original fanfiction by Kira Wollef

"Miss Mörk, how do I owe you?"

"Master Karanar, I was hoping for a potion check. My uncle is occupied with something important, as usual." Triss sighed heavily, tugging at her cloak and settling into the chair offered by the goblin. "I suspect my classmates gave me a parting gift of sorts."

"Just a moment, my lady."

The goblin chattered something into an intercom, and while they waited for the assistant to arrive with the equipment, Karanar offered the girl tea and some small sandwiches. Triss was just finishing her cup when a young goblin burst into the office, carrying a chest. He immediately received a sharp reprimand about knocking before entering when clients were present. A mumbled apology later, the green-skinned fellow scurried away, looking distinctly flustered.

"Master, is something wrong?"

"Oh, don't mind it. It's Quidditch Championship season in England – wizards are going absolutely mad with betting pools! Now, you know what to do."

Nodding, Triss took the ritual dagger from the goblin's clawed hand and made a cautious incision on her palm, turning it over a goblet. As soon as it filled halfway, Mörk healed the cut and settled back – leaving the rest to the goblin's expertise. The blood was mixed with several potions and carefully poured onto parchment.

For two minutes, Karanar and Triss sat in silence, sipping their tea and waiting for the results. A barely perceptible flash indicated that everything was finally ready.

Taking the parchment, Mörk scanned the familiar information as usual, then froze, her gaze snagging on a single line.

"M-Master?"

"What is it, my lady?"

"How am I supposed to interpret this?"

The parchment landed on the table before the goblin, and a slender finger pointed to the line in question. Karanar's eyes widened in surprise, and he started to speak, then abruptly clamped his mouth shut with a distinct click of teeth.

"Marital Status: Engaged, Fiancé – Harold James Potter.

Ritual: Bonds of Magic."

The goblin and the witch stared at each other for a full five minutes before Karanar suddenly burst into laughter. And then again, and again, until he was overcome with helpless hysterics. He'd been a solicitor for the Mörk clan for quite some time, but he'd never encountered anything like it.

Watching the goblin dissolve into mirth, Triss felt her temper steadily rise; she fought to restrain herself from unleashing some intricate curse upon the lawyer.

Finally, Karanar managed to regain control, dabbing at the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. After a meticulous re-examination of the document, ensuring he hadn't missed any further "surprises," the goblin set the parchment aside and clasped his fingers together.

"I have two possibilities for you, my lady."

"Surprise me."

"Either the ritual was deliberately performed in such a way that no trace of it would emerge until your fiancé came of age, or someone went to considerable lengths to ensure this information remained buried."

"Do you know something about… Potter?"

"Oh, really? Harry Potter? I thought everyone knew!"

"Master Karanar, I have little interest in such matters. Can you compile a full dossier on him? Where does he even live?"

"In England, my lady Mörk. Your fiancé is a well-known figure."

"Just what I needed… Is it impossible to break off the engagement?"

The goblin shook his head with regret. Triss paused for a moment in thought before confirming her request that Karanar gather the dossier on her intended, and then picked up the parchment and headed home.

"Mom!"

The cry echoed through Mörk Hall. The house elf materialized with a pop, her head twitching nervously. The girl blinked in surprise to find the hem of her pristine white robe singed.

"Nutty will take you to Mistress."

Triss nodded, feeling a little guilty — the elf had clearly been caught in the crossfire of one of her spells — and grasped the offered hand.

Primrose Mörk was calmly tending to her greenhouse, where she cultivated exceptionally rare plants, both magical and mundane.

"Are you alright, Nutty? Did you get hurt?"

"Perfectly fine, Mistress."

"You're dismissed," Primrose said with a gentle smile, and the elf bowed before vanishing. "Bellatrix Mirk, you gave me such a fright! Why on earth did you scream like that?"

"I was terrified today too, mom! Can you possibly explain this to me?"

Triss slid the ledger across the table to her mother. The woman stared at it blankly, then unrolled the parchment and began to read. At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary—just a couple of obscure potions that were practically extinct anyway. Knowing Triss wouldn't bring something like this up without good reason, Primrose scanned the document again.

"Oh dear…"

"'Oh dear'? Seriously, mom? And when were you planning on telling me?"

"This is…a difficult conversation, darling. Sit down."

Noticing her mother had gone pale, Triss didn't argue and settled into a chair near the table. Lady Merick summoned the house elves, instructing them to prepare tea before taking a seat opposite her daughter, her eyes fixed on the ledger. The girl noticed tears shimmering in her mother's gaze.

"Mom?"

"Oh, Triss… It's so complicated!"

"I was going to find out eventually, you know."

"You weren't, because I'm not even sure how this happened. But listen…"

Primrose Kaye was a Gryffindor student at Hogwarts. Raised in a pureblood family, she felt somewhat apart from her housemates, gravitating more towards Slytherins or Ravenclaws. Still, she did have one friend among the red and gold – Lily Evans.

Lily wasn't bothered by the dismissive glances Primrose often received, except when it came time to borrow notes. She found Primrose fascinating, enjoying their conversations about Herbology and the shared amusement over the boys in their year. Honestly, Lily couldn't quite fathom why they'd placed Rose on Gryffindor at all. With her fiery dark hair, golden skin, and striking blue eyes, she seemed more like a Slytherin — and even more so when it came to her intellect and outlook on life. But the more they talked, the more Evans realized the Sorting Hat had been absolutely correct. Sometimes, looking around at their classmates and then at Rose, Lily would think that the dark-haired girl embodied the spirit of Gryffindor far better than any of them combined. Primrose wouldn't tolerate injustice; she'd throw herself into a fray to defend her friends, but always with a level head. She endured taunts and petty slights with quiet composure. And if she caught someone plotting mischief? There was no holding back – the pranksters would find themselves on the receiving end of a swift and subtle retribution. Compared to Primrose, the other Gryffindors seemed more like jackals than lions…

They were in their sixth year when Rose woke abruptly one night, hearing a soft whimper coming from Lily's bed. Quickly casting a silencing charm over the canopy, she sat beside her friend and gently shook her shoulder.

"Rose? What…?"

"You were crying in your sleep. — She didn't mention that Lily had nearly woken everyone up. — Just a nightmare?"

"I… I don't know. I really don't, Rose."

With a wavering voice, her friend recounted the dream:

A little boy with hair as black as night sat in his crib, quietly weeping as he looked at his mother's body. Lily watched the scene as if from afar, horror creeping over her as she realized a woman lay on the floor — her, but older by several years. And that meant… her son was in the crib? The girl couldn't bring herself to move, not wanting to face the wreckage of the room, but then something pulled at her, like a wisp of fog drawing her away.

The next scene unfolded in a house she'd never seen before. There lay the same boy, shrouded in darkness, his sobs barely audible as he drew a crooked cake on the dusty floor — six candles adorning it.

"Happy birthday, Harry," the child whispered, blowing out the flickering flames before dissolving into fresh tears.

"Don't you think you're getting worked up over nothing?"

"Rose, but what if it is my child? What if I glimpsed a piece of the future? He looks so much like Jamie…"

"And why would you die just because you might end up marrying Potter?" Rose wrinkled her nose slightly at the name. "You're talking like there's a war on its way."

"So, what this madman is doing is just…a game?"

"I've told you a thousand times not to believe the rumors and The Prophet! Riddle's a politician, not some maniacal killer! And his Order isn't either!"

"But your family hasn't joined them. Why are you defending him?"

"And why should I trash-talk people who are trying to protect wizards? Let's drop it! Lily, if you're so worried about your child's fate, just don't go stirring things up."

"Easy for you to say…" The air seemed to rush out of Evans. "James says he wants to join Dumbledore."

"And you'll be a complete fool if you let that happen."

The unspoken words — if you marry him — hung in the air. Kaye didn't care for Potter, but Lily was undeniably smitten, even though she tried to play it cool.

Sighing, Primrose studied her friend intently. They'd had this conversation countless times about the "war" that existed only on newspaper pages. But clearly, it was bothering Lily far more than she let on.

"Alright, Evans. If you suddenly sprout a third eye like Trelawney, I promise I won't abandon your son if I ever get a chance to help him out."

"Yeah, let's go ahead and arrange marriages for kids who aren't even in the picture yet."

"But what if I have a boy?"

"No-no…" Lily gave her friend a skeptical look. "You need one just as mischievous as you are — someone to stir up trouble all over Hogwarts!"

"So be it, Evans! If I have a daughter, I'll take your son on as my son-in-law, alright."

They teased each other for another few minutes until Lily finally started to nod off. After half an hour of rambling about everything and nothing, the red Gryffindor began to doze. Rose helped her lie down, tucked her in with a blanket, and sat on the edge of the bed to wait for her friend to fall asleep. Lily was lying on her back, so she barely heard Rose's voice.

"Rose?"

"What is it?"

"You really mean it about marrying off our kids?"

"I do."

"Good. It…it makes me feel a little better."

"Just go to sleep, future relative."

A quiet snort was her only reply, and within a couple of minutes, Evans was snoring softly. After sitting for a bit longer just to be sure, Rose returned to her own bed, remembering to dispel the charms.

Neither girl would ever know that as soon as the first rays of dawn touched the room, delicate rings shimmered into existence on their necks, solidifying the intentions of the future mothers.

"So, you're saying you didn't perform any rituals?"

Rose threw up her hands, looking at her daughter with a frustrated expression. "Of course not! How could anyone have known things would turn out like this?"

"What happened then?"

"We finished our schooling, passed the exams. Lily and I kept in touch occasionally after that, but James got himself tangled up in Dumbledore's Order of the Fried Chicken — and the Potters found themselves on the front lines. My father, watching what was happening for a couple of years, started preparing to leave, but he dragged his feet too long. We were exiting Gringotts, ready to move, when we were attacked. My mother died instantly; she threw herself in front of me to protect me. Father put up some resistance for a while, but he'd never been a fighter like my mother or myself.

Primrose sighed heavily, her gaze drifting towards the window. She didn't want to recount this piece of her life story, but Triss was old enough now to understand that life wasn't always filled with bright colors.

And considering magic had somehow solidified their playful promise with Lily and her daughter would be heading to England, it was better she told her and prepared her than have Triss suffer later on.

"I'd already resigned myself to dying when spells started flying at the backs of our attackers. I don't know how they distinguished between us — their 'look' was practically identical: black robes, white masks. But these others drove off the first group and saved me. One of them helped me carry my parents' bodies back to the estate, and I asked him to stay with me. I was so terrified, I was shaking uncontrollably. He must have been twice my age, if not more. He joked around, trying to distract me from what had happened. But when he realized after a couple of hours that talking wasn't helping, he practically forced a glass of firewhisky down my throat. Apparently, he thought a young girl would fall asleep once the alcohol hit her system and he could slip away quietly. Instead, I just lost it — I cried over his shoulder, then remembered every grievance I'd ever had in my life. Basically, within a couple of hours, I'd literally raped him and finally fell asleep. In the morning, he was gone. And frankly, I would have been too ashamed to look him in the eye anyway. So, I sealed off the estate, only using the fireplace to access the bank and returning immediately afterward. As soon as my parents were buried, I used a Portkey to Romania — one Father had ordered for our relocation. About a year later, when you were born, I met Alv. And he proposed to me."

She'd never even suspected her father wasn't her biological one until she stumbled upon an old scroll in the attic during a trip to the past — a record of Lord Mörk's medical examinations. He had been completely sterile from birth, the result of his mother being struck by a wild curse while pregnant.

Lady Mörk had braced herself for a tantrum when explaining the situation, but her daughter's reaction was surprisingly calm – almost unnervingly so for a seven-year-old. She'd simply hugged Alvarius, who nearly broke down at the gesture. Triss never pressed about her real father, but before attending Durmstrang, her parents took her to a bank where they had to undergo blood verification. It was then she saw another surname listed alongside her own in her file, and a few years later, she managed to track down the man who'd been presented as her uncle — but an uncle of magic, not blood. Naturally, this second family line was kept secret. Outside Mörk Hall, she never so much as hinted at who her magical uncle was.

Shaking her head, Triss surfaced from the memory and sighed. Regardless, those were things of the past. What mattered now was figuring out what was happening.

"And what about the Potters?"

"After my parents' death, I severed all ties with England and… well, I didn't keep up. Didn't want to know. And then it just… faded away."

Triss paused, replaying her mother's story in her mind. It seemed as though Magic itself had somehow solidified that half-joking promise. There was no other explanation.

"You were incredibly lucky, darling. First, I was protected, and then there was you. Forgive me for the words of the past, but…"

"Mum, how could you have possibly known Magic would react like that? Honestly, I don't even mind."

"Really?"

"Yep." The girl nodded, her gaze drifting to the bookshelves. "But now I need to transfer to Hogwarts."

"Why?"

"You know how they teach things there, mom, right? Besides, I'd like to at least get a sense of who I'll be spending my whole life with."

She decided not to mention how uncomfortable she felt at Durmstrang. Last year had been enough — the near expulsion. Karkaroff, that pompous fool, had taken a dislike to her and covered for anyone trying to make fun of Mörk. And when she'd snapped and sent three tormentors to the healers with irreversible curses, he'd threatened to expel her. The information reached her parents, but Primrose had given the headmaster such a blistering lecture that Karkaroff backed down, and Triss was moved up to fifth year.

So, in a way, she was glad to be leaving the unwelcoming school. She'd just need to write to her few friends; otherwise, they'd probably assume she'd vanished without a trace.

The next morning, Triss was sipping her coffee and reading the newspaper, occasionally muttering to herself. She'd been enjoying the quiet moment when a flash of green fire suddenly erupted in the hearth.

"Uncle?"

"Hello, Triss. Is your father around?"

"He is, actually. In his workshop. He gave you quite the earful this morning as he rushed past me."

"Because I need orders placed well in advance, not a panicked owl delivery at three in the morning screaming "I needed it yesterday!" — He sighed, settling into his usual chair. — You wouldn't believe how tired I already am! And nothing's even really started yet.

"Coffee first, or straight to the firewhisky?"

The man glared playfully at his niece, who was wearing her most innocent expression. He realized with a touch of resignation that those looks just didn't work on her anymore. Oh, the years. When she was nine, she used to hide behind the maids whenever he was annoyed.

"Coffee and…"

"Lots of sugar and just a splash of cream, I remember. Audrey, please."

Nothing suggested the presence of house elves, but moments later, a freshly brewed cup and a tiny milk jug materialized before him.

Watching her uncle stir his drink with such intense focus, the young woman couldn't help but smile faintly. Mornings were when this particular member of Homo Magicus was at his most dangerous — until the caffeine kicked in.

"You!" The dining room door burst open and a man with wildly disheveled hair stood frozen in the doorway. "I've been waiting for you!"

"Good morning to you too, Alv."

"Did you bring it?"

"Dad, you need to eat something first."

"I don't have time, Triss!"

"Alv, she's right. Sit down, have breakfast, and then we'll head to the workshop together."

"Those fiends!"

With a dramatic flourish of exasperation, he finally relented and took a seat. The Mörk-hall housekeepers knew their business; food appeared almost instantly.

After paying his respects to the classic Norwegian breakfast – today's version featuring smoked salmon omelet and a cheese board – Alv leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee.

"Uncle, when you're done, I'd like to talk to you."

"We won't be long today, sweetheart!"

"Don't give me that 'not long,' Dad," Triss smiled, looking at her father. "Please try to make it for lunch."

He nodded, instantly softening his expression and giving puppy-dog eyes as soon as he looked over at the man seated across from him. The other man chuckled, rising from his chair; he knew exactly how much of a scientific itch was consuming Mörk. Triss watched them both go, not wanting to hold them back or interrupt. Her family always filled her with such admiration, and she wasn't shy about saying so. In fact, she often told her parents and uncle about it. Alvarius Mörk was a gifted artificer and ritualist, passionate about his work and successfully blending profession with hobby. Primrose had once studied to be a healer but long ago abandoned that path to dedicate herself to her daughter, who arrived rather unexpectedly. Her uncle, in particular, was just… fascinating, sometimes even enigmatic.

More than four hours later, the two men finally emerged from the workshop. Lord Mörk was practically buzzing with excitement and clearly delighted, while her uncle looked distinctly gloomy.

Triss and Primrose were already waiting for them at the table when the men, having tidied themselves up, entered the dining room.

"Uncle, is everything alright?"

"Your father will either drive me to murder or give me grey hair, you mark my words!"

"Don't exaggerate, old man!"

He huffed, burying himself in his plate, intending to ignore Alvarius for the rest of the meal and a few days after that, just to be safe. That made it easy for Triss to capture his attention once dinner was over, and with a gentle tug on his arm, she steered him out onto the terrace.

Settling into his favorite armchair, he stretched his long legs with a sigh and closed his eyes. The house elves at Mörk Hall cooked like absolute angels, and all he wanted now was to sleep.

But his niece's unusually quiet demeanor—she'd taken a seat beside him—set off alarm bells in his head.

"Confess, my dear!"

"I'm not your dear! I'm mommy's!"

"Alright, alright, Triss, enough with the games. Just tell me."

"Uncle, what do you know about Harry Potter?"

"Why are you asking about him?"

The girl silently handed him a scroll bearing a goblin seal. He frowned in confusion, unrolling the document and scanning the lines. A couple of minutes of deafening silence stretched out before being shattered by a sharp intake of breath. Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Audrey!" The sound was a snap, announcing the arrival of the house-elf. "Firewhisky. Double."

The requested drink materialized on the table. He downed it in one gulp, then remained silent for another couple of minutes, breathing deeply and regaining control. Though every fiber of his being screamed to unleash a torrent of colorful curses.

Triss watched silently, sensing a massive setup brewing. Her uncle had never looked like this before. Waves of anger radiated from him; she could see the immense effort it took to hold it back.

After finishing his breathing exercises and finally opening his eyes, he turned to his niece and sighed again. "You do know what they call me, don't you?"

"Severus Prince, Lord Prince."

"Not quite. In England, I'm known as Severus Snape. I work at Hogwarts and teach your fiancé."

"So… what is it? What got to you so badly?"

"The thing about Potter — that scar-faced idiot who can't do anything right—it's going to be a long and unpleasant story, dear. That's why I haven't said much about myself. Here, within our family circle, I'm simply Severus Prince."

"If you don't want to, you don't have to tell me," Triss replied, watching her uncle intently. "You're still just Uncle Severus to us."

"If I don't share it with you, you'll be in for a shock when we get to Hogwarts. And you'll likely stir up quite the mess. We've got a couple of hours before dinner, so there's plenty of time."

The girl saw how strained he looked, and simply nodded, not wanting to push him further. Though she was terrified.

"Your mother and I were in school together — we both knew Lily Evans. But I barely spoke with Primrose; just with Lily. And even that faded out after fifth year… we drifted apart."

A very young Severus spotted a girl in the park — a little ray of sunshine. Oblivious to the tall blonde standing nearby, she was completely absorbed in conjuring soap bubbles that danced around them.

Later, Severus learned the blonde's name was Petunia, and the red-haired girl was Lily; both bore the Evans surname. A friendship blossomed naturally between them, and the trio would often huddle in corners, excitedly discussing magic. Petunia, unlike her magical sister, was a Squib — she could occasionally manage weak little tricks, nothing more. Yet she delighted in Lily's abilities all the same. So they were quite taken aback when they found the elder Evans girl sobbing amongst the hydrangea bushes one day. It happened mid-August, just as their letters of acceptance to Hogwarts had arrived.

Overcome with hurt and tears, she tried at first to explain what was wrong, then simply thrust a yellowish parchment into the hands of sisters.

Severus and Lily exchanged stunned glances after reading the letter. It turned out Petunia had written directly to Dumbledore requesting he accept her into Hogwarts, so she could keep an eye on her sister. But the response from the great, kind – as Lily put it – wizard was far from polite:

"Miss Evans, unlike your sister, you are nothing more than a Squib. My school already has one caretaker who is a Squib; I have no need for a second. Do not presume to write to me again!

A.P.W.B. Dumbledore."

It was a struggle, but they finally managed to calm Petunia down. Lily vowed with heartfelt sincerity that she would avenge "the old fool" for such an insult to her sister.

"How could he? Yes, she's not a powerful witch, but how dare he write something like that? Don't wizards have any manners?"

"They do… — Severus grimaced. — But apparently, this one just disregards them. Pet, don't fret. I'll brew a potion to make Dumbledore lose his hair!"

Petunia, having cried enough, gave a sad smile and shook her head. She couldn't quite bring herself to want Lily to go to that peculiar school, but how could you hold back a younger sibling from another adventure? In September, Severus and Lily boarded the scarlet train, and a rift began to form. He was sorted into Slytherin, she — into Gryffindor.

Lily brushed off the comments about Slytherins only producing dark wizards until her third year. But human nature is such that if you repeat something enough times – that black is white – eventually, people start to believe it…

Severus had fought to hold onto their friendship for as long as he could, despite the Marauders' constant efforts to drive a wedge between them. Clashes with the four of them had taught the already intelligent boy how to be resourceful, cunning, and ruthless. Potions, spells, and petty provocations were all fair game, but one against four usually meant Severus ended up in the Hospital Wing or on detention duty. The only thing that warmed the young Slytherin's heart was knowing that a few of the Marauders would always serve their time alongside him — most often James Potter, who was undoubtedly the ringleader.

Midway through his fifth year came something Severus still recalled in nightmares. He wasn't entirely convinced he was blameless, but neither did he consider himself wholly at fault.

He could have connected Sirius Black's smirks and the overly loud talk about something interesting happening that night at the Shrieking Shack. Naturally curious, Severus had foolishly stuck his nose in, and nearly lost his life to the fangs of a crazed werewolf. At the last moment, Potter transformed into a stag and shielded him. Severus would never admit it to anyone — not even himself — but for almost three years after graduating, he'd seen a therapist, just to stop jumping at the sight of dogs larger than a dachshund.

He still had Mrs. Bloombury's contact information – she was a rare find in the wizarding world, a psychologist. It was safe to confide in the elderly Squib; he could tell her anything without fearing she'd have her mind wiped clean with Obliviate.

They'd had their final falling out at the end of fifth year. Lily had been drifting away from him for two years already. She accused him of prejudice against Muggle-borns and Muggles, though he'd never uttered a word to that effect. What truly frightened her was his fascination with the Dark Arts. It all culminated in a terrible argument when, caught up in the moment, Severus had called Lily a blood traitor. In sixth year, Evans began conspicuously showering Potter with attention, fully aware of how much it irritated Snape – that quintessential wizarding dandy. Talking to Lily proved impossible; she started demanding absurd promises, like him abandoning the Dark Arts and joining them in the fight against Voldemort. Snape, who considered Riddle's politics perfectly reasonable, tried to reason with her, but Evans seemed deaf and blind. After another heated exchange, Primrose approached him quietly and advised him not to even try talking to Lily about it. Looking into Kaye's sad eyes, Severus simply nodded, understanding everything she was trying to convey without a word.

"After finishing my seventh year, I joined the Valpurian Knights and received their mark. A couple of years later, I made the biggest mistake of my life — I passed on a prophecy to Riddle, effectively sealing the fate of a friend and her family."

He sighed – revisiting his past failings wasn't something Severus enjoyed – but he eventually recounted the story of 'The Hog's Head,' Trelawney, and Dumbledore's furious rejection when he was denied the post of Potions Master, even with proof of his Mastery.

Triss remained silent for a moment, mulling over her uncle's words. Something felt off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Then it struck her.

"You're saying Dumbledore conducted the interview in a pub?"

"He did," Severus confirmed. "He mentioned it afterward."

"Didn't you find it odd he was doing it outside his office?" Triss smirked, watching her uncle's eyes widen. "That's exactly what struck me. Even if we grant him a sudden urge for a drink while interviewing a professor, why that pub? Why didn't he bother with anti-listening charms? Sensitive information was being discussed! And the door was practically flung open, and the landlord was acting… well, you described it yourself."

"You're essentially accusing Dumbledore of…" He trailed off, unable to quite grasp what she was suggesting. "Of what, exactly?"

"At the very least, sheer foolishness. At most — a massive deception."

"Trissey, you're only fourteen!"

"And that somehow negates my ability to think?"

"Your classmates can barely remember the ingredients for Pepperup Potion."

"Uncle, I think you're working yourself too hard at school!"

They glared at each other, a simmering tension between them. But Severus, surprisingly, blinked first.

Triss had been making sense all along — pointing out things the adults in the magical world simply hadn't grasped. But you can't undo what's done, and so Snape continued his recounting of his 'descent into darkness.'

What emerged from his story was that Voldemort hadn't taken the prophecy seriously at all; he'd just laughed when he heard it. When Dumbledore started 'hiding' the Potters — Voldemort had laughed again. Hiding them in a way everyone knew exactly where they were and who the Secret-Keeper was… A blatant provocation that Voldemort ignored, choosing to focus on politics rather than outright war. The Order of the Phoenix occasionally engaged in skirmishes, but always defending Muggles, never targeting them. Yet, somehow, by late October, they found themselves at Godric's Hollow. Pettigrew had led him there — Snape had seen them emerge from the Shrieking Shack together. Acting on a strange instinct, he apparated after them sometime later, only to find a bleak, ruined house. With horror, he looked down at James' body, who hadn't even been armed. A child's crying echoed from upstairs, and Snape, his legs trembling, climbed the staircase."

A baby lay in the crib, his forehead slick with blood. Severus fought the urge to rush to the child's side, instead crouching before Lily to check her pulse — a desperate hope flickering within him that she had merely been stunned. He had pleaded with the Dark Lord, even knowing he wouldn't take the prophecy seriously, not to harm the Potters. But Lily was gone. With a shuddering breath, he rose and moved toward the crib when the sharp crackle of an Apparition echoed through the room. Hearing the voices of Black, Moody, and Dumbledore, Snape simply vanished, fully aware that he'd be apprehended on the spot if they found him. He was fortunate that Sirius Black's anguished wail drowned out the faint pop of his own apparation from upstairs.

The first of November brought headlines unlike any seen before. How could it not! The Dark Lord vanquished by a one-year-old infant — a sight to behold! Mourning for the Potters was widespread, but the joy at the fall of magical England's greatest terror overshadowed the grief.

Severus was summoned for a meeting by Malfoy, who had vouched for him when he joined the Order. In the Great Hall, beneath the glow of the menorah, gathered those known as the Knights of Walpurgis and their families. Snape watched Bella Lestrange with a melancholy smile; she wept on Narcissa's shoulder. The raven-haired enchantress practically worshipped Riddle and yearned to pledge her allegiance to him, but the Dark Lord steadfastly refused to accept women, believing they shouldn't concern themselves with politics or, let alone, battles. The death of their leader had forced the Knights to contemplate their future. The Mark on their arms, though still present, offered little comfort; the magical sigil was faded and dimmed, extinguishing any hope of a miracle. They resolved to continue as they always had, striving to carry on Riddle's legacy.

A year passed – a full year of quietude! – before the arrests began. Anyone bearing the Mark or suspected of ties to what the Order had twisted into the name "Death Eaters" was apprehended.

Many were sent to Azkaban, including all the Lestranges – even Bellatrix, who had completely lost her mind. Six months before her imprisonment, she'd suffered the loss of a child due to the tortures inflicted upon her by members of the Order of the Phoenix; that trauma was what pushed her over the edge. Bella and her brothers were charged with driving Frank and Alice Longbottom mad – the very people whose actions had led to Bellatrix's devastating loss.

"I ended up in Azkaban too, but I was pulled out by the old Headmaster."

"Why?"

"Voldemort decided to play on a prophecy and made me a double agent. I rushed to Dumbledore, practically begging him to protect the Potters. He bound me with an Unbreakable Vow, swearing that I would spy for him – ostensibly to safeguard Lily. For some reason, he was convinced I was in love with Evans, which was never true. He still believes it, and he's been using me relentlessly ever since."

"Then why don't you disabuse him of that notion?"

"We suspect Voldemort isn't truly gone." Severus tugged up the sleeve of his pristine white shirt, revealing the Dark Mark on his forearm. "It's been shifting colors lately, pulsing with power. Something's going to happen, and we need to be ready."

Triss stared thoughtfully at the drawing. She had so much to consider, including the unsettling fact that Severus wasn't averse to reconnecting with the person who supposedly killed his friend.

"So, how exactly did you become my uncle? Care to explain?"

"There's not much to tell, really. Your father and I performed a magical blood bond ritual. He was so impressed when I saved him from poisoning – he practically wouldn't leave me alone for a week, insisting I accept the offer. And I haven't regretted it once."

Severus smiled gently at his niece. He genuinely *was* glad he'd given in to his older friend's persuasion all those years ago. The Merrow family had become a sanctuary for him, a lifeline in a life riddled with regret.

"I still don't understand, though… why did Riddle go to the Potters at all? Surely not just to kill them?"

"Nobody knows, Triss. We've wracked our brains trying to figure it out."

"And what happened to the boy after that?"

"Albus assured us that Voldemort's vanquisher was growing up safe and sound, tucked away under Merlin's protection. But three years ago, I saw a ghost of myself standing before me – gaunt, in threadbare clothes, with taped-up glasses… I went to see him, just out of curiosity, one summer. And I was horrified. He lives with his aunt, Petunia, and her family. The boy is practically treated like a house elf!"

"And you helped him? Did you report it to the Council?"

Severus froze, his mouth agape. Then, with a cry, he clutched at his head. Triss rushed to his side as her uncle began to convulse violently.

J.M.: Hi! Looking for a proofreader for this translation. Just need someone to check for accuracy, as it's a translation