Malkov Estate, Russian Countryside
Severus had never felt more confused with his feelings until this moment.
He had been sitting In the drawing room, sipping his tea while he waited for the family when his ear perked up on the sound of voices echoing into the room. He couldn't pin point what genders the voices belonged to or age they were, but he could tell they were getting closer.
He took a slow sip of his tea, trying to calm the sudden flutter of nerves. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the best of him—not now, not in this moment. This was the defining point of his future in this house, and he wasn't about to let fear or hesitation take hold. He had to prove himself, or he didn't know what would come next.
Just as he tried to collect his thoughts, the door to the drawing room opened. The voices outside faded as the newcomers stepped in, their eyes scanning the room before locking onto him. The youngest members of the group kept their distance, but the older ones—those with the experience Severus lacked—stared at him with cold, calculating expressions.
The oldest man, graying beard and imposing presence, approached Irina, planting a brief kiss on her cheek before turning his eyes back to Severus, his gaze lingering longer than necessary.
"I didn't realize we had company, my dear," the man said, his voice rough and commanding as he addressed Irina, though his attention remained fixed on Severus.
One of the older women, who looked uncannily like Severus's mother but with deep brown hair, raised an eyebrow. "You usually warn us when we have company over, Mother," she remarked, her tone dripping with disdain. "Unless, of course, this is just another heir from one of those lesser pureblood families trying to marry into the line," she added with a snarky smile, drawing a few chuckles from the others.
Severus felt his stomach twist in irritation, but he kept his expression neutral, silently bracing for whatever would come next.
"Eileen is dead."
Severus nearly choked on his tea. The words hung in the air, heavy and cold. Irina had said it with such calmness that it took him a moment to process the shock. Who the hell says that with such calmness?
He looked up, his gaze flickering around the room at the others' reactions. The air was thick with disbelief, confusion, and even a touch of unease.
The eldest man in the group, who had been speaking to Irina earlier, was the first to react. His brow furrowed in concern, and he opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. The others were not much better off, all of them glancing between each other as if unsure how to react. For a moment, it seemed as though they were all waiting for Irina to explain.
Irina, however, remained calm. She hadn't flinched, hadn't wavered. Severus felt the weight of the silence press down on him, a tension thick enough to suffocate.
Irina's gaze shifted from Severus back to the others in the room. Her voice, when she spoke again, was level, though there was a coldness to it that sent a shiver through him. "Eileen's passing is... unfortunate," she said, her tone betraying no emotion. "But it is part of the way things go. Life goes on. And we have an heir now. That is all that matters."
Severus's head spun. That's all that matters? The words seemed so detached from the gravity of her statement. His own mother was gone, and Irina was speaking about it with the same indifference she might have shown discussing the weather.
One of the younger women, her face pale, was the first to break the silence that followed. "What happened? How did she—"
Irina raised her hand sharply, cutting off the woman mid-sentence. "You need not worry about how," she said coolly. "Just accept that it has happened and cope." Her eyes flicked over the room, landing on the man beside her, and she held his hand as he absorbed her words.
Severus observed the reactions around him. The faces of the others were clouded with varying degrees of emotion. One woman dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, her expression tight, while the man next to her stared at the floor, his hands trembling with barely-contained distress.
Severus couldn't help but feel a faint sense of detachment as he watched them. It struck him as strange—how people who hadn't bothered to come and help them could respond so deeply to her death. They were grieving a woman they didn't try to help, while he, who had watched her die, who had been the one to hold her in his arms after the killing blow had been struck, felt almost numb. He'd done all his crying and begging long ago. The mourning for him had already passed.
The room seemed to settle in the heavy silence until one of the younger men, his voice dripping with disinterest, broke the tension. "Why does a traitor's death have to do with this filth sitting on our couch?" he sneered, his gaze fixed on Severus.
Before Severus could process the words, the boy was quickly reprimanded, the sound of harsh whispers filling the space as the boy's mother scolded him sharply. Severus could feel the weight of all eyes turning on him, the sudden shift in the room palpable.
Irina set her tea down with a soft clink, her gaze steady as she met the eyes of everyone in the room. "This is Severus," she declared, her voice cutting through the thick tension. "Eileen's son."
Severus observed the room closely, noting the stark difference in reactions. The older man beside Irina had an expression of almost childlike hope and quiet joy, as though the very mention of Eileen's son sparked something deep within him. Two of the women exchanged glances, their eyes narrowing slightly as if to scrutinize the truth in Irina's words.
But the most striking reaction came from the young man who had called him 'filth.' At first, he looked genuinely shocked, his eyes widening for a moment before he rolled them and turned his attention elsewhere, clearly attempting to dismiss the news. But then, as if the information had finally processed in his mind, his face shifted rapidly. The boredom melted away, replaced by confusion, then shock, before finally settling into an unmistakable mix of fear and anger.
"What?!" he demanded, his voice cracking with disbelief. "What do you mean, he's her son?!"
Irina's expression remained unchanged, though the glint in her eyes darkened slightly, as if she were watching a piece of meat being thrown into a lion's den.
Severus sat a little straighter, feeling the weight of the eyes now focused on him. He could sense the tension thickening in the air, and for a moment, he almost wished he could retreat back to the silence of the drawing room. But this was no longer about his comfort. This was about the future that was unfolding, one he didn't entirely understand.
Irina's voice was calm, almost eerily so. "Eileen was my firstborn, and despite what happened, she was still my daughter. Severus," she said, her gaze now cutting sharply toward the young man who had spoken, "is my grandson. He is my heir."
The room fell silent. The young man—still looking like he'd swallowed something unpleasant—stared at Severus as though he were trying to figure out if he was real or some kind of cruel joke.
"Your heir?" the boy finally sputtered, his voice dripping with skepticism. "That's rich, Grandmother. You're telling me he's the heir now? What, just because you say so?"
Irina's eyes never left him, her lips thinning. She tilted her head slightly. "Do not forget your place, Damon," she said softly, her tone carrying a weight that made the room feel colder. "You were heir by default. But Severus has a far greater claim than you ever did."
The words were sharp enough to cut, and the tension in the room became palpable. Damon's mouth worked for a moment, but nothing came out.
Severus met his gaze with a mixture of indifference and calm. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't even wanted it. But it seemed that, whether he liked it or not, this was where he was now.
Damon grabbed one of the nearby vases and threw it against the wall with a yell. "By default? You treat me as some placeholder even though I'm far better than this motherless shit!"
Damon's shout echoed through the room, and the vase shattered against the wall in a cloud of porcelain and glass, the pieces scattering across the floor like broken promises. The anger radiating from him was palpable, his face twisted in fury as he glared at Severus, his fists clenched at his sides.
Irina's gaze never wavered, her face as unreadable as ever. She didn't flinch at the destruction or Damon's outburst. "Watch your tone, Damon," she said softly, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath her words.
The others in the room were still, their attention entirely on the confrontation, as if they were waiting for someone—anyone—to make the next move. Severus remained seated, his expression calm, though the words Damon had thrown at him stung more than he cared to admit. Motherless. The word felt like an insult to his very existence, though he tried to suppress any reaction to it.
Damon stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "I've worked for this family, bled for this family, and you're just going to hand everything over to some bastard who hasn't earned a damn thing?"
Severus stood, not backing down, but there was no calmness in his voice, only a quiet, heat. "You've done nothing but make your position clear," he said, his tone steady. "But maybe it's time you learned how to back down."
The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Damon's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more, clearly struggling to process the shift in power.
Irina, who had been observing the exchange with a detached interest, finally spoke. "Enough. Damon, you will leave your childish tantrums outside. And you," she turned her piercing gaze to Severus, "you will learn how to control your temper in this house. This family does not indulge emotional outbursts."
Damon shot Severus a final venomous glare before storming out of the room, leaving the echoes of his anger behind him. The others, who had been quiet witnesses to the scene, exchanged uncertain looks, but none dared to speak.
Irina's eyes softened for just a moment as she glanced at Severus, a faint nod of approval crossing her features as if to say 'You handled yourself well.'
Severus met her gaze, his heart still pounding from the exchange, but his mind was clearer than before. He had learned something today, something important about this place, about the people who surrounded him, and about what it would take to survive here. He didn't know what the future held, but for now, he had to remain grounded—no matter how many people tried to knock him down.
As Severus sat back down, barely having time to reach for his tea, one of the women suddenly lunged across the table. Before he could react, she had grabbed his face, pulling him into a tight, almost suffocating embrace.
"My beautiful boy, my sister's boy," she cooed, her voice thick with emotion as she squeezed him harder, her grip almost desperate. Severus, caught off guard, froze. He wasn't sure what to make of her reaction—this woman, who seemed to care so deeply for someone she had only just been told about.
The other members of the family watched in silence, a mix of curiosity and restraint in their eyes. Even Irina, usually so controlled, had her gaze softened for a brief moment as she observed the scene. But it wasn't long before Severus' discomfort began to show.
"Er—thank you," he muttered awkwardly, his hands instinctively trying to pull away from the woman's tight grasp. She didn't let go, though, her fingers digging into his jaw as she held his face in a vice-like grip, her eyes filled with something like reverence.
"You have no idea how much your mother meant to me," the woman whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "She was everything. And now... now I see you, her son. It feels like a piece of her is still here." Her eyes welled with tears, and Severus couldn't help but feel a surge of guilt.
He hadn't asked for any of this. He hadn't asked for anyone to mourn a woman he barely knew, nor had he expected to be thrust into the center of a family that treated him like some long-lost treasure. His throat tightened as he struggled to keep his composure.
With great effort, he finally managed to pry her arms off, though her hands lingered on his shoulders as if reluctant to let him go.
"Please," Severus said, his voice steady but firm, "I appreciate it, truly, but I—"
Before he could finish, the woman leaned in again, kissing his cheek. "You're just like her," she whispered, her tone low and full of emotion. "A part of her lives on in you, Severus. I can see it."
Severus stood frozen, unsure how to react. The warmth of the moment, though heartfelt, felt foreign to him. This wasn't something he had ever experienced before, not even from his own mother, and it left him both unsettled and confused.
Irina's voice broke through the tension, cutting through the air with its usual calm authority. "Enough, Rosaline," she said, her gaze sharp but not unkind. "Let the boy breathe. He's not accustomed to this level of affection."
Reluctantly, Rosaline pulled away, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. She gave Severus one last lingering look before taking her seat. The air in the room felt thick, the weight of expectations pressing down on him.
Severus took a deep breath, finally reaching for his tea. He'd never been much for displays of affection, and this sudden outpouring of emotion left him disoriented. As he sipped his tea, he couldn't help but feel the invisible threads that connected him to this family—threads that were both a lifeline and a trap.
Irina's gaze lingered on Severus for a moment before she turned to the others, her voice soft yet carrying an undeniable authority. "Why don't you all introduce yourselves to young Severus here?" She looked directly at the man seated beside him, a silent command in her eyes. "You first."
The man let out a deep breath, clearly trying to calm his feelings. With deliberate movements, he shifted his weight in his chair and rose to his feet, his dark eyes never leaving Severus. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a stern expression that reminded Severus of someone who had spent most of his life under pressure.
As soon as the man took the seat next to him and their eyes met, Severus felt a feeling he had only ever felt once when he was a boy. When the man on the city bus held Severus's hand throughout the ride, trying to calm the young boy's fear of going home.
Even though it was barely a full 20 minutes, it was the closest thing Severus had ever felt to having a true father, and now he felt it just from looking into the man's eyes.
"I'm Boris," the man said as his eyes started to water. "Your grandfather." Boris's voice was gravelly, almost hesitant, as if he were trying to keep his emotions at bay. Severus could see a shimmer of something unspoken in his grandfather's eyes, a trace of regret mingled with wonder. It was a strange sensation for Severus, who had grown used to looking away from the rare kindnesses in his life, hiding himself from any attachment that might prove fleeting.
Yet here, he couldn't tear his gaze away.
Boris took a steadying breath, glancing at Irina, who nodded encouragingly. "Your mother," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, "was a light in this family. And… we had our reasons for staying distant, but that doesn't mean there wasn't love."
Severus didn't quite know what to say. He'd spent most of his life telling himself it didn't matter—that family was just a word, a bitter reminder of things best left forgotten. But here was Boris, speaking as if that love had somehow endured.
Boris slowly reached out and placed a hand on Severus's shoulder, and Severus froze, feeling a warm, unfamiliar comfort in the touch. "Welcome home, Severus," Boris whispered, the words barely audible.
The room was silent, each family member watching the scene with varying expressions—some with barely concealed jealousy, others with traces of warmth. But Severus kept his focus on Boris, feeling, for a rare moment, like he wasn't entirely alone.
After a beat, Boris released him and returned to his seat, clearing his throat and looking away, as if he'd exposed a part of himself he'd rather keep hidden.
Then, Irina nodded toward the woman on Boris's left, a striking woman with proud features and a skeptical, piercing gaze. She straightened, looking Severus up and down with an air that felt scrutinizing rather than welcoming.
"Katerina," she announced, her tone clipped. "Your aunt." She studied him intently, the scrutiny almost unsettling. "I don't know a single thing about you. But from what I know Eileen wanted out of a child, you're not quite what I expected."
Severus managed a curt nod, unsure of what to make of her. She held herself with a certain severity that made him wary, as though she were assessing his worth before deciding if he belonged.
With a hearty laugh, Dimitri stood up, striding over and wrapping Severus in a bear hug so warm it took Severus completely off guard. "Well, we're going to have to put some meat on these bones, aren't we?" Dimitri chuckled, patting Severus on the back like they'd known each other for years.
As he pulled back, Dimitri flashed a grin and gestured to the severe-looking woman seated nearby. "And over there is my lovely wife, Anastasia."
Anastasia offered only a brief, tight-lipped nod, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked Severus over with a blend of curiosity and scrutiny.
"Pleasure," she said curtly, though it was clear she held her judgment in reserve.
Just as Severus began to settle into the odd rhythm of meeting these new family members, a young woman with auburn hair and a playful glint in her eye stepped forward. She looked to be a few years older than Severus, her gaze bright with open curiosity as she studied him.
"I'm Natalia," she said with a warm smile. "And I have to say, it's about time we met our mysterious cousin." She tilted her head, watching him closely. "I hope you'll forgive the… intensity of our family."
Severus managed a small nod, still processing the contrasting personalities of his new family. He opened his mouth to acknowledge their introductions, but the moment was shattered by the drawing room doors slamming open. Damon stormed in, his face twisted in fury.
"Where's all my stuff? And why the hell is the heir's room different?!" Damon's voice was loud, grating, as his glare swept the room before zeroing in on Severus. His expression darkened further.
Irina's eyes narrowed, though she remained seated, exuding an icy composure. "Damon," she said coolly, "I see you've noticed the changes."
"Changes?" Damon spat. "You've thrown me out of my own room! How dare you—"
Irina rose gracefully, her tone dropping to a chill that silenced everyone. "Mind your tone, Damon. It is no longer your room because you are no longer the heir." Her words were firm, final, slicing through Damon's outrage with brutal precision.
Damon faltered, eyes darting from Irina to Severus, barely able to contain his disbelief. "You can't be serious. He's… he's nothing," he sputtered, his face turning red with frustration. "You can't just replace me with this—this half-blood stranger!"
Before anyone could react, Boris rose to his feet and took a step forward, his calm demeanor shifting into something stern and unyielding. "Damon," he said, his voice firm, "you will show Severus the respect he deserves as our family's heir."
Damon's expression flickered with defiance, but under his grandfather's unrelenting gaze, he seemed to shrink slightly.
Severus watched the exchange, caught between discomfort and an unexpected sense of satisfaction. Damon's bitterness was palpable, and yet, seeing this once-undisputed heir put in his place was undeniably gratifying.
Irina turned to Severus, her gaze softening. "Why don't we move into the dining room? I believe it's time we get to know everyone."