Half a Life Without You

Chapter 26: "Lunar Exchange"

Severus POV

The castle looms in shadow as I step outside, the cold air biting at my face. Dawn is just beginning to stain the horizon, a faint blush of light chasing away the darkness. The birds are already awake, their songs cutting through the stillness like they don't know or care what the day holds.

Everly's words won't leave me. Her voice echoes in my mind, each revelation twisting into the next until it feels like I'm drowning in them. Vinda Rosier. Gellert Grindelwald. The names carry more weight than they should, dragging at me, making it hard to think clearly. She laughed nervously when she suggested Dumbledore might let me see the memories one day—after the truth comes out. But the way she shuddered, like just the thought of reliving it was too much, made me question if I'd even want to.

And Dumbledore. I feel anger flare in my chest at the thought of him. He knew. He had to have known what sending Everly to that wedding would stir up. Her resemblance to Vinda Rosier is uncanny; no one could ignore it. At best, people would brush it off as coincidence. At worst, they'd see what she really is—a living, breathing reminder of secrets that should never have come to light. And when they find out she's not just a distant Rosier relative but Vinda's daughter, with Grindelwald of all people as her father? It will shatter their carefully constructed world.

Grindelwald. Even his name carries power. His mastery of transfiguration, his control of fire—his sheer unpredictability. Some whispered he had fairy blood, others said his strength was unparalleled. Whatever the truth, he was an enigma. And yet, he let himself be captured. Thirty years locked away. Why? A seer doesn't make careless decisions, so what was the purpose?

I push the thoughts away as I step into the open air, pulling my cloak tighter around me. These are questions for another day. Right now, I have other battles to fight.

The familiar pull of Apparition tugs at me, and when I land, the chill of the evening air is the first thing I notice. The house stands before me like a faded relic of something better left forgotten. Its shutters hang askew, their paint chipped and curling like dried parchment. The roof is missing several shingles, and the gutters sag under the weight of neglect. The cracked windows reflect what little moonlight filters through the clouds, giving the place an almost spectral quality.

It's the same as I left it. A house that doesn't just look abandoned—it feels it. The air here is heavy, like even the ground resents being burdened by its presence.

I glance down at my clothes, already prepared for my father's inevitable scrutiny. Muggle jeans and a plain black T-shirt. He won't need more than a glance to find something to mock, but this might lessen the ammunition.

I step forward, my boots crunching against the gravel path. The door creaks loudly when I push it open, announcing my arrival. The stale, musty smell of the house hits me immediately, mingled with the faint odor of spilled drink and burnt wood.

My mother's voice calls faintly from upstairs. "Severus? The attic, please."

I let the door close behind me, the sound echoing in the hollow silence. I push my father out of my mind for now. There's only one reason I'm here, and she's waiting.

The attic is oppressive, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of mildew. The single window doesn't do much to brighten the space; the light that does make it through is hazy and dim. Shadows stretch long across the floor, pooling under stacks of boxes and forgotten belongings.

I balance a stack of boxes in my arms, the weight making my shoulders ache. My mother is sorting through a pile of books, her movements slow and deliberate, like she's trying to hold time in place.

"Severus, can you hand me that box?" Her voice trembles just enough that I notice, but I say nothing.

I set the boxes down and pass her the one she pointed at, careful not to disturb the fragile silence. As I do, a book slips from the top of a nearby stack and lands on the floor with a loud thud. The sound startles both of us, sharp against the quiet. I bend down to pick it up, but before my fingers reach it, a shadow moves at the edge of my vision.

My father steps into the doorway. His broad shoulders fill the frame, and his presence makes the attic feel smaller than it already is. His eyes are bloodshot, his face ruddy from drink. He snatches the book from the floor and holds it up like he's caught me stealing it.

"I thought I burned this," he mutters, his voice thick with disdain. He tosses the book onto the table and stumbles back out, muttering under his breath.

I stare at the book where it lands. The cover is deep blue, faded and frayed at the edges. "What's this?" I ask, turning to my mother.

Her hands tremble as she picks it up. "Just an old storybook," she says, her voice tight. She sets it back on the pile like it doesn't matter, but her fingers linger on the cover a moment too long.

"Let's finish up," she says, her tone final. But there's something in her eyes—a flicker of fear, maybe regret—that makes me want to ask more. I don't. The words die in my throat as I watch her turn away.

Dinner is a miserable affair, as usual. The light above the table flickers, casting the room in uneven shadows. My father sits at the head, a glass of something stronger than water in his hand. He barely touches his food, his attention fixed on the swirling liquid instead.

The silence stretches on, heavy and unbearable. Then he speaks.

"Why are you here?" His voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

I put my fork down carefully, forcing myself to stay calm. "I still live here," I say evenly. "At least until graduation."

He scoffs, leaning back in his chair with a sneer. "You'll be gone the day you graduate. Mark my words. I don't need another mouth to feed. One anchor dragging me down is enough." He lifts his glass, a cruel smile tugging at his lips as he mockingly toasts my mother.

My grip tightens on my knife. The dull edge presses into my palm, but I don't care. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready to snap. Then I feel it—my mother's hand on my arm, her touch light but firm. I glance at her, and the look in her eyes stops me.

Don't.

The word is unspoken, but I hear it all the same. I force myself to put the knife down, the scrape of metal on ceramic louder than I intended. Without a word, I push back from the table and leave the room.

My room feels more like a cell than a sanctuary. I pack my belongings quickly, shoving them into my bag without care. I can't stay here another night.

As I sling the bag over my shoulder, my mother appears in the doorway. She looks small, her frame dwarfed by the shadows that stretch into the room.

"Do you have to leave so soon?" she asks softly.

I meet her gaze. "You know I do."

She nods, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Why do you stay?" I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

Her lips press into a thin line, her shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. "I have nowhere else to go," she whispers.

I step closer and press a kiss to her cheek. "Then create your own place," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her tears spill over as she wraps her arms around me, holding on like she's afraid to let go. "Come see me again soon, Severus."

I sigh, the sound heavy with resignation. "I will," I say, though we both know it's a lie.

As I step outside into the cool night air, I take one last look at the house. The shutters hang crooked, the paint is peeling, and the roof is missing shingles. It's an eyesore. A prison.

I pull my cloak tighter around me and apparate into the night, vowing never to return.

The cellar of Malfoy Manor is stifling, the oppressive heat amplified by the flames licking the underside of the cauldrons. The acrid smells of herbs, charred ingredients, and brewing magic blend into an overwhelming haze that clings to my skin and throat. The flickering light from the flames dances on the stone walls, casting shadows that stretch and shift like restless specters in the dark corners of the room.

The brewing table before me is organized chaos—chipped bowls, glass vials, and an array of rare and temperamental ingredients meticulously arranged, each in its precise place. My focus is singular. This potion has consumed my every thought for days, each step demanding perfection. There is no margin for error.

The vampire fingers were the most temperamental component. This morning, I laid them out in the sunlight, watching as they shriveled and dissolved into a fine, pale ash. Now that ash sits in a tiny jar on the edge of the table, waiting for its turn.

The potion bubbles softly in the cauldron, its surface darkening into an ink-like black—the unmistakable mark of Sun's Death. On the adjacent workbench, a second cauldron shimmers with an opalescent liquid, its pearly sheen promising a flawless batch of Lunar Eclipse.

I wipe sweat from my brow, adjust the flame beneath the cauldrons, and glance at my notes one last time.

The door creaks open behind me.

"Merlin's beard, it's like a furnace in here!" Lucius's voice cuts through the quiet, drawling and insufferably smug as always. He steps inside, his pale blond hair slightly disheveled—an uncharacteristic imperfection that only hints at his irritation. "Severus, honestly, you'll boil yourself alive."

I don't bother looking up. "I'm almost done."

Lucius lets out a theatrical sigh, flopping into a chair. "Merlin, it's unbearable down here," he drawls, loosening the high collar of his robe. "You must be part salamander."

"You could always leave," I say without looking up.

"Tempting," he replies, then smirks. "Speaking of unbearable, have I mentioned how Lazareth came to my wedding?"

I glance at him briefly, raising an eyebrow. "He was invited, I assume?"

"I sent the invitation as a joke, and the bastard actually showed up. Imagine my shock. He only stayed for a little while—long enough to make everyone uncomfortable." He pauses, his tone turning theatrical. "You and Everly had already left when he made his grand appearance."

"Pity," I say dryly, focusing on adjusting the flame beneath Lunar Eclipse. "I'm sure the guests enjoyed their wine more after he departed."

Lucius chuckles. "I haven't touched red wine since. Every time I see it, I think of him licking his lips while staring at my grandmother. Unnerving man."

I suppress a smirk, stirring the cauldron. "Perhaps you should have considered that before making him your pen pal."

"Very funny," Lucius says, rolling his eyes.

He shifts in his chair, waving a letter in his hand with exaggerated annoyance. "He sent this earlier. Impatient, insufferable vampire. Still, it's almost done, so we'll send him a letter back with the potion. Honestly, I'd rather it be out of my house."

I glance at him sharply, setting down the ladle with deliberate care. "I don't trust an owl for this."

Lucius frowns, tossing the letter onto the table. "Why not? It's just a potion."

"Exactly. A potion that's taken days of careful work and involves rare, temperamental ingredients," I reply coolly. "If anything happens to it en route, I'll have to start over. Do you think Lazareth will happily donate more fingers if this batch goes missing?"

Lucius groans, slouching further into his chair. "Fine, no owl. So what's the plan? Hand-deliver it, and you expect me to do all the talking?"

I smirk. "You'll be going with me. He'll expect it, and it's safer that way. I think it's wise to always approach Lazareth with a witness. Just in case."

Lucius straightens, a hint of unease flickering across his face. "Witness? Do you think he's going to drain us dry in some back alley?"

"Unlikely," I say, pouring the jar of ash into the cauldron. The potion hisses, glowing faintly before settling into a deep crimson. "But it's Lazareth. I prefer not to leave anything to chance."

Lucius watches the cauldron bubble for a moment before leaning back, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Speaking of his donation… you don't think he minded losing a couple of fingers, do you? It's not like they don't grow back."

I raise an eyebrow but don't dignify him with a response.

Lucius's grin widens. "I wonder… does everything grow back?" He pauses for dramatic effect, his eyes glinting with mischief. "You know, if—"

"Ask him yourself," I cut in sharply, my tone laced with warning.

Lucius chuckles, clearly unbothered by my annoyance. "Maybe I will. He does seem the chatty type."

"Good," I reply curtly, turning my attention back to the shimmering liquid of Lunar Eclipse. "You'll have plenty of time to ask at the meeting. Now, draft the letter and send the owl while I finish your precious potion."

"Fine, fine," Lucius mutters, reaching for parchment and quill. "But if this turns into a disaster, I'll be blaming you."

"Noted," I say without looking up.

"Do try not to melt down here, will you?" he adds before sauntering out of the room.

Finally alone, I add the final ingredients to Lunar Eclipse and watch as the potion's surface brightens, its gleaming pearly finish catching the light. It's flawless, exactly as Lazareth requested.

The alley behind the Hog's Head is damp and dark, the faint glow of a single lantern above the pub's back door casting weak, flickering light. The air smells of wet stone and old wood, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the cellar. Shadows crowd the narrow space, stretching unnaturally as if trying to escape the light.

Lucius pulls his cloak tighter around himself, glancing around nervously. His usual confidence is noticeably absent, replaced by a series of awkward fidgets. He clears his throat. "Are you sure this is necessary? Meeting here, of all places?" His voice is tight, betraying his discomfort. "What if someone sees us? It reeks of damp hay and regret."

I suppress a sigh, keeping my voice low and measured. "You'd rather invite him over for tea at Malfoy Manor?"

Lucius scowls but says nothing, muttering under his breath as he continues to glance around. I ignore him, my attention fixed on the end of the alley. Lazareth had chosen this meeting place, and though I'd never admit it aloud, I find his secrecy unnerving.

My mind drifts to Everly. It's late—too late to see her tonight—but the thought of her lingers, unbidden yet welcome. I can almost feel her lips on mine, her soft hair slipping through my fingers as I pull her closer. The memory of her warmth against me feels like a balm, and I let myself indulge in it for a fleeting moment. The longing is sharp, a hollow ache in my chest. Soon, I remind myself. I'll see her again soon.

A soft rustle breaks through my thoughts. Lazareth steps out of the darkness with the kind of silence that makes the air itself seem to hold its breath. His tall frame is cloaked in black, the fabric absorbing the dim light like a void. His pale skin glows faintly, and his eyes—brilliant and unnervingly sharp—find me first before flicking to Lucius.

Lucius takes an audible step back, his bravado evaporating in an instant. "Ah, Lazareth," he says, his voice wobbling slightly. "How nice of you to... appear."

Lazareth's lips curl into a faint smile, revealing just enough of his fangs to unnerve. "Good evening, gentlemen," he says smoothly, his voice low and impossibly calm. He strides forward with predatory grace, his movements unnaturally fluid.

I step forward and hold out the vial. Lazareth takes Lunar Eclipse, holding it up to the faint light. The pale liquid glistens, its pearly sheen casting a faint glow, and his expression shifts to one of approval. "Perfect," he murmurs, tilting the vial slightly to watch the light dance across its surface.

"It was a challenge," I say, my tone even. "But manageable."

"Severus is being modest," Lucius cuts in, his voice higher than usual. "He's the best potion master I've ever worked with. And, ah, those ingredients of yours were... unique."

Lazareth's smile widens, his sharp gaze flicking to Lucius. "Ah, yes. The donation. I trust it was handled with care?"

Lucius forces a chuckle, his hands fumbling with the clasp of his cloak. 'Oh, absolutely. It's not like... they don't grow back, right?' His laughter fades awkwardly as Lazareth's unwavering smile sharpens the tension.

"Indeed," Lazareth says, his tone soft but pointed. He leans in slightly, his glowing eyes locking onto Lucius. "But only with time. A fact you'd do well to remember."

Lucius freezes, his face pale. "Of course. I-I only meant—"

"Relax, Lucius," Lazareth interrupts, his tone tinged with mockery. "I'm sure your curiosity comes from... a place of genuine admiration." He straightens, his amused expression making Lucius shrink further into his cloak.

He straightens, turning his attention back to me. "I trust our arrangement remains confidential, Severus?"

"Of course," I reply evenly, meeting his glowing gaze.

"Good," Lazareth says, his voice soft but heavy with warning. "Discretion is vital to me, as I'm sure you understand."

Lucius, sensing the shift in tone, clears his throat again. "If I may ask," he begins hesitantly, "why the sudden urgency for the potion?"

Lazareth's gaze snaps to him, sharp and calculating. He steps closer, his tall frame looming over Lucius with deliberate menace. "A friend needs my help."

"And you can't help this friend at night?" I ask, curiosity edging into my voice.

Lazareth's eyes flick to me, their unnatural glow intensifying. "No. There are wards preventing me from entering after dark." His expression softens briefly, the faintest flicker of something human passing over his face. "This liquid sunlight isn't for me. It's for them."

The answer surprises me, but I hold my tongue. Whatever the specifics of this friend's plight, Lazareth clearly has no intention of elaborating.

He leans back slightly, the dangerous edge in his demeanor returning as his gaze locks onto Lucius. "You'll keep this quiet, won't you? I'd hate to have to pay you a... personal visit."

Lucius stiffens, his face pale, but he nods quickly. "Naturally. You won't hear a word from me."

"Excellent," Lazareth murmurs, stepping back into the shadows. "Until next time."

And just like that, he's gone, the darkness swallowing him whole as if he'd never been there.

Lucius exhales sharply, his carefully composed demeanor slipping. "He's absolutely terrifying," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. After a beat, he adds, "But I do admire his sense of humor."

I shoot him a pointed look. "You seemed less amused when he was towering over you."

Lucius scowls but says nothing, pulling his cloak tighter as we prepare to leave. Tonight has been long enough.

By the time we returned to the manor, exhaustion hit me like a wave. I informed Lucius of my plans to leave the next morning, eager to return to Hogwarts and spend time with Everly.

"You can't," Lucius said, his tone unusually serious.

I turned to him, frowning. "Why not?"

"The Dark Lord has called a meeting. You're expected to attend."

My stomach sank. So much for seeing Everly. Groaning, I trudged toward the guest room, longing for a moment of peace I knew I wouldn't get.