A/N With great thanks to Ottogatto for helping me see the Obscurial side of things.

What Makes a Family

'He is one of the Maeras,' said Strider. 'They hail from the plains of Rohan, where the Rohirrim tame them.' The five Nazgûl had fled Weathertop after the fires had set them alight. All but one of their horses had fled after them, as the one Severus had mounted seemed to have decided on a new rider. Black as night he was, and larger and stronger than any horse he had ever seen before.

Severus pet him on the nose and thought back on what happened during the night. The Obscurus inside of him had come out once again. The last time it had happened was at Malfoy Manor. The fact that it had happened had scared him more than the very Dementor he had been up against. On the day of his return to Hogwarts, Dumbledore had invited him up to his office. The headmaster had admitted to having seen what was in his mind. That Severus had met with the Dark Lord, and that the dark cloud that had come out of him had a name; an Obscurus. A manifestation of energy that occurs when magic is suppressed due to abuse and thrives as a parasite on the darkening of one's heart. It is highly dangerous, and potentially lethal to anyone standing in its path. It does not differentiate between friend or foe, and there were no known ways to separate the Obscurus from the Obscurial without it resulting in death.

Feeling alone and afraid, he admitted everything to Dumbledore that day. About his home situation, and of the growing rift he was causing between him and Lily. The reason why he was so eager to join the Dark Lord's cause, and of the things the Dark Lord had offered him in exchange for his talents. It seemed innocent enough. His talent for Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts had been his way in – but being an Obscurial had turned him from yet another potential Death Eater, to one who could become a part of his most inner circle as soon as the Trace on him was lifted.

Dumbledore had listened to him. Spoke to him as if he were already a grown man, and even shed tears with him, for he felt he should have known about Severus' hardships much sooner than he had. An agreement between them had been made that day. One where Dumbledore had felt he was far too young to ever make such an important decision, but it was one that Severus was determined to make nonetheless. It was the only way he could see himself keeping Lily safe from the inevitable war that was about to come , and also to find a way to keep himself safe – and with the hope of being able to find his way back to her if it all ever came to an end.

Dumbledore taught him about Legilimency that day. The ability to magically navigate through the many layers of a person's mind. Something that the Dark Lord had inevitably been doing to him since their first meeting at Malfoy Manor, and something that Severus desperately wanted to prevent from ever happening again. After their meeting, Dumbledore decided that Severus would have to come back to his office on a weekly basis and learn all there was to learn about Occlumency. Being able to close off his mind may be his most important weapon yet, if he were to embark on the dangerous journey he had agreed to go upon.

And then there were the Dementors. The mere presence of one Dementor in Lucius' living room had been enough to send him to his knees and beg quietly for mercy. There were bound to be more, Dumbledore had warned him. If it were up to Minister Minchum, he would have had Dementors patrolling Diagon Alley and beyond by now, if it weren't for the Wizengamot preventing it from happening. There was a way to dissolve the Dementors through powerful and advanced magic. The Patronus Charm. One he would have loved to have taught to Lily, had it not been for the fact that he was unable to master the Charm after their great falling out, and never had a chance to do so.

'Where is your mind wandering to, master Severus?' Strider seemed to have been observing him for a while now.

'Old memories,' said Severus. The memory of casting his first full corporeal Patronus charm in Dumbledore's office faded into the back of his mind. The Hobbits had been too concerned with Frodo to care what had happened to Severus when they were ready to charge at the Nazgûl. Frodo had been stabbed, as Strider explained, by a Morgul blade. The blade had dissolved, but a shard had been broken off inside the wound and was making its way to poison his heart. They had run off in separate directions, along with Sam, in search for a healing plant Strider had called Athelas. Something he explained was also known as Kingsfoil in the common tongue. Once they had found it in the thickets south of the Road, Severus was reminded of Comfrey. A plant he had used in the brewing of medicinal potions used to mend skin. He had brewed quite a lot of it along with Professor Slughorn to supply Madam Pomfrey; who had needed it on a regular basis due to all the Quidditch related injuries she dealt with.

It was a difference of night and day with Frodo. Out of fear, he had used the Ring and kept speaking of the pale King he had seen. The others had been too overjoyed to hear him speak after the Athelas had worked its magic on him that they did not care for his gibberish, but Severus had seen it too. The Ring, still painfully invisible around his finger, had made him see that the shadows he had seen in the distance had another form. Forms as though from another world. Long grey robes they wore, and their eyes were hollow and merciless. They wore helmets of silver upon their long grey hair, and in the haggard hands their blades appeared as swords of steel. They stirred the same feelings in him as the Dementor had had, and yet he understand that the Nazgûl were vastly different beings – and far more terrifying. 'He needs a name, if you wish for him to stay by your side,' said Strider.

'His name shall be Tilion,' said Severus. 'After the Maia who carried the last flower of Telperion into the heavens and guards the moon. Goldberry had told me the tale of the Two Trees, and I find it has left a lasting impression on me.'

Strider agreed. 'A fine name for a fine horse.'

'You don't question what happened to me when we ttacked the Nazgûl?' asked Severus. 'How come?'

'I have seen you make the seeds of the maple tree fly,' said Strider. I put my faith in the gentle magic that you wield. Whatever darkness resides in your heart. That is for you to share with Gandalf – or when the time is right.'

...o0o…

The Athelas was performing its magic, but the burden of the wound remained deeply etched onto Frodo's face. The company had to leave Weathertop behind as quickly as they could, for the shrill voices of the Nazgûl could be heard in the distance. Some of the heavy burden that Bill carried was given to Tilion, and Frodo would ride him to retain some of his energy, for the way they walked was wild and pathless. The leaves in the thickets were fading and falling, turning their journey into a cheerless path.

Four days passed before Weathertop faded from view, and little was spoken during that time. They kept watch in pairs by night. Expecting to be stalked by dark hooded figures in the distance – but none were sighted, nor did they feel the peril of the Nazgûl's presence.

Frodo struggled more with each passing day, and it was evident that time was turning into his greatest enemy. By the sixth day they reached a long slow-climbing slope and found a huddle of wooded hills in the distance. Below them they could see the East Road sweeping around the feet of the hills, and to their right a grey river flowed. Strider had said it was the River Hoarwell, which the Elves called Mitheithel, and there was only one way to cross it.

'It had been six long days, and we have not seen the Black Riders since we left Weathertop,' said Merry to the company. 'The water of the river appears so crisp and inviting, and I would love to have a soak even if it's cold. Frodo, I will let you decide.'

'We shall,' said Frodo, and with great difficulty he climbed off Tilion's back. 'I've been anxious and afraid, and my bones are weary from all the travel. I insist in a well-earned break before we cross the river.'

Strider, though reluctant, agreed. 'I will keep an eye out. Tread carefully, and don't make too much noise. You go too, Severus.'

Within less than a minute, the Hobbits had made their way into the water and suspiring sounds of relaxation and relief could be heard. Hesitant, Severus undressed and followed suit. His scars visible for all to see. The ones his father had left on him, and the one the Dark Lord had left on his arm. The Mark was faint and nearly white, for it had not burnt in a long time – making it appear as though it were a distant memory. The sight of it brought him great shame and pain, but at least the company he was with would not understand what it stood for – and would not retaliate at the sight of it.

The water was cold, and the dark cloud that had lingered over his head since Weathertop faded away in the ripples of the water. It reminded him of the cold showers he took at Hogwarts after an afternoon of running. Water rinsed off the dirt of evil thoughts from him – and gave him clarity. 'Everything alright, Severus?' Strider asked from the waterfront. Strider must have taken notice on how he sat still in the water with his eyes closed.

'All is well,' answered Severus.

'Care to tell me why a young man like you already bares so many scars?' asked Strider. There was no hint of pity or concern in his voice.

'What is it to you?' said Severus, annoyed.

Strider seemed amused. 'Your inner walls are higher and thicker than Minas Tirith's Orthram.'

'You speak as if I'm supposed to know what that means.'

'The Orthram is the great City Wall of Minas Tirith,' Strider explained, 'which is the capitol city of Gondor, where once my ancestors ruled. Here's an idea – since it has worked for us before. I share with you something personal from my life, and you share something personal from yours.'

'Agreed,' said Severus, though unsure why he was agreeing to the idea. Lily knew everything about him. The best and the worst of it. He felt there was no need for anyone else to know.'

'I was born the first day of March,' said Strider, 'in the year two thousand and thirty-one. I was merely two years old when my father died. Slain by an Orc's arrow when he went hunting with Elladan and Elrohir; Lord Elrond's twin sons. My mother Gilraen, wanting to keep my identity hidden, had chosen for me to grow up in Rivendell. They named me Estel, which means "hope", and I did not learn of my true identity until I was twenty years of age. It was also then that I met Arwen – Lord Elrond's daughter. She had dwelled in Lothlórien with her grandmother, Lady Galadriel, for many years before she returned to Rivendell.'

'If my calculations are correct,' said Severus while looking up in thought. 'From what I've been told it is now the year three-thousand and eighteen. That would make you eighty-seven years of age.'

'And you don't look a day over forty!' said Pippin happily, who had taken notice of the conversation happening between Severus and Strider. 'So, what's the secret?'

Strider laughed. 'Númenórean blood and a lot of fresh air,' he said.

'And what of your mother?' asked Sam. 'Is she still in Rivendell?'

'She is still there in memory,' said Strider while holding his hand over his heart. 'For she passed away from illness while she was amongst our people in Eriador. Her final words to me were Ónen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim. Words that I will carry in my heart forever.'

Pippin seemed to be on the edge to ask what it stood for, but Merry nudged him in the ribs to prevent him from speaking; making sure that her final words to Strider remained private. 'And what of this Lady Arwen?' Merry asked with a sly grin.

'I believe it is Severus' turn to speak,' said Strider. 'Could you tell us why your parents are?'

Severus drew a deep breath, and his mind turned to an image of his mother sitting at the kitchen table at Spinner's End, staring out the dust-covered window into their unkempt garden. Something he would find her doing quite a lot. 'Well, my mother's name is Eileen,' he said. 'I look a lot like her. She's an unhappy person. Turns inwards quite a lot – and I suppose I have that in common with her as well. Now my father – from him I inherited the skin I live in. He has experienced war, and because of that he lives with ghosts in his mind. The war was over but the war did not leave him. The only place I know where the ghosts left him alone was when he was in the woods, and I enjoyed going with him because of that. My parents don't know where I am. They don't even know if I'm still alive – and I do wonder if they miss me.'

'Thank you for sharing that with us,' said Frodo as he gave Severus a pat on the back. 'I lost my parents when I was twelve due to a boating accident. Their names were Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck, and I ended up living with my brandybuck relatives in Brandy Hall. When I was twenty-one, I was adopted by Bilbo. I call him my uncle, but officially he's my second cousin once removed from my father's side, and we are first cousins once removed from my mother's side.'

'Sounds complicated,' said Severus. 'Brandybuck you said? Is that not your name as well, Merry?'

'Yes indeed,' said Merry proudly. 'We share a common ancestor in Gorbadoc Brandybuck, who is Frodo's maternal grandfather, making us first cousins once removed.'

'And Merry and I are also connected through my material grandmother,' Frodo added. 'Mirabella Brandybuck. Brandybuck being her married name because she was a Took. This also makes us second cousins once removed.'

'Frodo and I are related through the Old Took,' said Pippin. 'His true name was Gerontius Took. Got that nickname Old Took because he lived to a hundred and thirty years of age and was the twenty-sixth Thain of the Shire. I think that makes us second cousins once removed like Frodo and Bilbo are. Now, Merry and I are also first cousins, because we share a common grandfather, Adalgrim Took.'

'We're also third cousins though,' added Merry, 'though the Old Took who is our great-great grandfather. And first cousins twice removed from Bilbo due to Bungo's marriage, who is Bilbo's father, to Belladonna Took.'

'Strider couldn't help but laugh at the Hobbits figuring out their common ancestry. 'And what about you, Samwise?' he asked. 'Are you in any way related to these three fine gentlemen?'

'Possibly – most likely,' Sam answered. 'But those connections have gotten lost to the history books by now. Not that it matters to me though. I considered them all to be my family regardless! And once we return to the Shire from Rivendell, I hope to lay my eyes on Rosie Cotton again. Oh, how I should have danced with her when I had the chance! Her and I have been friends for a long time – and she was not pleased at all when I told her I was leaving the Shire. I told her I was moving to Crickhollow – and I don't love this lie to her that I not must live with –'

'Well said, Sam,' Frodo answered with a smile. 'Once we return you can tell her all – and I am positive she will forgive. And oh, Severus. You will probably get to meet my uncle Bilbo in Rivendell. He's left the Shire to live in Rivendell over seventeen years ago – and I have not seen him since and miss him dearly. His soul is filled with tales of adventues, and I would love for you to meet him.'

'I would enjoy hearing of his tales of adventure,' said Severus genuinely. 'The more we speak of Rivendell, the more I wish to see it for myself.'

'I promise it will not disappoint,' said Strider. 'We better get moving and set up camp, for tomorrow I wish for us to cross the Last Bridge. It is a new moon tonight, and although that makes it easier for us to hide – it also makes it difficult for us to see.'

Severus thought back on the conversations that were held in the river as they were setting up camp. Admitting that his mother was unhappy, and his father troubled with ghosts, had left a bitter taste in his mouth. The responses from Strider and the Hobbits, however, were much better than expected. No wave of discomfort had come as the words had come out of his mouth – and yet, he had not dared speaking of Lily, thinking that his feeling for her would kindle a fire of emotion in him that he would not ready to share with them just yet.

As the night fell, he dreamt of Lily. Her eyes filled with happiness as she rode on a white horse through fields of tall grass. He wanted to run after her. Scream that he was here – and all she needed to do was turn around to find him. But the horse she rode on wouldn't stop, and his dream had cast a veil between them that silenced his voice and made him stand rooted to the ground. He watched her disappear over the hill with the stars of Varda above her. You're a witch, Lily, he whispered in his mind. 'Please believe me when I tell you that you are.

...o0o…

There had been rain under the shadow of the hills, and no sign of any travellers nor the Black Riders could be found. They had no choice but to follow the Great East Road to the Last Bridge, and kept themselves hidden in the thickets at the side of the Road as Strider went ahead in search of any sign from the enemy. Halfway over the Last Bridge he had found a pale-green jewel. An Elf-stone, Strider had called it, and had considered it a token of good fortune.

Thee three great arches of the Last Bridge reminded Severus of the bridge that connected the dodgy part of Cokeworth with its wealthier Northern part. He had lost count on the number of times he and Lily had found comfort in the shade under the bridge. The riverbank strewn with litter, and the grass muddy and bleak. And yet – it had been their paradise.

It was clear that the landscape changed drastically as soon as they had crossed the Last Bridge. Although the land seemed less cheerless, it also had a threatening air to it. The hills before them steadily rose, and once in a while they would catch glimpses of ancient walls and ruins of towers. Strider explained that the ruins were once build by the Men of Rhudaur, and that Rhudaur was the Sindarin word for Trollshaw. Though small in numbers, Trolls still live within the shallow caves on the hills, and it was best to avoid any where they could.

Frodo's condition was steadily worsening, and the fact that the nights were rainy and thus void of a warm and cosy fire did not make matters any better. The provisions they carried were starting to run low. They had to make their way to the Ford of Bruinen, and with haste. The River Bruinen, known as the Loudwater in the common tongue, shielded Rivendell from any intruders coming in fron the West. Rivendell lay not far behind it, and very little was spoken in the days that led them to the river, for their minds were turned to comforting food and warm beds. The only moment that had given the travellers a moment of peace from their own minds was when they had discovered three trolls that had turned to stone. Frodo, convinced it were the Trolls from his uncle Bilbo's stories, fell into a tale of Bilbo and his thirteen dwarven companions, and how they had nearly been turned to stew had it not been for Gandalf coming back for them. Severus thought of the trolls that existed within his own world. He had never seen one with his own eyes, but they did resemble a lot like the stone trolls before him in the books he had read. Perhaps the very same trolls existed in both realms – and there were ways not known to Men on how they would meet in between.

They set out again in the afternoon, and the light of the westering sun faded behind the hills as they climbed down the bank. They were met with a cold wind that was blowing in from the East, and it was then that the companions suddenly heard the sound of galloping hoofs behind them – and it instilled an instant fear in their hearts. They hid within the deep heather amongst the slopes, making sure that they had a clear vision of the Road below them. The galloping hoofs came nearer, and its footfall was light and swift. 'That does not sound like a Black Rider's horse,' said Frodo. Strider, who was holding a hand to his ear, agreed – and a look of joy came upon his face a moment later.

Strider made his way down the slope and beckoned to the companions to wait for his signal to come down. 'Ai nav dui Dúnadan! Mae govannen!' He was greeted by a deep and fair voice, and it was then that Severus saw the horses' rider was of the Elven-folk. Long golden hair he had, and he wore a long cloak that streamed behind him in the wind. There was a white light shining through him, as though veiled by it. A light Severus had not seen among any other Elf he had met in Bree. It was as captivating as the light from the Ring he wore around his finger. His knowledge on the Elves was deeply limited, but even he could see that there was something extraordinary about him.

Strider beckoned to them to come down from the slope. 'This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the house of Elrond,' he said.

'Hail, and well met at last!' said Glorfindel to Frodo. 'Forgive the haste in which I speak. I was sent from Rivendell to look for you. We feared that you were in danger upon the road.'

'Then Gandalf has reached Rivendell?' cried Frodo joyfully.

'No, he had not when I departed; but that was nine days ago,' answered Glorfindel. 'Elrond received new that troubled him. Some of my kindred, journeying in your land beyond the -' Glorfindel stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Severus and Tilion standing behind Frodo, and lowered his voice. 'The Nine are abroad we were told, and you are carrying a great burden without guidance, for Gandalf had not returned. I left my token upon the Bridge of Mitheithel for you to find. Three of the severants of Sauron were there, but they withdrew, and I pursued them Westward. I came upon two others – one was missing its horse, and they turned away Southward. I have many questions as to why a Nazgûl's horse now stands before me, or who this young stranger is that I have heard my kindred speak of, but we don't have much time for questioning.'

Strider fell into the story of what happened at Weathertop and of the days that followed their departure, and Glorfindel listened attentively. It was when Strider pulled out the hilt of the sword that Frodo had been stabbed with, that Frodo sank down to his knees.

Severus had caught Frodo just in time, for his breathing had turned shallow, and mumbled that he could feel shadows coming towards them. 'We must go on,' said Severus.

'But what he needs is rest!' said Sam angrily. 'He cannot go on like this!'

'I'm afraid we have no other choice,' said Glorfindel. He felt for the wound on Frodo's shoulder, and his face fell grave. 'His wounds are beyond my skills to heal. It will not take long before he passes to the realm of the Unseen. Frodo, you shall ride my horse – and Severus, as I know as your name, you shall ride along with him. Creatures do not lie about their allegiance, and the horse you tamed from the Nazgûl will protect you if its former master follows your trail.'

'But I don't know the way to Rivendell,' said Severus, and felt a surge of panic rise at the task he was suddenly presented with.

'Asfaloth does,' said Glorfindel. 'My horse has never let a rider fall that I command him to bear. His speed exceeds those of the black steeds of the enemy, and he shall lead the way. Here, drink this!' From his robes he pulled out a silver-studded flask. 'It is Miruvor, and it will give you the strength and vigour you need to continue on with this journey through the night.'

Severus sniffed the flask as it was handed to him. The liquid was clear and colourless, and had a pleasant fragrance of sweet flowers to it. Its taste was neither cool nor warm, and it reminded him of the Invigoration Draught he had frequently brewed and consumed to last him through long hours of studying. Frodo felt revived, but it did nothing to subdue the increasing pain in his shoulder. He had mounted Asfaloth, and Severus was asked to mount Tilion, for they should run at the first sight of peril.

For hours the company continued their journey at a slow pace. The Miruvor was starting to wear off as they continued on during the night, and even Strider grew weary and tired from the bleak perilous path before them. At the rise of dawn, Glorfindel had shared his heart's warning that the pursuit of the Black Riders was now swiftly behind them. The Road went steadily downhill and made its way under the shadow of tall pine-trees where it halted into a steep plunge. As though through a tunnel of light, the Road ran out and into the open. At the bottom of a sharp incline they saw before them a long flat mile, and beyond it the Ford of Rivendell. Beyond it was a steep bank threaded by a winding path, and behind that tall mountains climbed shoulder to shoulder and peak beyond peak, into the fading sky.

With a rushing noise of the wind through the pines, Glorfindel called out to Frodo and Severus. 'Fly! The enemy is upon us!'

Severus was awakened by the sudden call of Glorfindel. He had barely taken in the view that had unfolded before him, when Asfaloth leaped forward and the Hobbits started running down the slope. 'Ride forward! Ride!' cried Glorfindel to Frodo. Frodo did not obey at once, for in his eyes Severus could see that he was captivated by the Black Rider that had leaped out from the pines behind them, as though calling to him. Something awoke in Frodo, and his hand left the bridle and drew his blade into the sky.

'Noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth! Noro lim, Tilion!' Glorfindel called out to their horses, and at once they sped away along the last lap of the Road. At once, four black horses baring five Riders leaped behind them in pursuit, and their cries pierced their ears as they galloped madly towards the Ford to cut off their escape.

Severus had drawn his blade and held it high above his head as he sped after Frodo. With a wide swing he pushed a black horse to the side, and with another great swing he nearly wounded another. The closer the Riders got to him, the clearer their true terrifying forms came forward. They came so close he could feel their cold breath upon his skin, and yet he could not tear away his eyes from Frodo before him. Asfaloth ran as though he flew, and soon he had hit the riverbank and heaved his way through the water and up the stony path beyond. There Asfaloth turned around, and looked at Tilion as though waiting for him. Severus was halfway through the water when Nine Riders appeared at the river's edge.

'Hurry!' Frodo called out to Severus. Severus had nearly reached the stony path when a wave of inner magic washing over him. He jumped off Tilion and landed knee-deep into the river. He could hear Frodo calling out for him, but the words did not form in his mind. He understood, as though instinctively, that the Ring he wore held tremendous power. He felt the earth starting to shake beneath his feet as he lowered his hands into the water. The river stones moving as though they were creating a great wave as the Riders leaped forward with their swords drawn. The very presence of Ulmo, the Lord of Waters could be felt as the river rose, and a great roaring came plummeting down from up the river stream.

'The Ring! The Ring!' the Riders cried with their deadly voices. They were nearly halfway down the river when a large body of water was released in Severus' mind. The plummeting water had reached the Nazgûl, and drowned out their cries as the wave swept them away and pushed Severus to the edge of the riverbank. The face of a man appeared in his mind. An ageless man, with grey eyes and dark hair, and upon his brow a circlet made of silver. Bring Frodo to me, Ring-bearer. Make haste, for his he fading!

'You shall have neither the Ring nor me!'

Frodo's voice echoed through his mind, and Severus found it were the last words Frodo had said before he had lost consciousness. With a leap he jumped on Asfaloth's back and beckoned to Tilion to follow him, holding on to Frodo for dear life. 'Make haste, Asfaloth!' Asfaloth sped off and followed the zigzagging path along the oak and beech covered valley. What felt like far too long a journey, he reached a narrow bridge of stone and was halted by two identical looking Elves. They did not introduce themselves, for the urgent care Frodo needed exceeded the need for formalities, and they took him from Asfaloth's back and carried him away.

'Do not worry over things you cannot change, Severus,' said a kind and deep voice behind him. 'Please, follow me. The horses will be taken care of.'

Severus looked up at the man as he dismounted Asfaloth. Tall and cloaked in grey he was. His beard was as long as Dumbledore's and his bushy eyebrows stuck out from underneath his pointed blue hat. In his left hand he held a wooden staff, and in his right a goblet filled with drink. 'Forgive me, for I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Gandalf, and I was alerted by Barliman at The Prancing Pony of your presence and of your meeting with Strider. Please, have a drink.' Severus reluctantly took the goblet from Gandalf into his own hands. He had longed for this meeting with the Wizard for so long, and now he did not seem to have the energy to ask him all the questions he had listed in his head. The liquid in the goblet was a dark shade of purple, and he could smell the scent of valerian and lavender creeping through. Just like a Sleeping Draught, he thought to himself. Without uttering a word, he downed the goblet at once, and felt the heavy blanket of slumber being pulled over his eyes. Rest was all he wanted. All else would have to wait.

A/N Obscurus = the magical parasitic force.
Obscurial = the person that carries the obscurus within them.

An obscurus is formed due to suppression of magic in situations of psychological and physical abuse. We know canonically that Severus is a victim of this. In his home situation, at school, and having lived through war when he was older.
Another piece of evidence is his "explosiveness." (Lily already described him as such in chapter 2).
- When Snape uses the disarming spell against Lockhart, he blasts Lockhart off his feet against the wall, which is not what Expelliarmus is supposed to do. (Remember it took Harry, Ron and Hermione's combined yelling "Expelliarmus" to topple Snape in the Shrieking Shack.
- When Snape uses Avada Kadavra against Dumbledore, which is supposed to just sweep the soul away, he blasts Dumbledore and makes him topple over the tower's edge.

- When Snape uses non-verbal Incarcerous against Lupin in the Shack: "Bang! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Snape's wand and twisted themselves around Lupin's mouth, wrists and ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move."

- When Harry tries to use Levicorpus on Snape. "No, Potter!" screamed Snape. "There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand."
- When Snape shoves Harry away from his mind, his magic apparently also shoved him away physically. "Enough!" Harry felt as though he had been pushed hard in the chest; he took several staggering steps backward, hit some of the selves covering Snape's walls and heard something crack. Snape was shaking slightly, very white in the face."

Then there's another very beautiful piece of evidence, which was given in a deleted scene in Fantastic Beasts. (Deleted, not erased. It's in the extended edition, meaning it is part of the canon-verse). Watch this on YT: /watch?v=T_IRewN1lPc

"He [Grindelwald] had a vision, he said, many years ago, in which an Obscurial killed the man he fears above all others."

"You" [Newt says to Dumbledore]

But we know Credence isn't the one because Snape already fills that roll. Snape is the (potential) Obscurial who killed Dumbledore in Grindelwald's vision.

Then there's also the fact that he's an accomplished Occlumence. Something that I'm assuming Dumbledore has taught im (most likely) during his time when he became a double spy. Occlumency appears to be the best way to suppress an Obscurus outburst.

A/N Athelas was brought to Middle-earth by the Men of the West. Only the last decendants of the Númenorians and the Elves remember its healing properties (and Gísli in this story), but most Men consider it an ordinary weed that's fed to livestock. It's loosely based on Comfrey, which is a real medicinal herb that contains allantoin that helps new skin cells grow.

A/N Aragorn is indeed 87 years old when he meets Frodo. Due to his Númenorian blood and very distant Elvish ancestry (related to Elros, Elrond's twin-brother who chose mortality.) He ages much slower and lived a much longer than average human life. This also means he is technically related to Arwen with over fifteen (if not more) generations in between. "Ónen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim" means "I give Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself."

A/N Bilbo officially left the Shire on his 111th birthday in the year 3001. The movies made it seem like Bilbo and Frodo had been separated for several months, but really it has been over 17 years.

A/N New Moon fell on the 12th of October 1977/3018. This is the very same day that Éowyn tells Lily the Legend of Helga. The Token of Glorfindel was found by Strider in the middle of the Last Bridge on th 13th of October.

A/N The movies kinda did Frodo dirty, as he was a lot more badass in the books and rode himself on Glorfindel's horse Asfaloth to Rivendell. That having said, in the books they meet Glorfindel instead of Arwen. Arwen is only present in one single chapter, but I like that Peter Jackson made her into a much more fleshed out character in the movies. More on Glorfindel later.

A/N Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govannen! = Ah at last, Dúnadan! Well met!
Noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth! = Run swift, run swift, Asfaloth!