Snape's cloak billowed through the Manor's stagnant air as he strode down marble corridors, his footsteps echoing like a steady clock's hand, counting down to disaster.

Close your mind. The mantra thrummed with every heartbeat. Don't let them know of your loyalties.

He took the stairs two at a time—fourteen, sixteen, lungs burning—before emerging into the suffocating glow of the council chamber.

The Death Eaters' table was long, flanked by familiar faces: Yaxley, the Malfoys, the Dolohovs, and even the Lestranges, with Bellatrix seated as closely at its head. Their Voldemort waited—pale as a corpse, red eyes smoldering.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, skeletal fingers beckoning. "We've saved you… a seat."

The former Potion's Master merely nodded and slid gracefully into his seat, directly on Voldemort's right.

The meeting began with a single word. "News?"

"Eleanor is exposed," Snape said, clasping his hands tightly to hide their tremor. "Away from the Weasley safe house. Her location unknown."

The silence curdled.

"And who," Voldemort breathed, "do I thank for this… oversight?"

A flick of bone-white wrist. A chair clattered near the opposite end, and a man, Dolohov, staggered to his feet. His hands clawed at the summoned rope snaking around his throat, veins bulging like worms beneath sallow skin.

"Incompetence," Voldemort spat. The rope tightened, etching a crimson scar into flesh. "You've cost me everything."

The rope dug deeper into his skin, lifting him off the ground before it suddenly fell away. Dolohov crumpled, retching. Snape schooled his face to stone. "The girl will surface. She's predictable."

"She'll come," Voldemort said softly, sheathing his wand. "I know she will."

"You are winning, My Lord," said Snape, trying to find the right words to soothe him. "The only issue is finding out when she'll strike. And … if you would allow me to be so bold, I believe the next move will be the Ministry, my lord."

A wave of dissent arose throughout the table. Death Eaters from either side scoffed at Snape's idea, banging their fists across the table in disagreement.

"—Potter may not gain anything from this, but this is outrageous—"

"—a suicide mission at best—"

"—I expected more than this from our Lord's right hand man—"

"Silence!" snapped Voldemort in his raspy voice. The room fell into immediate silence. "I'm sure Severus has a point he'd like to make."

"A point?" scoffed Yaxley. "I thought you were smart, Snape, not stupid. Potter's won't do that. That would be suicide."

Snape's lip twitched. Fools. All of them. "Where would you strike, Yaxley, if hope itself were your weapon?"

"What you're suggesting is so stupid, it's not even worth considering."

"You didn't teach Potter for six years at Hogwarts, Yaxley. I know her in ways you don't."

Yaxley fell silent and he took this as an opportunity to press forward.

"The Order of the Phoenix is scrambling," Snape explained calmly. "The Wizarding World still resists our plans, even if they don't show it. Take a look at Hogwarts: despite out best efforts, has bouts of resistance."

"Of course it must be if you are in charge, Snape," snarled Bellatrix. She leaned forward in her seat, her long black hair draped over her shoulder like a blanket. "Had it been me, those unruly Gryffindor's would have been smited by now!"

"Bellatrix, I'm not to kill any witches or wizards of magical blood," he replied. "As you know, those are not my orders."

"Severus is right," said Voldemort. "Witches and wizards of all magical blood are useful, even if they are … half. To kill them for their defiance would be a waste."

A chuckle rippled through the table. It took all of Snape's willpower not to snap at the lot of them all.

Voldemort turned to Snape once more. "Please continue, Snape. What were you saying about Potter's supposed next steps?"

"Yes, my lord," said Snape. "As I was saying, hope is keeping the resistance together. But they're losing it. For Potter, what better way for her to ignite that dying flame called "hope" by infiltrating the Ministry and pulling off a spectacular heist?"

He stood, facing the rest of the table. "We need to snuff out their hope."

"Hope!" cried Bellatrix. She leans forward in her seat, the light bouncing off her gaunt face to face Voldemort. "My Lord, I volunteer to snuff out all the hope and replace it with reverence."

The room quiets. Everyone turns their eyes, to Voldemort, anticipating his anger or approval of Snape's words.

Then, his waxy lips curving upwards into what seems to be a smile.

"You have a point, Severus," said Voldemort. "Until then … this meeting will be adjourned."

Chairs scraped through room. As Death Eaters dispersed, Snape turned to leave—

"Severus, a word."

Snape froze, turning around slowly. "Yes, my lord?"

"A word," said Voldemort, standing. "Walk with me in the gardens."

—

Snape had always found solace in walking. It was a ritual born in the shadowed lanes of Spinner's End, where each step carried him further from his father's drunken rages and closer to the willow tree by the lake. Its branches had been a constant source of comfort and solitude, a private sanctuary where he'd once lain beside a girl with fiery hair, naming clouds. Lily's laughter still haunted those memories, a ghostly counterpoint to the man he'd become.

Escapism.

Lily had long passed, but the feeling of walking hadn't. There was a world out there that was worth exploring, worth seeing, and worth dropping all responsibility for.

Sometimes it would be mountains. Other times, a wide lake. Tonight, it was the Malfoy Manor.

Snape still remembered the first time he walked through it. He had never been in such a beautiful house before. Everything was so … expensive. Even the wild daisies smelt like gold: expensive and out of reach. A reminder of a luxury he never owned.

Now the house looked dead. The gardens were no longer bright. Gone were the vibrant daisies that scattered through their field. Instead, cruel, roses grew in sharp bushes, their thorns glinting like daggers at passing admirers. They were soaked red, soaked in the blood of war, of those fallen in this hellish manor.

"How… pedestrian," Voldemort mused, plucking a bloom with skeletal fingers. "Lucius' taste decays alongside his spine."

Snape's gaze drifted to the manor's blackened windows. "Imagination was never his virtue, my lord. You know that as well as I do."

"It makes him a poor servant," the Dark Lord murmured, red eyes gleaming. "Unlike you, Severus. Tell me, how does your kingdom of wayward children fare?"

He swallowed.

"Just as you wished it to be," Snape lied, eyes hovering over the rose bushes apprehensively. Voldemort did not notice. "Ever since the Carrows have arrived, managing the school has been smooth sailing, even with the rebel students. Hogwarts … bends to your will."

Smooth sailing.

It could not be farther from the truth. Snape had tried to keep the students as safe as possible. But the Carrows' presence had turned the castle into a powder keg tied to short fuses. Their cruel methods were sure to ignite resistance. Cursed graffiti on the Slytherin dungeon walls, blatant coincidences, no doubt all planned by Neville Longbottom's and the rest of Dumbledore's Army.

And through it all, there was her.

Her.

His Occlumency walls fell and he found himself drifting into a memory.

It was a quiet night then. Voldemort had come, roaming around the hall talking of secret plans until—

A quiet sob rang through the corridors, a few doors down.

"Who was that," Voldemort had asked, annoyed.

"I don't know, my lord," Snape had answered. "But that is near the Carrows' office."

"They are not yet finished with their detentions?"

"I ordered the Carrows to be finished their detentions by 8 PM today," said Snape. "And all children should be in their common rooms by 11. No child should be out tonight at this hour."

"Clearly someone has disobeyed your orders," Voldemort said coldly. "I want to figure out who is so bold as to defy rules set in place by the headmaster I appointed."

They approached the corridor, the figure of a young woman coming into view. She was dressed in a long black cloak which billowed behind her as she paced back and forth in front of the door. Waiting. Anticipating.

Both quickly hid behind a nearby pillar, unnoticed.

After a few more minutes, the door finally swung open, the silhouette of a man and boy visible in the light. The man pushed the boy forward. "Here," his rough voice rang through the hall. "The mutt."

The woman stood square, angry. "Amycus Carrow!" she began, glowering at him at him, gently pulling the boy to her side. "Punishing a child with an Unforgivable. Have you no shame at all?"

"I have no shame for spawn like him," Amycus spat. "He's a half-blood!"

"So what?!" she said indignantly.

"He has devil's blood," sneered Amycus, staring down at the weeping boy. "Look at him, the son of a muggle father and witch mother! He should be ashamed, rightfully so!"

"And I? Mr. Carrow, you must be sure not to insult any other, my father included."

Voldemort's eyes widened.

"You are nothing, and so is he! Had it not been for the Dark Lord's order to have him instated here, my sister and I would have long thrown that dog out," Amycus snapped. "You included. If it wasn't for your father's protection, I would've long thrown you out of here. Now, get out of my sight!"

And with that, the Carrow had slammed the door on her face.

Snape watched as his daughter clenched her hands, fuming. He could practically see the gears spinning in her head, filled with all the things she wanted to scream. But she wouldn't. She was far too composed for that.

"Miss Esmeray," the boy cried, sobbing into her skirt. "Why? Why do they hate me so much? What did I do wrong?"

He saw her kneel down, gently wiping away the boy's tears with her handkerchief. "You did nothing wrong."

"They called me a mutt," he sobbed. "A mutt. An accident, an abomination."

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you," she had whispered, kissing the top of his head comfortingly. "You are perfect the way you are, alright?"

Snape felt Voldemort stiffen ever so slightly.

"You are kind, you are smart, capable, and important," Esmeray continued, oblivious to the two. She gently pulled him close into a hug. "Never forget that."

The boys cries had been reduced to quiet sniffles as he relaxed into her embrace. "Do you mean that, Miss Esmeray?"

"With everything that I am," she replied gently. "Now don't cry. It's too nice a night for tears."

The boy nodded.

"Shall I play you something nice?" she asked gently. "Or do you want me to sing to you? Or … what can I do to make you just a bit feel better?"

The boy sniffled. "Can you play the … the Noss…"

"Les Gnossiennes?"

Snape watched as Voldemort stiffened.

"Just the first one," the boy answered quietly.

"Alright then," Esmeray said, rising to her feet.

"But won't that be in the Great Hall?"

"I promise you, no one will hear."

"Yes, Miss Esmeray."

She turned, gently guiding the boy along. "You mustn't tell anyone. Or else they'll all want to ask me to play during class time."

The boy reluctantly followed alongside her, making a zipping motion along his mouth. "My lips are sealed."

Snape watched as the two disappeared. Voldemort did too, his hands turning white as they clutched the column. It was as if he was resisting the urge to go after the two.

He felt his master's obsession burn that night.

And it scared him. It always did.

"If you insist," said Voldemort, drawing him back to reality. His hands were still dancing over the rose bushes. "And the girl?"

Snape blinked back to reality, erecting his walls once more. Close your mind.

"She's fine," he answered flatly. "As she always is."

Voldemort smiled, a feral obsession flitting over his face. "Your daughter knows how to manage herself independently, I take it."

"She has always been capable of managing her needs."

Voldemort turned, pausing in his footsteps. "You're quite vague with your answers today, Severus. Is it a crime for me to be so concerned about your family?"

"You're not impartial about it, my lord."

"I defer the same treatments to the Malfoy family if that is your concern."

"You've only ever seen her in person. Once," emphasized Snape. "Very much unlike Draco. And it is because you inquire of her so often that the court whispers."

Voldemort turned, donning a cocky smile. "Whispers, Severus? Do you mean to shield her from my inner circle forever?"

"I would have not minded if her name 'Esmeray' was not associated with the word 'vixen', my lord."

"I'm aware of jealousy's fallacies," he answered coldly. "Though you forget that I also defer the same amount of care in respect to the servant in question. You are not on the same level and Lucius. And you should not compare your daughter to Draco either."

"My lord, forgive me for being impertinent, but it is truly because my status is higher than Lucius'? Or it is because she is a woman and not a man?"

The Dark Lord turned back to the rose bushes. "She's just a flower that has yet to make its debut."

I doubt it.

"When is it planned?" asked Voldemort.

"What do you mean?"

"Her debut. She'll always have a place here, Severus."

Not this. Not this again.

"I don't know," Snape answered honestly. "She's expressed her wish to continue teaching as a Potion's Assistant and eventually take over my old post after Slughorn. And … that is a choice I will let her decide, my lord. She is only eighteen after all—"

"A perfect time to join us, don't you think?" interrupted Voldemort. "You were fresh out of Hogwarts when you joined me. Lucius was too."

"Yes, but—"

"Not to mention, Bellatrix is getting old," interrupted Voldemort. "The flowers are wilting, Severus. It's time we pruned our garden and replace the dying with the new."

Snape blinked, his stony face concealing the storm beneath.

"Think about the glorious future we will pave, Severus," continued Voldemort. "Me, victorious over the Wizarding World, with you as my right hand man and your daughter by my side with you. What greater power could she desire? Or perhaps … she shares the same sentiments as the Potter girl?"

Snape stiffened. "No. Of course not, my lord."

They share more than that.

Voldemort breathed, satisfied with the answer. Snape watched as his fingers slowly traced a path over the scarlet blooms, pausing on white rose. "Unique. A stand out indeed." With a swift motion, he cut the flower clean off its stem, pulling it out to admire its petals in the moonlight.

"A flower, very much like her," mused Voldemort. "Beautiful. Desired. But not easily acquired."

He turned, gesturing for Snape to take it, thorns and all. "I am counting on you, Severus. To make her see reason. For she is a blank canvas and I hope to teach her well as I have to you."

"Of course, my lord."

Snape bowed stiffly, suppressing the shudder that threatened to pass through. His hands gripped the stem, its thorns drawing blood.

Voldemort's intentions. Towards her.

Whatever happened, he would do everything in his power to prevent Esmeray from joining. He had made that mistake once.

His daughter shall not suffer, he swore to it.