October 13, 1976 – Hogwarts

Arithmancy was… more enjoyable than she'd thought, even when the futures it revealed were anything but. She'd learnt some in class, of course, but her further exploration of the subject had been driven more by need, than anything else — ritual calculations, at first, and then her own fears.

Still, the matrix in front of her was only a further source of worry. Even if she was glad the equation had finally untangled.

Two things were needed most in their endeavour – in their unspoken quest to stave off the tyranny of either side: information, and allies. Of the former, they were privy to some from the side of the Dark Lord, but Dumbledore held his secrets close to his chest. Even if they were to somehow worm their way into this Order – and the very idea was laughable – they would never, as Slytherins, be trusted. It would have to be a Gryffindor.

The matrix proclaimed it, even if it was information she did not want to hear.

For she would admit, in her heart, that losing Minerva to Dumbledore – having the woman who was almost her mother view her with suspicion and hate – might just be the thing to break her. Minerva was strong, powerful; but Dumbledore was masterful, a skilled manipulator. If he ever knew – a few words, magical or not, would be all it would take.

Then he could never know. He must have no reason to doubt Minerva's loyalty, to fear she might be sympathetic to their plight. If her Master agreed to the plan… they'd need more Occlumency lessons, at least, but it would do well for them to distance themselves in public also. It would be less suspicious.

She disliked her plan – had no desire to implement it, even. But she wasn't the type to put her own considerations before those of the world. She wished it were not so.

October 20, 1976 – Hogwarts

Severus leaned against the rough wall, flipping idly through the book he'd haphazardly grabbed off of a shelf. In front of him, Cassiopeia sat in thought, Intricacies of the Wizengamot: An Introduction to Law, laying in front of her – the source of her engrossment.

"Here – " she said suddenly, startling him. He lifted his eyes from the page, watching as she gesticulated at the paper:

Should no other option be available, family seats can be claimed by an heir when they reach the age of majority, bypassing the usual requirement of a wizard being over twenty-five years of age.

"It could be useful, for you to have a vote," he commented idly.

"No, not me – you, Severus. Tiberius absconded his seat: you're the rightful heir to the House."

"And you're not?"

She lifted her brow. "I'm a woman, remember? We're barred from holding seats, except under extreme circumstances – " she cut herself off. "... No other living members of my House. Would that count as a good enough excuse?"

"It might – we'll have to ask Lucius."

"Even if doesn't, do you not think the Dark Lord might want another of his 'followers' to claim a seat? He could probably pull some strings, or Lucius could…"

"I don't actually know what his views on women holding office are," Severus laughed sharply. "It could very well be that he'd prefer only I do so, but you're right – he'd definitely be helpful if we wished to do this."

"Which brings us to the issue of whether we should. The Dark Lord will expect us to vote with him, not doing so would bring consequences."

"But having institutional power is essential if we wish to be viewed as legitimate."

She brought her fingertip to her lips in an unconscious gesture. He watched her carefully. "There must be a way to phrase this to him… perhaps framing ourselves as a neutral front that is actually, surreptitiously bringing people to the Dark."

He tilted his head, contemplative. "That… could work. Or, if he were to find out, it would end in our deaths."

"Most of everything might end that way."

"True," he shrugged. Before he'd met Cassiopeia, before he'd gone to Hogwarts, he'd thought he would die in Cokeworth, desolate and alone. That he'd die young. Anything beyond that miserable existence in his hometown was infinitely preferable.

He flinched at a loud noise from the window, whirling around. Scratching at the glass was a scraggly owl, a wretched, little thing struggling under the weight of the small roll of parchment it was holding.

He let it in – disregarding the rule of no animals in the library – untying the letter from the owl's foot. For a second, he could do little more than stare.

Severus –

Your father is dead; alcohol poisoning. The funeral is four days from now – please, come.

– Eileen

The world around him became numb for a moment, a curious loss of sensation. Tobias is dead. The thought of it was strange, even if he'd pictured the moment ever since he was young, waiting for it with bated breath. Dead.

Cassiopeia took the letter from him, reading it over before glancing at him with concern.

"He deserved it."

His voice was flat. He's dead.

"I won't disagree with you there," she responded, her voice mild.

"I don't want to go."

He sounded like a petulant child, but the last thing he wanted to do was go stand in the bitter cold to watch the man he hated be buried. It was a dignity he did not deserve, it was money that was being wasted. Eileen would be sad, even if she had no reason to be.

"Think on it. If not for yourself – "

"Alright," he cut her off.

They had no source of money, now. Even if Tobias had only brought in a pitiful amount, it had put food on the table. It had paid for their clothes, if barely.

Eileen would have nothing. The house, yes – it had been bought years ago. But anything else –

"Do you think – would your grandparents consider taking her back now?"

The question startled him from his spiral of thoughts, an idea he had not thought to consider. "I have no idea. She couldn't live with them, or wouldn't want to, but if she became a Prince again…"

The family vaults were not large by any means, but they were enough to live on. Ma wouldn't like it – she'd see it as an indignity, crawling back to the people who'd cast her out – but he could think of no other option.

"... I'll talk with her."

"After the funeral?"

He grimaced. "It's a conversation best done face-to-face. Assuming, of course, that Dumbledore lets me. I wouldn't put it past him to say no."

"Talk with him tomorrow."

October 21, 1976 – Hogwarts

It turned out he didn't need to. At breakfast, an owl swooped in front of him, delivering a letter from the Headmaster onto his glass.

Mr. Snape,

I have been informed of the passing of your father, and your desire to attend his funeral on the twenty-third. You are welcome to floo from my office to your home – emergency connections are allowed even without formal registration with the Ministry. The password will be Acid Pops.

My condolences for your loss.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

He felt a stab of irritation at Eileen's presumptuousness, and the Headmaster's feigned concern, but buried it.

Across from the table, Crouch Junior looked at the letter with interest, and Severus took a second to contemplate his words. As a halfblood, even one with connections to the Malfoys, he was often regarded with suspicion when discussion of the Dark Lord arose – information kept from him. The news would get out sooner or later, but he could capitalise on it, if he played his cards right –

"My Muggle father is dead," he said lightly, his lip curling slightly as the heads of his classmates turned towards him.

"My condolences," Auberon replied formally, and the others echoed his sentiment, but he shook his head.

"He was a swine," he replied, and it was easy to let hatred fill his tone. "I am vying for my mother to rejoin House Prince."

"Let us hope she is successful, then," Avery inclined his head, while Crouch added: "It's been regrettable to watch your House languish so over the past few years."

Severus ignored the insult. "Thank you. It is my desire to... restore it to its former glory."

October 23, 1976 – Cokeworth

The funeral was as dreary as expected.

It rained, although Cokeworth could be counted on for little more than that during the fall. There had been no attendees outside of himself and Eileen, as well as the stout funeral director who had made a twenty-second speech, before leaving the two of them to, supposedly, say their last goodbyes privately. It was more likely he had no wish to be drenched.

Severus watched, apathetic, as his mother went to place a hand over the simple wooden casket – the cheapest they could buy. The torrent poured over her, saturating her best clothes, flattening the hair she'd pulled back into a simple chignon.

Staring forlornly at the wood, she looked at once old and so very young – tired and lost. She turned finally, to look at him, her expression troubled.

Heaving a sigh, Severus walked to her, positioning the black umbrella over her head, only a few centimetres above his own.

"You don't have to – "

"It's fine."

"...I'm sorry, Severus," she said after a long moment, her gaze on the horizon.

"What for?" he asked, slowly, the question genuine.

The grip on her heavy, woollen skirt tightened. "I should have left him. When he'd first begun turning his anger to you, I should have left him."

"Why didn't you?"

He couldn't keep the longing from his voice.

She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "There were so many excuses, in the moment, but they're meaningless now. It matters not that I loved him once, that he saved me from arranged marriage. I felt… obligated, when he deserved no such consideration. I wish – " she fell into silence.

"...Being a single mother would have been difficult," he said after a pause.

"...It was a time where such things were ill-accepted," she acknowledged. "But it could have been done. Do not make excuses for my actions, son."

"I am not attempting to do so."

She shook her head slightly, closing her eyes. "I deserved his anger, but you never did. If I could have shielded you from it – "

"Why do you think so?"

The question seemed to disconcert her. "Severus, he hated us for our magic. If I had told him before we got married…"

"Then you wouldn't have had me," he said lightly, giving his Ma a smile, but his words brought tears to her eyes, and she hugged him to her chest suddenly, struggling to control her breaths.

He allowed her to take comfort in him for some time before she pulled away, meeting his gaze. "I wouldn't trade you for the world, Severus," she said quietly, her tone serious. "I'm – " she steeled herself, " – I'm glad he's gone."

"I am as well."

They stood in silence for a long time then, surrounded by the noise of the downpour. Eventually, they returned to the director, letting him know Tobias was ready to be buried. Arrangements were made, and the two of them departed back home.

Inside, they stripped off their waterlogged clothes, and Eileen started up a fire. As she worked, Severus contemplated his next words, sitting on the ratty armchair his father had previously claimed as his own. It felt like a strange victory.

"How will you support yourself now, Ma?" he asked when the fire was roaring.

"That is not for you to worry about," she replied a little stiffly.

"Have you forgotten that I rely on you?" he asked, and she flinched from his words almost imperceptibly. He sighed. He had meant to be gentle, not banter acerbically with her like she was one of his classmates. "Ma… you could try getting a job here, but there's no telling how that would work out. If you had paperwork, we could sign up for benefits, but since you technically don't exist in the eyes of the Muggle government…"

"You want me to return to the magical society."

He shrugged slightly. "It seems like the best option. And – " he slowed his speech, his phrasing careful, " – if you were to ask your parents, if you were to return to House Prince…"

"I would be provided for, out of the vaults of the people who threw me out," she continued his thoughts, her tone tinged with disgust. Still, it said an unbelievable amount that she did not dismiss the idea immediately. "... I know not, Severus. I will – I will speak with Eimear. I do not think she meant…"

She fell quiet then, and did not speak again until it was time for him to leave.

October 25, 1976 – Hogwarts

At breakfast, the Malfoys' owl delivered a scroll into his hand, the script unfortunately familiar.

Severus Snape –

Your work was well-received. I have confirmed it will suit my purposes sufficiently.

Let it not be said that I do not reward good service, for I write to offer you an opportunity to begin your apprenticeship a year earlier than expected, under the tutelage of Horace Slughorn. The man is not without talent in potions, although I expect that – should you seize this offer – you will wish to transfer yourself to the guidance of an actual Potions Master for the residuum of your learning, once you graduate.

Lucius will sponsor you in name, but do not forget it is my generosity that extends you this opportunity.

– Valens Gaunt

The words: I expect recompense were left unsaid, although Severus knew well they were true. He placed the letter into his book-bag, something of shock colouring his actions. He had never thought such honour would be bestowed upon him, even if wrangled from the Board of Governors through Malfoy money, and the Dark Lord's threats.

The choice was obvious. Without their support – no matter how many strings came attached – there was no hope for him to continue his studies, no hope for him to pursue his... dreams, if he must use such a trite aphorism. He would take it.

Even if the last thing he wanted was to be in the Dark Lord's debt.