't believed him, not for weeks and weeks and… Severus pushed the thoughts away, trying to shove them back in the box he normally left them in, but it was hard, with the girl who looked so like her standing before him, with so many reminders now around him. He forced himself to focus on her words, to shut off those pesky, pained feelings. "Magic… it's real. The snakes really didn't-"

"Bryony," a second voice cut in, and his heart skipped a beat. Bryony, his goddaughter, this cheerful girl was the one he was to have raised, if things had been different…

The second voice was eerily similar to the first girl's, almost like an echo reflecting back. Almost… but for the sudden presence of a second girl. Almost… but for the coldness in the voice.

"I doubt that they came all this way to hear us ramble," the second girl, Astor, presumably, Black's goddaughter, and she certainly seemed as coldly haughty as the man.

Bryony Potter stared at the other girl for a moment, then nodded and looked down at her feet. "Sorry, you're right."

Just then, a woman stepped out of another room, further down the hall. "Girl, who is-"

The moment her eyes landed on him, she went incredibly pale.

"Hello, Tuni," he drawled out, stepping across the threshold. Her eyes almost bugged out of her face. Behind him, McGonagall sighed. "It is so… pleasant to see you again." He lingered over the word, pleasant, making it clear he felt no such thing.

One of the Potter twins started, but the second girl, her head was ducked, but there was a smirk on her face. Like she enjoyed this.

"Get out," Petunia gasped, voice breathless. She leaned against the doorframe as if she couldn't hold herself up; Severus barely kept back a smirk.

He raised an eyebrow. "Believe me, I would quite like to leave this… house." He eyed the room around him with some distaste; everything was bland and bleached and tragically, horribly Muggle. "I'm afraid that I have not yet finished my business here."

She took in a rattling breath.

Just then, two other figures appeared behind the wafish woman, both outlandishly wide, as if they had swallowed a vat of Swelling Solution. One was taller than the other, though he just barely made his wife's height; the other was clearly a child of the Potter twins' age. Dudley Dursley. A ludicrous name.

"Who are you?" he boomed. "Why are you in my house?"

"Vernon," Petunia gasped out, "they're… you know… like her…"

The tension darted around the room for a moment, everything standing still, much like how Severus had felt at the Battle of St. Avery's, right before the first explosion went off. The first time he'd killed. Then, Vernon Dursley straightened up and the moment broke.

He gave them all a vicious glare, the kind used by schoolyard bullies to get their way, used to brute force and violence. "I demand that you leave at once!"

"Mr. Dursley." McGonagall had finally seen fit to intrude on this swimmingly smooth conversation. "We are here to discuss rather important matters with the Potter twins."

"Hogwarts," Bryony cut in, "it's real, then? We can go?"

McGonagall favored the girl with a rare smile. "Of course-"

"STOP!" Dursley roared; his son jumped, Petunia was still staring dazedly off into space, Bryony shrank back, and Astor looked utterly unaffected. "I will not have you filling their heads with nonsense! I forbid you to tell them more!"

McGonagall straightened up and gave him her most withering look; for a moment, Severus was reminded of when he was young, on the receiving end of that stare after a particularly foul score on a test. After that, she'd given him a withering speech about what he wanted from life, one that, though he'd never tell her, had inspired his goal of becoming a potion's master.

"Mr. Dursley, with all due respect," there was not an ounce of respect in her voice, "this matter has nothing at all to do with you."

He blinked at her, too dim-witted to comprehend her words.

She turned back to the girls, her gaze softening. Both looked to be utterly in awe of her. "Now, why don't we retire to the living room and have some tea while we discuss-"

"But it is mine." The voice was a whisper, but every gaze focused on Petunia Dursley. "I say that the girls will not go to Hogwarts. It is too dangerous."

"Dangerous?" McGonagall repeated incredulously, but Severus did agree with her on the dangers of the school. Especially now that he was there. "Hogwarts is the safest-"

But the second Potter twin spoke over her. "So now you care for our safety?" Astor Potter fixed her aunt with a cold, withering stare. "You didn't seem to care much when Ripper chased Bryony up a tree, or when she broke her arm last summer. You didn't care when Dudley shoved me off the school roof."

The words echoed in his mind. Shoved off a roof… broke her arm… chased… Severus had always presumed the girls to be safe; Albus had assured him numerous times that they were healthy, well cared for, happy. How wrong had they been?

"Don't you dare spill your foul lies!" Vernon Dursley shouted. "Dudley would never do such a thing! And even if he did, then you deserved it, nasty freak-"

"Mr. Dursley!" McGonagall cried, scandalized, but Severus felt much like he'd swallowed a particularly sour lemon.

"They're abominations!" he continued. "By God, we've tried to stamp it out of them… told them nothing of where they came from… done whatever we could, but it always stuck-"

"Be quiet." Severus flicked his wand when the man kept babbling, muting him, and it took him a moment to realize that no sound was escaping him. He turned towards McGonagall and the girls, ignoring the other professor's disapproving look. "I believe that some tea would be best, Minerva. There seems to be quite a lot the Dursleys have neglected."

They moved into the living room; another flick of his wrist closed and locked the door-

"NO!"

Everyone paused at the sudden cry.

Petunia stood there, gasping for breath, a hand clamped to her middle. "I will not have you… you freaks in my home!"

Freaks? He flicked his gaze at the twins. The first girl, Bryony, she had looked down at her feet, flinched at the words, while the other one had a cold, blank look on his face rather similar to the masks oft worn by his - not mine, not anymore - Slytherins.

"Mrs. Dursley," McGonagall began, "there is nothing freakish about magic-"
"I don't care!" she cried. "Magic killed my sister! I will not lose the rest of my family to it!"

"What do you mean, Aunt Petunia?" It was little Bryony Potter who spoke, staring at her aunt with wide, innocent eyes. A muted pang went through his heart.

She looked between them all, but nobody said a word. "It… Everyone was thrilled when Lily got her letter. She was a witch, and she was so excited… but then she went off to school, and she never came back. Even when… even when she was home, she was distant, and then Mum got sick…" Petunia Dursley took a deep breath. "When that ridiculous war started, she went off to fight in it. She wouldn't just stay out of it, because magic was her home, her life, and she… she died because she couldn't accept being ordinary!"

She died because of a foolish man's choices.

"Mrs. Dursley, that is enough," McGonagall's firm voice cut through the air of tragedy and sorrow. "Your sister was one of the bravest students I have ever taught. Her death was a tragedy, but it was not the fault of cruel, bigoted men, not magic."

"I don't care." Petunia's voice trembled, her entire body trembled, but she stared McGonagall straight in the eye. "If the girls go off to learn magic, I will not have them in my home. Tell Dumbledore that he can take them back."

Then, she stalked back out of the house, through the backdoor, and slammed the door so hard behind her that the windows rattled.

McGonagall looked gobsmacked.

"I believe we were going to have tea?" Astor Potter asked lightly.