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Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

Rose Potter sat patiently on her bed waiting for dinner in the dark bedroom staring blankly out of the window, whilst Hermione was reading some tatty novel in the shabby armchair nearby. Ron was in the neighbouring room fuming after having had a heated argument with the latter, the latest of many spats between the two friends.

Meanwhile downstairs the Order was having yet another meeting. Rose yearned to be involved in the meeting, she ought to know what’s happening, no, she deserved to know. Wasn’t it she who had witnessed Lord Voldemort’s return? Wasn’t it she who returned with Cedric’s limp body, after having just witnessed his death? And wasn’t it she whom ‘He who must not be named’ wanted dead above everything else? She felt useless and this infuriated her! The nerve of some people! At least Sirius had tried to divulge some of what was being discussed but every time someone came and silenced him with a warning look. The twins even tried to use their extendible ears to try and listen in on what was being discussed, but Crookshanks had other plans, and ran off with the ear tightly clasped in its mouth as the twins, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and herself raced after it to no avail.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open, startling both girls, as Mrs. Weasley’s head popped in, “Dinner’s ready, you may come down now dearies.” As Mrs Weasley moved on to call the others down to dinner, Hermione closed her book, sliding a worn bookmark in place and placing it on a rickety side table as Rose stood from the bed, and waited for her friend by the open door. On the landing they came face to face with Ron and this caused the aforementioned argument to commence once more. Rose shook her head and with a roll of her eyes rushed downstairs lest they should involve her in their argument again. She headed down towards the basement kitchen, closer to the mouth-watering meal which was surely awaiting them. As she approached the kitchen door and was in the process of reaching out her hand to turn the knob, the door suddenly flew open narrowly missing her face. A tall, dark figure rushed out, colliding with her, sending her crashing to the floor. She looked up to see who had rammed her. Looming over her was the sneering face of none other than her least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape.

“Miss Potter, listening at doors is not what a young lady should be doing.”
Rose shuffled to her feet as quickly as she could and she scowled at Severus Snape.
“I wasn’t snooping around, I was just about to enter when you bumped into me”, she spat rather vehemently, her face flushed, her pride bruised.
“My, my, aren’t we feisty today?” Snape said, causing Rose’s blood to boil even more. She grimaced and looked him straight in the eye just to show him she was unfazed. As she stared him down, she saw something flash behind his eyes, but this soon vanished only to be replaced by his customary look of indifference. He smirked and wordlessly brushed by, making his way toward the exit.

Without a backward glance, Rose approached the kitchen door once more, gingerly pushing it open. She was greeted by the sight of Mrs. Weasley bustling around, setting the table with Ginny in tow handing her the cutlery. At the far end of the kitchen Rose noticed Mr Weasley talking rather gravely with Remus who was seated by Nymphadora Tonks, and last but not least, there sat Sirius at the head of the table deep in thought about something. As Rose approached him, he woke from his reverie and looked up at her as she sat down beside him.
“Where are the others Rose?”
“Ron and Hermione are quarrelling as usual and the twins are locked in their room, experimenting no doubt”, Rose replied.
“You look rather white Sirius, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing…” mumbled Sirius uneasily.
“Order business?” asked Rose rather dissatisfied.
“Yes. You know I’d like to tell you … but I can’t.”
Rose turned her face away from Sirius’ probing eyes, feeling even more frustrated than she had felt earlier up in her room.

The next morning Rose woke with a start from another nightmare about Cedric. When were they ever going to stop? She hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since his death and Voldemort’s return at the Triwizard tournament finale. Turning to her clock she could see it was still 5.30 a.m. With an inward groan she slowly got up trying to be quite so as not to wake Hermione who was still deep in sleep in the opposite bed. If the dreams hadn’t succeeded in giving Rose a restless sleep, Hermione’s snores and grunts would have taken care of that. Patting her untameable, knotted hair and slipping on her glasses she shuffled toward the door, slipping out and closing it gently behind her.

Downstairs Rose headed noiselessly for the kitchen which was deserted. She grabbed a glass, filled it with water and sat at the table sipping at the water as she stared blankly ahead. Scenes from her nightmare still haunted her thoughts and she shivered at the memory. She tried to think of something else, Quidditch, yes that will do nicely. Suddenly she was aware of noises coming from the drawing room across the corridor. She got up from her seat and crept silently to the door which stood slightly ajar. Peeking inside through the slit she could make out a figure sprawled across the chaise lounge but it was too dark to make out who it could be. Pushing the door carefully, so as not to wake the person, she entered and tiptoed toward the slumbering figure. When she was close enough she could recognise the shaggy mane of raven hair. Sirius. She stretched out her hand and gently shook him. Sirius groaned, sat up and rubbed his eyes trying to awaken himself properly from his slumber.
“Hey Rose, is it the nightmare again?” asked Sirius hoarsely.
“Yep”
With that Sirius scooted over and patted the seat beside him which Rose proceeded to take and rested her head on his shoulder. Sirius encircled her with his arms and pulled her into a bear hug which always made her feel much better. His warmth, strong arms and musky smell always calmed her nerves considerably.
“Sirius, when will all this be over?”
His embrace loosened and she felt his fingers beneath her chin, raising her face till she looked straight into his dark haunted eyes.
“I don’t know Rose, but when it is, everything will all be better. You will come to live with me and we’ll travel… yes, we’ll go to China, Australia, Africa … everywhere. We’ll fly on our broomsticks high up in the sky, freedom WILL be ours.”
At these words his eyes brightened momentarily and his face lit up with the dream, with hope. It made him look so much younger and carefree. Rose smiled and gave Sirius a peck on the cheek.
“The important thing is that you’re there with me.”

They were disturbed by the creaking of an upstairs door and the descending footsteps of someone. The others were waking and coming down for breakfast.
“Let’s eat, you’ll feel better with a full stomach’’.
Releasing her from his embrace, they rose and made their way to the kitchen.

By seven, the kitchen was bustling full of people indulging themselves on Molly’s scrumptious food. Tonks sat across from Rose entertaining Hermione and Ginny with her customary morphing session. Remus was casting furtive glances toward Tonks and had a small smile on his lips as he sat by her side. At the other end the twins and Ron were clutching their sides and roaring with laughter after hearing one of Mundungas’ illicit ventures. Sirius, who sat on Rose’s right, just sat there picking at his food silently. His mood soured considerably since that morning. Rose suspected it was due to the fact that they would all be leaving for Hogwarts in a week’s time, leaving Sirius behind in the gloomy house. She was sorry for him and would miss him terribly but she couldn’t help feel excited at the thought of returning to school. She would actually be joining the others back at Hogwarts, thanks to Dumbledore’s help at the Ministry a few weeks back.

“Hogwarts letters have arrived” said Fred brandishing 6 envelopes as he entered the room. He distributed them and tore his own open.
“About time too” said Mrs Weasley huffily “I thought the owls got lost on the way. You may all give me the book lists and I’ll go to Diagon Alley this afternoon. As Ron was taking out his letters something fell out, some sort of scarlet badge. Could it be? Ron a prefect? As Ron bent down to retrieve the object, Fred beat him to it and stood surveying it with raised eyebrows.
“You a prefect? Little Ronniekins a prefect? Ha! This must be a joke right?”
Mrs Weasley stood awestruck as she processed the news. She then captured Ron in a suffocating embrace kissing every inch of his face. “Fourth prefect in the family, Oh I’m so proud of you dear. We really must celebrate!”
During this time Rose noticed a rather flushed Hermione across from her clutching something in her right hand.
“Hermione you’re a prefect too! Congratulations!” exclaimed Tonks over enthusiastic, knocking over a jug of water in the process.

Rose just sat there, dazed. She had forgotten prefects were chosen in their fifth year, she hadn’t given it much thought, having had other things on her mind. But she still felt an unwelcome pang of jealousy. She may not be an A student like Hermione, she wasn’t as well behaved either, but she had been through so much. Why hadn’t she been chosen? As she raised her head she caught Sirius studying her pensively. She tried to act happy, grinning way too much and celebrating with the others, but still, the wretched feeling she felt in the pit of her stomach persisted.

“Congrats Hermione, no offence, but I was sure Rose would be chosen as prefect, considering past events and being Dumbledore’s golden girl and all.”
At George’s words a silence fell and all eyes turned on Rose.

Platform nine and three quarters was bustling full of cheery students and anxious parents. Rose stood there craning her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of her classmates whilst the Weasleys were passing through the barrier one by one. Soon Ron was at her side followed shortly by Hermione who was holding a podgy Crookshanks. Rose felt both excited and apprehensive about her new year at Hogwarts. She was looking forward to going back to her beloved school, a place which felt like home but at the same time she would greatly miss Sirius who was like a father to her. He had come along to King’s Cross with them. Rose had really appreciated it but she was afraid that someone might recognise him, dog form or not. He had risked a lot, just to come and see her off. He would have even come as far as Platform nine and three quarters if Moody hadn’t held him back.

Rose turned away from the puffing train towards the Weasleys. She couldn’t help but smile. There they were, Mrs. Weasley fretting over Ginny, Fred and George teasing Ron and Mr. Weasley trying to hurry everyone along. She had always longed to have a family and the Weasleys had always gone out of their way to make her feel part of theirs. Her heart warmed at the sight of them. Who cared about prefect badges, she was being silly and over emotional. She walked to Hermione’s side who smiled at her warmly as she nudged her with her shoulder playfully. When Mrs Weasley stopped fussing over Ginny, she turned and pulled Rose into a tight, warm hug.
“Please do take care of yourself Rose. Here you go, I prepared lunch for you, and make sure Ron eats his and that he doesn’t spoil his appetite by eating too many chocolate frogs, will you?”
Rose smiled and nodded her head as she packed the sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had just handed her.

After a teary-eyed farewell Rose, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George hurried inside the train to find an empty compartment. On their way they came face to face with Draco Malfoy, who to their utter contempt was sporting an emerald prefect badge.
“Hey Potter! Hasn’t You Know Who got you yet?!” taunted Malfoy.
Rose glared at him and was about to brush past him when he put a hand out and blocked her path.
“Move!” said Rose irately.
“Tut, tut, is that any way to talk to a prefect? You don’t want to lose points before school even starts, do you?” jeered Draco.
“Shut it Malfoy!” interjected Ron.
“Oh Weasley, didn’t see you there. How are the folks getting along these days, still scrounging about are they?”
At the insult Ron lunged at Malfoy, but he was too late. Ginny, Fred and George had beaten him to it. They had hexed him simultaneously, reducing Draco to a blubbering heap at their feet.

Stepping around Malfoy, they continued their search for an available compartment. They had managed to find one at the very end of the carriage. Once inside Ron was about to sit when Hermione reminded him that they had a prefects meeting to attend to. Ron gave them all an apologetic smile before reluctantly following Hermione into the corridor.

As the twins, Ginny and Rose were just settling in, they were soon joined by Neville who was carrying a rather putrid smelling plant, and a blonde Ravenclaw girl in Ginny’s year. The Girl whose name was Luna Lovegood sat across from Rose reading some sort of magazine upside down. Rose gave Ginny a questioning glance who only shrugged.
“Hey Neville, what’ve you get there?” asked Fred whilst pinching his nose, trying to block the smell.
“It’s a Mimbulus Mimbletonia” replied Neville enthusiastically motioning to the pulsating boil covered plant, “An uncle of mine gave it to me as a Birthday present, it’s awfully rare.”
“It’s darn smelly, gosh, that would make a great ingredient for our puss pastilles, George!”
Neville looked rather distressed and held his Mimbeltonia tighter against his chest. Ginny gave the twins a warning look and Rose assured Neville that the Fred and George were only joking.

Half-way through the journey, Hermione and Ron joining them as they all settled in playing exploding snap and shared stories of their Summer. Time rushed by and soon enough the train was slowing down at Hogsmeade’s train station.

Outside Hagrid’s voice could be heard calling out to the first years, instructing them to follow him. Gathering their belongings the merry group set off toward the exit. As Rose descended from the train, she looked up at the majestic castle which was brightly lit, welcoming its returning children. With a smile Rose thought to herself “I’m home”.

Chapter Text

“Rose you should start on that essay Professor McGonagall gave us. It is dreadfully long and we have to tackle quite a few aspects of the spell in it.”
“Mione, please, it’s our first day back, relax” said an exasperated Rose who was trying to sketch the giant squid. It was such a beautiful and unusually warm day, that the trio decided to spend their break out by the lake. They had just had double transfigurations followed by double Charms which left them knackered. You’d expect the teachers to be lenient on the first day, but no bloody chance! Both McGonagall and Flitwick had assigned them tedious essays along with an excruciatingly long list of important O.W.L topics to study.
“Wow, Rose, that’s way cool!” exclaimed Ron startling Rose out of her reverie.
“I didn’t know you could draw that well, look Hermione”.
Hermione looked up from her Charms book and peered at the drawing, she gasped, for the illustration was so accurate it could have been a photograph.
“Amazing, I’ve known you for over four years now and I never knew you were such an artist.”
Rose looked down at her sketch book and blushed, “it’s really nothing you guys, just a doodle.”
“You’re too modest, it’s really very good. Have you any more pictures?”
“A few, you can see them if you like” with that she handed her sketch book over to her friends.

Rose Potter grew up in an oppressive environment, in a house where she was not wanted. Her opinion didn’t count and she always kept to herself, unable to express her feelings and thoughts. When she was nine she found an old, empty diary lying around. She took it into her cupboard and drew. Drawing soon became her way of expressing herself. She’d sketch the spiders that kept her company in her closet, she’d draw funny caricatures of her cousin Dudley as a pig but most of all she enjoyed drawing magical creatures which had always filled her dreams, magical unicorns, friendly giants and fairies in their fairy castles. As she grew older her technique improved greatly and her depictions became more realistic. She had never told anyone of her hidden talent, it was her little secret. She drew all the mayor events of her life. Hagrid’s visit on her eleventh birthday, the boat ride to Hogwarts, the sorting, her friends, teachers (yes, even Snape), the Yule ball and so on. But her drawings weren’t all of lovely memories, she drew Lupin as a werewolf, Voldemort’s return last year and her mother clutching an infant Rose as Voldemort was entering the room.

“Oi Rose, you’ve even got my portrait here. Look, Hermione that’s you! Eugh Rose, are you bloody mental, Malfoy?!” Ron called out as Hermione turned page after page.
“Hey guys, when’s our next lesson?” asked Rose, noticing that they were the only ones outside.
“One O’Clock, why?” asked Hermione, looking slightly anxious.
“Well cause it’s one now.”
“What?! Quick gather everything up!” yelled Hermione seizing her bag and sprinting into the castle with Ron and Rose at her heels. Luckily it was only History of magic and Binns was too busy droning on to notice the trio’s tardiness.

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Severus Snape was preparing notes for the fifth years on the black board as the students were shuffling in. Double potions with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs was definitely not something he was looking forward to. As he turned toward the class Rose was just entering. She had changed so much since the fourth year. She looked much paler and definitely skinnier than she ought to be. Her face lost the innocent gleam it once held, her face more angular, she looked older, and why wouldn’t she? She had been through much more than most people have in their whole lives. Her unruly hair had grown much longer hanging down to her waist, a black tangled mass.

She looked up as she sat beside Granger, and their eyes met momentarily before she lowered her head as she set up her cauldron and brewing utensils. Snape felt his heart beat slightly faster at the brief glimpse of those emerald pools. Her features had changed slightly, but her eyes, her eyes seemed to have changed the most. Not in appearance, for they were still her mother’s eyes but something behind them had been definitely altered. Why did she have to have Lily’s eyes? Was she to torment him always with those eyes? The potions master averted his gaze from as he attempted to clear his mind. With a wave of his wand he closed the door and began his lesson, the whole while avoiding the emerald eyes, which affected him so.

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The next day

Rose headed down toward the great Hall. Her foul mood escalating with every whispered comment and nasty look the other students were throwing her way. Rose cursed the Daily Prophet under her breath as she finally entered the Great Hall. As she sat down in between Fred and Ron, she noticed, to her utter annoyance, that Hermione was currently reading the accursed newspaper.
“Mione, what are you reading that garbage for?” asked Rose, disgruntled through clenched teeth.
“Keeping myself updated on what the enemy is saying” answered Hermione without taking her eyes from the article.

Rose took a sip of orange juice as she checked her timetable.
“We’ve got a defence against the dark arts class at eight, with that Umbridge woman.” Said Ron showering Rose with scrambled egg and spit.
“Ron, how many times have I got to tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” snapped Hermione as Rose wiped the egg and spittle off of her cheek with her napkin. Ignoring Hermione completely, Ron asked Fred whether they had already had a lesson with Dolores Umbridge.
“Yeah, yesterday. Bloody boring, we’re not allowed to use our wands in class” answered Fred.
“What?! DA without using magic?” Asked Rose, disbelieving.
“Yeah, without magic, all we did was read our textbook” interjected George.
Rose was getting steadily angrier by now, “What does she expect us to do if we’re faced with death eaters? Throw our books and quills at them? Is the ministry mental? They should prepare us, not suppress magic, that’s just what Voldemort wants!”
As Rose said Voldemort’s name the Weasleys and Hermione all gave an involuntary shudder. Some students in the vicinity also turned their heads toward Rose and glared. Ignoring this Rose started putting her timetable away when she suddenly noticed that her sketch book was missing.
“Hey Hermione, Ron, does one of you have my sketch book?”
Both searched their own bags shaking their heads in response. Panicked, Rose rummaged through her bag, even emptying out the contents on the table, but all was futile. She gathered everything back up and rushed out of the great hall as quickly as her legs could carry her towards the lake.

As she rushed out of the school and headed for the lake she bumped into Snape who was just entering the castle. Because of her anxious state she had forgotten to apologise to the professor for knocking his book out of his hand, and instead of handing it back to him she hurried past him straight to the willow. Snape was livid and as a result, Rose got her first detention (you knew that it had to happen some time or another!). She was unfazed by this for at the moment her thoughts were entirely on her beloved missing book. Her search had been useless for it was nowhere to be found. Consequently this detour had caused her to be late for her DADA lesson with the infamous Umbridge. The latter started off the lesson by telling the students that Voldemort’s return was a rumour, a lie and that magic was superfluous when learning DADA. This speech had caused Rose to forget her missing item momentarily. Her blood had reached boiling point and she vented her frustration on Miss Froggy. And it was here that Rose got her second detention.

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Severus Snape closed his office door behind him and sat down behind his disk, clutched in his hands was a leather-bound book. He had found it lying forgotten on the grass below an old willow tree by the lake. Snape was about to open it, for he hadn’t yet gotten the chance to do so, when the green glow from his fireplace interrupted his actions. Dumbledore’s head popped out of the emerald flames.
“Severus, my boy, would you please come up to my office, I’ve got some urgent business I need to discuss with you regarding the ministry. Thank you.”
With that he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. Snape put down the book and headed straight to the headmaster’s office.

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Dragging her feet and school bag behind her Rose descended towards the dungeons where she was to serve her first detention. She couldn’t wait for this day to be over. It had been the worst first week back ever, even worse than when she and Ron were bludgeoned by the whomping willow! She knocked softly on Snape’s office door and waited. She heard the sound of approaching feet, a click of a lock and a creak as the door was opened by the surly potions master. Snape greeted her with a grimace and a “you’re late Miss Potter”. Rose bit her lip in an attempt to keep from snapping back. As she stepped through the doorway, he shut and locked the door behind her and headed straight for his desk. As he lowered himself back to his chair. She decided it would be best to try and apologise for the morning’s incident.
“Professor, I’m …” but she could not utter another word for there just to the left of Snape’s elbow lay her drawing book!
“Yes? Would you mind hurrying? I’m rather busy to be wasting time with you.”
Snape snapped impatiently.
“That book, I lost it earlier today, I’ve been looking for it everywhere. May I have it back, please?” asked Rose as politely and calmly as she could, trying to hide her anxiety.
Snape looked down at the book, the very book she had knocked out of his hand that morning. A nasty smirk, one Rose did not like at all, made its way onto Snape’s face as he reached for the book and, to her horror, opened it. He ignored her objections and started looking through it.
“So this is what you do when you are supposed to be studying?” asked Snape sarcastically.
As he was saying this he found his own portrait. Looking up at Rose he sneered and asked “No horns, or warts? I’m surprised I half expected you to draw me as a vampire or an overgrown bat. Am I such an interesting specimen Miss Potter?”
At these words Rose blushed deeply, to her utter dismay, and averted her eyes from Snape’s own. She felt so embarrassed and wanted nothing more than for the ground she stood on to swallow her up.
Severus enjoyed this torture so he kept sifting through the pages when he came upon a portrait which made his heart race and caused to blood to drain from his face. There drawn so realistically was Lily, and with his arms wrapped around her waist was James Potter. Snape slammed the book shut savagely, startling Rose. He threw the book across the table towards her and he gruffly told her to clean the cauldrons. Rose snatched her book and turned hurriedly towards the cauldrons.

All through detention Snape sat seething at his desk, unable to concentrate on his lesson plans and schemes of work. He kept envisioning the happy couple, their smiles, their embrace, captured so realistically by their own daughter, the by-product of their love. A love Snape had never known and was unlikely to ever know. Glancing briefly at Rose, who was busily scrubbing the numerous couldrons at the back of class, he felt conflicted. On the one hand he felt a fierce protectiveness, he felt he owed it to her mother to protect her in her stead and keep her from any harm. On the other hand, he felt resentment because each time he looked at her he was reminded of a lost friendship, devastating choices, lost opportunities and the humiliation he had to endure at the hands of her own father. She was too much like James in certain aspects, but at the same time he would not … could not hate her, because she was also like her mother in other ways. He had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the girl was brave, clever when she bothered to apply herself, and also uncommonly kind. One would expect popularity and reverence would go to her head, but she was surprisingly level-headed and humble.

It was bad enough when she was just a kid, seeing James’ face reflected in her own, with Lily’s eyes gleaming behind those thick glasses. But as she grew older, the less she started to look like her father yet not quite like her mother either, bar the eyes. Her mannerisms did however sometimes remind him of Lily like the way she picked at her food, the way she chewed her lower lip when she was concentrating, and the way she furrowed her brow when she was displeased. These minor similarities tugged at his heart. His love for Lily Evans had never died, it had never even diminished, but it still burnt with a passion. Seeing her drawing brought back memories, painful thoughts he wanted to bury.

Finally, the clock struck eight thirty and her detention was over. Rose had spent a whole hour and a half scrubbing filthy cauldrons with just a sponge and her own bare hands. Snape was in a foul mood throughout the whole session, but at least he hadn’t spoken to her at all. When Rose was finished, she approached his desk and waited patiently for him to acknowledge her presence. He was currently scowling at his book, seemingly lost in thought and had not noticed the awaiting figure.
“excuse me sir.”
Snape’s head shot up suddenly. How long had she stood there for?
“Sorry sir, I didn’t want to disturb you. I just wanted to tell you that I’m finished.”
“Fine, you may go Miss Potter and don’t forget to take that beastly book with you.”
With a flick of his wand, the door unlocked and sprang open as Rose glared once at Snape before proceeding to swiftly gather her belongings. With a terse ‘Good evening professor’, she rushed out eager to put distance between her and the churlish man.

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At long last, the day was over and all she wanted to do now was take a relaxing bath and a good night’s sleep. But something was nagging at the back of her mind. Snape usually wore an expression of boredom or of indifference, tonight… tonight she saw an array of emotions she had never seen there before, but most of all she saw hurt. While she stood waiting, she had noticed that although his eyes were directed at the essays, they were far away, somewhere only he knew. But wherever it had been, it had a very strange effect on the professor. Rose had always believed her professor to be a cold-hearted git, but tonight for the first time in five years she saw the human being which hid behind the frozen façade.

For the first time since she knew him she actually felt sorry for him. She wondered why he was so sad, maybe the cause of his sadness was also the reason why he was so cold with everyone. This thought made her curious, she was going to keep a closer eye on her professor from now on.

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Snape rose from his desk. Rubbing his eyes, he headed towards his study. Once inside he reached a hand toward a bookcase and pulled a large green tome. This caused the bookcase to slide sidewise revealing a dark tunnel through which Snape entered. This lead to his living quarters in which blazed a warm fire a house elf had probably lit earlier. Severus Snape removed his cape and overcoat and tossed them in a heap on the floor. Out of a cabinet nearby he took out a bottle of firewhisky and a glass which he filled with the aforementioned. He took a swig of the burning liquid and made his way to the bathroom.

Whilst the tub was filling with steaming water he undressed slowly, stealing a glance at his mirror. This caused him to grimace and turn his head quickly away from the steamed-up mirror. Once the water had almost reached the rim he stepped in and let out a sigh.

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“Finally”, Rose thought contentedly as she relaxed in the water, washing away all the stress of the day. Everyone was already sleeping. It was past eleven now. She had hoped to have a bath earlier but it had previously been occupied by Lavender Brown, and when she’s in there, there’s no way in hell of getting her out. But now finally she had peace and quiet for the first time all day.

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As Severus Snape lay in the warm water his thoughts wandered once more to the girl who lived. She certainly knew how to draw. He wondered from whom she could have inherited the gift for both Lily and James were rubbish at art. His own portrait then came to mind. It was an exact depiction of himself, every detail was intact. When had she made the drawing? He had never caught her sketching during his lesson. He wondered when she could have studied him so thoroughly as to be able to draw him. Another question came to mind suddenly. Why had she drawn him? She had drawn other professors such as McGonagall, Flitwick, Lupin and Moody but still, there were many others she didn’t draw such as Sprout, Quirrel, Lockheart and Trelawny, then why him? As he mulled over this thought he felt the water cool against his skin. Slowly he rose tying a towel around his waist.

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Rose wiped the steam from the mirror and began brushing the knots out of her wet hair. As she looked into the mirror she couldn’t help but notice how much she had changed over the years. Though she was still painfully skinny and rather short for her age her face and figure had changed quite a bit. Her body now was not that of a child anymore but that of a woman and since her fourth year and Cedric’s death her face became paler and thinner. Her glasses where too big for her now, they slid down her nose every few seconds which was a nuisance, especially during quidditch or potions. She also noticed that her eyes had changed radically. They didn’t have that mischievous glint anymore after having witnessed death and evil itself.

Rose suddenly felt lonely and jealous. Whilst most of her friends had families who showered them with affection, she had none other than the Dursleys who’d rather she did not exist. Whilst Lavender, Padma and Pervati squealed about boys and talked about boyfriends, Rose was constantly alert for any sign of Voldemort, leaving her no time for romance. Even if she did have time to spare, boys were frightened of her. Not because she was ugly, on the contrary, she would have been the prettiest in her year if she took greater care of her own appearance, but boys steered clear of her because of rumours that were constantly circulating about the girl who lived. Rose often wondered what it would feel like to be wanted, sometimes when she’d be alone she’d screw her eyes shut and try to imagine what a kiss would feel like.

As she continued to brush her hair she started to think of the boys in her year. None of them had really caught her fancy, none of the Gryffindor boys were good looking, the Hufflepuffs were too immature, the Ravenclaws were uptight and the Slytherins were jerks. The only handsome fifth year was Draco Malfoy but she’d rather face Voldemort any day than kiss that skrewt! Rose had only had a crush on one person in her life, Remus Lupin. As Rose remembered this she started to chuckle. Glimpsing her watch she saw that it was now way past midnight. Hurriedly she got dressed and headed for her dormitory with a last glance at her reflection which waved back.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Rose bolted out of bed drenched. Demented she screamed at Hermione who held an empty bucket in her hand.
“What the Hell are you trying to do Mione? Are you trying to drown me or something?” She said through clenched teeth as she tried to wring the water out of her PJ’s and hair.
“I’ve been trying to wake you for the past half hour, you just wouldn’t budge. I had to resort to drastic measures” retorted Hermione but backing away from Rose none the less.
“Oh there’s still time, potions is at nine today” said Rose irritably waving Hermione off.
“Um Rose… no it’s not. It’s in about five minutes.”
“WHAT?!!!!!!! You could have tried to wake me a bit earlier, oh no! Not another detention!”
Rose sprang out of bed and rushed round the room collecting scattered scrolls and quills whilst trying to fasten her skirt. Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation and helped Rose gather her things. Once Rose was dressed, albeit very messily, both flew out of the Gryffindor common room at top speed, knocking Ginny, who was on her way out too, to the floor in the process.

Luckily, they arrived just as Snape was about to close the door. The two girls brushed past him and hurried to their seat next to Ron. While Rose was settling down she noticed Malfoy smirking at her. She glared back before turning to the board which was filled with potion instructions. She busied herself taking note of all the instructions and ingredients. As soon as she was finished in her task, she rose from her seat and stood by her cauldron in which water was set to boil. She noticed that the as well as Malfoy, the rest of the Slytherins were giggling and pointing at her. This was not an unusual occurrence but today they sneered with an increased zeal. Looking down at the water in her couldron, her reflection stared back. No wonder Malfoy was sneering, she hadn’t had the chance to comb her hair and it was in such a disastrous state that Hagrid’s mane looked tame compared to her jumbled mess.

Rose suddenly felt someone behind her and she turned to find Professor Snape leaning over her.
“Miss Potter are you quite finished admiring your reflection? I don’t think vanity is a requirement in brewing this particular potion” said Snape scathingly, sneering derisively. The Slytherins were howling by now. Rose blushed at this, and as she started to turn away, she felt him lean closer “Also, how many times have I got to tell you girl? Always tie your unkempt hair when making a potion!” growled Snape in her ear. He stood quickly and took away 10 points before he moved on to torment the next victim.

Why did he always have to pick on her? She despised the Slytherins, every single one of them especially Snape and his pet ferret! But to her dismay she noticed that the potions’ master’s closeness caused her to feel slightly breathless and her heartbeat to quicken at the feel of Snape’s warm breath on her neck and the sound of his deep, baritone voice so close to her ear. Tentatively she raised her eyes from the ingredients she was sorting. She allowed them to alight on Snape for a moment. He had his back toward her as he towered over a petrified Neville. It must have been anxiety, yes definitely, just anxiety. Rose bent her head over the ingredients and continued chopping them up and preparing them as was required.

Forty-five minutes and 30 seconds later, potions was finally over, and Rose was out of the class before anyone could say ‘Quidditch’. The trio headed for transfigurations which was thankfully uneventful and afterwards they had a quick lunch in the Great Hall where Rose managed to tame her hair a bit. Glimpsing up at the enchanted ceiling she could see that it was a clear blue sky, great weather for Quidditch practice. But with a sudden jolt she remembered that practise was out of the question. Tonight, she had her first detention with Umbridge.

Apparently, this very thought had just occurred to Angelina, who was stomping down the aisle towards her with a rather irate look on her face.
“Hi Angeli…”
“Don’t ‘hi’ me Potter, we’re losing precious practise time because of you, not to mention try-outs. Listen here, don’t go flapping your mouth at Umbridge or any other teacher for that matter, we don’t want to lose any more valuable time, OKAY?”
“Yes Angelina” replied a rather subdued Rose.
With a last dark look and a brisk nod, the angry quidditch captain turned and left the Hall. Rose stared after her feeling even more miserable.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” said Ron sarcastically.
Rose forced one last spoonful of mash in her mouth and pushed her plate away for she had suddenly lost her apatite.

_____________

Late that evening Rose was returning to Gryffindor common room clutching her right hand.
“She’s evil, Merlin, she’s batshit mad!” thought Rose to herself. Her hand throbbed and stung making Rose’s eyes water. She tried hard not to cry, she would not let weakness take over, she would stand up to that pink freak and show her she was not afraid of anyone. She was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard footsteps approach from behind her.
“Potter, stop right there!” Snape’s voice echoed in the empty corridor.
“Not him! That’s all I need!” muttered Rose under her breath as she turned slowly and looked furtively at Severus Snape.

As she faced him Severus was momentarily stunned to see the usually lively girl, deathly pale and livid. Her eyes were bloodshot and shined with unshed tears. Lowering his gaze, he also noticed her trying to hide something behind her.
“What are you doing outside your room after hours and what are you hiding behind your back?” Snape asked moving closer.
“I am returning from detention with Professor Umbridge and I have nothing hidden behind my back” replied Rose keeping her hands firmly behind her.
Snape raised a brow suspiciously before he grabbed her arms and pulled her hands from behind her. At this Rose cringed with pain as Snape brushed her right hand accidentally. Noticing this he took hold of her right wrist and turned her hand palm down. There on the back of her right hand was “I must not tell lies” etched deeply. Blood trickling slowly from this wound.

Severus raised his eyes slowly until they bore deep into Rose’s own.
“Who did this to you?” he asked between clenched teeth.
Rose stood there, mute.
Grabbing her arms tight he shook her slightly whilst repeating the question more sternly;
“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”
“Umbridge made me write lines for my detention using a quill of hers. It used my own blood instead of ink.”
Snape looked momentarily aghast before schooling his features back into his customary impassive expression. If it were not for the vein in his head which was visibly throbbing one would think he had not heard Rose. Releasing her from his grasp, he turned his back to her.
“Follow me, Miss Potter.”
Rose reluctantly followed, careful to maintain a safe distance behind the professor. At first, she thought he was going to take her to Dumbledore, but when they reached the entrance hall he turned towards the dungeons instead. Snape walked wordlessly ahead of her for some time before stopping suddenly. He whispered something and the door he stood in front of opened slowly, revealing Snape’s office within. He stood aside motioning Rose to enter which she did so cautiously. He followed closing the door behind him and lighting the candelabras with a flick of his wrist.

Snape then went to the assortment of bottles lined along the wall just behind his mahagony desk, from which he drew a small phial. Unscrewing it deftly he approached Rose who stood alertly by his desk. Reaching out his hand he took Rose’s right one gently in his. Tilting the bottle slightly he allowed a single drop to fall on her wound. This caused it to sting tremendously making Rose gasp audibly, but Snape held on to his student’s jerking hand. He put the bottle on his desk and proceeded to rub the liquid gently over the offending, etched words.

During his ministrations, Rose kept her eyes fixed on the professor’s unyielding face, which seemed void of any emotion. He bowed his head slightly causing his lanky hair to hang around his face, partially shielding it from her keen eyes. Rose also noted that his hands were surprisingly soft as he handled her own delicately. Once the initial sting of the potion wore off, the unguent simply caused her to feel a slight tingling sensation as the throbbing and burning abated almost completely. It would be absurd to say Rose wasn’t surprised, for she was. Snape must have felt her stare, for he raised his eyes which met hers briefly before he suddenly let go of her hand.

“I have disinfected your wound and this potion should lessen the bleeding as well as any pain inflicted.” He turned away from her and started towards the vial filled shelves.
“I suggest you hold that tongue of yours in the presence of Professor Umbridge, Miss Potter” he said, as he placed the phial back in its place, “or else you’ll undergo the same ordeal another time.”
“I’m afraid that’s too late. She gave me a week’s worth of detentions” replied Rose quietly.
Snape did not appear to have heard her. He reached for a sheet of parchment and sat down at his desk. Quickly he wrote a short note and folding it, he handed the parchment to Rose.
“If you should run into Mr Filch on your way back to your dorm, give this to him. You may go.”
Rose took the letter and turned to leave. At the door she turned slightly looking towards the professor who was now bent over some book at his desk.
“Thank you, sir.”
With that she hurried out closing the office door gently behind her. Snape lifted his head and kept staring at the spot where she had stood just a few seconds ago.

Luckily Rose hadn’t bumped into Filch or his mangy cat. She entered the common room to find it deserted. Quietly she ascended the steps which led to her dormitory. There, Rose found all her classmates in deep slumber. Hermione was still in her uniform, with a copy of ‘Hogwarts A History’ clutched open against her chest. ‘She must have been waiting for me, poor thing, I guess I should wake her or else she’ll wrinkle up her uniform’ thought Rose warmly. But as she was reaching out towards Hermione’s shoulder something caught her eye. There, on her own bed lay a small phial, the very same one Snape had used earlier.

Hurrying towards her bed she snatched the phial wondering how on earth it could have come to be there. There was no note attached to it. She just couldn’t believe that Snape would put it there. He hated her, so why would he give her that unguent and why had he treated her hand? He could have just given her detention and left her and her bleeding hand alone. It made no sense, no sense at all. It was very unlike him and this confused her.

A rustling sound behind her startled her from her reverie. Hermione was stirring and her eyes were just fluttering open. Rose hid the bottle under her pillow quickly as Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The latter sat up groggily and muttered a sleepy “how’d you go?”
“She made me write lines” replied Rose trying to hide her right hand in the process.
“Oh, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
And to Rose’s relief Hermione didn’t push the subject any further. They both changed into their night things and after bidding each other good night they both snuggled into their respective beds. Hermione fell asleep immediately, Rose could hear her deep breathing from her own bed, even with the four poster’s heavy curtains drawn round her. Slipping her hand underneath her pillow she fingered the phial which felt cold in her warm hand. After a moment or so Rose fell asleep too with a pair of dark smouldering eyes in mind.

_____________

Breakfast that morning and lessons went rather smoothly but to Rose’s dismay Hermione caught a glimpse of her hand during charms. Rose could feel Hermione’s enquiring gaze throughout the lesson and as soon as the bell rang her friend demanded to know the cause of the wound.
Rose tried to pretend she didn’t hear her and changed the subject several times but Hermione was relentless. Eventually, Rose gave in and told her how the offending letters came to be engraved on her hand. Hermione went as white as a sheet and Ron, who was just behind them, clenched his fists in anger causing the parchment he held to tear.
“Rose, why didn’t you tell me yesterday? You must tell Dumbledore, you simply must. She… she just can’t do that sort of thing!”
“Herm, she did and she will keep doing it, there’s nothing Dumbledore can do about it, he has enough to deal with as it is. I don’t want to bother him with this” said Rose waving her hand in the process.
“I won’t let her get to me. I’ll make her see who she’s dealing with. I am Rose Potter, and she’d better get used to it!”

_____________

That night when Rose returned from detention, she found both her friends wide awake and waiting for her in the common room. Rolling her eyes, she took a seat between them on the sofa next to the fireplace. Taking her hand gently Hermione examined it thoroughly before rushing up to the dormitory.
“Where’s she gone?” asked Rose.
“Probably went to find something to try and heal it. Does it hurt much?” asked Ron, concern plain in his voice.
“Ron, I’ve been bitten by a basilisk and have had bludgers knocking me off my broom endless times. This is just a cut, don’t worry” and with that Rose gave Ron a comforting hug and rose to leave. But at that moment Hermione entered with a flask filled with warm water and a piece of cloth to bath the wound. Rose was pushed back down on the sofa as Hermione started her ministrations. She had no choice but to comply.

_____________

The week worth of detentions finally passed to Rose’s relief, though the scars were a constant reminder of the ordeal and it seemed they would be permanent though they might fade slightly with time. Saturday morning Rose woke up before any of her classmates. Another Cedric dream had jolted her awake and try as she might she just couldn’t get back to sleep. Grabbing a checked shirt and a denim skirt, she headed as quietly as she could to the bathroom where she took a speedy shower. Once ready she cast a quick drying spell on her hair before combing it and braiding it. She pulled her clothes and dropped her night things in the bathroom hamper before she headed down to the portrait. She decided to return the vial back to Snape and to thank him for she had not yet had the chance to do so.

The Sun was just rising as she made her way down to the dungeons and its rays cast a red glow in the corridors. Rose made her way slowly relishing the peace that permeated through the silent castle. She enjoyed being able to walk quietly without having people gaping at her and whispering rumours about the girl who lived.

Soon she was at the foot of the stairwell that led to the dungeons. No sunbeams reached this part of the castle and Rose hastened her pace until she was at the Potions classroom door. She knocked and waited, but no one came, so she knocked again. Hearing no approaching footsteps, she tried the handle which turned easily. Opening the door, she entered the room but the class was deserted. She decided to leave the phial on his desk but as she entered deeper into the room, she noticed that the door which led to his office was ajar. She approached warily and peeked in. There, with his back toward her, stood Snape who was busy working on some potion. She was surprised to see that he was not wearing his customary black robes or frock coat but instead he sported a pair of black trousers, a crisp white shirt and a black waistcoat. His sleeves were rolled up revealing toned forearms. She had never seen him this laid back, as regards apparel. Again, she felt her heart quicken its pace as her eyes caught sight of the dark mark on his forearm as he reached out for a pestle and mortar on his left. Hesitantly, she knocked on the door before pushing it open. Startled Severus turned round expecting to see Albus or one of his colleagues, but instead, there in front of him stood Rose Potter.

“Is there something you need Miss Potter?” Snape asked lucidly.
“Um… yes… I’m here to return this to you. There’s still some left” and with that she took a step further into the room and held out the bottle for Snape to take.
Severus stood there a moment looking at her outstretched hand before he approached her. As he took the vial from her hand his fingers brushed her palm and she caught a whiff of Snape’s cologne which, Rose thought, smelled rather pleasant. Her eyes once again caught sight of the dark mark and Snape pulled down his sleeve quickly in an attempt to cover it.
“Is that all Miss Potter?” he asked gruffly.
Raising her eyes to meet his she answered,
“Well, no, I also wanted to …”
But as she was saying this a blush was creeping up her face. Snape hadn’t fully buttoned up his shirt, and his neck, as well as a portion of his chest which was sprinkled with fine, dark chest hair was visible.
Severus stood there impatiently waiting for her to continue when he realised what she was looking at. He saw her face redden slightly and lower her eyes shyly. He couldn’t help smirk to himself, it wasn’t usual that he elicited such reactions from the fairer sex, especially someone so young.
“Yes, miss Potter? I’m rather busy, would you mind hurrying please?”
“I…just wanted to thank you for the unguent.”
She answered looking up at him timidly through her lashes. Snape simply inclined his head in acknowledgement. As Rose was about to turn round, she felt Snape reach out and take her hand in his own as he examined her scars.
“I’m afraid these will never disappear completely.”
“I thought as much. I think that was her aim, however, these scars will only serve to remind me why I must keep struggling and resisting. Scars are a constant reminder of what we’ve been through, proof that we made it and that we are stronger coming out of it.”
With that Rose bid him a hasty farewell and hurried out, closing the office door behind her leaving a rather bemused Snape behind.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

It was still dark outside, but Rose sat wide awake in bed. Almost two years had passed since the Umbridge and Snape incident, she had even forgotten about the unguent, if it hadn’t been for the dream that woke her. She just couldn’t believe that two years ago she had thought of Snape as pleasant looking, handsome even. Now she despised him. So many things had happened in two years. Things that made her look at life differently.

Sirius had died at the hands of his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange and forever lost behind the veil. This had left her distraught and shattered. But with the help of her friends, Ron and Hermione, she had gotten through it, though the pain she felt within her heart at his loss would never go away she had learnt to live with it. But only a few months after the ordeal of losing Sirius, she lost someone else important in her life, Albus Dumbledore, someone who was like a grandfather to her, a mentor. The latter had been murdered in cold blood, by Snape, someone he had trusted implicitly.

She was still baffled and disbelieving. How could Snape have killed Dumbledore after he had trusted him so much? And how could Dumbledore, as brilliant as he was, have been so mistaken?

Here, back at the Dursleys, you would never think anything out of the ordinary had taken place, for life was as quiet and as boring as it had ever been. Yet Rose knew better and kept a constant look out. Her friends sent no mail, fearing interception, so to Rose’s dismay she had to spend a whole Summer in isolation. Well, at least until she had her 17th birthday, that’s when the order was supposed to come for her.

Turning to her right, she glanced at her watch, 4 a.m. Lying back down she closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep, but this attempt was futile. She tossed and turned, counted puffskeins and sheep but still sleep did not come. Instead, she rose out of bed and headed toward her window. Hedwig’s cage stood empty nearby, for the owl was out busy hunting for mice. This fact combined with her current predicament made her feel even more lonely.

Outside no one was about and not a sound, except for a cricket down below, could be heard. This both pleased and bothered Rose, for though she enjoyed peace and quiet, this stillness was a loud reminder of the danger that was lurking.

A sudden popping sound startled Rose out of her reverie, someone had just apparated downstairs. Her heart beat furiously, as she wondered who would come here at this time. The Dursleys were away for the weekend, and she had the house all to herself, maybe someone from the order came to check up on her. Taking her wand in hand she stood waiting anxiously in darkness facing her closed door. She could hear footsteps coming up the stairs and stopping just outside her door. After a moment of eerie silence the knob turned. The door started to swing open and a blinding flash of light came towards her, then nothing.

----------------------------------------------------

Ron was the first one up that faithful morning, a rarity. Down he trudged toward the empty kitchen at the Burrow, passing closed doors through which wafted grunts and snores of the slumbering Weasleys. As Ron pushed open the kitchen door he was startled to find a disgruntled looking owl atop the breakfast table. Approaching with caution, he snatched the letter attached to the bird’s leg, but not before he was pecked, really hard. Cursing profusely, he opened the letter but his cussing was cut short when he saw what was written.

For reasons I am not allowed to divulge, I have taken Rose Potter to a secret location where she will be taken care of and protected. Do not worry for her welfare, she will be safe, safer than anywhere else. When the time is right, she will be delivered to you.
An Ally

The anonymous note was still grasped in Ron’s shaking hands when Mrs Weasley descended. When she saw him pale and shaken, she sat him down and eased the letter out of his grasp and into her own. As soon as she had read the note herself, she let out a cry full of the anguish she felt, for both believed that they may never see Rose again, alive or dead.

----------------------------------------------------

Rose’s eyes fluttered open suddenly. She lay on a couch in a room she did not recognise. She looked frantically round when her eyes caught a sudden movement in the shadows to her left. Even though his face was hidden in shadow, there was no mistaking who he was. Snape. Rose reached for her wand which she kept at a holster around her waist, but this was futile, as neither the wand nor the holster were there. She was unarmed and helpless, but she would not go down without a fight. She suddenly lunged herself at him. Before she could deliver her intended blow, he had caught her hands in a vice like grip. She also tried kicking him, but he managed to push her back onto the settee and restrained her with his own body.
“Miss Potter, will you control yourself, you’re acting like a crazed banshee?!” He growled, his face mere inches away from her own.
“Let go of me you… you… MURDERER!” she spat back at him with vehemence all the while struggling against his hold.
Rolling his eyes at her feeble accusation, he retained his firm grip.
“Get off of me!”
“I might be tempted to if you CALMED DOWN!”
Rose glared at him profusely but reluctantly settled down somewhat and so Snape backed away from her tentatively, while keeping close enough just in case she tried to escape.
“Where am I?” Rose asked as she rubbed her sore wrists and pulled down the oversized shirt she wore, which, to her consternation, had ridden up her thighs during the struggle.
“I’ll tell you, but before I have to show you something, otherwise you won’t believe anything I say.”
“Like anything will change that, I saw what you did, and nothing, NOTHING will change that!” as she said this, she stood from the settee and took a step toward her kidnapper, showing him she not one to be pushed about or easily scared.
Rose was adamant in her resolve, but Severus was even more determined than her, and if it was to be a battle of wills, then so be it!
“Follow me, miss Potter.”
“What if I don’t?” challenged Rose, but still she followed him into the next room, where a pensieve was set up, with a number of bottles full of glowing memories stacked round.
“It is time Potter, for you to know the truth, what Dumbledore wanted me to hide from you until… now.”
He took the nearest phial and poured the contents into the pensieve. Rose stood alert by the doorway. Snape turned toward her and gripped her arm. She pulled away from him, but he held his vicelike grip.
“Miss Potter, did you seriously think I’d let you delve in my memories alone?”
“YOUR memories? And why should I trust YOUR memories, you could corrupt them, change them even. It has been done before.”
“Well, I’m not Slughorn” gritted out Snape.
“… How… how did you know about that?” asked Rose, stunned momentarily by Snape’s assertion.
“Dumbledore showed me.”
Rose stiffened with anger that mounted suddenly within her, yet before she had any time to react, Snape grabbed her arm again and in they went.

Rose found herself standing beside Snape in Dumbledore’s office, her arm clutched in his hand. The former headmaster sat hunched over his desk clutching his shrivelled right hand.
“Why did you put that ring on? You must have suspected that it was cursed!” reprimanded memory Snape who sat at Dumbledore’s side. Rose looked up curiously at the real Snape and then turned her gaze back toward the two professors. Snape was now administering a potion to the frail looking Dumbledore.
“Where would I be without you Severus?” asked a relatively jovial Dumbledore looking at his hand with interest.
“Probably searching for a potions master” replied Snape dryly, evidently still incensed at the headmaster’s folly.
“So… how long do I have” asked Dumbledore calmly, as if it were some trivial issue.
“About a year, if you had summoned me before, I might have been able to do something more, buy you more time…”
“Hush, Hush Severus. Death is but a great adventure, a new beginning. But I still have much to do before the time comes. I have come to believe that Voldemort has set young Draco a rather solemn task, my assassination. He trusts you, would you try to find out more?”
“His trust in me has lessened since his father’s failure, still I could try.”
“If my hypothesis is correct, may I ask too much of you once more? Mr Malfoy’s soul is not yet corrupt and…”
“And mine is. You want me to do the task assigned to Draco? To kill you?” Said Snape vehemently, visibly incensed and indignant.
“If it comes to it yes. You would be protecting Draco and you will strengthen your position within the deatheater’s ranks. Tom’s trust in you will inadvertently strengthen, putting you in a better position to protect the staff and students here. If I die, Hogwarts will need an ally, and that my friend is you. Promise me that you’ll carry out this grave task.”
Snape’s usual stoic mask cracked momentarily revealing a myriad of emotions that flitted over his face in quick succession. He looked vulnerable, wretched and distressed, but as quickly as it slipped, his mask was once again in place.
“I will do as you ask headmaster” replied Snape dejectedly as he halted his ministrations and released Albus’s cursed hand.
“A simple Avada Kadavra will suffice, anyway it will definitely be much less painful and messy than this.” said Dumbledore whilst indicating his blackened hand which he continued to examine with interest.
Rose felt her head spin with all this sudden knowledge, Dumbledore was going to die anyway due to the accursed ring he had foolishly slipped on. And Snape… Snape was just a pawn in Dumbledore’s game. Before this new information had any time to process, Rose felt herself being pulled backwards into the real world.
It took some time for Rose to overcome the dizziness that usually followed memory travel. She felt Snape grip her elbow in order to help her steady herself and avoid falling flat on her ass. When she regained her balance and felt steady enough she looked up, deep in his eyes and said:
“Answer me one last question. How do I know for certain that that memory wasn’t manipulated?”
“Do you truly think that you’d be alive if that were a lie and if I were a foe? If I hand you in to the dark lord, I’d be given much greater power, riches beyond compare as well as a lifetime void of teaching dunderheads how to blow up cauldrons. And yet here you stand, unscathed. What would I stand to gain from bringing you here, showing you falsehoods?”
He looked at her critically making her feel suddenly very uncomfortable at his closeness, feeling the warmth emanating from his body, his hand still holding her elbow. The fact that she was still in her night things, or rather one of Dudley’s old shirts which reached down to her thigh and was a little too threadbare for her liking, augmented her unease. She felt exposed to her scrutinising professor, realising how vulnerable and powerless she was at that moment.
Snape seemed to sense Rose’s thoughts, averted his eyes and released his grip on her arm.
“I’ve prepared a room for you, your trunk’s in there as well as your owl. If you’ll just follow me.”
“Wait…what?...Am I to stay here? What is this place anyway?”
“We are in Sandwick, on the west coast of Orkney Mainland. This house used to be headmaster Dippet’s residence. When he died he left it to Hogwarts in his will to be used as a safehouse. Only Albus knew about this place, and now you and myself are privy to this information. Hogwarts is no longer safe for you, and in a few weeks’ time neither will your aunt’s house. Grimmauld place is relatively safe, but due to obvious reasons I will not be able to visit and train you.”
“Train me?”
“Yes, Albus informed me about the task assigned to you. Collecting the horcruxes is no meagre feat and you will need to be prepared. Eventually you will also have to be prepared to face the death eaters and the dark lord himself. The headmaster wished for me to train you in defensive magic, healing charms, and unfortunately occlumency and legilimency too.”

Rose couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of the disastrous occlumency lessons she had during her fifth year.
“But why you? Why not any other order member?”
At this Snape bristled visibly and his patience seemed to be stretched to the limit.
“Albus believed that the fewer people knew about the horcruxes’ existence the better. Additionally, I am the only order member with a mastery of both occlumency and legilimency.”
“What about Ron and Hermione? Won’t they need protection and training too?”
“Granger and Weasley should be relatively safe as they are clueless in relation to the existence of the horcruxes and they are oblivious of your current location. They are safer than if you were to be in their presence, their association to you would make them direct targets. They will return to Hogwarts while you will remain in my charge until further notice. I have sent an anonymous letter to the order members informing them that you are safe. They do not know I sent the letter as I cast an incognito charm on it to avoid the possibility of it being traced back to me.”

With that he turned and made his way out of the room into the hallway and toward the staircase which led to the first floor. Rose trailed behind Snape examining her surroundings. She thought that the house was very quaint and comfortable. It actually reminded her of the Gryffindor common room, warm and homey. It was also rather big, definitely larger than the Dursley’s home but not as large as Grimmauld Place either. On reaching the top of the staircase, Rose found herself in another long corridor lined with doors. Her door was at the very end of the hall.
“This is your personal chamber. You will rest for the remainder of today, we may start your training tomorrow. We will have dinner at seven thirty every evening and breakfast will be at seven sharp. The door opposite yours is the upstairs bathroom. If you should require my assistance, my room’s adjacent to yours.”

With a curt nod he turned on his heel and disappeared in his own room, closing the door firmly behind him. Rose promptly entered hers, which was a good size and held all her belongings, as well as her beloved owl. Once inside she headed straight to Hedwig’s perch and proceeded to caress her feathers as the owl playfully nipped her fingers. Rose then made her way toward her trunk from which she extracted a shirt and jeans which she swiftly changed into.

The room was richly furnished. A large hardwood four poster bed dominated the room with sheer drapes hanging all the way round. Two matching side tables were placed on either side of the bed and a weathered trunk was positioned at its foot. Along the opposite wall stood a gigantic wardrobe with its door wide open, and its interiors completely bare, inviting the occupant to fill them. The bookcase adjacent to the wardrobe was void of any books yet housed plenty of spiders and their intricate webs. Rose knelt down next to her trunk and proceeded to extract her belongings. The handful of clothes she owned were all hung in the wardrobe and her schoolbooks were placed on one of the bookcase’s shelves. She gathered her quills and parchment and carried them toward a small desk that was placed beneath the window. As she was depositing them within the desk’s drawer she looked out the window and found herself breathless at the sight. Her window presented her with a view of sheer cliffs being battered by the rough sea. Rose had never seen the ocean before as the Dursleys had never taken her with them to the seaside. She was dumbstruck and awed at the savage beauty of the landscape. The sun was still shining high in the sky illuminating the majestic scene.

Looking down at her watch she was astonished to find that it was only two in the afternoon. Since she was not overly tired she decided to explore the interior and exterior of the house. She felt this was the best time to do so since Snape was still inside his room, buying her a few moments of freedom to roam unhindered.

Closing her door quietly behind her she quickly peeked into the bathroom through the door which stood ajar. Nothing interesting there apart from a few phials and Snape’s aftershave bottle neatly placed along with blades and shaving cream on a little wooden shelf. Backing away she tiptoed past Snape’s door and stopped in front of the one adjacent to it. Inside was what seemed to be a miniature version of the potions lab at Hogwarts, definitely not something Rose wanted to explore so she hurriedly closed the door. There were a further four rooms on this floor, all of which were practically empty, containing nothing but a few ordinary objects that littered the floor here and there. Most probably they had been spare bedrooms in the past. Downstairs was a kitchen/ breakfast room, a formal dining room, a second bathroom void of any personal possessions pertaining to the potions master, an office and a sitting room. The last remaining door on this floor led to the biggest room in the house, a library. Hermione would go berserk if she saw this room, she’d definitely strive to read all the books that lined the shelves if she were here. Having now seen the whole house Rose proceeded to examine the outside.

As Rose stood in front of the main door, she reached out for the knob but the door was stuck fast and would not budge, not even an alohomora spell could make it open. She suspected Snape cast some sort of security spell or protective wards keeping her from leaving the building. Disappointed and disgruntled Rose trudged off back to the library where she decided to explore the shelves. Even though Rose was not a proficient reader herself, books were something she was quite fond of. Hundreds of books lined shelves all around the room, books dealing with transfiguration, charms, wizarding history, magical creatures, defensive spells, dark arts and healing magic. Rose was also surprised to find an entire section comprising of muggle novels including Shakespeare, Dickens, Wilde, Tolkien and Austen among many others. As Rose was inspecting the novels she heard footsteps approaching, and as she turned, Snape was entering the room.

“I hope everything’s to your liking and that you are settling in well.”
Whether he meant this to be sarcastic or truthful, Rose was unsure, so she stated a simple “Yes, thank you, sir.”
This seemed to appease Snape somewhat. He entered further into the room and headed toward the desk on which was a pile of apparently formidable books Rose hadn’t bothered to take a look at.

“As I have already mentioned, I will be preparing you for your confrontation with the Dark Lord, and this requires long hours of training. There are also some things you should be well informed about. These books here have certain pages marked, pages you are to know inside out. Am I understood?”
Rose just nodded and said nothing.
“Dinner is ready.”
And with that Snape strode back out of the library and up to his room. Turning her head toward the stack of books, Rose frowned. Picking the topmost one up, she advanced toward the kitchen where a warm plate of roast beef summoned her. It smelled delicious and she was absolutely ravenous, especially since over the Summer the Dursleys made her go on a strict diet to support Dudley in his. She was pleasantly surprised that Snape could actually cook, though after some thought she realised that he was a potions master after all. Following recipe instructions was an easy task for him. She was also rather stunned, that cold, unfeeling Snape could actually be considerate, toward her of all people.

She silently sat down and voraciously ate her meal whilst eying the book she propped against some glass bottles on the table. It contained defensive spells, some of which Rose had never heard of. Some had footnotes written in Snape’s own spidery handwriting whilst others had alterations in the incantation, not unlike the Half Blood Prince’s own potions book. By the time she finished her meal it was ten to ten. About time to turn in for the night, so after hastily washing her dish, she hurried up to shower and then snuggled up in bed where she had the first real night’s that Summer.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Rose woke to the blaring sound of her alarm clock. Still groggy, she shuffled out of bed, pulled on some slacks and an old shirt of Dudley’s and headed out of her room and across to the bathroom which was mercifully vacant. After a quick shower she redressed, brushed her hair, which she pulled in a messy knot at the nape of her neck and headed downstairs to the kitchen. It was still 6.30 a.m. so she had enough time to eat something.

Once in the kitchen she rummaged through the fridge from which she extracted two eggs, some bacon and butter. Gathering a frying pan and some plates and bowls she proceeded to fry the aforementioned, also preparing a few slices of toast and a bowl of oatmeal in the process. Once the food was done, she prepared two plates, one of which was for herself. As she settled down to eat she heard footsteps approach. As she raised her head, Snape was just entering the room.
“Morning, I see you actually listened to me for once Potter” said Snape as he approached the kitchen counter.
“Yes, sir, bright and early” replied Rose stifling an inevitable yawn.
Snape was just about to pour himself a cup of coffee when he noticed the second plate across from Rose.
“You’ve got quite an appetite”
Rose looked up puzzled for a moment before she noticed what he was referring to.
“Oh, no, that’s for you, I’ve almost eaten mine already” said Rose.
Snape was silent for a moment, he hadn’t eaten yet, but he hadn’t expected Rose to wake up on time, let alone prepare breakfast for him. He approached the table silently and sat down to his meal, whispering a quick ‘thank you’ to Rose as he raised his fork.
Rose was surprised at his thanking her, knowing Snape was not the gracious sort.
As Snape ate, Rose studied him discretely. He looked more laid back than usual, sporting a black shirt with the top button undone and wearing his customary black trousers, rather than his habitual robes or frock coat. His hair was down curtaining his face as he ate silently across from her. As she was undergoing her examination of him, he raised his eyes suddenly on her and caught her looking at him before she had the chance to lower hers.
“Miss Potter, am I such a fascinating specimen?”
“Sorry sir, I was just wondering whether the food was satisfactory?” she replied with a quick excuse and a slight reddening of her cheeks.
“It’s fine.” he said as he pushed the empty plate away from him. “It’s time to start your training.”

Rose shuffled after him into the library, where he motioned for her to take a seat in the armchair by the mahagony desk. Picking up one of the chosen books, he handed it to her and told her to open it on page thirty-two. He leaned against the desk and started explaining the spell mentioned, its use, execution, pros and cons of its use and the situation in which it would be most of use. Rose strived to take down most of what Snape said whilst trying to take it all in, lest he may ask her to repeat anything. They carried on like this for about an hour and a half before Snape told Rose to follow him outside. As Rose emerged she was suddenly rendered speechless, for the view was even more breath-taking than what she had seen through her bedroom window the day before. The sun shone bright in a cloudless sky and its rays reflected off the still mirror-like ocean surface. A low mist hung to the trees and nearby fields as majestic, sheer cliffs loomed in the distance with myriads of gulls circling overhead. Rose stood staring transfixed, in wonder at how such tranquillity could still exist with Voldemort on the rise.

As Rose stood in awe, Snape took the opportunity to study her. For the first time ever he actually felt something akin to pity in regard to his student. He had always imagined her to be as pampered as her father, but here she stood in clothes ten sizes too big for her, worn and faded. Dumbledore had told him about Rose’s relatives only a few weeks prior to his demise, so this reality was still new to Snape. He was shocked and repulsed at the revelation. How could her aunt, her own flesh and blood, treat her only niece, the daughter of her deceased sister in this manner? Deep down he also felt a jolt of guilt at the way he treated her himself, taking out his hatred toward James upon his daughter, Lily’s daughter.

In spite of her attire Snape couldn’t help thinking of how beautiful she had become. The sun reflected off her raven hair, her eyes shone in wonder, those bewitching emerald eyes, so similar to her mother’s, yet so different too. He felt a longing, a deep burning desire to run his fingers through her hair releasing it from its knot at the nape of her neck. A longing to hold her tight, comfort her and assure her all would be fine, though he knew it would not. He forced himself to suppress such feelings and cease such thoughts, like countless times before. She was not Lily, she was so young, twenty years his junior. He felt a rush of self-loathing at having such notions, especially with regards to a girl young enough to be his own daughter. He coughed to catch her attention. With that she drew her eyes from the magical scenery back to her professor as he proceeded to demonstrate the spell they had just discussed.

It was a rocky start, with most hexes cast hitting Rose, but after some time, and an unusually patient Snape, she started to block most of them. The sun was setting by the time Severus was satisfied with her progress. With that he gave her leave to rest and vanished within the house. A breathless, sweaty and exhausted Rose followed suite and hurried upstairs to clean Hedwig’s cage and to let her out for some mouse hunting. She then gathered a change of clothing and went to take a nice, long bath. As she lowered herself into the warm, inviting water she felt her taut muscles relax and any aches to subside as she sighed and closed her eyes, sinking even deeper into the water.

Back in her room she gathered her drawing supplies and made her way outside again where she plopped herself on the grass and rested her back against a boulder facing the sea. There she started sketching the water beating against the cliffs, the gulls circling overhead, the cottage itself and finally her friends, Ron and Hermione. She wondered where they were at that very moment, whether they were safe, whether they knew of her absence from the Dursley’s house. She hoped they would not be too distraught and that they would not attempt to find her. She just wanted them safe. As she thought of them, her eyes welled up with tears which streamed down her face, some of which even fell onto her sketch book.

It was in this state that Snape found her as he stepped out to take a breath of fresh air. He approached her and as she became aware of him she hastily rubbed at her eyes, trying to remove evidence of her momentary lapse. When he was close enough to be looming over her he drew a clean, crisp white handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and handed it to her. She was surprised by his show of kindness and couldn’t help but be reminded of his actions from her fifth year, when he helped her with the Umbridge detention incident.

She uttered a quick thanks before sniffling her nose and blowing it loudly. He seated himself on the boulder, his trouser leg brushing against her shoulder. She tentatively raised her puffy red eyes to find him looking out to sea.
‘Why were you crying?’ he asked as he lowered his eyes meeting her own.
‘I was thinking of Ron and Hermione... Ron’s brother, Bill, has his wedding soon, I was to attend. And now I don’t even know if I ever get to see them again. What if the death eaters attack the wedding? What if Ron and Hermione come searching for me and are captured all because of me? I just can’t bear to think that I could be the cause of their death. They are the only real family I have ever had…’

Snape’s heart clenched, her predicament reminded him so much of his own. The fear he himself had felt for Lily. The pain and guilt he felt at her death as he clutched her lifeless body to him, bathing her in his tears as the little Rose screamed and cried in her crib.
‘I can’t promise you that they will be safe. No one can guarantee that. But if anything were to happen, it would not be your doing. It is them who chose to be by your side through all these years and all you have faced. They care about you and would do anything for you as would you for them. If anyone dies the only one to blame is the dark lord. The best thing you can do for your friends is to train, prepare yourself and destroy all the horcruxes. Only then will the world be rid of him and the danger he poses.’
He tentatively lowered his hand and patted her shoulder lightly. He could not understand what caused him to do so, as he was not the consoling sort. But her suddenly felt very protective of the girl, even though her responsibility was thrust upon him.
As he was about to rise from his seated position and withdraw his hand, he felt her own cover his, squeezing it gently.
‘Thank you. I know things between us were never great, but I want you to know that I am grateful for your help and that I admire your strength and determination. I am glad you are my teacher.’
She smiled fleetingly up at him before averting her eyes, looking back out towards the sea.
He too looked out to the tumultuous sea, which at that moment mirrored his inner emotions precisely.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

That evening after dinner was to be Rose’s fist Occlumency lesson. Her stomach churned at the thought. Her last foray into that field during her fifth year was disastrous to say the least. She remembered her sessions with Snape with dread, and was not inclined to repeat the experience, however she was aware that it was vital for her to master this skill, if not for her own sake, for that of others.

Rose was also aware that during her fifth year, her resentment towards Snape, Umbridge, the Daily Prophet, the Ministry of Magic … all combined were not conducive to her learning the art of occlumency as her anger was too hard to suppress. Back then Rose had seen her link to Voldemort’s mind as a strength, one that had led to saving Mr Weasley. Yet now, after Sirius’ death as a result of the false vision planted in her mind, she saw the connection for what it really was, a threat. She did not want to allow Voldemort access to her mind, her deepest thoughts, desires and fears. She did not want to reveal any secrets related to the Order or her friends, she did not want to reveal Snape’s current role as a mentor to her, or disclose their location. She needed to master occlumency.

For their session, Snape led Rose to the library. There she noticed that the furniture had been re-arranged. Two armchairs were placed facing each other close to the fireplace, within which a fire was crackling. Snape sat in one and motioned for Rose to sit across from him.

When both were seated, Snape leaned forward as he steepled his fingers observing Rose intensely. Rose felt very self-conscious and anxious at his penetrative stare until he eventually lowered his hands to rest on the arm rests on either side of him.

“Two years ago you failed to master occlumency because you were unsuccessful in controlling your emotions. Albus often said that your ability to feel is one of your greatest strengths, however in the field of occlumency, feeling is a weakness, a chink in your armour. You must attempt to empty your mind, rid it of all thought. Make it blank and calm.”

Snape halted momentarily. Leaning back he continued his instructions.

“Take a comfortable position and close your eyes.”

Rose was hesitant however she surmounted her doubts and closed her eyes as she crossed her legs and tucked them underneath her. Keeping her back straight she rested her hands in her lap.

“Good. Now clear your mind of all thoughts. Become aware of your breathing. Feel the air going in through your nose as your diaphragm contracts and your lungs expand. Feel your chest rising. Gently exhale as your lungs contract pushing air back out through your mouth. As you become more aware of your own breathing now feel the warmth emanating from the fire, reaching your clothes, your skin as it seeps in warming your being. Do not think. Simply feel.”
Snape’s voice soothed Rose as her breathing calmed. She became aware of her own body, her breathing. She spent a few minutes simply breathing, working hard on keeping her mind blank.

“Now I will attempt to probe your mind, not enter, simply probe. I need you to try and detect me, become aware of my presence at the periphery of your awareness.”

At this her heartbeat quickened as anxiety reared its head once more.

“Don’t let your apprehension take over, keep breathing, stay calm. I will not be aggressive, I will not attempt to enter without your permission today. I simply ask you to become aware of my consciousness probing your own.”

At this Rose was slightly appeased as she settled back down and her breathing evened out once more.

At first Rose felt no different, then she was suddenly aware of a strange sensation. A feeling like a caress, but not physical, it felt ethereal.

“I feel something… like a caress”

“Very good. Try to trace it, pin point the exact spot where my consciousness is probing your own.”

Rose attempted to locate the exact point where the sensation felt the strongest. She was not able to detect the source for what felt like a long time, but suddenly she felt it. A deep thrumming toward the back of her mind, a slight pressure.

“I think I found it.”

“Think? You must be sure of it Potter. If you are not, I would easily be able to evade you and enter. Once inside it would be much more difficult to expel me. Now again are you sure you have located my position?”

Rose proceeded once more to the same spot at the back of her mind and once more she felt the presence strongest at that point.
“Yes, I am sure.”

“Now I will attempt to penetrate your mind through that location. I will do it gently and slowly. I need you to attempt to keep me out.”

At his words, Rose once again felt panic start to rear its head again.

“Potter, I am not yet inside and I already feel you tensing up and weakening your defences. Calm down, I promise to be gentle.”

At his words Rose felt the pulsing against her mind increase in intensity. She felt a persistent push and Rose started trying to push back. It was difficult since she could not do it physically, yet she strengthened her resolve and attempted to push back against her professor’s ethereal force as one would attempt to push out a bad thought or memory from one’s mind.

At first she was successful, but after three minutes of persistently fighting against the intrusion, Snape managed to enter her mind. However, unlike her previous experience, he did not delve into her memories or thoughts but remained just at the periphery. She was aware of his presence within her mind, but it did not seem menacing or forceful as it had been two years ago. It felt intimate to have him inside her own mind, his essence so distinctly him and at this thought she became flustered and blushed. Probably Professor Snape became aware of her discomfort as he immediately withdrew from her mind.

She tentatively opened her eyes, blinking a few times as the fire’s light hurt her eyes slightly having been shut tight for some time now. As her eyes became accustomed to the light she drew them up towards Snape’s own which were fixed on her.

“Not bad. We will have to repeat this exercise a few times, so that your ability to locate points of intrusion will be prompt and precise. Once that has improved we will work on your brain’s defences. Now, close your eyes and clear your mind again.”

They continued in much the same way for another hour or so before Rose felt completely drained both physically from her afternoon training, and mentally after a whole hour and a half of trying to occlude.

“That’s enough for today. You have made a slight progress, but not enough. We will definitely need to have daily occlumency sessions. Tomorrow, like today we convene in the library for the theoretical aspect of your training at 7:30am. At 10am we move outside for defensive training. After lunch we will work on important charms and healing spells. After dinner we meet in the library for your occlumency training.”

“What about searching for the horcruxes?”

“We will work on that soon. But before we can start tracking them down you need to improve your physical and mental defences if we are to have any hope at succeeding. Now you may go rest as we have another hard day ahead. Good night.”

And with that Snape rose from the armchair and disappeared through the library door.

Rose felt exhausted but considering her day she also felt more reassured than she had been before. For one, the occlumency session did not go as badly as she had feared. Snape had been much more patient and less invasive. The defensive training went considerably well too. She was also reassured by the fact that being within Voldemort’s inner circle, Snape’s insight would help them locate the horcruxes more swiftly. Under his guidance she felt that she could make significant progress and the possibility of actually succeeding felt conceivable. Rising slowly from the chair she extinguished the fire before making her way out of the library and up to her room where she plopped down on her bed, not bothering to change her clothes.

Chapter Text

Rose awoke before dawn, startled from uneasy sleep by a vivid dream of shadows pressing in around her. She sat up, heart pounding, and pressed a hand to her forehead. The bedclothes were twisted about her legs, and her clothes from the day before clung uncomfortably. For a moment she considered lying back down, but the memory of Snape’s voice—another hard day ahead—stirred her to rise. He would expect her to be prepared, and she was determined not to give him reason for scorn.

The corridors were silent as she made her way down to the library where they had worked the previous night. The sconces were unlit, and she moved almost by instinct until she found the tall oak door. She pushed it open and found the room still and cold, the hearth empty. She settled into a chair near the desk, opened one of the heavy books Snape had left out, and began to read passages on obscure hex-deflection charms. The words swam a little in her tired eyes, but she forced herself to concentrate.

An hour later the door creaked open. Snape entered, his expression was as unreadable as ever, though his eyes flicked briefly to the open book on her lap.
“You are awake early,” he said.
Rose closed the volume. “I thought I should be ready.”
He inclined his head, the faintest shadow of approval passing across his face. “A sensible decision. We will begin with occlumency again. Stand.”
She obeyed, drawing herself up straight though her limbs still ached from the previous evening’s defensive drills. Snape studied her, then raised his wand.
“Legilimens.”
The intrusion came more gently than she remembered from earlier attempts, yet it still felt like icy fingers prising open her mind. Images swirled: her fear as she first entered the Triwizard maze, her humiliation in Umbridge’s office, the sorrow of Sirius falling through the veil. But this time she fought back, throwing up the walls she had practised. She pushed him out with more success than before.
When he withdrew, she was panting. “That was better,” he said. “Your barriers held longer.”
Rose managed a weak smile. “It didn’t feel better.”
“The mind is not accustomed to being forced,” Snape replied. “Discomfort is inevitable. But if you continue to resist with such determination, the Dark Lord will find less purchase in your thoughts.”
Something in the way he said it—his certainty, his unflinching calm—gave her an odd sense of safety.
“Again,” he commanded.
They repeated the exercise until her temples throbbed. On the last attempt she nearly pushed him out at once, though his dark eyes bored into her with fierce intensity. When at last he lowered his wand, she sank back into the chair, exhausted but strangely exhilarated.
“You are learning,” he said, settling opposite her. His voice had softened slightly, though the words were still measured.
Rose met his gaze. “It’s only because you’re teaching me properly now. Before—it felt like you wanted me to fail.”
For a long moment he did not reply. Then, quietly: “Circumstances required…a certain harshness. I could not afford indulgence.”
She thought she saw regret flicker across his features, but it was gone at once. She leaned forward slightly, compelled by a curiosity she could not suppress. “Why are you being different now?”
His eyes locked on hers. “Because you cannot afford to fail.”
The words carried such gravity that Rose could not answer. She only nodded.

________________________________________

They moved then to practical defence. Snape cleared a wide space in the library, sweeping aside chairs with a flick of his wand. The room felt suddenly like a duelling chamber.
“Wand ready,” he said.
She gripped hers tightly. He attacked without warning, sending a hex that crackled like lightning. She raised a shield charm just in time, though the force jolted her arm. Another spell followed, then another, forcing her to dart behind a table. Her movements grew sharper as she remembered the techniques he had drilled into her the previous day—never standing still, never leaving herself open.
At last he lowered his wand. “Better. But your deflections are sloppy. Again.”
They continued until sweat ran down her back and her hands trembled. Yet with each exchange she grew faster. Once she even managed to disarm him, sending his wand clattering against the wall. She froze, shocked by her own success.
Snape arched an eyebrow. “Do not gape like a fool. Retrieve it.”
She fetched his wand and handed it back. Their fingers brushed, and she felt an unexpected jolt, as though some current had passed between them. She pulled back quickly, heat rising in her cheeks.
“Enough for now,” he said, though his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than usual.

________________________________________

They paused for a meal in the smaller adjoining room. Snape conjured sandwiches, biscuits, and a pot of strong tea. They ate in silence at first, Rose too tired to speak. But after a while she ventured, “Were you always this skilled? Even when you were a student?”
Snape regarded her coolly. “I had to be. Survival requires more than talent—it demands vigilance.”
Rose hesitated, then said, “I suppose you didn’t have many friends.”
His lips twisted in a faint, bitter smile. “Few worth remembering.”
She wondered at that, thinking of the stories she had heard, of James Potter and his friends tormenting him. She wanted to ask more but held her tongue. Instead she said, “I don’t think I’d be here at all if you weren’t helping me.”
“Do not rely on others for your survival,” he said at once. But then, softer: “Still, you are…not incapable.”
It was the closest to a compliment she had ever heard from him. She found herself oddly pleased, though she tried not to show it.

________________________________________

That afternoon brought more occlumency practice. Rose lay back in the armchair while Snape instructed her to visualise walls of stone, impenetrable and vast. He guided her in imagining doors she could open or close, chambers where memories could be hidden. His voice, usually so cutting, had grown slower, smoother, almost hypnotic. She focused intently on his words, drawn in by their rhythm.
At one point her concentration faltered and she caught herself staring at him instead—the sharp lines of his face, the intensity of his eyes. She flushed and looked away quickly, unsettled by her own thoughts. He seemed not to notice, though something in his expression suggested he was aware of more than he let on.
When he finally dismissed her, the light outside had dimmed. Rose rose from the chair, legs stiff. “Thank you,” she said.
Snape regarded her steadily. “We will continue tomorrow. Rest well, or you will be of no use.”
She gave a faint laugh. “You have such a way with encouragement.”
For an instant the corner of his mouth twitched, almost forming a smile. Then he swept past her toward the door.

________________________________________

Later, alone in her room, Rose lay awake thinking. She replayed the day in her mind: his voice guiding her, his eyes fixed on hers, the brief brush of his hand. She told herself it was foolish—he was older, stern, and hardly charming in the conventional sense. Yet there was something magnetic in his presence, something that drew her despite herself.
She wondered if he suspected. He seemed to read people too easily. And if he did, what would he think of her? Probably scorn her as childish. Still, the thought of seeing him again the next day filled her with anticipation rather than dread.
For the first time in months, the future did not seem entirely hopeless.

Chapter Text

The Burrow was unusually hushed. Even the ghoul in the attic seemed to have fallen silent, as though the whole house were holding its breath. Hermione sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped round a cooling cup of tea. Ron slouched across from her, tossing a battered chess piece from hand to hand, his face set in a scowl.

“She hasn’t written. I hope she’s safe...” Hermione said quietly, breaking the silence.

Ron shook his head. “How are we supposed to help if she doesn’t contact us?”

Hermione sighed. “She can’t, Ron. Don’t you see? If she’s out there, searching for the horcruxes like Dumbledore planned, she has to stay hidden. Letters could be intercepted. Anything could give her away.”

“I know, I know,” Ron muttered, flipping the pawn in the air and catching it. “Doesn’t stop me worrying. For all we know she’s starving in some forest, or cornered by Death Eaters.”
Hermione’s grip tightened on her cup. The thought had haunted her too, but she forced herself to speak calmly. “She’s clever. And she’s prepared. We have to trust her. What we can do is make sure we’re in a position to help when the time comes.”

Ron gave her a sharp look. “You mean when she comes back?”

Hermione hesitated, then said, “When she needs us. She will, eventually. No one can fight this war alone.”

The clock on the wall ticked heavily, all its hands pointing to mortal peril. Ron shoved the chess piece into his pocket with a grimace. “So what do we do? We’re supposed to go back to Hogwarts, but… it doesn’t feel right, does it?”

“No,” Hermione admitted. “It would be dangerous. With You-Know-Who’s supporters in control, the school won’t be safe, especially for muggle-born students like me. It won’t even be a school anymore. More like a prison.”

Ron’s lips twisted. “Snape as headmaster. Can you imagine? The Carrows teaching curses. They’d have us all marching in line within a month.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “If we go back, we’ll be trapped under their watch. We’d be useless to Rose, and useless to the Order. They could try to use us to threaten Rose. That’s why…” She lowered her voice, though the house was empty. “We should go to Grimmauld Place instead.”

Ron blinked. “Grimmauld Place? That dusty old mausoleum?”

“It’s secure,” Hermione insisted. “Fidelius, heavy wards—Voldemort’s followers can’t just stroll in. The Order used it before, and it’s still one of the safest places we know. We can regroup there, and from there… we start planning.”

Ron leaned back, arms crossed. “Planning what, exactly? We don’t even know where Rose is.”

“Then we find out,” Hermione said firmly. “We keep our ears open. The Ministry, Diagon Alley, even the Daily Prophet—they all carry scraps of information. And the Black library might still hold useful spells or histories. We could learn things Rose might need when she—when she reaches out to us.”

Ron tapped his fingers on the table, frowning. “And what if she doesn’t? What if she really means to do it all on her own?”

Hermione’s voice trembled but stayed steady. “Then we prepare anyway. Because when she falters—and she will, Ron, everyone falters—we’ll be ready to stand with her.”

He stared at her for a long time, then finally nodded. “All right. Grimmauld Place it is. But I’m not cleaning it again. I nearly died last time from that doxie infestation.”

Despite herself, Hermione smiled faintly. “We’ll manage.”

Ron stood, stretching. “We’d better get some sleep then. Tomorrow we sneak out before Mum corners us with another list of chores.”

Hermione gathered their cups, setting them in the sink. She watched Ron leave the kitchen, then stood alone a while longer, staring at the darkened window. Somewhere out there, Rose was fighting battles they could hardly imagine. Hermione clenched her fists, determination hardening inside her.

Rose might be far away, silent and hidden. But she was not without allies.

Grimmauld Place would be their first step. From there, they would find a way to help.

Chapter Text

The morning began with rain lashing against the tall windows of the library. The storm seemed to shroud the world beyond in grey, isolating the two of them inside. Rose sat curled in one of the armchairs, absently rubbing her temples. Occlumency left her drained the previous evening, and the restless dreams that followed had done little to restore her strength.

Snape entered without announcement, robes billowing behind him. His sharp gaze swept across the room, taking in her slumped posture.

“You look as though you’ve wrestled a pack of trolls,” he remarked, voice dry.

Rose gave a tired smile. “Just dreams. Nothing new.”

“Dreams are not harmless in your case,” he said sternly, crossing to the desk. “If the Dark Lord touches your mind, you must resist. Fatigue is no excuse.”

“I know,” she admitted, straightening. “I’ll do better.”

For a moment his eyes lingered on her, unreadable as ever. Then he drew out a folded slip of parchment from his robes and set it on the desk between them.

Rose leaned forward. “What’s that?”

“A list,” Snape replied. “Dumbledore’s last suspicions before his death. He confided them to me. If you are to succeed, you must understand where to look.”

Her pulse quickened as he unfolded the paper. The names were written in Dumbledore’s neat, looping hand:
• Tom Riddle’s diary (destroyed).
• Marvolo Gaunt’s ring (destroyed).
• Salazar Slytherin’s locket.
• Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.
• Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem.
• Nagini.
• The seventh… uncertain.

Rose’s throat tightened as she read the list. “So, it really is true. Objects from the founders, things that tied him to Hogwarts.”

Snape inclined his head. “The Dark Lord’s vanity is without limit. He would choose items of significance, objects of power, rather than trinkets. Dumbledore believed he sought to anchor himself to the castle’s legacy.”

Her eyes traced the words again. “The diary and the ring are gone. That leaves five.”

“Four, perhaps,” Snape corrected. “The locket—” He paused, his expression darkening. “Dumbledore believed it had been taken. He was certain the true horcrux still exists, though hidden.”

Rose remembered the false locket they had found in the cave, the note signed R.A.B. “Regulus Black,” she murmured.

Snape’s eyebrow rose. “You know of him?”

“Sirius’s brother,” she said quickly. “We found a clue. He must have stolen the real locket.”

“Then it may lie within the Black household still,” Snape said. His tone was cool, but something sharp flickered in his eyes. “Though retrieving it will not be simple. The protections within that place are not to be underestimated.”

“And the cup? Hufflepuff’s?”

Snape’s fingers tapped lightly on the desk. “Dumbledore traced it to Hepzibah Smith, a foolish collector who once owned both the cup and Slytherin’s locket. She died—conveniently—shortly after showing them to young Riddle. Both vanished from her possession.”

Rose shivered. “So he killed her.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Where would he hide them now?” she pressed.

“That,” Snape said, his voice low, “is the difficulty. The Dark Lord delights in concealment. He chooses places bound to his history—his childhood, his triumphs, his obsessions. If you would think like him, you must think with arrogance. He believes himself untouchable. His treasures must be locked in places he deems beyond violation.”

Rose sat back, absorbing his words. “The orphanage. The cave. Hogwarts itself…”

Snape’s gaze sharpened. “Precisely.”

For a long moment silence stretched between them, broken only by the rain. Rose studied the parchment again, feeling the weight of the task pressing down on her. Yet beneath the fear was a glimmer of resolve. For the first time, she was beginning to see a map, however faint.

________________________________________

Training resumed after the discussion, but Rose’s mind kept drifting to the list. Snape noticed at once.

“You will achieve nothing if you divide your attention,” he snapped after her shield charm collapsed under his curse.

She flushed. “I was thinking about the horcruxes.”

“Thinking is useless if it makes you careless,” he retorted. “Do you imagine the Dark Lord will pause his assault because you are distracted by riddles?”

“No,” she said, her voice sharp with frustration. “But if we don’t find them, none of this matters anyway!”

Snape lowered his wand. His expression remained stern, but his eyes lingered on her flushed face. “Control,” he said softly. “Your emotions betray you. Use them, yes, but do not allow them to consume you. Only then will you prevail.”

Rose’s breath caught at the sudden change in his tone. For a fleeting instant, it was not the cold professor who stood before her but someone almost… human. The thought unsettled her, yet it also stirred something she dared not name.

She raised her wand again. “Then let’s continue.”

And they did. Spell after spell, shield after shield, until sweat soaked her collar and her arm ached from the effort. Yet each time she fell, she forced herself up again, driven not only by the mission but by the knowledge that he was watching, judging, perhaps even—though she hardly dared think it—believing in her.

________________________________________

When they finally stopped, dusk had crept into the library. Snape conjured a small flame in the hearth, its glow casting long shadows across the bookshelves. Rose sank into the armchair, exhausted but alert.

Snape seated himself opposite, producing the parchment once more. His long fingers traced the list, pausing at the final uncertain line.

“The sixth,” he murmured. “Dumbledore suspected it might be Nagini, though he never confirmed it. The Dark Lord’s bond with that creature is… unusual.”

Rose shuddered at the memory of the snake, its cold eyes and hissing voice. “If she’s one, then destroying her—”

“—will not be simple,” Snape finished. “She is always at his side. He guards her as he would guard himself.”

They fell into silence again. Rose’s gaze lingered on his hands, pale against the parchment, the inked lines of Dumbledore’s writing stark in the firelight. She felt a tug in her chest—strange, dangerous, but impossible to dismiss.

At last she spoke. “Do you ever wonder why Dumbledore trusted you? Why he kept so much from everyone else but gave you this?”

Snape’s eyes flicked up sharply. For a heartbeat she thought he would snap at her. But instead he said, in a low, measured voice, “Because he knew what I owed.”

Rose swallowed. “And you’ll keep helping me? Until it’s done?”

He held her gaze. “I will see it finished. Whatever the cost.”

The words settled between them, heavy and unyielding. Rose felt a flush rise to her cheeks and quickly turned her eyes to the fire. She could not say what she was thinking, not now. Perhaps not ever.

Instead she asked, “So where do we start?”

Snape leaned back, folding the parchment once more and tucking it inside his robes. “We start by preparing you. You are not ready to face what lies ahead. But when you are—then we begin the search.”

Rose nodded slowly, determination hardening in her chest. She would endure the training, the exhaustion, the endless drills. Because somewhere out there, the horcruxes waited. And with Snape’s guidance, however unlikely, she might just have a chance.

As the storm raged outside, she felt the faintest flicker of hope kindle within her—fragile, dangerous, but alive.

Chapter Text

The rain had eased by the time Rose and Snape set out, but the evening air was thick with mist, curling in pale strands across the narrow streets. Their footsteps echoed against the cobblestones, though Rose tried to keep hers quiet. She had travelled to Grimmauld Place before, but never with Snape at her side. The memory of the house’s shadowed corridors, its whispered secrets and lingering curses, made her uneasy enough without his forbidding presence.

Snape walked with his usual measured stride, robes billowing like a shadow behind him. He said nothing as they turned into the familiar square, the shabby row of houses standing silent under the mist. Rose’s heart thudded when she saw the two houses shift aside, revealing the concealed Number Twelve.

The front door loomed before them, dark wood scarred with age. Snape raised his hand and pressed the serpent-shaped knocker. The sound echoed like a hollow clang through the house. For a moment, there was silence. Then the door creaked open a crack.

A pair of wide, bloodshot eyes glared out.

“Kreacher,” Snape said coolly. “We require entrance.”

The door opened wider, revealing the hunched figure of the house-elf. His ears drooped, his skin grey and wrinkled. His eyes darted between Snape and Rose with suspicion.
“Mistress Black’s house is not for traitors,” Kreacher croaked.

Rose stepped forward quickly. “Kreacher, need I remind you that I am the new mistress. Now let us in.”

With that Kreacher shuffled aside as Rose entered the dim hallway, followed by Snape.

As the house elf shut the door, Rose turned to him.

‘Kreacher, do you remember a locket identical to this?”

With that she dangled the fake locket in front of his eyes as they widened at the sight of it.

The elf’s face then twisted into a sneer. “What does mistress want it for? It is an evil thing, Kreacher must guard it with his life.”

“Kreacher,” Snape cut in, his tone like a lash, “Give us the necklace.”

The elf shrank back slightly at Snape’s voice but hissed stubbornly. “The locket of Master Regulus belongs to Kreacher. Kreacher keeps it safe, yes, safe from thieves.”

Rose’s pulse quickened. “We’re not here to steal it. We’re here to finish what Regulus started. He wanted Voldemort destroyed, didn’t he? That’s why he left you the locket.”

Kreacher froze, his wrinkled face contorting. For a long moment he stared at her with something almost like grief. Then, muttering under his breath, he stepped aside.

“Come then,” he said bitterly. “Come and take what Kreacher has guarded.”

Rose followed Snape inside. The air smelled musty, the walls lined with heavy curtains that seemed to absorb the little light. The oppressive weight of the house pressed down on her, memories of Sirius’s death tugging at her heart.

Kreacher led them to the drawing room. The cabinets were still stuffed with Black family relics, their glass doors coated in dust. From beneath his ragged cloak, the elf drew out a heavy chain. At its end hung a locket, gleaming dully in the lamplight.

Rose felt her chest tighten. The serpent-shaped S glared up at her, the metal pulsing faintly with a sickly aura.

“The locket of my master,” Kreacher whispered, clutching it to his chest. “Kreacher failed him, yes. Kreacher could not destroy it. Master died for nothing.”

Snape’s eyes glittered. “Not for nothing. Give it to me.”

For a moment, the elf clung to it desperately. Then, with a broken sob, he thrust it into Snape’s hands. “Take it then! Kreacher is worthless.”

Rose crouched beside him, her voice gentle. “You’re not worthless, Kreacher. Regulus trusted you more than anyone. He gave you the most important task of all. And now we’ll finish it.”

The elf blinked at her, silent tears carving paths down his grimy cheeks. He nodded once, then shuffled back into the shadows, muttering.

Snape slipped the locket into the folds of his robe. “We leave,” he said curtly.

________________________________________

The return journey was made in silence. Rose kept glancing at the bulge in Snape’s robe where the locket lay, feeling as though it radiated a dark presence even through the fabric. Every so often she thought she heard whispers curling at the edges of her mind.

Back at the cottage, Snape wasted no time. He cleared the library’s floor with a sweep of his wand, casting protective wards around the walls. The hearth roared with new flames, filling the room with a harsh glow.

He drew the locket out and placed it on the table. Immediately the air seemed colder, the shadows lengthening. Rose wrapped her arms around herself.

“It’s… stronger than I expected,” she murmured.

“It feeds on weakness,” Snape replied, his gaze locked on the object. “Which is why it must be destroyed swiftly.”

He raised his wand. “Stand back.”

Rose did as she was told, retreating toward the far side of the room. Her heart pounded as Snape flicked his wand and whispered an incantation. Flames burst forth, but not ordinary flames—they were dark, writhing, alive. Fiendfyre. The inferno leapt hungrily across the floor, twisting into shapes of serpents and beasts.

The locket jerked violently, its chain rattling as though in protest. Then it snapped open.

A hiss filled the room, and from within the locket a vision began to form: images coiling out of the smoke, taking shape before Snape’s eyes.
Rose gasped.

She saw Lily Evans—young, laughing, her green eyes filled with light. Then the image shifted, showing her turning away.

“It’s all your fault. I died because of you. I will never forgive you, NEVER!” the vision hissed, its voice both Lily’s and not.

Snape stiffened, his face pale.

The vision shifted again, showing Dumbledore’s cold blue eyes. “A pawn,” the false voice sneered. “That is all you were. Used and discarded.”

The locket’s aura pulsed, feeding the flames into more grotesque forms: Lily’s corpse lying on the floor of Godric’s Hollow; Rose herself crumpled beside her, lifeless.

Rose cried out, stepping forward. “Professor—don’t listen! It’s trying to stop you!”

Snape’s hand trembled. His face twisted with anguish, the firelight throwing sharp shadows across his features. For a moment she feared he would falter, that the visions had found their mark.

Then his eyes hardened, black as obsidian.

“Lies,” he spat. His wand arm steadied. “Lacerta ignis!”

The fiendfyre surged, roaring louder, serpents of flame coiling around the locket. The visions screamed, twisting grotesquely, until with a final shriek the locket split apart. Dark smoke burst from within, dissipating in the searing blaze.

The room shook with the force of it, then fell abruptly silent. Only the crackle of fire remained.

Snape extinguished the fiendfyre with a slash of his wand. The floor was scorched, the table blackened, but the locket lay in two broken halves, lifeless at last.

Rose exhaled shakily. Her hands were trembling, though she hadn’t noticed until then.

“You did it,” she whispered.

Snape stood very still, his breathing uneven. For a long moment he stared at the shattered locket, as though unwilling to believe it was gone. Then he turned, his gaze meeting hers.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “One less piece of his soul to corrupt this world.”

She crossed the scorched floor, ignoring the heat still radiating from the stones, and touched the broken halves. They were cold now, inert. Relief washed over her.

But when she looked up at Snape, she saw more than relief in his eyes. There was pain there too, raw and unguarded, a glimpse of the man beneath the mask. The locket’s visions had cut deeply, she realised. They had known exactly where to strike.

Without thinking, she said, “It lied about you.”

His mouth twisted. “Did it?”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm, though her heart raced. “You’re not just a pawn. You’re the reason we even stand a chance. You’re the reason I’m learning any of this. Dumbledore trusted you—and so do I.”

He stared at her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he turned away abruptly, gathering the remains of the locket.

“We cannot linger on sentiment,” he said harshly, though his voice was rougher than usual. “This was only the first. More remain, and each will be more dangerous than the last.”
Rose lowered her eyes, hiding the warmth that spread in her chest despite his words.

“I understand,” she said softly.
________________________________________

Later that night, when she finally lay in her bed, she closed her eyes and saw again the way Snape had stood against the visions, the agony on his face, the iron will that had carried him through.

She knew now, more than ever, that the path ahead would test them both. But she also knew something else: whatever shadows haunted him, he would not falter. And as long as he stood, she would stand too.

For the first time, she truly believed they might succeed.

Chapter Text

The cottage was very still after the storm of the previous night. The fire had long since gone out, leaving behind a faint smell of ash and scorched stone. The shattered remains of Slytherin’s locket lay on the desk, their malignant power at last extinguished.

Rose sat opposite the fragments, chin resting on her hand, unable to look away. A thing so small had held so much darkness. She thought of Kreacher’s trembling hands, of the visions that had twisted themselves out of the locket’s heart, and of the way Snape had stood against it, shaking but unbroken.

Snape was at the far side of the room, methodically repairing the damage from the fiendfyre. His wand moved with sharp precision, sealing cracks in the stone floor, repairing scorched shelves. His face was pale, the hollows beneath his eyes darker than usual.

Rose watched him in silence for a long time, until at last the question that had been burning in her since last night forced its way out.

“Professor,” she said quietly, “why did the horcrux show you visions of my mother?”

Snape’s wand froze mid-motion. For a moment he did not turn, did not even breathe. Then, slowly, he lowered his hand and faced her. His black eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light.

“That,” he said, his voice low and tight, “is not a subject for discussion.”

Rose’s chest tightened. “Why did the vision of my mother blame you for her death?” she hesitated, the words heavy on her tongue.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Snape’s jaw clenched, his expression as unreadable as ever, but something flickered beneath it—something raw and violent. He turned around slowly a thunderous expression on his face. crossing the room in three sharp steps, his robes swirling, until he loomed over her.

“I told you, that it is not subject for discussion or are you selectively deaf?” he hissed.

Rose stood too, though her legs trembled. “I want to understand. She was my mother - I have a right to know.”

Snape’s breath came fast, his face close to hers, too close. His eyes burned with a fury that was not entirely anger. “A right?” he repeated bitterly. “You think you have a right to my… failings?”

“You are clearly carrying a burden, I just want to understand. Guilt is a load, too heavy to carry alone. I should know, I blame myself for Cedric and Sirius’ death every single day.” Rose whispered.

For a heartbeat the air seemed to shiver between them. His hand twitched as though he might reach for her, his face drawing closer until she could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Then, with a sudden violent motion, he tore himself back, turning away. His hands gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles went white.

Rose sank back into her chair, breathless and shaken. The near-touch lingered in the air like static, making her skin prickle. She wanted to demand answers. But the set of his shoulders, rigid as stone, warned her that he was at the edge of his control.

After a long silence, she said softly, “I don’t want to hurt you. I just… I want to know who you are.”

He did not turn. “Do not waste your time prying into the ghosts of my past. Focus on your own survival.”

The words cut like a blade, but Rose held her ground. “I will,” she said. “But I won’t stop caring, either.”

He flinched almost imperceptibly, then swept from the room, his robes flaring behind him. The door slammed shut.

Rose was left alone with the broken locket, her heart aching with questions unanswered.

________________________________________
*At Grimmauld Place*

Far across London, the old Black family home groaned as if in protest when its front door creaked open. Hermione stepped inside first, wand raised, her eyes scanning the dim hallway. Ron followed close behind, clutching a small rucksack.

“It smells even worse than last time,” Ron muttered, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s just dust and damp,” Hermione said briskly, though she gripped her wand tighter. “Remember, most of the Order’s wards should still be intact. But we ought to check every room to be sure.”

They moved cautiously through the house, the flickering light from their wands casting long shadows over the peeling wallpaper. The portrait of Mrs Black stirred as they passed, letting out a muffled screech before Hermione quickly silenced it with a spell.

In the kitchen they found Kreacher. The elf sat slumped in a chair, muttering to himself. His eyes glowed faintly in the firelight. When he noticed them, he scowled.
“Mudblood girl and the blood traitor boy return,” he rasped. “Kreacher thought he was rid of you.”

Hermione crouched down to his level, her voice calm but firm. “We’re not here to cause trouble, Kreacher. We need a safe place to stay, and this house is still part of the Order’s cause. Will you help us?”

The elf’s mouth twisted. “Kreacher helps no one.”

Ron shot Hermione a look.

Hermione frowned. “We’ll find another way to gain his trust.”

They set about making the kitchen liveable again, clearing dust and cobwebs with quick charms. Kreacher muttered the entire time, but he did not interfere. Hermione noticed his eyes were red, as though he had been crying, though she said nothing.

When at last the room was in order, Ron collapsed into a chair. “Brilliant. Home sweet home. If home were a mouldy pit crawling with doxies.”

Hermione ignored him, setting parchment and quill on the table. “This is where we’ll plan. We need to keep track of everything: the Prophet, Ministry decrees, reports from Diagon Alley. Anything could be important.”

Ron leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “And Rose. We need to find her too.”

Hermione’s expression softened. “Yes. But until she reaches out, we’ll have to trust that she’s all right.”

Ron muttered something about hating waiting, but he didn’t argue further.

As the fire crackled and shadows deepened across the kitchen, both of them felt the weight of the house settling around them—a fortress, a prison and a place of secrets. They were alone, but at least they had each other.
________________________________________
*Back at the Cottage*

Night had fallen when Rose finally found the courage to seek Snape again. She found him in the small study, bent over a book of ancient spells. The light from the lamp threw sharp angles across his face.

She hovered in the doorway. “Professor?”

His quill paused, but he did not look up. “You should be resting.”

“I can’t,” she admitted. “Not after… everything.”

He sighed, setting the quill aside at last. His eyes met hers, guarded but less harsh than before. “What is it you want from me, Rose?”

Her heart skipped at the sound of her name on his lips. She stepped inside. “I want the truth.”

His face tightened. “The Dark Lord’s devices prey on fear and desire. They show what wounds most deeply. That is all.”

“Why do you blame yourself for my mother’s death? Please tell me...” she pressed gently.

For a long time he said nothing. The silence stretched until Rose thought he would dismiss her again. Then, very quietly, he said, “You know about the prophecy? The one foretelling your birth and the connection between you and the Dark Lord. The fact that none can live whilst the other survives. When Trelawney had the prophecy, I was present, hidden. I heard everything and passed on the information to the dark Lord. It set him on the path that killed your parents. She was my friend,” he continued, his voice low and rough. “I did not know that the prophecy referred to the child she carried, to you.”

The information fell like a stone between them.

Rose’s breath caught. Her mind spun, but the tone of his words—ragged, heavy with self-loathing—made the truth clear.

“ You made a mistake… but you’ve been trying to make it right ever since. That’s what I see. Not a coward who ran from guilt, but someone who stayed, even when it broke you.” Rose said, forcing the words out, though her throat was tight.

His shoulders tensed and for a moment, something fractured in his mask, a flicker of pain that looked very much like longing.

“That isn’t weakness. You’ve risked everything to help me. That matters more than you think ” she pressed gently.

He closed his eyes, as though her words struck deeper than he wished.

“Enough.” His voice cracked like a whip, but his eyes burned with something other than anger. He rose suddenly, closing the space between them. His hand lifted, as though to brush her cheek, but halted inches away.

Rose’s heart hammered. She could feel the pull between them, fierce and dangerous. Her lips parted, breath trembling. For a moment, she thought he would close the distance, that he would surrender to the current dragging them both.

Then, with a strangled sound, he turned away, pacing to the far side of the room. His hands clenched at his sides.

“This cannot be,” he said harshly. “You are your mother’s daughter. I am…” His voice faltered. “I am her murderer’s servant.”

Rose’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak. “I don’t see you that way. You’re not just the choices you regret. You’re more than that. And you’re not alone anymore.”

For a long time neither of them spoke. At last, Snape drew a deep breath and straightened. His face was once again masked, his voice controlled.

“We will continue training in the morning,” he said flatly. “Go. Rest.”

Rose wanted to protest, to reach for him, but the wall between them was impenetrable once more. She turned and left the room, her chest aching.

Yet as she lay awake later, she could not shake the memory of that moment—the almost-kiss. It burned brighter in her mind than the flames of fiendfyre.

Some things, she thought, could not be unspoken. And some things, once felt, could not be undone.

Chapter Text

The cottage was silent, save for the faint creak of timbers settling against the night wind. Severus Snape lay in the narrow bed that had been his since retreating here, eyes fixed on the darkened ceiling. Sleep eluded him. Each time he closed his eyes, the same visions returned: the pale oval of Rose Potter’s face, her eyes—Lily’s eyes—staring into his as she whispered words he could not allow himself to hear.

He shifted restlessly, hands clenched in the sheets. For years he had endured the Dark Lord’s presence, the cruelty of students, the ceaseless suspicion of both sides. None of that had unmoored him as this had: the girl’s voice, trembling but insistent, I won’t stop caring. Foolish, reckless words, and yet they had pierced armour he thought long since impervious.

The memory of her mother bled into the present until he could scarcely distinguish one from the other. The same tilt of the head, the same infuriating blend of courage and tenderness. And yet Rose was not Lily. She was her own, a creature shaped by loss, carrying a burden she could not imagine.

Snape turned onto his side, his breath tight. He thought of the truth he had buried deep, the truth that bound him to Dumbledore even in death.
________________________________________

Flashback: The Tower

It was late, the headmaster’s office bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. The shelves were lined with trinkets and tomes, Fawkes slumbering in his perch. Snape stood rigid before the desk, hands clasped behind his back, while Dumbledore regarded him with that maddening, mournful calm.

The headmaster’s blue eyes seemed to pierce through him, sorrow mingled with resolve. “Severus… Rose is the final horcrux.”

The words had struck like a curse. Snape remembered the icy shock spreading through his veins, his heart hammering in disbelief. “No.”

“I am afraid it is true,” Dumbledore said softly. “When Voldemort tried to kill her as a baby, part of his soul latched to hers. That is why she survived. That is why she is the key to his undoing.”

Snape had gripped the arm of the chair before him, his knuckles white. “You mean—” His voice caught. “You mean she must die by his hand, else he lives forever.”
Dumbledore inclined his head. “Yes.”

The silence after was unbearable. Snape felt as though the ground had been wrenched from beneath him.

“You must understand, Severus,” the old man said gently. “There are truths she cannot yet be told.”

Snape’s voice was sharper than he intended. “You mean you intend to keep her ignorant of the one thing that seals her fate?”

Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. “If she knows too soon, if despair takes her, all is lost. The path must unfold as it must. She will find strength in not knowing.”
Snape’s temper, usually so tightly leashed, flared. “Strength? You condemn her to death, Albus, and call it strength! You ask me to guard her, to train her,” he said, each word bitten out, “all while knowing I lead her to slaughter.”

“I ask you to prepare her,” Dumbledore replied. “So that when the time comes, she may choose to lay down her life willingly. Only then will Voldemort be undone.”

Snape’s fury burst forth. “And what of me? Am I to watch her march to her death? After all you know—after all I have—” He broke off, breath ragged.

Dumbledore’s gaze softened, unbearably kind. “You care for her because she is Lily’s child.”

The words tasted of ash. “Do not presume to understand what I feel.”

“I understand enough,” Dumbledore said. “And I trust you, Severus. I trust you to carry this burden until the end.”

Snape had wanted to scream, to hurl curses at the man who sat so serenely in judgment. But beneath the rage was despair, corrosive and unrelenting. He bowed his head, unable to meet those blue eyes.

“You ask too much,” he whispered.

“I ask only what no one else can bear,” Dumbledore answered. “You alone have the strength.”

Snape had left the office that night with the weight of a death sentence pressing down on him, heavier than any curse.
________________________________________
The Present

Snape rolled onto his back, staring into the dark. He could still hear Dumbledore’s voice, see the flicker of firelight in the old man’s eyes.
Rose was the last horcrux. Rose must die.

Every day since, he had lived with the contradiction: protecting her even as he concealed from her the truth that made all his efforts meaningless. She trained, she fought, she grew stronger beneath his instruction—but all of it was for nothing. She could not win. She could only fall.

And yet…

And yet he had begun to imagine otherwise.

He recalled her face in the library, flushed with exertion after their duelling. The stubborn set of her jaw as she raised her wand again and again. The glint of determination when she declared she would not stop caring.

Foolish child. Brave child. His heart clenched with an ache he had not felt in decades.

He turned sharply, pressing his face into the pillow as though to smother the thoughts. This was madness. He had long since buried hope beneath duty.

And still it clawed its way up. Still it whispered: She is not Lily. She is her own. And she looks at you not with hatred, but with trust.

His breath quickened. The memory of the near-kiss seared his mind—the warmth of her so close, the pull of her gaze. For one reckless instant he had wanted nothing more than to give in, to claim the comfort offered so freely.

And then he had remembered. The truth. The inevitable end.

To take from her now would be to betray her utterly.

Snape dragged a hand down his face, his skin clammy. He felt like a man cleaving in two: the spy who must keep the secret at all costs, and the man who wanted only to shield her from what awaited.

He could not have both.
________________________________________
Another Flashback

He remembered, too, the night on the Astronomy Tower, when Dumbledore had pleaded with him.

“Severus… please.”

He had raised his wand, his heart hammering, knowing it would damn him forever in her eyes should she ever learn. He had spoken the words—Avada Kedavra—and watched the life fade from the only man who might have offered redemption.

That night haunted him still. And now, lying in the darkness, he realised something that chilled him to the bone: for all his hatred, for all his bitterness, he had never feared Lily’s child. He had feared only what he might feel for her.

It was too late to turn back.
________________________________________
Present Resolve

The wind rattled the window. Snape sat up, running a hand through his hair. His chest ached with the weight of the secret. He thought of telling her—of confessing everything.

But what then? She would despair. She would lose the will to fight. She might even seek death before the time was right. Dumbledore had been correct in that, at least: ignorance was her shield.

So he remained silent, a traitor to truth, if not to her.

“Forgive me,” he whispered into the dark.

His eyes burned, but no tears came. He had long ago learned to master them. Instead, he rose from the bed and moved to the desk, where a candle guttered low. He opened one of Dumbledore’s old notes, tracing the neat script with a trembling hand.

Horcruxes. Diary. Ring. Locket. Diadem. Cup. Nagini. And at the end, the unspoken seventh.

Rose.

He shut the paper with a snap, forcing the thought away.

Tomorrow he would rise. He would drill her, sharpen her mind, harden her heart. He would give her every weapon he could. If she must die, she would die prepared, armed with the strength to face it.

And if, by some miracle, she found another path—if there were any chance, however small, of sparing her—then he would seize it, even at the cost of his own life.

The thought steadied him. He blew out the candle and lay back down, staring into the dark once more.

Sleep did not come. But resolve, at least, held him until dawn.

Chapter Text

- At the Cottage -

The storm had finally broken over the hills, rattling the shutters of the lonely cottage. Inside, by the flickering light of the fire, Rose sat at the desk with parchment spread before her. Snape hovered by the hearth, his silhouette sharp against the glow, one hand resting lightly on the mantelpiece.

“You’re certain it’s the cup?” she asked at last, quill poised above a sheet that was already cluttered with notes.

Snape’s gaze lingered on the flames before he answered. “As certain as one can be with a maniac who scatters pieces of his soul like seeds. But yes. Helga Hufflepuff’s cup.

Dumbledore suspected it and I believe the dark lord entrusted it to Bellatrix.”

Rose frowned. “Why Bellatrix? He doesn’t trust anyone.”

“Not trust,” Snape corrected, voice dry as parchment. “Obsession. She is his most slavish disciple. The perfect guardian for something he prizes beyond measure. And she, no doubt, believes it a mark of his favour.”

Rose chewed at her lip. “So, the vault at Gringotts. But… that’s impossible. You’ve said yourself—goblins aren’t fools. They hate wizard interference. We can’t just waltz in.”
“Which is why,” Snape said smoothly, turning from the fire, “we do not waltz. We deceive.”

He laid a small leather-bound book on the desk, opening it to reveal a neat diagram of Gringotts’ upper floors. Rose leaned in, eyes tracing the spidery script and careful lines.

“My plan is simple in its bones,” Snape went on. “I attend a gathering at Malfoy Manor in two nights’ time. While Bellatrix prattles and preens, I will relieve her of her vault key. With that in our possession, you”—he fixed her with a sharp look—“will assume her likeness.”

“Polyjuice,” Rose said quietly.

Snape inclined his head. “Precisely. You will stride into Gringotts as Bellatrix Lestrange herself. I will accompany you beneath your invisibility cloak. When the goblins insist on escorting you, I will… adjust their perception.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “The Imperius?”

His expression didn’t flicker. “It is a tool, no more. It will ensure cooperation. Once inside, the cup will be ours.”

Rose sat back, the firelight catching the uncertain curve of her mouth. “It sounds almost too easy.”

“Nothing with Gringotts is easy,” he said curtly. “The vaults are cursed. Duplicating treasures, burning enchantments—designed to drown thieves in their own greed. But I…” He hesitated, then added, “I have certain advantages.”

The silence between them stretched. Rose tapped the quill against the parchment, then asked, “And if you’re caught at the gala? What then?”

A shadow flickered across his face. “Then the plan fails, and you forget we ever spoke of it.”

She put the quill down with sudden force. “You make it sound so simple. You walking into Malfoy Manor—it’s suicide.”

Snape stepped closer, voice low and taut. “And who else, Miss Potter, do you propose attend in my stead? You?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I only meant—”

“You meant to spare me.” His tone cut sharp, but beneath it she thought she heard something else, something unguarded. “Do not waste your pity. I am more practised in deception than you can imagine.”

The words hung in the air. Rose looked at him, and in the hollow of his eyes she thought she glimpsed the cost of all those years.

Snape broke away first, sweeping toward a bubbling cauldron toward the back of the room. “Polyjuice will be required. I started brewing this batch a month ago.”

Rose watched him as he worked, his long fingers deft and precise. He moved with the economy of a man for whom mistakes were fatal. She found herself fascinated by him—the way he measured, stirred, waited with infinite patience.

When at last the cauldron hissed with readiness, he ladled a vial of viscous, mud-brown liquid and set it carefully on the desk. His hand brushed hers as he passed it across.
“Handle it with care,” he said.

Her pulse quickened at the touch. “I will.”

Their eyes met, an unspoken current running beneath the words. She closed her fingers over the vial and held it tight.

________________________________________

- The Gala (Malfoy Manor) -

The Malfoy estate had been transformed into a grotesque theatre of power. Chandeliers dripped with green flames, long tables groaned under platters of food no one touched, and masked figures moved like shadows across marble floors.

Snape arrived with the ease of one long accustomed to such gatherings. His robes trailed like ink across the ground as he took his place at the fringes of the crowd, face a mask of cold disdain.

Voldemort stood at the head of the hall, surveying his court with a predator’s amusement. His voice slithered through the chamber, praising loyalty, promising conquest. Each word was met with a chorus of sycophantic laughter.

Bellatrix, as ever, was loudest. She all but writhed at her master’s feet, shrieking oaths of devotion, her wild hair spilling down her shoulders. The others tolerated her mania because Voldemort did.

Snape’s lip curled, though inwardly his mind was elsewhere. He tracked her movements, the jangling of her keys, the careless swing of the chain at her belt. He waited.

As goblets were raised in a grotesque toast to “the new order,” Snape moved. A flick of his wand beneath the cover of his sleeve, a whisper of charm, and the chain slithered loose like a snake. The key slipped free into his palm, hidden by the folds of his robe. He then conjured an identical copy of the key and slipped it back, so she would not notice anything was amiss.

No one noticed. Bellatrix was too busy shrieking her devotion, Voldemort too absorbed in his own reflection in their terror.

Snape stood in the shadows, the cool weight of the key pressing into his hand. Triumph did not stir him—only cold resolve.

When at last he returned to the cottage, later that evening, the fire had burned low. Rose sprang to her feet as he entered, her eyes darting to his empty hands.

Then he withdrew the chain from his pocket, the key gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“You did it,” she whispered in relief.

“I said I would,” he replied, though his voice was rougher than usual.

________________________________________

- The next day -

The following morning, the Polyjuice in hand, Rose stood with strands of Bellatrix’s wild black hair clenched in her fist.

“Drink,” Snape commanded, voice clipped.

She swallowed hard, dropped the hair in, and raised the vial. The taste was foul, bitter sludge that burned her throat. Her body contorted, bones shifting, skin crawling until at last she staggered back, panting.

When she lifted her head, Bellatrix Lestrange stared back from the mirror.

Snape regarded her coldly. “You must be her. Every sneer, every twitch. Do not falter.”

“I won’t,” Rose said, though her voice shook.

He transfigured her clothing into something Bellatrix would wear, drew the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and vanished from sight. Only his whisper at her ear remained. “Let’s go.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________

- At Gringotts -

At Gringotts, the marble hall gleamed beneath cold light. Rose strode forward, her borrowed boots clicking sharply against the floor. Every step echoed too loudly in her ears, though she forced herself to move with Bellatrix’s characteristic swagger. Her wand was clutched tight, knuckles white beneath the long, curling fingers Polyjuice had given her.

The goblins behind the counters glanced up, their sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of her. Their expressions were unreadable—disdain tempered with caution.

“Madam Lestrange,” one said at last, bowing with a stiffness that carried no warmth. “Your key.”

Rose faltered for the barest instant. The chain in her pocket seemed to burn against her palm. Her heart thudded so loudly she feared they could hear it.

Then she let her lips curl into a sneer, letting Bellatrix’s madness gleam in her eyes. “Do you question me?” she hissed, her voice pitched high and sharp. “How dare you! Insolent creature—do you not know your place?”

The goblin flinched but did not look away. “It is not a question, Madam. It is the rule of Gringotts. Only with the key may we grant you entry.”

Snape’s voice murmured in her ear, low and measured. “Good. Now lean in, intimidate. Threaten. She would.”

Rose bent down over the counter, her dark hair falling like a veil around her face. “If you had any sense,” she whispered, voice dripping venom, “you would open the vault without hesitation. Or perhaps I should inform the Dark Lord that Gringotts no longer respects his most faithful servant?”

The goblin’s lips drew back over his teeth in something between a grimace and a smile. “We respect the rules of the bank, Madam. The Dark Lord’s reach is long, but even he cannot rewrite our laws.”

Her fingers trembled in her pocket, but she drew the chain out with a flourish and let the key dangle before him. “Very well. Since your kind insists on petty rituals.” She let it drop onto the counter with a sharp clink. “There. Satisfied?”

The goblin caught it in one long-fingered hand, studying it with a jeweller’s eye. “This is indeed your key. Forgive the delay, Madam Lestrange. Security must be upheld.”

Rose straightened, forcing a manic laugh from her throat. “Forgive? I forgive nothing. You will remember that.”

Snape’s whisper brushed her ear again, approving now. “Excellent. Keep the madness in your tone. Bellatrix thrives on it.”

The goblin inclined his head stiffly and gestured. “Follow me, Madam. I will escort you to your vault personally.”

As she swept after him, Rose clenched her jaw to keep the mask in place. She could feel Snape’s invisible presence beside her, steady and cold. She dared not glance his way, but his quiet voice remained close, threading through the tension like a lifeline.

The goblin led them through winding passages, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the bank. The air grew damp, the stone walls slick with condensation. Rose’s heart hammered, but she kept Bellatrix’s wild glare fixed on the guide.

At the vault, the goblin pressed his palm to the door. Enchantments shivered, and it swung open with a grinding screech.

Inside, treasures lay piled high, gleaming gold and cursed jewels. The air was heavy with enchantments.

“Imperio,” Snape whispered, his wand flicking unseen. The goblin’s eyes glazed. He stood still, awaiting command.

“Do not speak of this to anyone,” Snape ordered.

Rose stepped into the vault, breath catching. At once the curses awoke. Coins shifted, multiplied, spilling over themselves in showers of gold. Cups, swords, and trinkets burst into dozens more, the tide rising swiftly.

“There!” Snape hissed.

On a high shelf, glimmering faintly, was a small golden cup, engraved with the badger of Hufflepuff.

Rose lunged, but the treasure burned her hands. She gasped, jerking back.

“Stand aside,” Snape commanded as he slid the invisibility cloak into her arms.

Then, impossibly, he rose into the air, black robes billowing like wings. He drifted over the swelling sea of cursed gold, silent as smoke, until he reached the cup. With a swift motion he snatched it free.

The vault shuddered. An alarm screeched through the stone, the walls trembling.

“Time to go,” he said, descending. Snape knelt by the goblin. With ruthless precision he pressed his wand to its temple. “Obliviate.”

The creature blinked, blank and dazed, all memory of them gone.

Throwing the invisibility cloak over himself and Rose, he seized her arm, his grip iron. With a surge of unnatural strength he flew upward, bearing her with him, up through a narrow fissure in the rock. They burst into open air above Diagon Alley.

No one saw them vanish into the sky.
________________________________________

- At the Cottage -

The cottage was silent when they returned, the fire long dead. On the desk, the cup gleamed faintly, its surface crawling with shadows.

Rose collapsed into the chair, her breath ragged. “We did it.”

Snape set the cup down with infinite care, his face pale, drawn. “For now.”

She looked at him, exhilaration and fear warring in her chest. “You flew. You carried me—like it was nothing.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Do not romanticise necessity.”

Snape’s hand lingered a moment too long on the cup, and when he finally looked up, his eyes were dark hollows.

“One more step,” he muttered, almost to himself.

The fire crackled weakly in the hearth, but neither moved to feed it. The cup lay between them, glinting with a cruel light.

Chapter Text

The cottage still smelled faintly of smoke. Rose woke late, her limbs heavy, her head full of fractured dreams of fire and gold. The air outside was clear at last; sunlight lay pale over the moor.

For a few minutes she simply listened to the hush. No alarms, no curses, no echo of Voldemort’s voice. Only the ticking of a clock and the faint scratch of a quill somewhere downstairs.

She dressed slowly and went down. Snape was at the table, ink staining his fingers, his expression as unreadable as ever. The sight of him alive—tired, lined, but alive—felt almost miraculous.

He did not look up.

“Your footsteps are heavy this morning,” he said.

“You nearly burned the place down last night,” she replied, trying to smile.

He turned a page. “Fiendfyre is not a gentle servant.”

The smell of tea filled the kitchen. She poured herself a cup and caught her reflection in the dark liquid: ash smudges still shadowed her jaw, a faint bruise on her temple. When she spoke again her voice was softer.

“It’s the thirty-first of July,” she murmured. “My birthday.”

That earned her only a slight lift of an eyebrow. “Seventeen,” he said. “The law will no longer treat you as a child.”

“I don’t feel grown.”

“Few do,” he said, and dipped his quill again.

She sat opposite him, watching the steady motion of his hand. The silence was companionable in a strange way. After a time she asked, “Do you ever stop working?”
He paused just long enough to say, “It is less tiring than thinking.”

________________________________________

Later that afternoon, sunlight slanted through the window, turning dust into sparks. Rose was reading by the hearth when she heard the faint creak of the door. Snape entered carrying a small wooden box. His voice, when he spoke, was brusque.

“I dislike sentiment,” he said. “But certain precautions are… necessary.”

He set the box on the table and stepped back. Inside lay a slender ring of silver, chased with tiny runes that shimmered like breath on glass.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It is functional,” he corrected. “Worn on your right hand, it will absorb the first curse directed at you. It will not work twice. So do not grow complacent.”

She lifted it carefully. The metal was cool, yet it seemed to pulse faintly against her skin.

“You made this?”

“A simple enchantment,” he said. “The craftsmanship is older than I am.”

She turned it over in her fingers. “You could have given it to anyone.”

“I did not,” he said, and that ended the matter.

For a while neither spoke. She slid the ring onto her finger; it fit perfectly. The faintest shimmer of light ran around the band before fading. Something inside her tightened—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper she could not name.

“Thank you,” she said.

He inclined his head. “You will need every protection you can get.”

The words sounded practical, but his voice was gentler than usual. Rose felt a sudden, reckless warmth rise in her chest. Before she could stop herself she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

For an instant he went rigid. She felt the faint hitch of his breath. Then, awkwardly, he placed one hand against her back, as though afraid of the gesture itself.
“Do not thank me,” he said after a moment. His voice was low, rough. “You do not yet know the cost of what lies ahead.”

She drew back just enough to see his face. The mask had slipped; exhaustion and something like sorrow stood naked in his eyes.

“I trust you,” she said quietly.

“Foolish girl,” he murmured. But he did not look away.

The clock ticked. She released him first. He stepped back, hands clasped behind his back, the usual composure returning. Yet the air between them had changed—softer, uncertain.

________________________________________

That evening the wind rose outside, rattling the shutters. Rose sat by the window, the ring glinting on her finger, thinking how strange it felt to be safe for a single night. The ring was still faintly warm; she wondered if that was his magic or simply the metal remembering his touch.

Downstairs she heard him moving about, closing books, extinguishing lamps, the sound was comforting.

________________________________________
Snape’s thoughts

He stood before the dying fire, staring at the empty hearth. On the mantel lay the tools from his last potion, neatly arranged. Everything in order, everything quiet—yet his mind refused stillness.

He thought of the ring on her hand. He had told her it was a precaution, but he had woven more into it than he admitted: a trace of his own life force, a ward that would flare if she were near mortal danger. It was reckless magic. It would weaken him each time it shielded her. He had done it anyway.

Foolish, he told himself. Sentiment clouds judgement. Yet when she had smiled—briefly, as though surprised that he had thought of her at all—something in him had shifted. It felt like sunlight in a place long cold.

He imagined her upstairs, reading perhaps, turning the ring over in the light. He forced the thought away, pressed fingers to his temple, and muttered, “Attachment breeds mistakes.”

Still, when he finally extinguished the fire and went to bed, he left his door unlatched—a small, unacknowledged habit of protection.

________________________________________
Rose’s POV

The cottage had grown dark except for the small lamp on her desk. She opened her journal, wrote the date at the top, and hesitated. What could she record? Destroyed the cup. Turned seventeen. He remembered.

She smiled faintly and drew a small circle beside the words—a ring. The band caught the lamplight, glimmering like a promise she could not quite understand.
Before she blew out the lamp, she whispered into the quiet room, “Good night, Professor.”

Through the thin floorboards she thought she heard an answering murmur, barely audible: “Good night, Miss Potter.”

Sleep came easily for the first time in months.