"If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees."
Kahlil Gibran
Fitzroy | Melbourne
31st of October, 1981
The once-grand Victorian manor stood in shambles, its ornate façade marred by the violent confrontation that had just transpired within its walls; a chilling scene of death and destruction that left the house - a home - once filled with warmth and life, in nothing but an eerie silence, save for the occasional creak of settling wood and the faint rustle of curtains in the draft.
Moonlight filtered through shattered windows, casting long and foreboding shadows that danced ominously in the flickering light of a single, remaining candle; the smell of burnt wood and metallic tang of blood heady in the air, mingling with the lingering yet acrid scent of Dark Magic - echoing the deadly spells that had been cast and the lives ended with a silence as heavy as it was thick. And in the midst of the chaos stood Severus Snape, the twenty-one-year old's wand still outstretched before him - still reverberating the deadly curses he had cast. Pale features were an unreadable mask, and his black eyes reflected nothing but the very madness surrounding him, a stark contrast to the tempest raging within.
His aunt and uncle lay motionless before him, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and betrayal, and Severus' chest heaved with a mix of exhaustion and pent-up rage. He had done what was necessary, had just killed his own family, following the orders of both his masters to eliminate those who they saw as a liability; his very Vow compelling him- left him no other choice but to carry out the grim task - with the very backing of his damnable tattoo.
And now... now the weight of his actions threatened to crush him.
His uncle's secrets, Anthony's forever-wavering loyalties, along with his absolute ease of just up and disappearing off the face of the planet - it had all been the reasons one Albus Dumbledore had revealed he felt too dangerous to be left unchecked. And Voldemort... well, he had all too gleefully agreed for Severus to follow through with the Headmaster's 'need' to get rid of the last remaining Prince members; twisting the so-called request into some sort of test of his loyalty; for, and if Severus could do this, the Dark Lord had reasoned, then he couldn't possibly find him untrustworthy, as Anthony Prince had not only been a Pureblood defector from Voldemort's own ranks, but he was also Severus' own blood uncle; Dorado being seen naught as more than collateral damage as his mudblood of an aunt by marriage.
Their home, despite knowing it was but a bolthole - a safehouse, it had a rather lived-in feel; evidence of both Anthony and Dorado's presence scattered throughout the rooms. What photographs that still lined the walls depicted a life filled with joy and life, and the smell of freshly-brewed tea mingled with the taint of Dark Magic. Bookshelves were crammed full with ancient tomes and recent reads, indicating the pairs' thirst for knowledge had never waned, and a knitting basket sat beside a soft yet tattered armchair by the hearth, half-finished projects spilling out of it.
Severus, with his heart still pounding with the aftershocks of adrenaline, moved through the wreckage with shaky though deliberate steps. He knew that his fellow Death Eaters would soon be arriving to survey the aftermath, the Dark Lord's insurance that no one had been left behind after the blood wards that had once hidden the residence fell - after Anthony Prince was no more. The cold realisation of what he had done, of what he had been compelled to do, haunted his every step, gnawed at his very insides. But the young wizard knew he could not afford to falter. No now.
As he moved across the room, however, his dark eyes caught sight of a small, ornate box half-hidden under the armchair. Curious, he picked it up - and felt his breath hitch as he opened it.
Inside, carefully preserved, were letters, photographs, and mementoes of a life spent on the run. But one still in particular caught Severus' eye; a Muggle photo of his aunt and uncle with a small, blonde-haired child, a boy no more than a toddler, smiling brightly between them.
The young wizard felt his blood run cold, his heart - stop.
How could he have not known?
Had anyone known?
The realisation hit Severus like a punch in the gut: Anthony and Dorado Prince, his own uncle and aunt, the only remaining members of his mother's family, had a son - he had a cousin.
Severus dropped like a stone into the armchair, the photograph trembling in his hand.
The revelation was like a knife to his heart, twisting painfully deeper with each and every beat.
How could he have not known?
He stared at the smiling faces in the picture, a bright and innocent memory that had been forever captured in time - and so different from what the wizard would have expected; his aunt Dorado, with her gentle blue eyes and loving smile, and Uncle Anthony, strong and protective, standing proudly with their child.
The boy- his cousin; Severus could hardly tear his eyes away from the pale-haired toddler. Though, and flipping the photo over on instinct, he was rewarded with a date scrawled on its back, his aunt's elegant handwriting clearly stating when the photo had been taken.
Crux
1979 - Age two.
Our guiding light amidst the dark.
It was dated but two years after Anthony had sought refuge within the Order - two years after he had been denied that very sanctuary by the Headmaster and all but disappeared from the face of the earth; Dorado along with him, and the implications crashed over Severus in waves, leaving the wizard breathless.
Albus had to have known that Dorado was pregnant.
Severus could recall her letters, the desperate pleas for sanctuary, as well as the cold, calculated refusals.
Dumbledore would have had to have known that in him refusing Anthony refuge, he was condemning not just two adults but an unborn child to a life of fear and danger.
Anger and betrayal suddenly surged within the twenty-one-year-old as he thought back to his own countless conversations with the Headmaster, the blind trust he had placed with the old wizard - the very sacrifices he had made for the so-called 'Greater Good' one Albus Dumbledore did champion.
Yet, and as he stared at that family photo, Severus found himself seeing clearly upon the cracks in that façade, the moral compromises that had been all but hiding just beneath the surface.
His memory raced as he desperately tried to piece together any signs he might have missed in regards to his aunt being with child, and a fleeting moment - a conversation with his uncle crossed his mind; the unspoken fear in Anthony's eyes, and the hurried words that had been brushed off as mere paranoia - and Severus suddenly cursed.
Muggle London was a cacophony of chaos, the afternoon sun casting long, oppressive shadows as seventeen-year-old Severus Snape moved through its streets with the familiar, grudging air of one who had found the world as nothing more than a constant source of irritation. The air was thick with the pungent scent of wet stone and the faint aroma of distant food vendors, and the young wizard, fresh from his graduation and his father's most recent trial, was a portrait of disillusionment and barely restrained fury.
His dark, heavy robes billowed around him, a stark contrast to the mundane attire of the Muggles bustling about, and he paid little heed to the curious glances cast his way; his mind elsewhere, trapped in a never-ending cycle of resentment and anger. The trial had been a mere formality - Tobias Snape, convicted of murdering his wife Eileen, would spend the rest of his miserable life rotting in prison. Yet, instead of relief, Severus felt only a hollow ache; a festering wound that no amount of vengeance could soothe.
His steps were swift, purposeful; his gaze fixed upon the ground ahead. He had no particular destination in mind, only the desire to escape the stifling confines of Cokeworth - of Spinner's End. The city's noise was almost a comfort, drowning out the tumultuous thoughts that plagued him. Though, and as he turned a corner, Severus nearly collided with another as they stepped out of a dimly lit pub. His wand hand twitched instinctively, but he relaxed - albeit marginally - when he recognised the man before him.
"Uncle," the teen acknowledged cooly, his eyes narrowing. The resemblance was there - Anthony Prince had the same dark eyes, though he looked more haggard than Severus remembered, the wizard's once-proud bearing seemingly diminished by a deep worry etched into every line of his face.
"Severus," Anthony replied with a voice that was a mix of unease and relief, dark eyes filled with a turmoil Severus found he had no patience for as they glanced furtively about. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"If you say so," the teen replied none too nicely, his tone dripping with disdain. "Shouldn't you be off hiding somewhere, given your current... situation?" he added with a growing sneer.
His uncle hesitated, umbral gaze flickering over Severus as if he were assessing how much to reveal. Yet, and much to the younger wizard's surprise, did not rise to the bait. "I needed to speak with you. It's important."
Severus could only scoff, crossing his arms. "Important?" he questioned, as if his interest was purely academic, before, "Like the last time you came begging for help from the Headmaster? What is it this time, Uncle? Another plea for sanctuary? Another wizard or Dark Lord you've double-crossed?"
"I know you have no reason to trust me." Anthony took a deep breath, his hand trembling as he ran it through his unkept hair. "But there's something I need to warn you about. Something- someone dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Severus almost laughed. "Have you yet to realise that everything in this world is dangerous? What should I care about your particular brand of peril?"
"It's not like that, Severus," his uncle countered, features tightening as a flicker of pain crossed his eyes. "You have to understand, things have changed- have always been changing. It's... complicated."
Severus' eyes flashed with his rising anger. "Complicated?" he spat. "You think I care about your so-called complications. You, Uncle, who abandoned my mother. Your whole family did. And now you come to me, expecting what? Sympathy? Help?"
"I come to you because of our family. And because I-" Anthony hesitated, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't know how much time is left."
A flicker of genuine concern flickered across his nephew's features - before it was quickly masked by a sneer.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know I've made enemies on both sides, Severus," Anthony voiced quickly. "The Dark Lord doesn't just 'forgive' defection. And the Headmaster... Albus is not as forgiving as he seems."
Severus just rolled his eyes. "You're telling me things I already know. If you're looking for pity, Uncle, you won't find any here."
"I am not looking for pity, nephew. I am looking for a way to protect what is left of our family."
"Our family?"
Severus' voice was but a harsh whisper.
"You mean those Pureblood bigots that abandoned my mother? That left her to rot with a man who would eventually kill her?"
His uncle flinched as if he'd been struck.
"You have to believe me, Severus, it was never supposed to be like that. You mother- my sister... she made her choices. We all did. And now we are paying the price."
"Liar!" Severus snarled. "You never did. You married that Muggle, that- that- and still managed to keep your place in the family."
Anthony's dark eyes only darkened further at the accusations, yet not with anger. "I have paid, I still do," he revealed quietly. "Every day I live with the choices I have made. But now... now I have to think of someone other than myself. It's no longer just about me anymore. There are others-"
"Other's?" his nephew interrupted. "You mean that precious mudblood you call a wife? Save your breath, Uncle. You are no different from the rest. You only think for yourself."
"Severus, yes, I've made mistakes. We all do. But there is more to this than you know. I need you to trust me."
"Trust you? I've trusted no one but myself, and look where it's gotten me. You're a coward, Anthony. A coward running from one side to the other, hoping someone will save you. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I am not your saviour."
For a moment, silence stretched between the two wizards; heavy with unspoken accusations and unresolved anger. Anthony looked at his nephew, at Severus, and a flicker of something - perhaps regret or sorrow - passed over his features before his shoulders sagged; the fight seemingly draining out of him.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For everything."
Severus only sneered, turning his back to his uncle. "Save your apologies. They mean nothing."
Anthony's hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out towards his nephew, but he let it fall to his side, swallowing hard against the pain that had lodged itself in his throat. "I cannot give you the answers you seek, Severus. Not now. But I can tell you this: the Headmaster is not the saviour he pretends to be. He has his own agenda, his own rules, and they do not always align with what is right. Be careful of who you place your trust in."
The seventeen-year-old swirled back to face his uncle, his dark eyes cold and unforgiving as he spat, "Trust? Trust is for fools, Uncle. And it seems the Prince family has produced nothing but."
"And I am sorry you feel that way."
"Sorry? Sorry is meaningless. Actions matter, and your actions have shown me exactly what kind of man you are."
For a moment, it looked as though Severus' uncle was on the verge of retort. But then he deflated, his shoulders falling once more, as a smile that never reached his eyes suddenly pulled at his lips, and he inclined his head at his nephew. "Take care of yourself, Severus. That is all I ask."
"I don't need your advice, or your pity." The teen shook his head, his disgust evident with every word spoken. "Just disappear, like you always do."
At the time, Severus had brushed off the conversation as mere paranoia - of his uncle trying to crawl back into the Dark Lord's graces after Dumbledore had refuted him. The war between Voldemort and the whole of Britain - the Magical and Muggle communities - had been intensifying, had everyone on edge; both the wicked and the righteous. But now, sitting in the carnage of his own making, within the ruins of his aunt and uncle's home as he stared at a picture of their only son, the memory took on a far more chilling significance.
"It's no longer just about me anymore. There are others-"
Had Anthony been trying to tell him about Dorado's pregnancy all along - to warn him of the existence of his cousin?
Severus cursed at his younger self for not seeing the truth that had been so clearly in front of him the entire time. He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of anger and regret as he realised his uncle's fears hadn't been unfounded, and now, because of Severus' own failure to understand, to listen, he'd just- Crux was now in mortal danger.
"Why didn't you just tell me outright?" the wizard snarled to himself - to the photograph of his uncle; his voice naught but a harsh, desperate whisper that echoed through the room. "Why keep him a secret, even from me?" he continued to asked, even as he knew the unmoving still would provide no answers.
The weight of responsibility settled heavily on the wizard's shoulders as he stared at the smiling family locked inside the photo. His mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle Anthony had tried to share with him. The danger his uncle had spoken of, was it possible that it had not just been about the war or Voldemort's tyranny, of Dumbledore's supposed duplicity, but something far more personal; something that reached into the very heart of his family - a family that Severus had all but dismissed and vilified in his anger?
He had all but dismissed his uncle's warnings as the ramblings of a desperate man seeking refuge from his own mistakes; something Severus knew intimately. But what if there had been a truth underlining Anthony's words? What if Dumbledore's decisions, his own dismissal of his uncle's plight, had inadvertently placed Crux in the crosshairs of both sides of the war?"
Thoughts drifted back to that bitter exchange, to the resentment he had felt, had harboured for years towards the Prince family, that had suddenly bubbled to the surface. Anthony's pleas for understanding, for unity in the face of a danger unknown, had fallen upon deaf ears; Severus, at seventeen, having only seen betrayal and cowardice in his uncle's actions, unable to comprehend the possible complexities that now threatened to consume him.
As he sat in the ruins of what had once been his uncle's life, a cold realisation suddenly washed over Severus.
He had been blind to the true dangers facing his family, having been so focused on his own pain and anger that Anthony's had been immediately dismissed without pause or thought. The rift between them had already widened so irreparably, and now... now, there was no chance of redemption.
Anthony was gone, his life taken - stolen - by his own nephew's hand, and at the order of the two master's he had once so willingly served; leaving behind a legacy of secrets and a son who was now in peril because of said nephew's ignorance.
Guilt gnawed at Severus' conscience as he continued to stare at the photograph, at Crux - at the innocent child now caught in a web of dark forces beyond his understanding. What would become of the boy now? Alone and unprotected, he faced dangers Severus could only imagine.
The wizard suddenly rose from the chair.
He had to act, to confront the Headmaster - even if, deep down, a part of him feared the truth he might uncover. He knew, even though he couldn't change the past, couldn't undo the mistakes that had led him to this horrifying realisation, he could protect Crux.
Yet...
What other secrets was Dumbledore keeping from him - what other betrayals lay hidden within the Headmaster's grand schemes?
Thoughts of his cousin swirled, of the blonde-haired child - of Crux - who had been denied a safe and happy upbringing, just as he had been; a boy who had been already condemned to the same darkness that had plagued Severus' own life, and by the hand of the very head of the Light.
"...the Headmaster is not the saviour he pretends to be. He has his own agenda, his own rules, and they do not always align with what is right."
But, why hadn't Dumbledore protected Crux - protected Anthony and Dorado?
Why had the Headmaster left them to fend for themselves?
More importantly, however: Where the hell was Crux now?
Taking a deep breath, Severus tried to calm himself, to steady his racing heart. He needed to gather his thoughts, to prepare himself for the confrontation he knew would come, and he couldn't afford to let his emotions to cloud his judgement. His cousin was depending on him, and the twenty-one-year-old found he could not fail the boy as he had Anthony and Dorado.
He returned the photo to its box, alongside the letters and mementoes, before slipping the entire lot into a pocket of his robes. These were pieces of a puzzle he was only just beginning to understand, and as he closed the lid on the memories within, a resolve hardened within Severus.
He would not allow the Headmaster's betrayal to go unchallenged.
He would uncover the truth, no matter the cost; for his aunt and uncle, for his cous-
A sudden noise, a faint creak from upstairs, jolted Severus from his thoughts, and a cold dread settled itself deeper inside him as he rushed to the closest window; taking a glance out into the dark beyond. His fellow brothers would be arriving soon to ensure his task had been completed, and if what he had discovered inside that box held even the slightest sliver of truth, Severus knew he could not let them find the boy; couldn't let his cousin fall into the Dark Lord's hands - or worse, into the knowledge of one Albus Dumbledore.
Anthony and Dorado Prince's once-grand residence felt more like a labyrinth of destruction. Yet, as Severus ascended the stairs, his boots crunching on shards of glass and debris, the memories of happier times seemed to hang in the air, a stark contrast to the violence and loss that had transpired within its halls, and a renewed determination scorched its way through him.
His ears strained for any further sounds that someone - anyone - had survived, and as he reached the landing, his dark eyes were already scanning the dimly lit hall. Moonlight filtered through the shattered windows, casting eerie shadows on the walls, but also helped to illuminate a faint, fresh trail of small footprints in the dust; footprints that did lead to a door slightly ajar at the very end of the corridor - one, Severus Snape was intrigued to discover, he had not noticed before.
Taking a deep breath, truly afraid of what he might find, the wizard caused the footprints to disappear with but a flick of his wrist before he approached the door; his heart feeling as though it had become lodged in his throat as he pushed it gently open and revealed a small room beyond; one, he was surprised to discover, looked remarkably untouched by the chaos that had consumed the rest of the house.
Toys were scattered across the floor, a small bed neatly made in the corner-
A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer of movement drew his attention - sharp eyes darting to a half-opened closet and to a coat hanging off its handle; shadows clearly playing tricked on his mind.
Severus shook his head, stepping into the room almost silently; every one of his senses on high alert as he approached the bed. His wand was raised, at the ready, and crouching down, he lifted the bedskirt.
Empty.
The twenty-one-year-old let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding - before he heard it; a muffled and faint whimper.
Severus' heart stopped for a beat - and then began to pound painfully in his chest.
It had come from the closet.
His breath hitched as he turned towards the sound, his wand already casting a light that cut through the shadows - and there, huddled in the dark, was a small, trembling figure; a boy no older than four- Severus' very own cousin: Crux.
Surreal blue, almost white eyes were wide, filled with terror; the boy's body shaking uncontrollably, and Severus' heart ached at the sight - clenched painfully at the knowledge that this was his own flesh and blood, his cousin, the very last living link to his own mother's family, and he had just orphaned the boy.
Kneeling down, trying to make himself as small and non-threatening as possible, the wizard whispered, "Crux?"
His voice was barely audible, barely recognisable to his own ears, but the four-year-old looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks. He clutched tightly at a stuffed animal - a bat, Severus realised, with a pang of bitter irony.
"It's all right, Crux," he continued to whisper, continued to hope his voice was as soft and reassuring as he wished it to be. "I'm here to help you, but you need to stay quiet. Can you do that for me? There are bad people coming, and we need to make sure they don't find you."
The boy let out a whimper at the mention of 'bad people', yet he nodded through his tears, his trust implicit despite the fear in his eyes.
"Do-"
Severus hesitated, his heart pounding at the idea of asking a child - his own cousin - if he had been taught how to hide left a bitter taste in his mouth. Oh how he wished to never revisit the nightmare that was his own childhood, but he could not deny that if there had been anyone capable of teaching their child to hide when needed, to disappear with no questions asked, it would have been the very same wizard who had all but vanished from both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore.
Crux clutched at the stuffed bat tighter, its worn fabric a testament to the many nights of comfort and companionship it had clearly provided the boy, and Severus' mind raced; trying to grapple with the weight of what he needed to do. He had to protect Crux, no matter his feelings, not matter the cost.
"Hide and Sleep?" he whispered, forcing what he hoped was a gentle smile to his lips despite the turmoil raging inside him.
His cousin hesitated at the question, if only for a moment; confusion chasing its way across his terrified and tear-stricken features, before realisation dawned and he slowly nodded. Severus felt a pang of relief mix with sorrow at the response. Crux had understood, as if this game was indeed a familiar routine - and was but a grim reflection of the life his father and mother had been forced to live.
"I need you to stay here," he still did instruct, adding, "I'm going to cast a few spells to keep you safe. It'll be like a secret room that no one can find," as he moved to stand.
"Dungeon, Bat?"
Severus froze, caught off-guard by Crux's innocent question.
"Dungeon, Bat?" the four-year-old repeated, glancing to the stuffed toy he was cuddling before looking back up to his cousin-unknown; wide and fearful blue-white eyes pleading for the reassurance Severus was unsure he could give.
He struggled to mask his emotions, his mind swirling.
Never, not once in his entire life, had he heard those two words said in such a way before. To the wizard, the phrase 'Dungeon Bat' had always been a crude moniker, a mocking reference to his pale complexion and grim demeanour; something he had learnt to endure as naught by another mark of his solitary years at Hogwarts. But now, looking at Crux, at the way the boy clutched at the worn, stuffed, yet loved animal in a familiar and comforting way, one that did seem to help ease his fear and uncertainty - Severus realised there was possibly another layer to the phrase.
'Dungeon', much like that of his own moniker, could in fact mean a dungeon - a basement, a place of refuge and hiding. And 'Bat'... could it be as simple as a nickname - the entire phrase nothing more than a simple yet effective direction to seek safety in the basement?
Realisation struck the wizard with a pang of sympathy. Crux, at all of four, had somehow found solace in a simple yet clever play on words; perhaps something his parents had devised, much like that of Severus' own mother and Anthony's sister with Hide and Sleep, in a way to keep the boy calm during times of danger.
It was a true testament to their love and ingenuity, even in the face of adversity, and Severus felt his anger towards himself, towards Dumbledore turn up a notch.
"Of course," he however agreed, masking his rage towards his own failings and the Headmaster deception behind his need to protect Crux and keep the boy safe. "This will be like a dungeon, where no one can find you. You will be safe in here, okay; both you and Bat."
Crux nodded, his eyes filled with relief that Severus had understood - and the wizard had to force himself not to react, to not acknowledge the truth of his actions, as he instead reached out to gently ruffle the boy's surprisingly pale hair; offering him what little reassurance he could.
"I need you to stay quiet. I'll make sure that no one finds you, but not a sound, from either of you. Hide and Sleep, remember?"
The four-year-old nodded again, his expression turning solemn as he clutched 'Bat' tightly to his chest; as if drawing strength from the toy and the memories it held of his parents like a lifeline in a storm that threatened to engulf them both, and Severus found himself hesitating once more, wanting desperately to promise more but understanding the dangers of making false assurances.
Instead, he pressed a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence as he finally rose, closing the door gently; his mind already filling with plans and contingencies. He needed to lead the Death Eaters still to arrive away from Crux, to buy himself enough time to get the boy away and to a secure location. It would be a dangerous game, one that would require every ounce of his cunning and resourcefulness-
Black eyes suddenly narrowed; a thin, deadly smile beginning to curl pale lips.
It would be a dangerous game, and Severus was feeling rather glad that he was a Slytherin at heart; for he knew, despite the risks, he would uncover the truth behind this betrayal - and he would take his time making each and every single person responsible pay.