A/N This is my attempt at rewriting Harry's years at Hogwarts, but I wanted to do something different so please don't expect this to be canon. A few main differences in my universe:
- You start Hogwarts at 12 (11 just felt to young and immature)
- A Hogwarts education only lasts 6 years
- For the storyline the third book will be skipped completely as those parts will be addressed elsewhere.
I really hope you enjoy this story as it has been a lot of fun to write. Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1 – How Magic Turns Black
Early June 1980
A scowl marred Severus Snape's sallow features as he stalked through the darkened corridors of the Hogwarts dungeons. His long black robes billowed out behind him, sweeping across the cold stone floors with a sound like the rustle of a shroud. Onyx eyes gleamed with barely-contained fury, their gaze sharp enough to cut through the gloom that clung to the castle. I hate children,he seethed did the Dark Lord have to send me back to this blasted school? Surely, I have skills far better suited to more... practical endeavors than spying on Dumbledore. I hated it as a student, and I loathe it now. Dunderheads, every single one of them.
He had been the Potions Master for nearly a year now, but every day in this wretched school seemed to make his hatred grow deeper. He had never been a fan of the students—their noise, their idiocy, their endless stream of mistakes that he had to correct, all under the watchful eyes of the Headmaster and his infuriatingly lax policies. His very presence in this castle, now as a professor, felt like a betrayal of sorts—though he knew, all too well, that the choice had never really been his to make.
This or death, he thought bitterly. I made my decision a long time ago, and there is no escape. I will endure, just as I always have.
As he rounded a corner, his quick stride faltered when a soft noise caught his should be at the end-of-year feast, he thought, a flicker of suspicion growing. Reaching into the sleeve of his robes, he drew his wand with a practiced motion, the wood cold against his palm. He moved forward cautiously, his senses honed. Something was not right.
The sound grew clearer as he neared the source—an aggravated voice, harsh and disjointed, seeping from a slightly ajar door. His mind instantly recognised the tone as belonging to Sybil Trelawney, the Divination professor, whose eccentricities were well-known throughout the she's moved her secret supply of sherry again, Snape mused, rolling his eyes in mild a storeroom than the broom closet this time.
Yet, as he continued to creep toward the door, an unsettling feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Something deeper than mere curiosity urged him to it, telling him to not be a coward.
He paused just beyond the threshold, hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering light from the room. The only sound was the occasional clink of bottles and the faint rustle of paper, punctuated by Sybil's voice, now more erratic than before. His breath caught in his chest as the words reached him.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord quickly approaches... born as the seventh month dies... a powerful heir all will fear..."
Severus' pulse quickened, his heart pounding in his ears. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He knew the significance of the words, yet his mind struggled to comprehend them fully.
The voice faltered for a moment, then resumed, the words coming in a slow, eerie cadence.
"Taken from a mother's love and forced to live as another, tainted by a world of hate... When father and son are reunited... the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... If realised, the wizarding world shall flourish... if not, it shall perish... Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
A cold, shuddering silence followed, lingering in the air like the echoes of an ancient curse. Severus felt a chill sweep over him, one that had nothing to do with the damp, stone walls of the castle. He wanted to turn and flee, to escape the weight of what he had just heard, but his body refused to move. The words spun in his mind, each syllable sharp and insistent, their meaning impossible to ignore.
Another muffled cough from Sybil broke the tension, signalling the end of her trance. The words ceased, leaving Severus in a state of stunned disbelief. His mind raced, frantically trying to piece together the implications of the one with the power...He knew instantly that it referred to the Dark Lord's downfall—but who? And how?
Before he could continue with his train of thought, his hand instinctively slid to his left forearm. His fingers brushed the Dark Mark, the raised brand of the Dark Lord's influence. He closed his eyes and muttered a soft incantation, feeling the sharp, searing pain as the mark burned in response, flaring to life like a reminder of his bond to the Dark Lord. The pain was a sharp, familiar sting—one he had grown used to over the years—but it brought with it a rush of cold dread, more terrifying than any physical agony.
He tore his gaze away and straightened, swallowing hard. The reality of the situation sank in. There was no denying it now—his life, his choices, the very future of the wizarding world were all tangled up in the prophecy. What had Sybil said about the child having power the Dark Lord knew not? And the part about neither being able to live while the other survived... it felt like a trap, a twisted inevitability.
With a grimace, Severus turned on his heel and swiftly left the corridor, his steps echoing in the empty castle. His mind was in turmoil, but there was no time to dwell on it now. He had a meeting to attend—one that could very well decide the fate of everything.
As he reached his office and secured the door behind him, he unbuttoned his robes and rolled up his sleeve once more, glancing at the Dark will be no easy answer,he thought, but it was the only path available to him now. The Dark Lord would demand his presence. And then, perhaps, he would find a way to twist this newfound knowledge to his advantage.
Snape reached for his wand once again, his eyes narrowing with cold resolve. There would be no turning back now.
o – o – o – o
Severus Snape felt the cold seeping into his bones the moment he landed outside the entrance of the Dark Lord's manor. The night air was frigid, a biting chill that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the house itself. Even in the height of summer, the manor felt as if it were frozen in time, its atmosphere thick with an unnatural coldness that only deepened the foreboding nature of the place. Severus had long suspected that Voldemort made the manor this way on purpose, as though to punish his followers even before he exacted their loyalty.
He took a shallow breath, his breath puffing out in a mist that mingled with the darkness around him. The bitter air felt sharp against his skin, but it did little to distract him from the far more dangerous task ahead. With a silent grunt, he reinforced his Occlumency shields, tightening them around his mind.
His boots echoed softly on the cobblestone path as he walked toward the massive oak doors of the manor, his cloak swirling around his ankles. As he approached, the doors creaked open of their own accord, and he entered without a word, his eyes momentarily adjusting to the dim torchlight that flickered along the walls.
Inside, the manor felt both ancient and oppressive, its walls lined with dark tapestries and shadows that stretched long in the flickering light. The faint scent of incense mixed with the heavy staleness of age. A large fire crackled in the hearth at the far end of the room, casting flickering shadows over the high-backed chair where the Dark Lord sat. Severus didn't need to look to know that Voldemort was watching him, waiting.
Bellatrix Lestrange stood near the fire, her wild black hair tumbling over her shoulders as she turned to acknowledge his arrival. Severus nodded at her in greeting, but there was no warmth in the gesture. They have been friends since their earliest days as Death Eaters. She had been the only one to stand by him in those early years when he first swore his allegiance to the Dark Lord, but they had agreed long ago that it was best if no one knew how close they actually were.
"Leave us," Voldemort ordered, his voice soft but cold, like the sound of a serpent hissing in the dark. Bellatrix hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding curtly, her lips twisted in frustration. She wasn't pleased to be dismissed, especially when Snape had come here in the middle of the Hogwarts feast. She knew something was afoot, and she was annoyed to not have learned of it first.
Bellatrix cast one last, lingering look at Severus, her grey eyes narrow and searching, before sweeping from the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed through the vast chamber, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
Voldemort's voice broke through the stillness, sharp with irritation. "I assume whatever you have to tell me couldn't wait until tomorrow, when you were going to be here anyway."
"No, my Lord, it could not," Severus replied, his voice steady as he bowed deeply, the weight of the moment pressing on him.
Voldemort's slitted red eyes gleamed with curiosity. "I will be the judge of that," he said, his voice no more than a whisper, yet it carried an undeniable command. "But I warn you, Severus, if you risked being discovered by Dumbledore for something trivial, I will ensure both you and Bellatrix pay for your mistake."
Severus swallowed, the sharp edge of Voldemort's threat sinking deep into his chest. He had no choice but to nod in acknowledgment, the familiar knot of fear tightening in his stomach. He knew well the consequences of failure with the Dark Lord—he had witnessed them firsthand.
"I overheard Trelawney making a prophecy," Severus began, his voice tight. "It concerns you, my Lord."
"Indeed," Voldemort's voice was cold, but there was an unmistakable flicker of intrigue in his gaze. He leaned forward slightly, his snake-like hands gripping the arms of his chair as he waited for Severus to continue.
Severus drew in a steadying breath before speaking the words that had been echoing in his mind since he overheard them. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord quickly approaches... born as the seventh month dies... a powerful heir all will fear..."
At that moment, Severus felt the unmistakable cold intrusion of Voldemort's mind entering his own, probing, searching for the truth behind the words. The Dark Lord's presence was suffocating, overwhelming. Severus stood frozen, the full weight of his master's scrutiny pressing against his mental barriers, but he held his ground, knowing that anything less than complete resolve would be his undoing. As Voldemort saw the truth in Severus's words, he abruptly withdrew, leaving Severus to breathe again, his mind trembling with the force of the invasion.
"Vanquish me? Impossible!" Voldemort hissed, his voice rising sharply as he shot to his feet, his form suddenly towering, casting an unnatural shadow across the room. Magic crackled in the air, and Severus could feel the temperature of the room plummet, the cold intensifying, as though the very manor had come alive with the Dark Lord's fury.
Severus took a step back, his mind racing as Voldemort began to pace, his hands twitching as if seeking a physical outlet for his growing agitation. "A powerful heir?" Voldemort mused, his voice dangerously low. "It must be the son of a noble and ancient house. They have the most powerful magic... seventh month... Tell Malfoy I want the names of all pure-blood families that are expecting a child and speak of this to no one, Severus. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, my Lord," Severus replied, his head bowing further, his throat dry with fear.
"You must return to Hogwarts before your absence is noticed," Voldemort continued, his voice calm once again, though the menace still lingered beneath. "It is more imperative than ever that you ensure he trusts you—no matter what it takes."
"I understand, my Lord," Severus said, his voice steady despite the roiling thoughts in his mind. Voldemort waved him away, his eyes already turning inward as he sank back into the shadows of his chair, muttering to himself, plotting.
As Severus turned to leave, the door opened before him, and Bellatrix was there, her eyes wide with impatience. She didn't say a word, but her gaze cut through him, and Severus knew she had been waiting for him to return.
"What aren't you telling me?" she hissed, her voice tight with barely-contained curiosity.
"Not here," Severus replied through gritted teeth, his patience fraying at the edges. Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, but she nodded in agreement and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward an isolated corner of the manor. The stone walls seemed to close in around them as she quickly cast a Muffilato Charm, sealing them off from any prying ears.
Her arms crossed, Bellatrix tapped her foot, frustration evident in the way she tapped her fingers against her arm. "Well?"
Severus couldn't help but chuckle, though it was a tight, strained sound. She had always been one to push, to demand answers, and he had no intention of frustrating her further. He quickly explained the prophecy, the words tumbling out, each one weighed with the significance they carried.
Unlike Voldemort, Bellatrix didn't interrupt. She let him finish, the silence that followed stretching between them like a taut wire. When Severus was done, Bellatrix didn't speak immediately. She stared at him, her face unreadable, as though searching for something deeper within the meaning of the prophecy.
For several moments, Severus stood still, waiting for her reaction. She had always been one to act on instinct, and there was something in her stillness that unnerved him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded—slowly, deliberately—and said nothing more. Her silence was more telling than any words she could have spoken. Without another glance in his direction, she turned and made her way back to the other Death Eaters, settling into an empty armchair by the window. Unseen by the others, her mind raced, her thoughts whirling as she stared out into the dark night, her mind lost in the weight of the prophecy. It felt like the most important words she would ever hear, but for reasons she couldn't yet explain, she kept her thoughts to herself.
o – o – o -o – o
The air was thick with tension as Severus Snape returned to the castle. The long walk through the darkened corridors felt like an eternity, each step echoing in the silence. He had almost managed to reach the sanctuary of his chambers unnoticed when a figure emerged from the shadows with a soft swish of robes.
Of course, it couldn't be that easy.
"Severus, a bit late to be returning to the castle, don't you think?" The voice was light, but with a sharp edge of curiosity that only Dumbledore could master. His blue eyes twinkled knowingly, his expression both amused and expectant. "I noticed you weren't at the feast, and I thought I'd come looking for you. May I inquire as to where you've been?"
Severus exhaled slowly, his mind already calculating his next move. The worst of it was that Dumbledore already knew. The Headmaster had likely suspected his absence for more than just a trivial reason. Severus resisted the urge to rub his eyes like a tired child, knowing that this would be no simple conversation.
This was it. The moment of truth.
Dumbledore's smile didn't falter, but the weight of the unspoken words lingered between them.
"Perhaps we should have this discussion in my office, Severus. Come along."
Without waiting for an answer, Dumbledore turned and made his way towards the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to his office. The gargoyle's stone face twisted open with a grunt as the Headmaster approached, and Severus, though seething with frustration, followed as expected.
As they walked, Severus's mind 's voice echoed in his mind: "Whatever it takes."He had made his decision, though he still had no idea what the consequences might be. Voldemort's demands were never without cost, and Dumbledore's curiosity could be just as dangerous.
When they entered the Headmaster's office, Severus didn't hesitate. He had made up his mind. There was no turning back now. The ornate, towering shelves filled with ancient books, the flickering fire in the hearth, and the myriad of curious objects that filled the room seemed to watch him as he spoke.
"I'm a spy for the Dark Lord," he said flatly, as if saying the words aloud would make them less real.
Dumbledore's reaction was swift but calm. His fingers steepled in front of his lips, and he leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on Severus with unnerving patience. His expression flickered with something akin to surprise but was quickly masked by his usual air of serene composure.
"I see," Dumbledore said softly, as though this revelation were not the bombshell it clearly was. "Sherbet lemon?" he added with an innocent smile, offering a small dish of brightly coloured sweets from the bowl on his desk.
Severus blinked, caught off-guard. "Excuse me, Headmaster?" he asked, exasperation creeping into his voice. Iconfesses to him that I'm a spy, and Dumbledore offers me a sweet? Severus couldn't help but wonder if the old man had finally lost his mind.
Dumbledore's smile widened, though his eyes remained intent on Severus. "This is not unexpected, Severus," he said, his tone unwavering. "I have known of your true allegiance for some time now. Since you came to me about the Potions position, in fact."
Severus's brow furrowed, his thoughts racing. "Then why did you hire me?" he asked, confusion and a small twinge of annoyance in his I really that transparent?
Dumbledore chuckled softly, a sound full of warmth and knowing. "I have known you for many years, Severus. You are not like the others. You do not believe in the propaganda espoused by Voldemort. It is my belief that you were simply lonely, and he was the first to offer you a place to belong. I had hoped that, if I offered you an alternative, you might choose a different path."
Severus clenched his jaw, keeping his expression ?The word felt like a slap, a sting that burrowed deep beneath his dare he. He's a fool to think that I—Severus cut the thought off before it could spiral further. There was no time for these time for redemption, no matter how much he thinks I'm looking for it. But - if Dumbledore thinks I'm looking for some kind of absolution, then perhaps I can use that to my advantage.
"I am curious, though," Dumbledore's voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. "Why have you finally decided to come clean?"
Showtime.
Severus took a steadying breath and squared his shoulders, knowing that this would be the pivotal moment. "I overheard a prophecy," he began, his voice steady, though the words felt heavy on his tongue. "One that makes me believe the Dark Lord will be defeated. I've never dared to hope for that before, but if it's possible, I want to be on the winning side. I want my life to be my own."
There was a flicker of surprise in Dumbledore's eyes. For once, the Headmaster seemed off-guard, as if the weight of Severus's words had reached him in a way he hadn't expected.
"I see," Dumbledore murmured, the curiosity in his gaze shifting to something deeper. "And what did this prophecy reveal?"
Severus steeled himself. He could feel the pull of Dumbledore's magic probing at his mind, searching for more. Dumbledore was trying to glean more information than Severus had given him, but Severus was prepared. He had been trained in Occlumency for years, and while he had no desire to lie directly, he wasn't about to give Dumbledore more than he needed to know.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord quickly approaches... born as the seventh month dies... a powerful heir all will fear..."
As Severus recited the words, he could feel Dumbledore's magic pressing deeper, tugging at the edges of his thoughts. The Headmaster's intense focus was palpable, but Severus had prepared for this. He pushed a false memory to the front of his mind, allowing Dumbledore to believe he was an open book. The memory was of Severus walking to the unused classroom, where he had overheard the prophecy, hearing the words that had haunted him since.
Dumbledore's magical presence seemed to linger as he sifted through the memory, but Severus held firm, presenting only what he was willing to share.
After a long pause, Dumbledore pulled back, his lips pressed into a thin line as he processed the information.
"I think it would be best if Voldemort believes that you are still on his side," Dumbledore said, his voice low and thoughtful. "As long as he does not suspect you of disloyalty, he may pass you information that will help us in the end. I expect you to report anything of importance, and, if necessary, feed him false intelligence."
Severus nodded stiffly. "As you wish, Headmaster."
"We will keep this prophecy between us for now. I assume Voldemort knows of it?"
"He does," Severus replied, his tone flat.
"Very well. I will begin my research to determine who the prophecy may refer to. If Voldemort gets any leads before I do, please inform me."
Severus nodded again, already thinking ahead. The task before him was daunting, but it was nothing compared to what lay ahead.
"You may go, Severus. We will speak again during the summer, when the students are gone, and there is more time to plan." Dumbledore's voice was warm, as always, but there was an edge of something deeper beneath the calm exterior.
Severus stood, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape and heading for the door.
"Thank you for your understanding, Professor," Severus said as he took his leave. "Good night."
As he ascended the spiral staircase, the weight of the night's conversation pressed heavily on has been a long night,he this is only the beginning. Things are about to change, and there is much to do.
Exhausted, he longed for sleep, but deep down, he knew that peace was a luxury he could no longer least Dumbledore is unlikely to kill me. He's too soft...Severus thought Voldemort...The memory of the Dark Lord's icy promises lingered, and he knew the true test of his resolve was only just beginning.
o – o – o – o – o
31 July 1980
The night was heavy with anticipation. As Lily Potter brought Harry James Potter into the world, a momentous occasion in its own right, across the country, Narcissa Malfoy was gripped by the early pangs of labor. She hadn't expected the baby to come for another month, and the sudden rush of contractions took her completely by surprise. Sitting at her vanity, the brush halfway through her long, pale blonde hair, she paused, frowning in confusion. But then, the feeling intensified, and she realised the time had come.
Her breath hitched as the sharp contraction seized her, forcing her to stand, her hand clutching her swollen belly. The next wave of pain hit, stronger, more insistent. Narcissa's hands shook as she slowly made her way to the bedroom, an overwhelming sense of urgency gripping her.
She stopped in the doorway, breathing heavily, and muttered a quick cleaning charm to ward off the mess she was certain was already there. But the discomfort only increased.
"Lucius," she called, her voice tinged with panic.
There was no immediate response, and Narcissa gritted her now, Lucius,she thought now.
"Lucius!" she called again, louder this time, her voice breaking slightly.
The sound of footsteps echoed from down the hall. Lucius Malfoy appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes narrowed with annoyance.
"What is it, Narcissa?" His tone was dismissive, his impatience clear.
"The baby... is coming," Narcissa gritted through another contraction. Her words were a mixture of pain and disbelief, the fear in her voice now palpable.
Lucius's eyes flickered over her, and for a fleeting moment, there was a look of disdain, almost as if he had just remembered that this was, in fact, an inconvenient moment for him. The look disappeared almost instantly, but it still stung.
"Very well," he said coldly. "I shall inform the Dark Lord."
Narcissa's heart skipped a beat. She watched as Lucius turned, his back to her, heading toward his study without another word. Narcissa stood frozen for a moment, a mixture of disbelief and frustration coiling in her chest.
Inform the Dark Lord? Narcissa thought, her mind does he always need to inform the Dark Lord about everything?
A new surge of pain washed over her, and she breathed through it, her face flushed and tense. She muttered bitterly under her breath,Surely, my childbirth isn't the Dark Lord's highest priority.
She glanced around the room, her thoughts a maelstrom of frustration. The room was sterile and cold, a far cry from the warmth and comfort she had hoped for. Malfoy Manor had always felt oppressive to her, even during the brief visits she had made here before their betrothal. She had never truly belonged here.
But now, as she stared at the cold, uninviting chamber, the sharp pain of another contraction broke through her thoughts. She took a deep breath and shook off the pain, I refuse to do this alone.
She called out, her voice strained but steady. "Tilly!"
The small house-elf appeared almost instantly with a soft pop.
"Yes, Mistress?" Tilly asked, her large eyes wide with concern.
"Please," Narcissa said, her voice tight. "Call for my sister."
With a sharp bow, the elf disappeared. Narcissa clutched the bedpost to steady herself, waiting for the comfort of her sister's presence. Moments later, Bellatrix entered, her face lit up with a broad, knowing smile.
"Well, well," Bellatrix said, her voice full of mirth. "About time, isn't it? I'm about to be an auntie! The Dark Lord will be here shortly with a mediwitch. Until then, let's get you comfortable."
Bellatrix's hands were gentle as she helped Narcissa adjust on the bed, her sister's warmth a comfort amid the growing chaos. Bellatrix propped up pillows behind her, ensuring that she could at least sit without too much discomfort.
Narcissa let out a sigh of relief as her sister's care steadied her, but the unease never fully left her. "The Dark Lord?" Narcissa asked, panic rising in her chest. "Here? Why? I don't understand..."
"Shh, Cissy," Bellatrix said softly, her voice calm and soothing. She kissed her sister gently on the temple. "Don't upset yourself. You're doing wonderfully. He'll be here soon. Just focus on breathing. You are doing perfectly."
Narcissa closed her eyes, trying to take comfort in her sister's words. But something inside her twisted with unease.
Not long after, Lucius entered the room again, this time flanked by the Dark Lord himself, his towering figure casting an imposing shadow. The air grew colder, heavier, as Voldemort entered, his red eyes piercing through the dim light. The mediwitch followed closely behind, a reluctant puppet, her mind controlled by the Imperius Curse. Narcissa barely registered her presence as the mediwitch began to check her, running quick spells over her abdomen, muttering to herself.
Lucius and Voldemort stood in the corner, silent, watching. Narcissa couldn't bring herself to look at them; she could feel their gaze, but she kept her eyes closed, trying to focus on the feeling of her son moving inside her.
The hours seemed to stretch endlessly. But then, at last, the moment arrived. Just ten minutes before midnight, a sharp, clear cry filled the room. The baby had arrived—healthy, strong, and loud. Narcissa's heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of relief.
The mediwitch quickly cleaned the baby, wrapping him in a soft, white blanket, and handed him gently to Narcissa.
"You may have a few moments with him," the mediwitch said softly, her voice oddly kind amidst the tension. "But then I will need to check his vitals and administer any necessary potions. Congratulations, Narcissa. You have a beautiful boy." She paused, looking down at the baby in awe. "He is very magical."
Narcissa gazed down at the small face in her arms, her heart swelling as she kissed his tiny nose. The baby opened his eyes, and Narcissa found herself lost in the intense blue of his gaze. The same shade of blue as hers.
"He's perfect," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She looked up at Bellatrix, who had moved closer to her side. Bellatrix's eyes were full of pride and joy.
"Yes, he is," Bellatrix cooed softly, her voice full of tenderness. "You've done wonderfully, Cissy."
Tears pricked at the edges of Narcissa's eyes, but she smiled through them. For a moment, the world seemed perfect. The pain, the fear—all of it seemed to disappear as she held her son close.
But that peace was fleeting.
The baby was taken from her arms by the mediwitch, and Narcissa leaned back, her body heavy with exhaustion. She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax. But as the minutes dragged on, a sense of unease started to build.
The room had fallen silent.
Something wasn't right. Her heart began to race.
Where is my son?
Her eyes darted around the room, and her gaze fell on the doorway. She froze in horror. The mediwitch, the one who had just handed her the baby moments ago, was now presenting the child to the Dark Lord.
Her stomach ? Why would she give him to him?
Lucius and Voldemort spoke in low, hushed voices, too far for her to hear clearly. Panic seized her chest as she watched, her mind screaming. She couldn't move, couldn't speak.
And then, something strange happened. Bellatrix stood, her gaze softening as she looked down at the child in Voldemort's arms. She stroked his tiny cheek gently.
A small, delicate hand reached up, gripping Bella's finger.
The room seemed to pulse with a sudden surge of magic, a heavy, suffocating wave of power that Narcissa felt deep in her bones.
What did that mean?
Her voice trembled as she called out, her words full of desperation. "Bella, can I see him?"
Bellatrix turned to her, tears in her eyes, and nodded, but before she could take the baby from the Dark Lord's arms, Lucius intervened. He stepped forward, his voice cold and final.
"You did well, Narcissa. Your gift will not be forgotten."
Narcissa's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice a ragged thread.
But Lucius turned his back on her, dismissing her with an icy finality. She was left in stunned silence as the Dark Lord, with the baby in his arms, apparated away without a word.
Narcissa's heart pounded in her chest as the room spun. "No! Where is my son?!" She scrambled to her feet, but her wand was gone. Panic surged through her veins, sharp and cold.
Bellatrix was at her side in an instant, her hands gripping Narcissa's, trying to steady her, but Narcissa could feel the panic rising.
"Where is my son, Bella?" she sobbed, her voice breaking.
"I promise, Narcissa," Bellatrix whispered, her voice full of fierce determination, "I will protect him. I will protect him with my life. He will be safe."
Narcissa clung to her sister's words, but the void in her chest only grew. "Protect him… from what? From who?" she gasped. "Where is he? What is happening?"
Bellatrix kissed her sister's forehead, then turned quickly, striding out of the room, disappearing with a soft pop.
As the door slammed behind her, Narcissa was left alone in the cold, silent room. Minutes passed—then, Lucius re-entered, a bundle of blankets in his arms.
"Everything is fine, Narcissa," he said smoothly, his face a mask of indifference. "Your son is here."
But as he handed her the baby, Narcissa's world shattered.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, that's not my son. Where is my son, Lucius?"
Lucius's eyes hardened, and with a swift flick of his wand, he murmured, "Obliviate."
Narcissa's world went black.
o - o – o – o – o
Bellatrix Lestrange hummed a satisfied tune as she bounded down the long, cold hallway to see the Dark Lord, her steps light and energetic. It had been a successful evening of muggle hunting and she was feeling invigorated, as if the whole world were at her feet. The thrill of the hunt and the taste of victory had left her in high spirits.
As she reached the Dark Lord's study, she was abruptly shoved aside by Lucius Malfoy, who walked past her with a stiff, impatient air. His dismissive gesture, as though she were nothing more than a nuisance, ignited a flare of fury in her chest. But she kept her emotions in check, her lips curling into a smile as she followed him into the today, she told herself. I'll wait. I'll get my revenge, Lucius, but not now.
"My Lord," Lucius drawled, his voice dripping with false reverence.
Voldemort glanced up from his desk, his red eyes flickering momentarily toward Lucius before returning to his paperwork. "What brings you here, Lucius?" he asked, his voice as indifferent as always, as if he could scarcely care less.
Lucius's response was cold and unfeeling. "My wife is about to deliver the child."
Voldemort's quill paused mid-air, the words of the letter forgotten as he considered this. His lips curled slightly, the only indication of interest he had. "What welcome news," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. He then turned his gaze toward Bellatrix, who was standing in the doorway, her back straight and her posture perfect, despite the simmering resentment in her chest. "You should come as well, Bellatrix. I imagine your sister will need your support."
Bellatrix's heart skipped a beat, and she quickly masked her excitement with a small bow. "Thank you, my lord." Her voice was smooth, but beneath the surface, her thoughts raced. She was tasked with gathering a mediwitch and heading immediately to Malfoy Manor. A sense of purpose filled her, driving away the brief pang of anger she had felt moments ago. She couldn't allow herself to think about Lucius now. Narcissa needed her.
When Bellatrix arrived at Malfoy Manor, she was met by Lucius, the Dark Lord, and the charmed mediwitch. Together, they made their way to the birthing room. Bellatrix kept her mind focused, her emotions tightly controlled, as she entered the cold, sterile room where her sister lay. Narcissa's breathing was shallow, her face flushed with both pain and exhaustion.
The minutes passed in a blur of clinical spells and whispered instructions. Bellatrix hovered nearby, her eyes never leaving her sister as the contractions came faster. She could feel the tension mounting in the room. Finally, with a sharp cry, Narcissa's son entered the world—a beautiful, strong boy with eyes as blue as the summer sky. Bellatrix's heart skipped.
But then, before she could say a word, the Dark Lord took the child in his arms.
The world seemed to slow. Bellatrix's stomach churned with 's the father.
She watched with a mixture of awe and horror as Voldemort held the baby, cradling him as if he were a delicate treasure. Bellatrix knew well the Dark Lord's methods. She had heard whispers among the Death Eaters of how some of the women, virgins offered to him on their wedding night, had their memories wiped afterward and replaced with false memories. It was a cruel and often subtle form of domination, one she herself had never fallen victim to. She had proven herself worthy in other ways, and the Dark Lord had granted her power—and a terrifying freedom. She was untouchable.
But now, standing here, watching her sister's newborn child in the arms of Voldemort, Bellatrix felt a deep, unfamiliar sense of betrayal on Narcissa's had offered her up like some kind of possession—how could he?Narcissa was his wife, the woman he had sworn to cherish. And yet, to him, she was "spoiled goods," nothing more than a vessel for a child that wasn't his own.
Bellatrix swallowed her anger, the bitter taste of disappointment and rage sitting heavy in her chest. She turned away from the scene, her gaze falling on her sister, exhausted but least Cissy will be a good mother to him. She'll protect him.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the baby's small fist suddenly shot out and gripped her finger. Bellatrix's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, everything around her seemed to fade as a bright light filled her vision. Magic surged through her in a way she had never experienced before, an indescribable force connecting her to the child.
What is this?
The connection was immediate and profound, a bond that felt like it had always been there. Their magic intertwined, a soul-deep understanding passing between them. Bellatrix's eyes filled with tears, and she whispered to herself,A soul mate. I've found my soul mate.
She barely registered her sister calling her name. Still, Bellatrix couldn't pull herself away from the baby. The tiny soul that had just begun his journey was linked to her in ways she couldn't yet understand, but she felt the pull of it deep within changes everything,she thought, her heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness she had never known.
But her reverie was short-lived. With a soft pop, Voldemort disappeared, taking the child with him. Bellatrix's world tilted on its axis, and a surge of fury erupted within her.
She spun on Lucius, her voice low and seething. "Where has he taken the boy?"
Lucius's eyes were cold and indifferent. "The boy is his son. He can do with it as he pleases."
Her blood boiled, but Bellatrix had no time to argue. As if to rub salt in her wounds, she watched a woman she didn't recognise walk past, carrying a small blonde-haired infant and handing him to 'll oblivate her. Make her forget. She'll be nothing but another pawn in this game.
But Bellatrix had no time to waste on that. She had a greater purpose now. She apparated away, the rage still burning in her veins.
When Bellatrix reappeared in the Dark Lord's hidden quarters, the anger was already starting to dissipate, replaced by a cool, steady calm. She could feel it—the boy was here, and he was safe, for now. When the door to the Dark Lord's office opened, she was immediately handed the baby, who was bundled tightly in soft blankets.
Bellatrix's arms cradled him instinctively, and for the first time, she felt peace. She could feel the magic still humming between them, still unbroken.
"I've never particularly liked children," Voldemort's voice interrupted her thoughts, "but it is useful and necessary, I suppose, to have an heir." His tone was dismissive, but his words were pointed. "I expect you to care for him and train him. He must one day take my place, if he is powerful enough. I do not want to see or hear of the boy unless I ask. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my lord," Bellatrix answered immediately. Her heart raced with the weight of his words, but inside, her magic remained steady. She would protect him. She would make sure he was prepared for whatever lay ahead.
She left the room with the baby still cradled to her chest, her mind racing. As she apparated to Spinner's End, her thoughts turned to Severus. She needed his help now more than ever.
Bellatrix pounded on the door to Spinner's End, barely waiting for Severus to open it before barging inside.
"Bella, what a surprise," Severus scolded, though there was a glimmer of concern in his dark eyes. "Yes, please, come in." He stepped aside, but his gaze flickered to the bundle in her arms. "Wait, is that a—?"
"He is the Dark Lord's and my sister's," Bellatrix answered sharply. "Though not by choice."
Severus cringed. "I see."
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. "You knew?" The hint of annoyance in her voice was unmistakable. She had expected him to be in the know—he was always one step ahead. But this... this felt different.
"I assumed everyone knew," Severus replied, his tone dry. "Lucius is hardly subtle in his dealings."
Bellatrix nodded, letting the moment pass. But then her expression grew serious, and she met Severus's gaze.
"There's more, Severus," she said, her voice quiet but urgent. "When we touched... our magic bonded. I've only ever read about it in books, but I think... we're soul mates."
Severus's eyes widened slightly. "There hasn't been a magically bound couple in over two century," he said, clearly surprised. "It's extremely rare."
Before Bellatrix could respond, a barn owl flew through the window and landed on the table in front of her. She quickly grabbed the note from its leg, and her breath caught as she read the missive aloud.
Dear Bellatrix Black,
Due to the creation of an initial bond with your soul mate, as demanded by wizarding law, your previous marriage has hereby been annulled and all funds exchanged returned to the original vaults. Please contact your account manager if you have any questions regarding this matter.
Regards,
Scarclaw
Change of Status Department, Gringotts
Bellatrix smirked as she handed the letter to Severus. "I was right," she said with satisfaction.
Severus read it carefully, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he finished.
"Indeed," he responded.
Bellatrix leaned forward, her eyes suddenly filled with intensity. "You must help me protect him, Severus. If I lose him... I couldn't bear it. Please. You're the only one I trust, aside from the Dark Lord. Make a vow. A wizard's oath."
Severus hesitated, his dark eyes calculating the gravity of the situation. But he saw the raw desperation in her eyes and knew that this was no idle request. The wizarding world would not survive her wrath if something happened to her soulmate.
"Very well, Bella," he said, his voice steady. "I swear on my magic."
With a flick of his wand, the oath was sealed.
"I, Severus Snape, swear on my magic to protect the bonded soulmate of Bellatrix Black, to ensure no harm comes to him if it is within my power to prevent it. So mote it be."
Bellatrix's shoulders sagged with relief. For the first time since this journey began, she felt a flicker of hope.
"Thank you, Severus," she said softly. "Now, what do I do with him?"