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*CRACK* the sound of apparition broke the still silence which surrounded Potter Cottage. Severus stumbled forward, unable to process the scene before him. The once sturdy stone home had partially crumbled down upon its foundations. He heard the shrill cry of a child and unconsciously headed towards it, dazed. Through what had been the front door, stepping over a leg awkwardly poking out from under a pile of stone and drywall, up the stairs and down the hall, the air thick with the feel of powerful magic. The child’s cry grew louder, then narrowed, as though it was being heard through a tunnel far away. Before his feet, still as death, rest the only person Severus had ever cared for.
*flashback*
Severus took a deep, cleansing breath. With a light smirk, he took in his surroundings. Maybe it was an odd location for a person to take the first step towards the rest of their life, but to him, it just felt right. Thick cauldrons lining the dark, damp walls, the scent billywing flies and scorched ingredients dusting the air. Yes, this was the start of his future. No sperm donors drunkenly lashing out with angry words and angrier fists. No taunting classmates, jabbing their ruthless insults into wounds already so deep they barely stung. No professors thinly veiled disgust and judgment at slick hair and shabby robes. No, today was his. The future was his.
Cauldron, check. Ashwinder egg, check. Squill bulb, check. Murtlap tentacle, check. Tincture of thyme, check. Occamy eggshell, check. Powered common rue, check. He was ready.
The cold radiated off frigid stone floors and slowly seeped up through the thin soles of his worn boots. Shivering slightly, Severus rolled his neck and shoulders, shook out his hands, took another deep breath, and lit the fire. Placing his cauldron atop the flame, he began the methodical cut, chop, and crush of his ingredients. Working under Filtch, it had taken weeks to secure enough gold for the Ashwinder egg, and months to earn enough for the Occamcy eggshell. He had just enough ingredients for a single attempt.
Step by step, his potion intensified. Churning and bubbling with each new ingredient meticulously added to the cauldron. Severus’ heart felt like it would beat out of his chest, his magic barely reigned in. The slightest misstep and the last year of effort would be for not. With the final ingredient sprinkled atop the tumultuous surface, Severus began to stir as vigorously as his 12 year old arms could muster. A cold sweat breaking across his brow, giving over every last bit of effort he could muster until the mixture started to shift in color. He quickly removed his stirring rod, lifted his wand, waved a figure eight and intoned the incantation “FELIXEMPRA!”
His entire body seized in anticipation – heart stopping, frozen, for just a single beat.
The contents of his cauldron morphed before his eyes. The color shifted to a deep, molten gold. The vigorous bubbling slowed to large drops luxuriously leaping from the surface, silently falling back into the cauldron, as if taunting him. Beckoning him to touch, taste, experience. He’d done it. He’d brewed his future – liquid luck.
Breath still coming in shakily, sweat matting his already lank hair, he dug a handful of vials from his robes, cast an unbreakable charm on them, and started delicately transferring his prize. One vial for Slughorn, who wouldn’t be able to deny his skill any longer, one vial for sale in Knockturn, which would fund his apprenticeship fees, one vial he would bury in his trunk under lock and key for the uncertain future, and one vial he would gift to his best friend, who had always been there.
*end flashback*
Reality rushing at Severus like the Hogwarts Express, he pulled himself from his memories. Still in a heavy daze, he fell to his knees, gently gripping Lily’s limp body. The cries of the child paused for a instant only to be replaced with the sound of breaking glass. Turning his attention to the child in the crib, he discovered the source of the unexpected noise – a single chubby hand was reaching towards him begging for attention and comfort. Beneath it, smashed on the ground, was a single broken vial resting in small pool of thick, golden liquid.