ACT THREE, chapter thirty—eight :
father, don't blame us for trying to live
for trying to love, for wanting more
father, don't blame us for trying to bleed
like real human beings and nothing more
ϟ
july to august, 1995 — fifth year.
[trigger warnings — depictions of self—harm]
The Dark Mark hurt.
It hurt because she had taken an iron to it.
For days, Lili had laid in her bed in 14 Spinner's End, and she saw her life spill out before her like a knocked—over glass of wine that she desperately tried to sop up before it reached the white carpet (looking suspiciously like the Malfoy's carpet — from the house she was born in). It was slipping away from her, and her fingers weren't fast enough to stop it before it made a mess.
And then she would become a Death Eater.
Just like she was meant to be.
The wine reached the carpet and stained it red.
The Dark Lord will have won. He will have seeped his way into every fiber of Lili's life, staining everything that was once clean. For days now, she felt herself sinking and she hadn't even met the madman yet. But once she had, then that would be it. It had already been decided. She didn't have a choice.
Did she?
Lili took an iron to her Dark Mark. The air began to grow hot and sweat broke along her brow. Something was sizzling. It smelt faintly of bacon. For the first time in months, she was hungry.
"What the f—ck?!"
Lili jumped more at the volume than her father's appearance. She had known him to be scathing at the best of times but she had never heard him swear quite so vehemently before. Still spitting swears, he yanked the iron from her grip and fairly tossed it across the room before he dragged her arm beneath the faucet, soaking her with cold water. But no, no, he was ruining it. He was ruining everything!
"I want it off!" Lili found herself yelling, fighting him, "I want it gone!"
Severus tried to control her, calm her down, make her see bloody sense, "Lilium. Enough."
"I hate it!" She was shrieking now, like a mad woman, "I don't want any part of it, I didn't get a bloody choice—,"
She tugged free of his grip and somehow ended up on the ground, scrambling to get away until her back slammed into the opposite wall. She wildly scratched at the red and bubbled wound, ignoring the fresh agony that awakened, dragging her nails over and over against the flesh until it bled.
"It won't come off! Why won't it come off?!"
"Stop!" He flew onto his knees by her side, "Stop it, please."
Despite his wiry appearance, he was so much stronger than she was, and he ripped her hands away from harming herself any further. He imprisoned her wrists and held on until she stopped fighting, stopped screaming, until she slumped limply against the wall. Then, with a deep sigh, he tugged her forward so her forehead collided with his sternum and he buried his hand into the hair at the back of her head.
"It's over, you've done enough," he murmured into her hair, "It's all right. It's all right."
He was never one for false platitudes; she wondered why he bothered starting now.
"No, it's not," she muttered into the fabric of his shirt. "Nothing's all right."
A beat of silence.
"Is it not?"
"No. It won't come off. I've tried everything, but magic wouldn't work so... I thought the Muggle way might do."
Her father brushed his cheek against the top of her head, and for a moment, she felt him squeeze just a bit tighter. Then, he was summoning Star Glass Salve and Murtlap Essence and Wiggenweld Potion, and she watched as he treated her wounds from somewhere far away — even though she sat in the very same room.
"Do not take off the bandages until I allow it. We'll freshen them tomorrow." Setting back on his haunches, he stared at her with that frighteningly impervious expression before, "You've done severe damage, but the Dark Mark will remain no matter what you try. You've known this for years."
He was right. She had known this for years, ever since she was seven and took a knife to the Mark in hopes of removing it. She had the same result then as she did now.
"Yes."
"So." His thin lips twisted, "I must ask you: why — did — you — try?"
"I... I dunno. But I had to do something, didn't I?"
ϟ
Severus watched Lilium.
His daughter could not eat.
He watched her try, and try, and she — could — not — eat. Madam Pomfrey's dietary instructions had fallen by the wayside, and Lilium was surviving mostly on Severus' nutritional potions. He had tried nearly everything to increase his daughter's food intake. He monitored her health closely — casting daily Diagnosis Charms, plying her with the nutritional potions along with stomach—soothing, anti—nausea, and appetite—increasing potions. He experimented with various kinds of flavours from vinegar to sugar and textures from spongy to crispy.
Despite this, it all apparently tasted wrong — everything did. Textures bothered her tongue. Flavour had gone wrong. It all felt and tasted like dirt in her mouth. Over and over, he watched her pick up her fork and put it in her lips, but he knew it tasted of nothing. Nothing but sadness.
Severus watched Lilium closely at the dinner table. Her skinny and heavy—burdened figure. Her slouched shoulders (he'd raised her to sit straight, to always keep her shoulders back with pride). Her bowed head (he'd raised her to hold her head high, chin up with confidence — even false confidence was better than shame).
"Lilium," he began silkily, "Do you recall the conversation we had yesterday?"
Drowsily, she raised her head. Deep purple bruises were half—circled beneath her eyes. Her usually healthy hair was stringy and greasy, and her skin was pale with sickness. She never looked more like his daughter than she did right now. After a moment, Lilium nodded, numbly.
"Well?"
The girl bit her lip but clearly didn't know what to say.
He sighed heavily and repeated himself, "Earlier in the summer, I was instructed by the Headmaster to invite you to meetings for The Order of the Phoenix. Since your friend — the illustrious Miss Granger — mentioned it in a letter yesterday, you asked for an explanation. Tonight, I thought I should inform you that I decided I do not want you to attend."
Severus could tell Lilium wanted to be indignant, to be shrieking and wild and angry. She couldn't find the motivation; all she had left was her dull curiosity. So, his daughter only asked, "Why not?"
"I think you should take a mere glance in the mirror and come to your conclusion easily enough."
It was too harsh. Too honest. It was the way of the Snape's.
"Mm." The girl answered blandly, stirring her mash and meat until it turned into a soup—like consistency. 'Distasteful' was putting it mildly. "In her letters, Hermione said the Headquarters is at Sirius Black's house... some posh and grim townhouse in London."
Merlin, but Severus wanted to stick a fork into his temple.
"Posher than Spinner's End, no doubt," his words were sharp, curt and crisp.
There was something biting about it, something deeply angry and ashamed too. He hated to display such disgusting weakness, especially when he knew it came from his heart. He wanted to carve the organ out of himself with a butterknife. Perhaps he could make potions ingredients out of it... Give it some good bloody use for once.
"Severus." Lilium chided, expression contorted weakly. "Stop."
Lilium had started calling him Severus now, since she was nearly fifteen and nearly a fully grown woman, apparently. He hated it. And unfortunately for her, now Severus suddenly could not stop at all; he only went on:
"The family name. The posh house. Yes. What doesn't your wonderful uncle Sirius Black have?"
"Me." She replied hoarsely, "And Harry."
He admitted to looking a bit confounded by that, brow wrinkled unattractively.
Lilium didn't allow him the chance to demand clarification. "You decided for me. I should decide for you."
Severus genuinely couldn't allow himself to look any more bewildered than he did before. Instead, one brow rose daringly. "Indeed? What do you mean by that... exactly?"
"You don't want me to be part of The Order so I won't be. I don't want you to be a spy so you shouldn't be."
Severus' expression immediately shifted as a flare of anger bolted up his sternum. He cleared his throat and began cleaning up the table, Banishing each dish one—by—one. His voice was cold and callous when he snapped, "We are — not — having this discussion again, Lilium."
She didn't listen. D—mn that Snape stubbornness.
"Why do you have to be the spy?" She looked as though she was aware of how petulant she sounded when she said, "It's not fair." She also looked as though she didn't care.
"Life..." He hissed, predictably, "...Isn't fair."
"Why can't it be fair? Just for us, just the once!" His daughter demanded harshly, "I don't understand why someone else can't do it! I don't want you to do it—,"
"The world doesn't — revolve — around — you, Lilium," he snapped before stabbing towards her plate with his knife. "Now, eat your bloody dinner."
Of course she couldn't bloody touch it.
"Do you want to be a spy? Didn't you get sick of it in the first war? Do you like getting tortured, never knowing if you're going to make it out alive? Do you want to die?"
He slammed his fist onto the table and rattled the dishes. She jerked back.
"You think I'm afraid of death?" He demanded through his clenched and crooked teeth.
"I think you're f—cking asking for it!" She hissed back, black eyes glittering.
"So what if I am?!"
His voice was a roar, and it terrified her into silence. A tear fell from her eye. One, then two, three, and so on. He wanted to look away, but his punishment was watching his daughter cry. Because he was the cause of it.
"With all of my sins, with all of the blood on my hands, my death might be almost a relief — for everyone."
Then, hushed: "Not for me."
Guilt, for Severus, tasted of sulfur. It tasted of the destruction of Godric's Hollow after Lily's death. It tasted of the spells he cast when he escaped with his daughter. It tasted of potions gone wrong and burnt out matches and the Killing Curse and all the sins he had ever committed.
His guilt was well—deserved, this he knew, when his entire life was made up of one mistake after another with nothing left to redeem his blackened soul. 'Yer a waste o' space, Sev'rus,' his father once slurred over a beer. Nearly thirty years later, he could not disagree.
Severus was surprised that Lilium did, in truth.
Indeed, he said: "I'm surprised you think so."
Her sharp eyes darted up to his, looking dangerous, looking something other than lost for the first time in months. "You're surprised? You're surprised that I don't want you to die? F—ck you. You're my father and I need you; simple as that. You're supposed to be a bloody genius, why can't you understand that?"
"I have an obligation—,"
"You have an obligation to me—!"
"Dumbledore is relying upon me," he sneered.
"Dumbledore can bugger off," she sneered back.
For a moment, neither father nor daughter spoke. Her eyes drifted back to her still mostly full plate, and he resisted the urge to swipe the rest of the dishes from the table. He braced himself against the battered and stained wood and kept his head low between his shoulders, back shuddering while he dragged in deep, tight breaths. He resolved to speak only once he was sure his breathing had calmed and his expression had blanked. Clearing his throat, he stood from the table and went to the window over the sink to distract himself.
"You should start to pack," he tossed the words over his shoulder. "I don't expect you will be here much longer."
It took her a moment to process this. The lack of a proper diet had dulled her usual sharpness, and so it was at least a minute before she croaked, "Why? Where am I going?"
"The safest place for you is at Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts... For the rest of summer?"
"Permanently, I should imagine. Many of my... less favourable... companions know of this residence and may visit rather frequently." Severus kept his gaze firmly out the back window. "I have no desire for you to come to their acquaintance any sooner than necessary."
He heard her chair scrape back as she shoved herself to her feet and hissed, "What the hell? I'm not leaving! You can't just kick me out because you've got yourself into some sh—t!"
"Can't I?"
It was patronising, Severus knew. Then again, he was a patronising b—stard.
"Spinner's End — is — my — home!"
"Indeed? And here I thought Hogwarts was your home."
His voice was snide when he whirled round, snatched up his cigarette pack (half—empty, as usual), and marched towards the back screendoor — all the while ignoring her quite successfully.
Lilium's voice was reverent and hushed, though altogether furious. "Hogwarts might be my home, but so is Cokeworth. Spinner's End — my room, my art, our fireplace, our books, this place belongs to us. It's ours!"
"If you like this bloody house so much, you can have it," Severus paused in the doorway, just behind her, "When I am dead."
The screendoor slapped shut behind him.
ϟ
Agony. Never ending agony... and yes, yes, laughter, too.
What great fun this was, what sweet bliss was pure torture.
So cold was the knife that carved into her skin (over and over) while her mummy laughed and sang (again and again). The child was a human canvas for her mother's savage proclivities, and she was pressed into the thin mattress while the knife dug in deeper with every new slice. She whimpered and tried to escape the pain, but her wrists and ankles were bound with beautifully cruel magic.
A pale hand curled into the soft black hair of the toddler's head while a woman sang, "Delphini, you've been a very naughty girl."
Punishment, yes, this happened here — very visceral, very real. Scream, scream, scream as loud as the child could, but it wouldn't matter. Mummy wouldn't stop. She would never stop. Why wouldn't she just stop? Mummy dropped the bloody knife, and the little girl wondered... wondered who to kill — her mother or herself? Coward. Wouldn't touch the knife. Bloody coward, yes, she was.
Bellatrix Lestrange twisted out a cruel smile as she took aim with her walnut wand.
"Hold still, Delphi. It's time for Mummy to teach you a lesson."
ϟ
Between the ages of fourteen and fifteen, Lili started getting migraines.
She could always tell one was coming on when she looked down at her left hand and part of it was invisible, or when she'd fumbled to look in the mirror and half her face was gone, replaced by a shimmering grey cloud. Within twenty minutes, the first fiery spark would shoot down from her forehead, move through her eye, and then into the centre of her brain. She'd be out of commission, as Hermione would've said, unable to move for the rest of the day.
She would lay on her bed with the blinds drawn, dreading the start of the pain. Her nerve endings spread out to touch every fear on the planet — each individual source of suffering, actual or potential. The migraines and the terror of an impending doom became intertwined with her sleeping. With these migraines came nightmares... and memories — stronger, more vivid, more palpable.
Most nights she woke up screaming, and often — with the intense urge to vomit.
After another nightmare, Lili bolted from her bed like a bat out of hell.
She sprinted into the bathroom and her knees smarted when they connected hard onto the tiles. She pitched over the toilet and gripped onto its edges while her stomach churned wildly until she vomited. She could not breathe. She continued to vomit. She could not breathe. She tried, she was trying—
A large hand landed on her shoulder, and she jumped, instinctively shouting, "F—ck off!"
She expected shock, anger, perhaps a reprimand.
Instead, a simple: "No."
"Please, f—ck off, Severus," the words were cruel, but the tone was pathetic, "Else, I swear to Merlin, I will fight you, so just f—ck off!"
And again: "No."
What was wrong with her?
Lili whimpered, pathetically, humiliatingly. The girl wanted to scream, throw a glass across the room and watch it shatter, slice her skin to let out the pain. Why? Why her? Why should she be the one to live through this Hell? Her parents were the ones who did something wrong so why did she have to be punished for it?
She was scared and she was angry and she wanted to tear out her hair and she wanted to never get out of bed—
Lili dropped her head against the tops of her knees (they seemed bonier than she remembered). She gagged once more, the stench of her own vomit overwhelming her senses. Everything felt numb but also too raw, and her entire body was quivering.
Lili vomited again, though there was nothing left in her stomach and all she was managing to expel was bitter bile. Without a word, Severus smoothed her sweaty hair back over her shoulders, and she shoved his hand away.
"Get out," she begged now.
"Well, I apologise. I cannot get out. I'm afraid you will find that I live here."
That was funny. His sarcasm was funny. But she did not have it in her to laugh right now. He handed her a cup of water, and she gargled before spitting. There was silence, an endless supply of it, and she wished so desperately for Severus to puncture it. She wanted him to save her, but perhaps he could not save her from this.
The cold hard truth.
"I never remembered these things before," she croaked hoarsely. "I never... I never..."
Severus hummed, his mouth mostly buried in her greasy hair, stroking her head like a newborn chick.
"Did you know?" Lili muttered past dry, cracking lips, "Did you know that she hurt me?"
Severus didn't respond for a long time. Then, a small incline of his head.
"I wanted... I wanted to believe she wouldn't hurt me. I thought... I thought she loved me."
"Bellatrix Lestrange doesn't know what love is."
'And I do?' Lili wanted to demand an answer. Instead, she asked, "Why am I remembering — all of this — just now?"
When he spoke, it was so d—mn clinical, "I am sure you'll recall, Lilium, when I told you about the Dark Lord's action to tether an anchor within your mind. It appears he succeeded. Since his return, he has been reopening your darkest memories... You must shore up your shields."
"I'm trying," she cried out, "Can't you see I'm trying?!"
Severus held her.
The truth was: Lili was sick. She wondered if the Dark Mark carried with it an infection. Did it poison her, when it was branded onto her one year old self? Was some sort of disease laid dormant within her system until the monster that was once Tom bloody Riddle came back to life?
Yes. Lili was sick.
Sick in a way that didn't have any kind of medical diagnosis, much less any kind of cure. Her muscles were spasming, like she was still suffering the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse, starting first in her left arm and then spreading across the rest of her body. She was vomiting, and sometimes the vomit looked like blood. She was shivering, and yet this was the hottest summer on record. It had been miserable since the start, and yet she couldn't seem to stop shivering.
The little house on Spinner's End turned into a hot box, with no air conditioning or central cooling, and every room in the house felt like a sauna. Or at least it would've felt this way to a normal person.
It was August, and Lili hadn't seen Harry all summer. Dumbledore had forbidden him to stay with the Snape's, citing the increased need for blood wards and security. Who the hell cared for the boy's mental health, though? Isolated and depressed and trapped in a house where everyone hated him. After the death of Cedric, Lili knew he couldn't be doing well. She hated being away from him, knowing she wasn't there to watch his back and that, right when he had needed her most.
Lili needed him, too.
Still, the Dark Lord hadn't called for her. Not yet.
Severus was gone most of the time, busy with the Dark Lord's work. When he wasn't being summoned to meetings, he was in their cellar laboratory brewing potions for their Lord. Still, when she woke with nightmares or visions or whatever the hell they were, Severus could always be found at her bedside, letting her cling to him and Legiliminising her so he could report to Dumbledore in lieu of her Inspections... so she wouldn't have to.
Severus called Eileen for assistance. He did not say what he told her nor did he say much about it at all. Her grandmum sat with Lili for hours on end, when Severus was so worried but couldn't be pulled from his laboratory or some Death Eater meeting. Eileen didn't do very much, except read aloud or offer a hand to hold. It was enough to keep Lili distracted for at least a few hours. Severus and Eileen never really interacted. They simply circled round each without ever truly saying a single word.
And when they did speak, they argued — mostly over Lili.
Sometimes:
"She needs help. You should get her help."
"And where exactly would you suggest I find help from, Eileen? Perhaps we'll have a visit with St. Mungo's where anyone could be working for the Dark Lord? Or perhaps she'll see a Muggle psychotherapist — who would no doubt accept her fears of owing her soul to a homicidal wizard called the f—cking Dark Lord? Oh yes, truly an inspired idea, she'll be in an asylum by sundown."
"I don't need your d—mn cheek, Severus. Just get her f—ckin' help."
And other times:
"Is that what you've cooked for supper tonight? You should eat more; you're too bloody skinny."
"F—ck off."
"You're settin' a bad example, you are."
"I said, f—ck — off, Eileen."
And then:
"You're ruinin' her childhood—,"
"Just as you ruined mine?"
"Oh, you've always been a stubborn b—stard, you're doin' this all wrong—,"
"Don't tell me how to raise my daughter!"
It was hell. Severus could be sarcastic and biting while Eileen could be cold and dismissive, and on top of everything else going on, it just made Lili want to hide all the more.
Was this what family was about?
Lili would never know better.
As it happened, Severus' method of 'helping' was magical combat.
Her father had been teaching Lili to duel since her wand had chosen her, but he had always held back. He didn't hold back now. Since his return, Severus had taken no mercy when it came to Lili. Spell after spell after spell. Grueling hours of duelling, and she understood what — now — he had always been training her for. Lili screamed when casting, laughed when she was hexed, cried when she won.
When her father dragged her out of bed, still shaky and unshowered, and he didn't demand they duel, Lili huddled in his lab and contemplated inventing new spells. It wasn't easy. It also, apparently, ran in the family. Her father worked with her, when she felt too empty to carry on.
"Taste every word, Lilium," murmured Severus in a dark velvet voice, "Savour it on your tongue. Do you taste the sounds? Do you taste the blood and the night? The fear and the joy? And the life. Taste them, Lilium, and everything will come to life."
Sanomalum, Valitura, Tego Valensa, Vindico Iniuria, Shcelero Suffoco
Lili liked how the sh hissed as it passed her lips, how darkly the sound of the o formed in her mouth. The girl created spells to help, to heal, to harm. She created a world with her words.
Perhaps Severus knew, deep down, that she still had fire within her veins.
When she was creating magic (carving out the letters, researching the runes, muttering the Latin over and over), Lili felt alive again. She felt impassioned and bright and all her lines were sharpened, and without it, she was filled with too many contradicting emotions: anger, love, grief, fear, bravery. Without it, there was too much violent turmoil within her. She knew her father saw how she was restless, a leaf caught in the wind, aimless and adrift.
Perhaps Severus saw how magic grounded her, and perhaps, Lili thought, it could save her.
ϟ
In the early grey light of Lilium's fifteenth birthday, Severus went through the same ritual as he always did.
With a cup of the strongest coffee he could make, the man leant in his daughter's doorway for longer than he dared count to ensure she was in a deep sleep, as safe as he could keep her. Her birthday was always a difficult day, for both of them, but she seemed all right for now. He closed her bedroom door quietly and disappeared into the darkness of his lab in the cellar.
He hadn't spent nearly as much time in his personal laboratory as he would've liked this summer. The Dark Lord had been busy since his return, and regaining his favour meant that Severus was more often there than here. It really was fortunate that he managed to be present on Lilium's birthday at all.
It at least allowed him to go through his usual motions.
He still wasn't sure the purpose of this tradition exactly; he understood only that he had been doing this for fourteen years and he could not stop now.
Eyes closed, concentrating, Severus touched the tip of his wand to his temple and dragged away some of his darkest memories. He cast the grey wisps into the waiting pensieve with a disgusted flick, and in the moment that followed, he reveled in the relief that detaching memories from his mind provided. As he did this every year on the day of his only child's birth, he found that the detachment allowed for him to better reflect.
Then, he fell into his own memories.
At nineteen years old, Severus' heart was pounding with anticipation.
The Dark Lord had called for him — him, of all people, a Half—Blood with nothing to his name but shame.
Since graduation from Hogwarts, Severus' life had turned completely around. Taking his Mark at seventeen was the best thing he had ever done. After a childhood of secondhand clothes and going to sleep hungry, Severus had adorned himself in the finest, richest of robes. They were new, new just like everything else was these days.
Severus had always hoped he was meant for better things that his lowly birth indicated, and the Dark Lord was the first one that agreed with him. The Dark Lord had funded his Potions Mastery and granted him an apprenticeship so he was well on his way to becoming the youngest and most successful Potions Master in Wizarding history.
And he owed it all to the Dark Lord.
His master of two years was a charming man, with an enigmatic personality that many couldn't help but be drawn to. He spoke with conviction and such intense passion that it was easy for Severus to become enamoured so readily.
With every beat of his black heart, Severus truly believed the Dark Lord was going to clean up Wizarding Britain once and for all. Wiping out corruption and bribery and meaningless bureaucracy, he would set up a government that promoted safety for people like him. In truth, Severus did not care about blood status, not really, no matter what he said to Mulciber, Avery, and the others; he simply wanted justice for his mother and for himself so that he no longer had to prove himself worthy of the magic thrumming in his veins, of the princely surname he was denied.
No matter the rumours, Severus was certain the Dark Lord didn't want to kill Muggles, merely put them in their place. Put Severus' abusive, drunken father in his place. Do away with the Statue of Secrecy, refuse to cower in fear of those weaker than their magical kind. If it meant that he was free, if it meant that he had a place to belong, he could accept anything.
After all, Severus so desperately wanted a place to belong, and the Death Eaters gave him just that.
It was an honour to be called to the Dark Lord's side like this, he knew, and Lucius said that to be given such attentions by their master was a sign of great things to come.
Upon his arrival at Headquarters, Severus was escorted to the Dark Lord's personal study where they drank together, as old friends might, though he never allowed himself to think so much of his own importance. The room was wide and dark, completed with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and a raging fire in the hearth, but everything about this place felt freezing cold.
Severus refused to shiver. He refused to show even a hint of weakness, anything that might give the Dark Lord reason to think less of him for any reason. He did not blink, or glance around at their elegant surroundings, or even move at all. He sat rigid in an ornate chair, speaking only when spoken to, barely even breathing.
A knock, and then the heavy door pushed open.
Severus' eyes instinctively darted to the entrance where a tall dark woman materialised from the shadows. With her big black eyes, and long wild hair, he recognised her instantly as Bellatrix Black.
Severus didn't allow himself the cowardly relief of looking away.
Though he hadn't often seen her, he had heard much about her in recent years. He knew that she had recently married Rodolphus Lestrange, a fairly wealthy Pureblood and fellow Slytherin, though Severus suspected it was less a marriage of affection than obligation to fulfilling her family's Pureblood tradition. He knew that she was the most devoted of the Dark Lord's followers, high up in his ranks, competing even with Lucius. Severus himself didn't often go on raids or join in their revels, but from when he did, he heard tell that she was cruel and sadistic and bordered even on insane.
What the woman was doing here, Severus could only guess at.
"Ahhhh. Do come in, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord crooned happily. "I believe you know our potions master, Severus Snape."
The man and the woman exchanged a long look.
Then, with a tinge of disgust, "Of course, my Lord."
Bellatrix's voice was low and rasping, and the sound of it grated on Severus' tightly—constrained nerves. The Pureblood walked gracefully, black dress gliding across the marbled floor as she approached and placed herself in a chair by the fireplace — between the Dark Lord and Severus.
In silence, they waited for the Lord to speak.
"My dearest, in Severus — I believe I have found the perfect candidate."
A strange white smile stretched across Bellatrix's face, understanding something that he could not. Severus kept himself hidden safely behind his shields, but inside, his mind was whirring with confusion... And uneasiness. Candidate. Candidate for... what? But he didn't dare allow himself to ask.
Refusing to explain, the Dark Lord said, "Through your combined efforts, I will live forever."
Immortality. Yes, all right, this made sense. Perhaps that was why Severus was called here — putting a stopper in death should be easy enough for a skilled potioneer such as himself.
"But we must not take chances, my Lord," there was an obvious unhappiness in Bellatrix's grating voice, "The Philosopher's Stone—,"
Clearly annoyed that she would dare counter his ideals, the Dark Lord snapped his interruption, "Severus."
Bellatrix wilted under his disapproval. Called to attention, Severus sat up straighter.
"In the past, you have been unlucky in your choice of companions. Now you must agree that there are other women, such as my dear Bellatrix, who are far worthier of you."
Severus shifted just slightly. On his heart was branded the name: Lily.
"Of course, my Lord." Severus spoke smoothly, expertly hiding how his heart was burning with betrayal. "What is it you would have me do?"
The Dark Lord's cold eyes locked onto his own with frightening intensity. Severus ensured that he looked completely calm and impossible to read. Finally, his master's mouth twitched into something that resembled a smile, though it was too cold to fit the name. The Dark Lord's eagerness was burningly apparent; his expression nearly greedy, as if he could no longer contain his excitement. Severus felt his heart still pounding with fervent anticipation.
Lord Voldemort's clear and cold voice hissed like a serpent, "Severus, my good and faithful servant, won't you do me one more service?"
And then he explained, all of it.
Severus was... Severus was... sickened.
There was an audible swallow punctuating the moment, though it was a weakness, and he felt icy fingers touch him, just at the base of his spine. His hands grew cold and sweaty, and he tried to steel himself, the scent of blood and shame sharp in his throat. He was a potions brewer, he was an academic, an intellectual, not a soldier or a spy or a whore. He wished to be loyal to the Dark Lord. He wished to serve his cause. He didn't want this.
Lowly, Severus managed, "My Lord...?"
"With Bellatrix, you shall conceive a daughter... and you shall ensure my immortality in the fulfillment of Prophecy."
For all his boasting about being an intellectual, for all his genius, Severus could not seem to accept what his brain insisted was being said. Supplicant, head slightly bowed, he forced himself to try to understand:
"You... You wish for me to have a child?"
Bellatrix cackled. Severus tensed. Their Lord smiled indulgently.
"Oh, the child will not be yours, Severus, no." With that same chilling air, the Dark Lord answered merely with a smile. "No. I shall raise her in my own image, and she will end the world as they know it."
ANNIE SPEAKS
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OKAY, sorry, this one was kind of a bummer? but hey, maybe it's good i post two times a week so sunday's update will be semi—happier! in any case, this one is a good kind of intro to how the second half of this story will look like. can you believe we're already in act three? i'm shocked, we're 3/4 of the way through this book (it's more of an epic now, i guess?). in any case, this act will be the longest while act four will contain deathly hallows plus two epilogues. eep! so excited.
thanks for sticking with me so far! i've loved hearing from you all every week :)
also,, on a more personal note:: i just got my wedding photos back and i'm obsessed... would y'all be cool with me sharing one next chapter?? it'll kinda be a face reveal of your author too... how embarrassing lol. should i do it?
CHAPTER THIRTY—NINE :
"I hear we're cousins, kid!"
Out of bloody nowhere — standing there in the kitchen, a witch with wild hair suddenly threw an arm over Lili's shoulders. The fifteen year old jumped so much, she went nearly a foot off the ground. The other girl looked sorry, but she didn't move her arm, and Lili took in her features — she looked only a few years older than Lili herself, and had a few of the notable Black family features such as a pale heart—shaped face, a pair of dark eyes, and a distinguished small nose. Though, in almost direct contrast to Lili's more 'goth' vibe with long and deadly straight jet black hair, this girl had short spiky hair which was a shocking bubble—gum pink.
"Right, er, forgot to introduce." Black, from across the table, looked amused, "Uhm, Lili, this is Nymphadora—,"
"Don't call me Nymphadora, Sirius," interrupted the witch with a dramatic shudder before turning a cheery smile on Lili, "It's Tonks."
"—Nymphadora Tonks," Black corrected himself with an eye roll, "Who clearly wants to be known by her last name only, beg your bloody pardon."
"You'd feel the same if your fool of a mum named you something pretentious like 'Nymphadora,'" the older girl muttered and rolled her eyes over at Lili, "That being said, I insist you call me 'Tonks'. I call you 'Lilium'?"
my meme for this chapter:
for real.