Chapter 2 – The Choice
The past month had been the happiest of Severus Snape's life. The steady, unspoken joy of watching Bellatrix cradle the child in her arms had warmed his heart more than he thought possible. Beneath her usual madness and chaos, there was a side to her that few could imagine—a soft, gentle tenderness that she showed only in private. He was the only one privileged enough to witness that side of her, the side that cared for the young boy as if he were her own flesh and blood.
Snape found himself growing attached to the child, even protective of him. Though the boy's existence was a secret—hidden away from the eyes of the world—Severus had grown to care for him as if he were his own son. What broke his heart, however, was Narcissa. The silent sorrow that marred her every expression tore at Snape. Lucius's Obliviate charm had robbed her of the memory of the birth of the Dark Lord's son, leaving her with a hollow emptiness. She had accepted Draco as her own, but it was clear to Snape that her heart had not. A faint, inexplicable grief hung about her as though she were haunted by something she could not remember, but felt with a crushing weight all the same.
As summer waned into the crispness of autumn and the nights grew colder, a rare summons came from the Dark Lord, demanding the presence of his inner circle. Snape, uneasy and alert, sat next to Bellatrix, who fidgeted anxiously. Her eyes flickered to the door, to the space where the boy usually lay in his cradle, his innocent cries barely audible. She seemed agitated, her emotions swirling like a storm—how she hated to be away from him.
"Lucius," hissed Voldemort, snapping Severus from his thoughts and back to the present moment.
The blonde-haired wizard beside his wife straightened at the sound of his name, his voice dripping with that pompous, practiced respect. "Yes, my lord," Lucius drawled, his thin lips curling into a smile of servitude.
Voldemort's slitted red eyes gleamed as he paced slowly, his robes swishing around his tall, gaunt figure. "Have you completed the task I gave you?" he asked, his tone even, but carrying the weight of a death sentence behind it.
Lucius bowed his head with false humility. "Yes, my lord. There were two boys born to pureblood families at the end of July—the Longbottom heir and the Potter heir."
Voldemort paused mid-pace, his cold gaze piercing the room. His lips curled into a sneer as the name "Potter" left his mouth. "The Potters…" The very mention seemed to fill him with a silent, smouldering rage, a hatred that radiated from him like a dark cloud. His face twisted, and for a moment, it seemed as though the room itself recoiled from his fury.
"Lucius, lead a greeting party to Potter Manorthis evening. Kill them all," Voldemort ordered, his voice quiet but chilling.
"Yes, my lord," Lucius responded immediately, his arrogance barely masked by his compliance.
Snape paled slightly but maintained his stoic composure. His thoughts flashed to Lily . He had no love for the entitled arse that was now Lord Potter, but Lily had been a friend once and while his feelings had mellowed since they took different paths, he did care for her and the memory of their friendship still lingered like a ghost.
As Voldemort dismissed the meeting, Snape quickly caught Bellatrix's eye. A silent promise passed between them. He would meet her afterward, in the place they had both grown to cherish.
Moments later, Severus was back in the shadows of Hogwarts, his mind racing with thoughts of Lily and her son. He made his way to Dumbledore's office, fixing a distraught look onto his face as he knocked on the door. Dumbledore knew how he felt about Lily in school, before she chose Potter. It wouldn't be hard to convince him he still loved her. "Enter," came the cheery call. Severus rolled his eyes. 'How is he always in such a good mood? Well, show time again.'
In Dumbledore's office, the warmth and colour of the room seemed almost mocking against the storm that brewed within him. The Headmaster sat at his desk, bathed in the soft light of afternoon sun that filtered through the windows. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and lemon drops. Albus, ever the embodiment of calm and serenity, looked up from his papers as Severus entered, his brow furrowing slightly as he caught sight of Snape's expression.
"Severus. Has something happened?" Dumbledore asked, his voice gentle, but sharp with curiosity.
"The Dark Lord believes the prophecy refers to the Potter boy—Lily's—Lily's son," Severus choked out, the words feeling like a bitter weight in his mouth. His chest tightened as the image of her, so alive in his memories, filled his mind. "You must protect her, Albus. Protect them all—I don't care what it takes—just keep her safe."
Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise, his fingers tightening around the parchment in front of him. "You still care for her?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
Snape's response was simple and unyielding. "Always."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Thank you for the information, Severus. I will do all I can to keep them safe." His voice was full of resolve, but Severus knew better. No one survived once the Dark Lord had set his sights on them.
Snape nodded curtly and left the office, his mind churning with the knowledge that Dumbledore's best efforts might not be enough. When the Dark Lord wanted someone dead, there was no sanctuary. The only thing he could do now was buy them time.
Back in the solitude of his chambers, Severus made his way to Bellatrix's hideout. With a quick flick of his wand, he apparated into the dimly lit cottage that had once belonged to the Black family. The place was long forgotten, cloaked in the silence of the past, its once-grand furnishings now faded and draped with dust. Bellatrix, sitting near the hearth, immediately handed him the child with a knowing look.
"He will kill them," she said softly, her voice carrying a heavy weight of grief and inevitability. There was no joy in her words, only a dark understanding that they were all tangled in a web of fate, unable to escape its grasp.
"Indeed," Snape replied grimly as he cradled the boy in his arms, the warmth of the infant pressing against his chest a small, fleeting comfort amidst the chaos of their lives. His eyes met Bellatrix's, and without saying a word, they both knew: The only hope now lay in the Fidelius Charm. If they could hide the Potters well enough, perhaps—just perhaps—they could buy them a moment longer before the end came.
o - o - o - o
31 October 1981
The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, amber glow over the peaceful Potter household. Lily Potter sat on the floor, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched her son, a messy-haired toddler, giggling and tugging at her hair. His small hands were filled with the kind of innocent curiosity only a child his age could possess. Harry's laughter, a pure and untainted sound, echoed through the room as he rolled around on the rug.
"Another bad day?" Lily asked knowingly, her voice gentle but filled with concern as she looked up at her husband. James had just walked through the door, his shoulders slumped, his face drawn with exhaustion.
James Potter, still young but already looking years older than his age, shook his head with a tired smile. His clothes, disheveled and dusty, spoke of a difficult day, but the moment he saw Harry, his mood lightened, even if only for a brief moment. His eyes softened, and a glimmer of warmth returned to his face.
"Nothing I can't handle," he said, though the weight in his voice told a different story. Harry immediately pulled at his father's pant leg, his chubby hands desperate to be picked up.
"Up, Daddy," Harry insisted, his tiny voice filled with impatience. James chuckled, a rare moment of peace in an otherwise grim day, and scooped his son into his arms, holding him close.
James kissed Lily quickly on the cheek before turning his attention to Harry, tickling him under the chin. "Let's not talk about it. I'd rather spend time with this handsome young man." His voice was warm, but beneath it, the tension was palpable—he knew their world was shifting, and not in a good direction.
But then, a sudden, overwhelming shift in the air filled the room—a foreboding chill, a presence that made the hairs on the back of Lily's neck stand on end. The front door exploded in a violent crash, shattering into splinters as if it were made of paper. Lily's heart stopped, and a cold, unnatural fear gripped her chest.
"It's him," James whispered, his voice tight, trying to hide the tremor of fear. He quickly handed Harry to Lily. "Take him upstairs. Go, now!"
Lily didn't need to be told twice. Her heart pounded as she rushed toward the stairs, but she dared to glance over her shoulder. James was already positioning himself in front of the shattered doorway, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, his face set in determination. He wasn't going to go down without a fight.
"You have defied me too many times, but I have finally found you, Potter. Now it is time for you to die," came the cold, high-pitched voice from the doorway. Voldemort's words struck like ice.
Lily's breath caught in her throat as the spellfire began below, the crackle of magic thickening the air. She could hear James shouting a command to protect her and Harry. The sounds of curses and explosions rang through the house. Her only thought was to get Harry to safety.
She reached the nursery and placed him in his crib, her hands shaking as she began to trace ancient runes along the edges of the crib's bars—symbols she had spent months researching. If the ritual worked, it would protect Harry, but she hadn't had time to test it.. The sacrifice required was personal—she had no illusions about that—but it was the only thing she could do. She whispered the incantation under her breath, her heart , let it work.
"Move aside, woman," Voldemort's voice echoed from the doorway, cruel and sharp. Lily's body froze. She didn't want to look at him. But as a tear slipped down her cheek, she knew it was time. She flicked her wand to activate the spell, then turned to face him.
"Please," she begged, her voice breaking, "Not Harry. Kill me instead."
Without a moment's hesitation, Voldemort pointed his wand at the crib. "Avada Kedavra!"
The curse shot from his wand with a sickening green light, but in a moment of pure desperation, Lily lunged. She threw herself in front of her son, her body hitting the floor in a heap just as the curse collided with her. Her scream echoed through the house, but it was cut short, her body slumping, lifeless, to the ground.
Voldemort stepped over her, unbothered by her sacrifice, and peered down into the crib. His lips curled into a malicious smirk.
"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort repeated, his voice filled with dark satisfaction.
The curse hit Harry squarely in the chest. The room was filled with an unnatural silence as Harry's small body fell back, his tiny limbs going limp. Voldemort's cold laugh echoed in the room. The Dark Lord was about to leave, to destroy everything with fire, but then—something began to shift.
A strange, tingling sensation ran through the air, a sudden disturbance in the magical fabric of the room. Voldemort froze, his eyes widening.
"What is this?" His voice grew strained, panic seeping into his words. He staggered backward as his magic began to twist and recoil, as if something was draining him of his power. "Ahhh—what has she done?" The pain became unbearable. He dropped to his knees, his body wracked with agony. "What magic is this?"
Just as Voldemort's body bursted into thousands of tiny pieces, Snape and Bellatrix rushed into the room. Both froze for a moment, assessing the situation. A strangled cry could still be heard in the air as the dust settled on the floor.
Snape was at Lily's side in an instant, cradling her lifeless form in his arms. His face was grim, his eyes empty with a mix of shock and grief. Bellatrix, however, moved quickly toward the crib. She didn't hesitate.
"There is nothing you can do for her, Severus," Bellatrix said softly, her voice oddly distant. "You can mourn her later. We have more urgent matters at hand."
Severus's head snapped up, confusion written across his face. "The Dark Lord is dead, Bella," he replied in disbelief. "What is there to do?"
Bellatrix's sharp gaze never left the crib as she spoke, her voice filled with a sense of purpose. "He will return. He has ensured it."
Bella's focus was unwavering as she stared at Harry's limp body, still warm despite the curse. "If the boy had lived… What would have happened to him?"
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "He would have been spoiled by his godparents. The wizarding world would have turned him into a hero, a symbol of hope. He would have grown into someone insufferable, no doubt."
"How long do we have?" Bella asked quickly, snapping Snape back to the present.
"The Order is occupied," Snape answered, his voice clipped. "Lucius is leading an attack on the Longbottoms. We have maybe twenty minutes. Thirty at most."
Bellatrix nodded, her mind already racing. "Bring Donovan here—quickly."
Snape was already moving, but Bella had begun to conjure parchment and quill, scribbling furiously so he stopped in the doorway. "And I will need the following potions."
She shoved the list into Snape's hand and then turned her attention back to the body in the crib. Her mind was a whirlwind as she prepared for what had to be done.
" What do you have planned Bella?" Snape asked nervously when he returned, cradling the baby in his arms. Whatever she had planned he knew it was risky. She wouldn't be so jittery otherwise.
"We don't have time to discuss it. Just help me, please." Bella pleaded as she took the baby and placed him in the crib next to the still form of Harry Potter.
"Very well."Snape handed her the vials of potion she requested, understanding that time was critical.
As she worked, Bellatrix's eyes never strayed from the crib. The weight of what she was about to do bore down on her, but there was no turning back now. Her fingers trembled slightly as she cut her hand, drawing blood to trace the ancient symbols on Harry's forehead, the intricate runes that would bind them forever.
With each motion, a deep, ancient magic stirred in the room, and the space between them seemed to shrink. Severus could feel the magic shift, the air heavy with the raw power of it. After several moments Bella used her beloved dagger to scratch a jagged scar across the her soulmate's forehead. When blood began to drip from the wound Bella gently pressed her own bleeding hand to his forehead. Suddenly a flash of light filled the room as their blood mingled intertwining their magic and their fate. Bella would stop aging until the boy reached his majority and from now until death, they would be able to sense each other, draw on each other's magic and would be forced to live and die together. Severus's eyes grew wide as he understood what she had just done, and what the implications would be.
"What if he does not accept you?" Severus whispered, his voice filled with concern as he watched the ritual unfold.
Bella didn't hesitate, her voice firm. "He will."
Snape, surprised by the certainty in her tone, gave a silent nod as he pulled back, his mind churning with what this meant. Bellatrix was far more than he had ever realised—her connection to this boy would change everything.
Finally, as the ritual completed, a flash of light filled the room, and Bellatrix collapsed to her knees, exhausted, but resolute. Snape, watching from the shadows, knew what this meant. The Potter boy would live—but not as he had been born.
"I have never seen a spell that could do that. It should be impossible," Severus spoke quietly from the corner of the room. Bellatrix just shrugged.
"The Blacks have a spell for everything."
"I don't doubt that," he said in awe.
Bella kissed Harry's forehead before she turned away, the weight of what she had done heavy in her chest.
"Forgive me, my love," she whispered, the pain of her own sacrifice mingling with the uncertain future she had just crafted. Bellatrix tried to leave, but her legs refused to move. Now that they had bonded she knew what was in store for her once they were separated. The physical pain of being apart would be almost unbearable. She had ensured that she would suffer for them both and she was worried. 'Was this a mistake? Would he be cared for?' She jumped when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
"We should go, it is done Bella." Bellatrix nodded and wiped a tear from her eye.
o - o - o -o
Dumbledore stood outside Number 4 Privet Drive, his heart heavy as he cradled the sleeping form of Harry Potter in his arms. The baby was smaller than he had imagined, his delicate features markedly different from what he had expected. From all the stories shared by Sirius and James at Order meetings, Dumbledore had imagined Harry would be the spitting image of his father, with the same mischievous glint in his eyes and his unmistakable face.
But as he gazed down at the child, Dumbledore saw something else entirely. The baby's features were more angular and sophisticated, more refined than his father's had been at that age. His hair—messy and brown—was as untamed as James's had been, but it was the eyes that truly struck him. They were an impossibly vivid blue, the kind of blue that seemed almost unnatural. They were magnetic, pulling you in, but also unsettling, as if they held secrets too vast for any infant to possess.
Dumbledore gently brushed back the hair from Harry's forehead, his eyes momentarily landing on the lightning bolt scar, obscured by the boy's messy , at least he has his father's untamable hair,he mused, a flicker of warmth passing through him before he was again reminded of the tragedy that had brought him here.
He glanced up at Hagrid, who stood beside him, still trying to steady his breath through quiet sobs. The half-giant's eyes were swollen, his grief palpable.
"Hagrid," Dumbledore asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of concern, "Where did you say you found him?"
"In his crib," Hagrid replied hoarsely, his words thick with emotion. "Lily… Lily was..." His voice trailed off, too choked to continue.
Minerva McGonagall, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, stepped forward, attempting to comfort the giant. She patted his shoulder gently, murmuring soothing words. "Take some deep breaths, Hagrid. We'll get through this."
Dumbledore watched them for a moment, then turned to face the door of Number 4 Privet Drive. "I'll take care of things here," he said, though his voice was distant, lost in thought. Minerva nodded and continued to calm Hagrid.
Dumbledore moved swiftly to the doorstep, setting the small wicker basket containing Harry down gently. He glanced around briefly, making sure no one was watching, then knelt beside the basket. The boy's small form was still, nestled in the folds of the blanket. The shadows from the street lamps seemed to stretch longer, almost as if the night itself was holding its breath.
Dumbledore took out his wand, his hand steady despite the sorrow weighing on him.
Sanguis revelio.
A stream of intricate, multicoloured lines appeared above Harry's head, dancing and shifting in the air. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he studied them intently. He knew the magic would reveal more than just the boy's lineage; it would show his magical potential, his strength, his future.
The lines twisted and glimmered, far more intricate and powerful than Dumbledore had anticipated. A small frown tugged at the corners of his powerful than I expected,he thought to himself, feeling a sharp pang of worry mixed with awe. The boy, despite the tragedy surrounding him, was already an enigma.
After several moments, Dumbledore ended the spell with a flick of his wand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. With a soft sigh, he placed the note on Harry's chest, ensuring it would remain undisturbed. He hesitated for just a moment before standing and turning to face Minerva.
She was still by Hagrid's side, doing her best to console him, but when she saw Dumbledore approaching, her eyes narrowed with concern. Her expression was a mix of exhaustion and doubt. "Are you sure about this, Albus?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with uncertainty. "Leaving him here? With them?"
Dumbledore hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing on him more than he cared to admit. He had never wanted this for Harry, but in the end, there was no other choice. "It's the safest place for him, Minerva. They are the only family he has left."
Minerva didn't seem entirely convinced, but she gave a nod of resignation. "I suppose you're right, but I still don't like it."
Dumbledore sighed deeply, his face worn with weariness and grief. In the past few weeks, they had lost so many. The Potters. Sirius. The battle against Voldemort might have ended, but it had come at a staggering cost. He could feel the sting of those losses in every fibre of his being, but there was little time for mourning. Not now.
"We have all lost much, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice betraying his exhaustion. "But this—this is the only way forward for him."
Minerva watched him for a moment, her lips pressing together in thought. She seemed to understand, but the sadness in her eyes spoke volumes. She turned back to Hagrid, who was now calming down, though his massive form still trembled with grief.
With a final glance at Harry, Dumbledore stepped back. The trio moved down the darkened street, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their shared grief heavy in the air. The street lamps above them flickered back to life, the soft yellow glow illuminating the night.
As the three of them vanished from sight, the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive remained silent, the weight of its secrets hanging in the quiet night. Harry Potter, the boy who had survived it all, slept peacefully in his basket, unaware of the extraordinary future that awaited him.
o – o – o – o
After a night of writhing in agony and screaming in pain, Bellatrix lay on the cold floor of Severus's house in Spinner's End, drenched in sweat, her body trembling uncontrollably. The aftermath of the ritual combined with the separation from her soulmate had left her utterly drained, and every breath seemed to come with a sharp, burning sting. Severus had watched over her all night, ensuring she would survive the ordeal before he left. But as she lay there, barely conscious, he knew he couldn't linger any longer. He needed to complete his task.
With one last glance at Bellatrix, Severus checked her pulse to confirm she was stable. Then, without another word, he apparated away from Spinner's End, his cloak swirling around him as he disappeared into the night.
Severus arrived in his chamber and walked swiftly through the shadowed corridors of Hogwarts Castle, making sure to avoid detection as he moved through the empty halls. His steps were measured, his expression cold and focused. The castle felt eerily silent, as if the walls themselves held their breath.
He reached the entrance to the Headmaster's office and muttered the required password, his voice barely a whisper. The gargoyle guarding the stairway to the office swung open, revealing the spiralling staircase beyond. He climbed swiftly, ensuring that no one was in the vicinity to witness his intrusion.
At the top, he paused. His eyes darted to the portraits lining the walls, each a silent sentinel watching his every move. Severus didn't want to be seen—not today. He raised his wand and muttered a quiet incantation, casting a charm that sent the portraits into a deep, restful slumber.
Only when the room was completely still did he enter. His breath escaped in a quiet sigh of relief when he noticed that Fawkes was absent. The phoenix was clearly out hunting, a stroke of luck that Severus didn't take for granted. Fawkes would have been far more difficult to deceive.
Severus stepped carefully behind the Headmaster's large desk, his movements calculated and precise. There, hidden beneath the desk, was a small gold lever on the underside of the telescope. With a quiet motion, he pulled it, and immediately, a winding staircase materialised before him.
It spiralled down into the darkness below.
Severus took a deep breath and descended quickly. The air grew colder the farther he went, and the scent of ancient parchment filled his nostrils. At the bottom of the staircase, he found himself in a dimly lit corridor, lined with shelves of dusty books and scrolls. At the far end of the hallway rested a pedestal, atop which sat a large tome—an ancient, weathered volume that had been kept hidden for centuries.
He walked briskly toward it, feeling the weight of time pressing against him. The book's presence here was more than a simple precaution; it was a safeguard, a key to controlling the past and the future. Severus had only a few minutes to complete the task he had been given. His hands were steady as he flipped through the yellowed pages, searching for the date in question.
When he found it, his fingers tightened around the small vial of blood he had brought with him. The blood was not his own, but that of someone far more important. A whisper of a name lingered in his thoughts—Bella's name. She had given him the incantation, the instructions, and the unshakable resolve to carry out this task, no matter the cost.
Severus drew the vial and a blood quill from his pocket. He dipped the quill into the vial and, with a swift motion, crossed out the name "Donovan Salazar Gaunt" from the page. As he whispered the incantation Bella had drilled into him, the letters flickered and vanished, only to be replaced by another name: Harry James Potter.
Severus paused, staring at the name. The letters were now etched in permanence, but a feeling of unease gnawed at him. He wasn't sure if it was the magic or the weight of the decision that felt so heavy, but he had little time to dwell on it. The work was far from finished.
A loud noise from above made him flinch, and his heart skipped a beat. With a final flick of his wrist, he closed the book, his task complete, and began the climb back up the stairs.
When Severus emerged from behind the gargoyle and into the entrance hall, he was startled to see Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall walking toward him. The two were engaged in a heated conversation, their voices low but sharp.
Dumbledore paused as he caught sight of Severus, his expression shifting from concern to something closer to relief, as if he had been waiting for an interruption.
"Severus," Dumbledore greeted, his voice laced with a note of weariness. "I trust you've heard the news?"
Severus nodded, his face impassive. "I heard about Lily."
Albus's face softened with sorrow. "Yes... Many good people were lost. But come, Severus, we have much to discuss." He turned to Minerva, giving her a tired smile. "If you'll excuse me, Minerva. We can continue this conversation later."
Minerva looked as though she wanted to protest, but she remained silent, her lips pressed tightly together. With a stiff nod, she turned on her heel and walked away toward Gryffindor Tower. The tension between her and Dumbledore was palpable, but neither of them acknowledged it.
Once Minerva was out of earshot, Dumbledore let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're here, Severus. There's much to be done."
Severus followed Dumbledore up the stairs toward his office. The weight of what he had just done settled heavily in his chest, but he knew there was no turning back now. The path was set. And soon, the world would feel the ripples of his actions.
Dumbledore, leading the way, seemed lost in thought, but the flicker of his expression suggested he was already piecing together the implications of what had just transpired. He glanced over his shoulder at Severus as they reached the top of the stairs.
"Severus," Dumbledore began, his tone more somber than usual. "You know, as well as I do, that Voldemort's defeat may not be as permanent as we hope. There are whispers, dark signs that suggest he will one day return."
Severus nodded sharply, his dark eyes narrowing as he absorbed Dumbledore's words. "I know. There are always rumours of his return, but there's more at play now, isn't there? The prophecy."
Dumbledore stopped in his tracks and turned to face Severus. His expression was grave, almost haunted. "Yes, the prophecy. I feel certain now that it is Harry Potter. Voldemort doesn't yet know the full extent of what he has done, but when he returns, he will come for the child. For Harry."
Severus felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine. The name he had written in the book, the fragile thread of fate that had been twisted, now seemed like a ticking time bomb. But he was already committed, and there was no way back.
"Then we must prepare," Severus said quietly, his voice a blend of resignation and resolve. "When he comes to Hogwarts, I will protect him. If I must stand between him and the Dark Lord, I will do so."
Dumbledore studied Severus for a long moment, as if weighing his words, searching for any sign of deceit or hesitation. But there was none. Severus's vow was not just a promise; it was a blood oath, bound by the actions he had already taken. Dumbledore's gaze softened, the weight of their shared knowledge and burdens settling between them.
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice low but sincere. "You understand the importance of this. Protecting Harry is no simple task. It is a duty that will test us all. But I trust you will see it through."
Severus gave a curt nod, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across his face. "I will. Even if it costs me everything."
As they entered the office, the door closed softly behind them, and Severus felt the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his shoulders. The future had been changed irrevocably, and the ripples of his actions would be felt for years to come.
But there was one more question that burned in his chest.
He turned to Dumbledore, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "There is one more thing I need to know," Severus demanded. "Where is Harry? Where has he been taken?"
Dumbledore paused for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he gave a long sigh, as though the question had already been asked a thousand times in his mind. "Harry has been placed with his aunt and uncle, Lily's sister, Petunia Dursley. They live in the Muggle world, far from the reach of the Dark Lord's followers. It is the safest place for him."
Severus's face darkened. He took a step back, his gaze hardening with each word Dumbledore spoke. "The Dursleys?" he spat, disbelief and anger rising in his chest. "You sent himthere?"
Dumbledore didn't immediately answer, but the regret in his eyes was enough to confirm Severus's worst fears.
"I know, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "But the protection of blood—Lily's blood—gives him a shield that Voldemort cannot break. He will be safe there, at least for now."
Severus was shaking his head, his anger growing.
"You don't know her, Albus," Severus snapped, his voice low but filled with bitter disdain.
"Petunia Dursley is a cruel, bitter woman. She will not show him kindness. She will treat him like an outsider, like an animal to be caged. He will grow up believing he is nothing. She will make sure of that."
Dumbledore looked pained, but Severus could see the pain wasn't enough to change his decision. "The blood bond will protect him, Severus. It's a necessity. He will need time, and we can only protect him from afar for now."
The words cut through the silence like a knife, and Dumbledore's gaze softened. "You have your role to play, Severus. This is not the time for regret. There will be many challenges ahead."
But Severus's fury didn't wane. "You think that's enough? You think keeping him alive is all we need to do?" His chest tightened, frustration boiling over. "The boy deserves more than just survival. He deserves love, he deserves kindness. He deserves a chance to be something other than a weapon or a pawn."
Dumbledore's eyes met Severus's, and for the first time, Severus saw a flicker of something close to guilt. "I know you care, Severus. I know this isn't easy for you. But we have no other choice."
Severus clenched his jaw, his throat tight with the anger and helplessness that he couldn't shake. "I will protect him. When he comes to Hogwarts, I will make sure he is safe. And when the time comes for him to fight, I will do everything in my power to ensure he is ready. But don't ever ask me to accept this, Albus. Sending him to the Dursleys... it's unforgivable."
Dumbledore nodded, his gaze steady. "You are not alone in this, Severus. We all have our part to play in the coming war. But for now, the boy must grow. And he will need you when the time is right."
Severus said nothing more, the weight of his vow settling heavily on him. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear, the destruction that would occur when Bellatrix found out… Severus shivered unsure if the wizarding world would be able to survive her wrath.
o – o – o – o
While Severus was locked in tense conversation with Dumbledore, Bellatrix Black awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, her mind still foggy from the feverish dream that had consumed her. Her body trembled violently as her eyes fluttered open, the remnants of the dark magic pulsing through her like a storm. She lay in the dimly lit room, the cold stone floor beneath her unyielding, but it was the gnawing need to see him—her beloved—that seized her with an urgency she could not ignore.
I must see him,the thought echoed in her mind, sharp and desperate. She barely registered the pain searing through her limbs as she struggled to rise, her movements shaky, disoriented. With great effort, she dressed herself in the tattered robes that clung to her thin frame, the fabric pulling at her skin, the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders.
With one last, pained glance at the empty room, she apparated—her figure disappearing in a blur of swirling air.
Bellatrix arrived in front of Longbottom Manor, her eyes scanning the destruction before her. The house, once full of life, now stood in ruins, a crumbled testament to the violent clash between Death Eaters and the Order. Charred remnants of walls smouldered in the distance, their once-proud stonework now reduced to blackened debris. The stench of burning wood and death still hung in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of magic that lingered like a shadow over the wreckage.
Her heart twisted in anguish as she surveyed the devastation, but it was her mind, clouded with fever and obsession, that pulled her forward. She advanced through the rubble, her boots crunching on shattered glass and twisted metal, her every step trembling with frustration.
"He won't be here," she muttered to herself, the realisation settling in as she surveyed the wreckage. "There's nothing left." Her voice cracked, the bitterness in her tone belying the raw emotion that twisted inside her chest. Her eyes narrowed, the desperation mounting. Without another word she apparated once more.
The world swirled around her, and with a sharp crack, she arrived at St. Mungo's. She had no time to waste. Every second was agony, every moment an eternity. She moved swiftly, slipping through the hospital's bustling halls with the practiced ease of someone who had spent too much time in shadow. The chaotic noise of the infirmary seemed distant to her, drowned out by the thundering pulse of her heart.
The Longbottoms' room was not hard to find. She moved past staff and patients alike, unnoticed by the world around her as she slipped inside the quiet room. The dim light of the hospital room seemed to cast long, hollow shadows over the two figures lying still in their beds. Alice and Frank Longbottom. The once-proud Aurors were now mere husks, their minds broken by the curse that had been unleashed upon them by the LeStrange brothers..
Bellatrix's breath caught in her throat as she scanned their minds, her eyes clouding with the thoughts she dredged from their broken consciousness. What she saw left her frowning, her brow furrowing in disgust.
"They are in no condition to care for a young boy," she murmured, her voice trembling with frustration. Her heart pounded in her chest as the anger began to surge within would they have taken him?she wondered, her grip tightening on her wand, her knuckles white. The need to see him—the need to find him—grew unbearable. Her pulse raced as the heat of her emotions swelled.
"Where are you?" she whispered into the room, her breath shallow.
She spun around, determined now more than ever to find him. She apparated again, the world around her shifting and twisting with a familiar, sickening force.
Bellatrix materialised before the grand doors of Bones Manor, its regal stone facade seeming to mock her anguish. She walked towards the house, her mind spiralling into a dark abyss as she could not sense the other half of her soul. The manor, too, seemed eerily silent, much too silent to be holding a babe within.
In a fit of blind fury, she let out a scream—a sound that seemed to split the very air in two. Her grief, her rage, her obsession all boiled over in that moment.
"He is mine!" she screamed into the empty house, her voice ragged with emotion. With a wave of her wand, she summoned the infernal Fiendfyre, her desperation fuelling the flames that roared to life at the tip of her wand. The fire twisted and writhed like a living thing, consuming everything in its path with an insatiable hunger.
But in her frenzy, Bellatrix didn't see the figures approaching from the shadows. The sharp, authoritative voices of the Aurors caught her attention too late. Before she could react, a flash of magic shot out, binding her in a web of shimmering ropes. She struggled, furious, but her weakened state and the shock of the spell left her no chance of yet…she thought, the anguish deepening.I will find him. I must. I will not rest until I do.
But there was no escape now.
With a sharp tug, she was dragged away, her struggles futile as the world seemed to close in on her. Bellatrix Black was bound for Azkaban, her heart torn between fury and despair. The walls of the prison would be the last thing she saw before she was swallowed by darkness once more.
But the need to find him, to possess him, to make him hers, would never fade. And someday, she swore, she would be free again.