Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All good deals have their strings and you just knew that there had to be something terribly wrong with the place the moment you heard the price. The owner was practically giving the enormous old house away.

After exhausting land issues, foundation problems, infestations, and every other dangerous or expensive housing issue you could think of, all that was left seemed to be its past. Nothing was physically wrong with the property, as far as you could find at least. The house was enormous, the price was actually cheaper than the four bedroom you had looked at in the next town over—which is where you learned about this house—and the location alone was worth a fortune.

Yet the dwelling had remained vacant for years. The owner wanted nothing to do with the place and was letting it fall into disrepair. In fact, the only person that seemed to have anything to do with it was a very old groundskeeper who lived on the property. The house hadn't even technically been on the market when you found it. After deciding against the four bedroom in the other town, you had asked around to see if anyone knew a place that was for sale, but not so heavy with neighbors.

You liked your privacy and preferred a decent amount of space between your home and someone else's. So when you heard about the mysteriously empty old mansion on the hill adjacent a local village, it felt like fate. Seeing it just made that all the more true. Even beneath the ivy and neglect, you could see its true beauty, the awe that it had struck into viewers at its prime, and it made you feel like you were home. It looked like a place your father would have liked and most certainly would have approved of.

But you just had to know: what was wrong with the house?

The prim, uptight realtor had been quick to dispel any worries and misconceptions about physical issues with the property. Other than, of course, the few broken windows and a small number of tiles that needed replacing on the roof. All of which were really nothing to worry about in comparison to the usual problems that homeowners had to deal with—dry rot, termite damage, shoddy repairs, or foundation issues. He even assured that this would be guaranteed in the bill of sales.

All of this only made the curiosity gnaw at you with greater intensity. It just seemed too good to be true. Why was this mansion, this beautiful home that had survived decades—possibly centuries—being sold for so little?

You had politely listened to the realtor ramble on about the history behind the house, but he never said why it had gone so long without an occupant. So as you stood there in the foyer, running your hand along the handcrafted railing, you asked the million dollar question.

"What happened in this house?"

The realtor remained silent so long that you thought he might have left. You turned to find him staring at you with a great deal more suspicion than you thought that question deserved. It was a little odd really.

Had no one ever drawn this conclusion before?

"It's the only other excuse for the price and the lack of occupancy." You explained, turning fully to face him expectantly.

He looked a little abashed and, perhaps, even annoyed at the accusation against the house. His job was to make the place look as welcoming and desirable as possible, after all. No one really wants to delve into accounts of shady history about a place they are trying to sell. It's bad for business.

However, you were making it apparent that this was an issue that would have to be rectified and explained if he was to have any hope of making a sale.

Rationally speaking, it really didn't matter what had happened in the house. It was too good of a deal to just pass up, especially when you were running out of options. However, something about his reluctance and the distance everyone seemed to keep from the house gave you cause for alarm. It was starting to feel a little creepy and like the precursor to something right out of a horror movie.

Before you could venture too far down that mental road, the realtor—Mr. Podmoore you had to remind yourself—cleared his throat. He regained his height, standing tall and important once again.

"According to police record, the original owners died one night of natural causes approximately fifty years ago." He stated pretentiously, as if this weren't the least bit ambiguous or odd. The man sounded like he was discussing politics over tea and crumpets.

Your brows were raised in disbelief, both at the story and the manner in which he told it. "More than one person died on the same night of natural causes?"

Obviously not appreciating the skepticism, he explained further. "This was the conclusion of the local police department." His tone was borderline snippish. "From what I have heard, there was nothing wrong with any of them aside from the fact that they were dead."

A creak from somewhere upstairs punctuated this statement, making it sound rather ominous. "Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, along with their son, showed no signs of foul play. The house has been lived on only a few occasions since then, no doubt owing to the gossip of the locals."

He said the word 'gossip' with no small amount of disdain. The man was snooty to a fault, but you were well acquainted with his type. Most of the members of 'elite' society acted just like him—too good for the commoners, because they could afford anything their selfish little hearts desired.

You had far too much experience dealing with snobs like him. Not that he would guess that from your appearance. No doubt you looked less like an heiress and more like the 'commoner' that was supposed to be shunned, dressed as you were in such a decidedly plain outfit. The type of person who was supposed to enter this sort of house through the back door and not the front.

The notion was both amusing and a little insulting. At some point you had probably been poor, but whatever life you'd had before your father found you was long forgotten. The doctors had thought it was a simple case of amnesia, that the loss of your memories was temporary. Yet after fourteen years, it was still just one big blank.

Even the best specialists in the world were at a loss. You never had flashes of things you'd forgotten, never had that feeling of knowledge tickling your brain that you weren't supposed to chase, and never found your memories haunting your dreams. It wasn't like forgetting or having a mental block—it was like everything before that one moment was gone. And there didn't seem to be any apparent cause.

You walked through a nearby archway that led into one of the four enormous living rooms. This one had the best view though. Its big bay windows looked out upon what must have been a magnificent front garden and further still onto the town below the hill. You could see the lights starting to come on as the sun began to sink behind the house. The whole room had turned this deep orange tint that made it look as though the walls were on fire.

Fifty years ago the Riddle family had died mysteriously within these walls, and either the gossip or something else had kept people from living in the house since their demise. A part of you was unsure about taking the risk, as it was hard to believe hearsay alone had scared off people from a property this magnificent. However, the more rational side simply couldn't walk away from a deal like this. Perhaps the story had just gotten so out of hand that it really could scare people off. After all, it was a tiny little town: gossip and embellishment were always their forte.

"Small towns do love their gossip." You spoke more to your own thoughts than in response to what the realtor had said. The older man predictably scoffed at this remark, obviously not thinking the size of the town gave it any excuse. He did strike you as the big city type—he probably had never lived in a town that was dull and entirely unremarkable.

The thought of all the gossip you planned to incite amused you deeply. "Lets give them something else to talk about."

It was the realtor's turn for the raised brows. Subconsciously, you reminded yourself once again that his name was Mr. Podmoore—names weren't really your strong suit.

"I beg your pardon?" Was his confused retort.

You grinned and looked around the room, taking in everything from the sculptures built into the mantle of the fireplace, to the cobwebbed chandelier. "I'll take it."

Chapter Text

Little Hangleton was a small village in Northern England with the misfortune of having absolutely nothing of interest; with the exception of the mysterious death of the prominent Riddle family some fifty years prior. However, the story had been so embellished over the years that no one was really quite sure what the truth was anymore. Everyone had their own opinion on how the mishap had happened and they all wanted to call it murder. It was just more interesting that way. After all, it wasn't like anyone was going to pretend that the Riddles had been the least bit likable.

And when it came to who to blame, nearly every finger in town pointed right at one man in correlation to the family's death.

Frank Bryce was about seventy and had worked for Mr. and Mrs. Riddle before their untimely deaths. Despite the fact that the police had cleared him, that there was no evidence of any wrong doing whatsoever, the townsfolk took it upon themselves to punish the man. As far as they were concerned, he was a cold blooded murderer. It really didn't matter at all to them if there was no proof.

The people of Little Hangleton had wasted no time in warning you of this and giving you their own personal accounts of what had happened—half of them not having even been born at the time of the incident.

Mr. Podmoore had introduced you to Frank after all the paperwork had been signed and had asked if you wanted to continue keeping him on as a groundskeeper. Considering that the man had been working there for more than fifty years, you would have felt heartless to just send him off. Though, watching him limp around the garden didn't make you feel too kindly either.

He protested against you helping out, no doubt used to having to do everything on his own; however, you insisted and many a passersby would find you both working in the gardens in an attempt to return it to its former glory. Though, the title 'passersby' was a little too nice really. 'Snoopers' was more accurate as the only thing further down the road was the graveyard.

You'd even caught several kids with their faces pressed against the windows. Frank had come out as swiftly as he could at his age to chase them off and warned that it was likely their parents that put them up to it. He didn't speak out against the townspeople unless you asked about them directly and you could hear the bitterness he held back. These people gave him hell for a crime that he really did not seem to have committed.

You didn't ask why he stayed though, or pry into his past at all if you could help it. Like you, he was very much alone in the world and you figured that he stayed because he had nowhere else to go.

The two of you got along quite well. Unlike the rest of the town, he didn't make it his business to pry into where you came from or why you moved there. He seemed perfectly happy to leave you to your own devices unless you needed him and you were kind enough to do the same.

You were thankful to have him around too, as he was the one that outed the cleaning crew for nosing about. After that you decided against hiring people from town and instead brought in those sent by agencies from the city. In retrospect, you should have known better, but you thought it would only be polite to hire people from town. A sort of goodwill gesture to try and show the town you meant well and wanted to be part of them. Those feelings were dying out fast though.

The lengths that people were willing to go to out of sheer boredom and curiosity was astounding. You hadn't been living in the house two weeks before you were highly considering the purchase of vicious looking guard dogs. A couple of big, hulking monsters to chase off anyone who wasn't you or Frank would send a clear message.

By that point you were positive that it was the townsfolk responsible for the house being empty so long. The 'legend of the Riddle house' seemed to make these people crazy. Were they expecting to sneak up to the house and catch Frank murdering you?

...Actually, that is probably exactly what they expected.

The thought was laughable and infuriating. It wasn't as though you couldn't imagine him killing someone; he was a soldier and had been to war, of course he had probably taken a few lives. But anyone who could put up with the things the villagers had done to him and not shed blood over it, was not a murderer. The man had a better grasp on his temper than you did even at the best of times, and that was saying something.

After all, you had sat by and let people sling your father's name, and your own, through, the mud without killing anyone. You put up with the attempted lawsuits over his will, the backstabbing, the lies and still didn't resort to violence. But you couldn't see sitting around and taking a punishment for something you didn't do—for fifty years at that!

You curled deeper into the plush sofa, unbidden images from your more recent past coming forward. Even a moment's thought took you right back to that hell. The will that your father had left behind burned a lot of people. They all thought they would be sticking their greedy hands into the pot of gold. Sure, they knew you'd be getting something. Adopted or not, you were his daughter and also his only child.

Still though, they hadn't expected him to leave you everything.

He came from a big family and had eight siblings that had ridden his coat tails from poverty and unto great wealth. In addition to that were a number of cousins, a few aunts and uncles still hanging in there, and four ex-wives. Every single one of them had gone to the funeral not because they cared, not to comfort you in your grieving, but because they wanted to get something out of it. And his will spit in their faces.

Every head in that room had turned towards you in shock, horror, or rage. Some people made a scene, some called their lawyers, and others tried to dig for gold by acting like they gave a damn about you.

So after the courts had declared in your favor, after your accounts had been unfrozen, you took off. It was bad enough having people like that know where you lived, to have them come calling whenever they felt like it, but it was worse when you were living in a house that reminded you of what you had lost.

Everywhere was a memory of your father and it hurt beyond words. The one and only person that you had in your life that loved you and cared about you was gone forever.

The fact of the matter was that the house you had loved when your father was alive, had become your own personal hell when he died. You didn't have the heart to sell it, but that didn't mean you were going to live there either. Or that you would let any of the backstabbing money-grubbers live there either. All of yours and your father's cherished belongings had been packed up and you allowed the house to be used as safe haven for orphans and the homeless.

It just felt like the right thing to do with the place.

So you left your home in the hands of volunteers, government officials, and the staff that opted to stay. Then you just left everything you knew behind and moved halfway across the world.

It was nice, even with the villagers and their prying. This was a fresh start for you and already you were feeling less lonely thanks to Frank.

The remainder of the sunlight, pink and heavily shadowed, faded from the room. You knew that you should get up and turn on a light, but a rather clingy feeling of lethargy was keeping you down. Even as it grew steadily darker, you continued to lay there, staring out into the garden.

You let your eyes close just for a moment, trying to think of nothing but how comfortable it was just to lie there. It felt like you had only just closed them, but when you opened your eyes again the room was pitch black.

This startled you into sitting up.

It was so dark that you couldn't see anything, not even the table that you knew was only about a foot away. Obviously you must have fallen asleep, but for how long?

You stood up and edged around the table, trying to be extra careful and recall exactly where everything was. With your hands outstretched, you felt your away around the sofa and in the general direction of the doorway to find a light switch.

Halfway across the room you realized that something was wrong. The house was too silent. No hum from the air conditioner, no spinning fan, or buzz of electricity from something you left running—because nothing was running.

The house had a dead silence to it that made your ears ring.

You knew before you made it to the switch that it was a wasted effort. The power was out and all you got as the switch flipped up was a click.

"Damn." Both your voice and exasperated sigh were magnified in the deep silence. This was not shaping up to be an enjoyable evening. It was black as pitch and you had no clue at all where a flashlight or matches might be. There were candles on the mantle, but they were useless unless you could light them. Half of your belongings were still in boxes, and who knows how far across the house a lighter or a box of matches could be.

Click, click went the switch in vain and you sighed again in the darkness.

The ringing from the silence grew stronger over time as you stood there thinking, praying that you could recall just one glimpse of something that could give you light. Nothing came to mind.

Standing there in the darkness quickly put you on edge. The back of your neck bristled and the muffled gurgle of pipes sounded like a ghastly groan in the absence of other sounds. You shivered in silence, listening hard for some sign that maybe the power was trying to come back on. It didn't even seem to be storming out, so waking up to total darkness made no sense.

You felt along the wall to the open doorway. If nothing else, you could spend the night at a hotel until an electric crew could come out to fix the problem. Or perhaps Frank had a lantern or flashlight you could borrow. Though, the house was rather creepy in the dark…

A noise, strange an unexpected, made you stop and hold your breath. It sounded like something moving upstairs. You waited, perfectly still and perfectly silent, listening hard for another sound. It did not keep you waiting long. Another sound came within moments and it confirmed what you already feared.

Someone was in your house.

You kept very quiet, feeling your way towards the umbrella stand in search of a weapon. It would have been much safer to find your keys and get out of the house—you knew this, you considered this, and you still pulled out an umbrella. Which was hardly the best weapon to be armed with against a potentially deadly intruder.

Sure, it could just be the next step taken by some nosy villager. Or it could be a psychopath lurking in the dark. A lot of terrifying images were floating around in your head as you stared unseeing and without breathing towards the staircase.

It was stupid to stay. You couldn't see, you were alone, and at the very least you should have run out to get Frank. Instead though, you silently made your way upstairs. It was a slow process as you strained to listen for more movement and carefully felt out each step.

Occasionally there would be a sound, as if the person in question wasn't doing much to hide his or her presence. For the most part though, all you could hear was ringing silence pressing in against the sound of your heartbeat. It was very hard to hear anything at all over the thumping in your ears.

As you made it to the second floor landing, your eyes adjusted just enough to make out basic shapes in the dark, you could hear movement from down the hall and voices. You held your breath again to try and hear them better, but the words were drowned out by distance and your pulse. All you could tell for sure was that it sounded like more than one person and the one you could hear best sounded male. Your grip tightened around the handle of the umbrella as you made your way closer. If you could just hear enough to tip the cops off, to figure out who was in your home, then you could get out of there.

That was how you rationalized your foolish behavior. You tried not to acknowledge the fact that you were acting out of curiosity instead of safety. There you were alone in the dark mansion, armed with an umbrella of all things, moving closer to the voices of not one, but two intruders. Maybe there were even more than that down there and they were just currently silent. You had no way of knowing unless you entered the room.

For it was a room that they were in, the second floor den to be precise, and the door was left ajar.

Light suddenly spilled out into the hallway and you wondered if the power had come back on. But as you stood there listening, you could not hear any signs of it. Which meant it was more likely one of the men had lit a fire. This was such a brazen and surprising move that you almost dropped the umbrella out of shock.

You pressed up against the opposite wall to try and get a peek in through the doorway to see what it was they had lit on fire.

Your eyes were wide as you spied the roaring blaze inside the fireplace. What in the world were these intruders thinking? However, this turned out not to be the most pressing matter of the moment. For you quickly spied something that turned you cold with fear and dread.

In the light of the fire, laying on the hearth, you could see the coiled form of a massive serpent and it was looking right at you.

Chapter Text

Part of you wondered what kind of a person breaks into a house with a giant snake in tow. It did seem like a strange thing to bring along to a crime.

The answer though was simple, so much so that it should not have needed asking: a crazy person.

This was a quick realization that should have sent you running for your life. But even knowing that the people inside that room had to be out of their minds, you still couldn’t move. Was it fear, curiosity, or even a little of both that kept you rooted in that spot?

Not that it was going to matter much if you ended up being eaten by a python—or was it an anaconda…? The type of snake hardly seemed a thing to worry over though. Both were equally deadly when they crushed and swallowed you whole.

Though the snake wasn't rushing at you with its fangs bared. In fact, aside from the staring, it didn't seem to be doing anything at all. It was curled up on the rug like an obedient pet basking in the heat of the fire.

The fire itself was another strange thing and not just because the intruders had bothered to light one in the fireplace. It was already far too large and stable, as if it had been burning for an hour, instead of having just been lit. Did they bring their own gas soaked logs or something? You certainly didn't stock any logs or lighter for that matter--it was the middle of summer, after all.

You stopped breathing when you heard someone speaking softly. Whatever it was that they said you couldn't hear from where you stood. Tentatively, you crept a little closer. The snake didn't seem to be a threat and if it moved you could still run. You doubted it would be able to take the stairs very fast.

A squeaky, terrified voice broke the silence as you stood not even a foot from the door. "M-my lord.. Forgive me, I thought the house was still--"

"Be silent, Wormtail." Now you could hear the second voice and it sent a horrible chill straight through you. That voice alone made you want to run far more than the snake did, but there was something about it that kept you moving closer. You just couldn't put your finger on it… Something you should have known, something familiar... "Nagini says our host is still here; be polite and let her in."

Well, shit.

The door flew open before you could decide to run or charge into the room with your 'weapon'.

What stood in the doorway was by far one of the least intimidating man you had ever seen. He was short, balding, and thin. The little man had the haggard look of someone who had lost a lot of weight rather quickly and watery, frightened eyes that made him look even more meek and unimposing. Honestly, you didn't know if you wanted to beat him over the head with the umbrella or offer him food. He looked pathetic and scared.

Regardless though, you reminded yourself that he had broken into your house in the middle of the night. And there was still the man with the terrifying voice in that room with him. The one that made you feel a sense of familiarity that you couldn't quite place.

You gripped the handle of the umbrella tightly in one hand and stepped inside. Once again, curiosity won against common sense.

The snake lifted its head a bit, but did not move from the hearth. It didn't seem to be a threat, and you were pretty sure you could take the little guy in a fight, but that still left the other man. The one that was nowhere to be seen. Either he was hiding in the closet or he was in the high-backed chair that was facing the window.

The window with a lovely view of the graveyard. That only added to the creep factor of this situation.

You stood there staring, waiting for him to make a move or say something, but he remained still and silent. Apparently it was up to you to get the ball rolling for this increasingly awkward conversation.

"So, is there any particular reason you boys are in my house?" You questioned brazenly, keeping the smaller man in your peripheral as he watched you curiously. Meek or not, it wasn't a good idea to give him a chance to get the drop on you. As far as you knew he could have had a gun.

The unseen man sounded amused when he spoke. "Your house, is it?"

"As of three weeks ago, yes." You replied without hesitation. It had taken a little over a week to have it fixed up and cleaned, especially since you had to fire your original cleaners and hire new ones that would mind their own business. It seemed like you were having nothing but problems with this place though.

Nosy snoops, random power outage, and crazy people breaking in to chill in your upstairs sitting room. No wonder the house had stayed unoccupied: the thing was apparently cursed with bad luck.

"This house once belonged to my family." He said after a moment, the creepy amusement still there.

You had an eerie moment of realization that made you feel ill. It couldn't be the family you were thinking of, could it? But then, no one ever said all of them died... Or maybe he was dead and you were living in a haunted house.

"The Riddles?" You asked, thankfully sounding far less nervous than you felt. That probably should have been as far as you took the conversation. You probably should have turned and bolted from the room, but the next question spilled out before you could stop it. "What really happened to them?"

There it was, the magic question—the one you probably should have kept locked up tight. Honestly you expected him to stand up and show you what had happened to them. You tried to imagine just how he would do it, to imagine how the Riddles themselves had died. Hadn't the police been completely baffled by a cause of death?

What could do that? Were you about to find out first hand?

Every muscle in your body felt tense and though you had no idea what you were about to be up against—gun, knife, or something else—you were determined to fight until your very last breath.

However the scary man did not stand and the meek one spoke instead.

"My lord, she is a simple muggle, we could—"

"What did you just call me?" You hissed, turning towards him with a look that made him shrink back warily. The name irked you, perhaps because it sounded derogatory and he seemed so dismissive of you. Even if you were about to die, you'd be damned if you were going to sit back and let them ridicule you. "I don't take kindly to being talked down to, especially not by a spineless little rat like you."

He opened his mouth in shock and held up a short wooden stick as if he were hoping to wish you away, or planning to poke you in the eye, when something unexpected stopped him cold.

The other man laughed. It was a high, chilling sound that sounded far from humorous. It made the little man gulp in fear and tremble as he looked towards his 'lord'.

"Such a brave little child," The scary man chortled in that horrifying tone that made you battle the urge to run. "To stand before Lord Voldemort and not tremble in fear."

It was like something had punched you in the gut.

"Voldemort…" Your voice came out breathless and you felt that you were missing something. Something very important.. You knew that name, you knew him, but you didn't know why or how! "why do I know that name?"

The other man looked at you suddenly, wary and nervous of you once more. Was it the fact that you knew the name that bothered him or that you weren't sure why you knew it?

"Are you a squib?" He asked, but he didn't seem like he was trying to insult you this time.

"A what?" Honestly, where were these two from? You'd lived in several countries and had never heard of terms like 'muggle' and 'squib'. Perhaps it was some sort of slang, but either way you had no idea what it meant.

"Wormtail," Voldemort said suddenly, making both you and the man in question quite nervous. Was he about to attack you or order 'Wormtail' to do it instead? The thought made your hands clench so tight around the umbrella that you could feel the wood crunching inward from the pressure. "Our curious host deserves a reward for her bravery."

"M-my lord?" Obviously Wormtail was as clueless about his meaning as you were.

"Turn the chair around." Voldemort clarified and the terrified lackey shot a fleeting glance towards the snake on the hearth.

"Sir, I—"

"Now." Clearly Voldemort was not one for debating. So Wormtail trudged forward, looking more terrified than you had seen him thus far.

His trembling hands reached forward to grab the back of the chair, causing the snake to hiss as the leg caught on the rug. You could almost see the sweat rolling town his face as he was forced to maintain close proximity to the snake and the scary man. Plus the chair was heavy enough when unoccupied and likely miserable with a person sitting in it. If you weren't on edge, preparing for a fight, you'd probably be irked by the man's laziness. Instead of standing up to face you, he was making his lackey turn the chair around.

In fact it did irk you. The guy was probably going to kill you and do it while sitting down at that. It was just plain disrespectful and it made you want to beat his head in with your umbrella.

You slid one of your feet forward, ready to lunge at him and hopefully deal some amount of damage.

However when the chair turned, at first you thought no one was there. Your gaze was leveled high, expecting to be looking at a man, yet there was nothing to be seen up there. You slowly lowered your gaze down the chair until they met red and your heart stuttered painfully.

This was no man that you were looking at. It was no human either. The shock of his appearance made it impossible to be sure just how you felt. He looked like a small, feeble child, but the strangest one you had ever seen. His skin looked scaly and black, but tinged red like a demon you had seen once in a book on supernatural creatures. His face was flat and snake like and his eyes were a gleaming red.

He stared at you unblinkingly, perhaps waiting for your response or maybe just trying to intimidate you. Wormtail was waiting too, watching you carefully as he edged away from the snake.

You weren't sure what to say or do for that matter. Your head tilted as you continued to take in his strange appearance. How could this creature, this strange inhuman thing, be familiar to you? What in the world had you been subjected to before you lost your memory?

Well, you might have figured out how the Riddles had died at least. If people fainted back in the day watching the Exorcist, you were pretty sure seeing this fifty years ago would have killed people on the spot.

After the silence had stretched on for awhile, with all occupants of the room—including the snake—staring at you, your voice finally found its way back.

"So you're Voldemort, huh?" You stated, crossing your arms and causing Wormtail to gape in shock. "Now if I could just figure out where I know you from, I'd be a little less annoyed about this situation."

You probably should have been careful speaking to this guy, especially since your instincts were telling you to be terrified, but you shoved those feelings away. It wasn't in your nature to cower and the longer this went on, the more sure you felt that all this was just a really messed up dream anyway.

Voldemort was silent and contemplating for a moment. For some reason you were having flashbacks, brief and entirely out of place. One of which was your father's funeral.

You had to grit your teeth and look away, worried that you were going to start crying in front of these men. If nothing else, you would not show weakness.

Voldemort's voice interrupted your mental mantra as you tried to banish those painful memories. "Come here."

You sent him a wary glance. His tone was borderline commanding, but you heard something else in that voice when he spoke.

Curiosity.

An urge, a driving force that had been behind all of your choices that evening. In fact it was what had you moving forward towards Voldemort, instead of getting the hell out of there like your common sense was screaming at you to do.

Another memory flashed in your thoughts as you stepped closer. It was the courthouse where your 'family' had pleaded their case about how you had unlawfully stolen money that was supposed to come to them. One particular accusation stuck out in the garbled mess flowing through your brain.

"She's not even his real child! She's just a little gold digger that swindled my family out of our hard earned money!" The pain this outcry caused cut through your chest like a jagged knife.

This was your uncle saying these things. He had been there for so many wonderful times in your life. He'd even come to pick you up from prom when you'd had a little too much to drink and didn't want your father to know about it. You had trusted him, loved him, and he was throwing you to the wolves over money.

You stood up suddenly, startling your lawyer who had been about to respond. "Hard earned? How did you earn any of it? My father was the one who broke his back to build his company from the ground. None of you ever contributed anything but heartache and lies!"

Coming back to reality you stopped and tried to push back the fury and despair. Everyone that you had thought you could count on had only wanted one thing: money. You wished that your father hadn't left it all to you, but you did understand. That ordeal had shown you exactly why he had cut everyone else out of his will. He had seen them all for what they really were. No doubt if he'd had a little forewarning on his own demise, he would have warned you of what to expect, but it had been so sudden...

When you looked back at Voldemort, he showed no change in expression and you had the strangest feeling that he knew what you were thinking.

You bridged that last little gap between you both and as he reached up, you leaned down in perfect sync. It felt like you were giving into some unspoken request as you knelt before him.

The moment he touched your skin you felt the rush of memories again. They were stronger this time; they flashed before your eyes as if you were actually living them.

You stepped back, crouching down inside the closet so that 'she' wouldn't notice you were there. Father wouldn't be upset that you were in his study, but you knew exactly what the wicked witch would do.

She'd take your upper arm in her deceptively strong grasp, leaving a bruise without even breaking an expensively manicured nail, and drag you forcibly out of the room. Of course, this was assuming your father hadn't shown up.

You sighed in relief as he entered the room: a sound that the witch's outburst entirely covered up.

"We need to talk!" She proclaimed and you saw him roll his eyes after he'd passed her heading for his desk.

He may not have seen her the way you did, but you both at least agreed on one thing: she was way too dramatic. No doubt there would be a melodramatic crying fit from her if you ever told your dad about all the crap she put you through. The only reason you didn't was because it felt like giving in. As if it would prove you were weak if you opened your mouth. So it remained a private battle: you versus the witched witch.

Your father took his seat, laying aside the files he'd been carrying and waiting for your step mother to continue on her tirade. No doubt you were both wondering just what her problem was this time. She was always complaining about something or other. When you were a little younger, you'd wondered what he saw in her. However, you figured it out when you hit puberty and started noticing things about men.

She may have had a shitty personality, but she was young, Latin, and very lovely. In other words, she was a trophy wife.

The witch huffed at your father's lack of reaction to her 'oh so important' problem. "This is serious, darling!"

God you hated how she rolled her r's with such excessive emphasis. She may have been Latina, but she was trying to hard to show it.

"Then tell me." He said simply and she sulked. She may have seemed stupid most of the time, even if she wasn't a natural blond, but she was able to tell when she wasn't being taken seriously. Plus she was a crafty old witch when she wanted to be.

"It's your daughter!" Ding ding ding ding. Magic phrase right there and one you'd heard many times. It was always followed by some sort of accusation and it always made your father livid.

You were daddy's little girl and no gold digging skank was going to change that. Still though, you leaned forward curious about what she was blaming you for this time.

"I know you love her darling, I do too," Bullshit. "But—!"

"Enough." Your father's voice was soft, but it carried a commanding weight to it. He was a big, imposing man and he could be intimidating when he wanted.

She must have seen something in his expression, because she froze for a moment. You could almost see the gears turning in her head as she weighed her next words carefully.

"Honey, please," Her voice was soft now, meek, and those eyes that always seemed so cold to you were teary and imploring. "Even you have to admit there is something wrong with that girl!"

He stood suddenly at this and she actually flinched back as if he had struck her.

"Watch your mouth." He spoke evenly, but there was a threat in his tone that even she wouldn't have missed.

She wrung her hands and, against any better judgment she might have possessed, she continued on: "I'll leave you! I just can't live with... with that girl!"

He was silent and for one terrible moment you thought he might give in. "You are asking me to choose between you and my daughter."

She seemed to relax a little, hearing him softly clarifying it and it made you feel ill. You couldn't see his face. Did he look like he was considering it? "I am simply saying that perhaps we should send her to a spe—"

He cut her off. "I will always choose my child."

After that memory another rushed in to take its place. You seemed to be going further and further back each time as if the more striking and conflicting moments of your life were playing in reverse. The next memory was when you were a little younger.

It was one of the many times when something strange and unexplainable happened to you.

It kind of sucked being stuck in the house all day. Perhaps you were spoiled, considering the sheer size of the house, but you knew every nook and cranny so there wasn't really any mystery or wonder left to be had.

Plus the witch was on a rampage getting the house ready for a big party and you'd been shrieked at to stay out of her sight.

So you were stuck bouncing a ball off your knees to see how long you could keep it up on the less used side of the house. Thankfully this hallway was pretty empty of breakable things, since the witch would flay you alive if you broke something even if it wasn't hers. She liked to think that because she'd married your dad that she 'owned everything'.

You didn't see it that way though, so you'd rather break things that she actually liked or used if you ended up breaking anything at all. In fact you were plotting just how you could go about destroying her party plans without getting caught. She'd blame you even if you had nothing to do with it, but the staff would back you up if they didn't see you—most would even if they did—and she couldn't do much without proof. Your father would be home before she could find you.

Scheme after scheme played through your thoughts, but most were a little too farfetched. After all, how would you get up to the chandelier anyway? Let alone getting up there without being seen.

"What do you think you are doing!?" A foul, familiar shriek caused you to miss and let the ball drop.

With a groan you turned to face the seething witch as she stormed down the hall towards you. "What now?"

She gripped you by the arm tightly. "Don't you DARE take the tone with me!" You bit your tongue against snapping at her and tried to keep the scowl off your face. "I told you to stay out of the way!"

Through tightly clenched teeth you replied: "I thought you were using the other side of the giant mansion for the party." That by itself was rude enough in her book, but you just couldn't stop. "You inviting the whole country? I thought commoners were beneath you."

If the look on her face didn't betray the fact that you'd gone too far, the death grip she had on your arm certainly did.

"Listen here, brat," She hissed, getting right in your face. "The only reason I allow you to live under my roof is because your father has some bizarre sentimental attachment—"

"It's called love, you wouldn't know about that though." You cut in viciously and she drew her hand back to slap you.

Being smaller and faster than her you swung your leg out before she could hit you. It just narrowly missed her as she leapt away and struck the ball instead. The ball flew out towards the wall and caused an explosion on impact.

There had been a long pause of shock between you and the witch, before she started screaming and ran off yelling that you had tried to blow her up. You were shell-shocked and still there when your father arrived with your stepmother sobbing and clinging to his arm.

He had stared at you for a long moment with a look you didn't understand and then took you and the witch by surprise by shaking her off and sweeping you up into his arms.

The whole incident had been explained away as an attempt on your life and he had hired extra security, but you weren't sure about that. Why hadn't the ball exploded before then if there was a bomb in it? And what was with that look he had given you?

Plus this had been only one of many strange incidents that had happened around you. All of which you couldn't rationalize, but that your father had managed to explain away to other people. He'd been nothing if not smart and charismatic.

When all the water in the aquarium had vanished after your stepmother had threatened to throw you into the tank, he had called it a malfunction of equipment. When the television suddenly could not be shut off when your stepmother tried to keep you from watching your show, he'd bought a new tv and said there must have just been a short.

You didn't buy his excuses, she didn't buy them, and you were pretty sure he didn't either. Sometimes it felt like he knew what had really happened, but you'd never had the nerve to ask.

The memories kept rushing by, faster and faster making you dizzy and lightheaded as you relived your own life.

Finally came the image of your father, the very first time you had even seen him.

It was dark and raining, cold and dreary. You vaguely remembered feeling empty and confused as you wandered aimlessly down the street. There just aren't words to truly describe what it's like to have nothing, no memories, no hopes, no dreams—nothing at all.

Then there he was, like a ray of light in the darkness.

He'd seen you—what I sight you must have been—bedraggled, alone, and dazed. You remembered the warmth in his eyes so well and the way he made you feel safe as he helped you into his car.

When he asked your name though, the fear and despair came rushing all at once. It was terrifying not to know who you were, to find nothing but emptiness when you tried to remember.

It would be a couple of weeks before you'd randomly blurt out your name when someone asked. The first and only time you remembered anything definite from your former life.

When that memory faded, when it had played itself out, there came darkness so consuming that you felt like you were falling. Falling down through a shadowy veil towards a voice. Someone was speaking in the darkness, but they were so far away...

Suddenly the room came back into focus and you were staring into a pair of sly red eyes. His hand dropped from your face and your head spun violently, causing the entire room to tilt and turn. You toppled over sideways feeling your consciousness fading.

Voldemort spoke but your pounding heart blocked it out at first. It was only as your vision completely blackened and your pulse slowed that you heard them speaking.

"And her my lord?" Wormtail questioned tentatively.

"She intrigues me." Voldemort replied.

Then even the voices faded.

Chapter Text

Waking up felt normal and routine as if the strangeness of the night before had truly been nothing but a dream. The bed was soft, warm, and exactly how it should be. Your thoughts were muddled and drowsy; your body was cradled in the decadent comfort of the mattress. Yet as your mind slowly cleared you could feel a difference. A weight on the bed that caused it to dip on the other side.

You were almost too nervous to open your eyes, but you just couldn't lay there without knowing who was lying with you. Or what for that matter. With deliberate slowness you peeked your eyes open and turned your head to the side.

The answer to your question was a giant snake—the same giant snake from the night before.

Seeing it caused a multitude of reactions, but no sound or movement on your part. Shock caused your heart to pound and your eyes to widen. Fear accelerated your racing heart. Awe had your gaze wandering across the length of this enormous, sleeping monster. And, most pressing of all, the curiosity absolutely ate you alive.

How had you ended up in bed in the first place and what was this massive snake doing sleeping next to you?

As the fear and shock subsided, you started to appreciate the sweetness of this situation. The snake was not threatening, had not harmed you and seemed quite content in sleeping next to you like a pet. Its presence naturally meant that last night had indeed happened and that your intruders were still in the house. However you pushed that back for the time being while carefully turning onto your side.

You felt compelled to touch this creature, not only to verify that it was real, but because you were so in awe at its trusting and domestic position. It was close, very close, sleeping with its head at eye level on the adjacent pillow and its body stretched down the bed to curl beneath your feet. It was easy to admire the beauty of this animal. The deep greens that blended from light to dark in swirling patterns and the smoothness of its scales.

Slowly, carefully, you reached out to run your fingers down its back. Its only response was a subtle shift and a couple flicks of its tongue.

So it didn't attack or run off: both very good signs. At least it meant a potential killer hadn't been left to guard you in your sleep. This snake was massive, but apparently sweeter than its size and poisonous green color would lead you to assume. It reminded you of the misconception people always had about your father's old pit bull. They thought because he looked all big and mean that he acted that way as well. But an animal is only as mean as it has to be and as sweet as it can be.

Obviously this snake had been treated well enough and saw no reason to feel threatened by you; though, your father always said you had an almost magical way with animals. That memory combined with the happenings of last night had you smiling wryly. You supposed, if nothing else, you didn't have to worry about dying of boredom any time soon. Though that still left the possibility of dying to your house guests, but you preferred not to think on that for the time being. If the snake was still there, then Voldemort and his minion were probably there too. Just thinking his name brought back that tickle of memory and the lightheadedness that went along with it.

You remembered him saying that just before you passed out, but what was it that caught his interest? The fact that you knew him somehow? Or had you been right in thinking that he actually could read minds? If so, did that mean that he saw something in your mind that captured his attention?

Deciding it would do no good to lay around and speculate, you pulled yourself up out of the bed and onto a pair of very unsteady feet. Collapsing last night had done you no favors and whatever amount of sleep you had managed obviously didn't leave you feeling much better. But you managed to stand at least and, aside from a brief dizzy spell, there seemed to be no real harm done.

When you glanced back to see if you had disturbed your bed buddy, you found that it had slithered closer to where you had been sleeping. No doubt this was because of the lingering body heat left in the sheets; snakes did love warmth being cold blooded creatures and all. It's eyes remained closed however and it showed no interest in getting up just yet.

You left the door ajar so it could come out when it did wake up though.

The hallway outside your room was dark and the storm clouds outside were apparently to blame. They were pitch black and ominous. It hadn't registered before, but the room you had been placed in was not your actual bedroom and was only two doors down from where you had met Voldemort and Wormtail. You only briefly weighed the pros and cons of entering that room again and, just as before, your curiosity won out. If they had wanted you dead, you highly doubted that you would have woken up as you did. You'd either have woken up in chains or not at all. Plus there was the ever present and burning desire to know your own past. Without it, you doubted if you could ever start looking forward.

When your father had been alive you had lived in the present and tried to suppress the mystery of your origins. However, without him you had nothing. Your present was empty, your past was darkness, and your future was unthinkable. Even if Voldemort was something inhuman and dangerous, he opened up possibilities you had only ever dreamed of. He made it seem like you had a chance of regaining your past and with it perhaps a future to look forward to.

With that in mind your spirits were lifted and you walked right into the room. Both Voldemort and Wormtail were still in there and the fire was still blazing. With the clouds so dark outside it was almost an exact repeat of the night before. It felt like no time had passed at all.

Wormtail looked over as you entered, but Voldemort's eyes were already on you as if he had been expecting you to enter at that very moment. Somehow, that really didn't seem far fetched either.

You realized suddenly that you had no idea what to say to them yet or how you were going to act with them. It wasn't as though they were really house guests so much as intruders, but you had already decided not to go to the police and that you actually wanted them around. So it seemed that you were left with being either hospitable or aloof.

As Wormtail shifted uncomfortably in the silence you made your choice.

"You two want some breakfast?" You decided on 'hospitable". After all, there was a chance that Voldemort could help you remember your past. Plus there was the whole him seeming much stronger and more dangerous than you were too.

Wormtail looked taken aback by this and naturally looked to his master for a response.

"My potion is all that will sustain me in this form." Was Voldemort's indifferent reply and you shrugged, looking from him to Wormtail expectantly.

"I-I-I'm a bit hungry…" He stammered in response and you smiled.

"I'll let you know when it's ready." With that you turned around and made straight for the kitchen down on the first floor.

As you headed for the stairs you felt your way along the wall until you found the light switch. However, nothing happened when you turned it on. The power was still out: which meant no making breakfast—or lunch or dinner, whatever you wanted to call it since you still had no idea what time it was. It was dark enough to be dusk, but that could have only been because of the storm. This meant you had two very good reasons for going into town: food and to find out why your power was out.

You considered going back to let them know, but decided against it. They were intruders and you had no obligation to keep them up to date on anything. Besides, you got the feeling that Voldemort was the kind of guy that didn't need updates anyway. If he didn't already know what you were up to, he'd figure it out soon enough. Odds are he already figured out that you had no interest in going to the police.

So down the stairs you went, slowly and very carefully in the lack of light. By the time you made it onto level ground you could hear that the rain had started up outside. If you weren't so hungry and irked by the lack of power you would have gone right back to bed. Instead, you grabbed your purse, failed in your hunt for an umbrella, and walked right out into the storm.

The rain was so loud outside, as it clattered against the stones, that it sounded as though the garden was applauding your presence. It was the kind of summer shower that felt cleansing and welcome, as though your worries and stress were rolling off in waves while the water quickly soaked through your clothes. As a child you had always loved playing in the rain and it seemed that hadn't faded over time.

Your head fell back as you looked up into the sky and forgot your surroundings for a moment. It wasn't until a particularly loud clap of thunder jostled you from your reverie that you were reminded of what you were supposed to be doing. You hurried on to your car and headed into town, driving slow because of the storm and thinking mainly of the strange intruders making themselves at home in your house.

It took longer than you would have liked to tend to everything in town. For starters, even with the rain the local diner had been slam packed in a breakfast rush. You ended up giving them your order and heading to the power company while they got caught up. The trip there ended up being a complete waste of time. It turned out a transformer in your area had been blown out and there was nothing they could do until this storm system passed by, plus their workman was out on sick leave anyway. Leave it to a small town to have only one guy who could fix the damn thing.

Needless to say, by the time you made it home your peaceful mood was shot to hell.

You stomped up the stairs soaked to the bone and irked that you were going to be completely without power for an undetermined about of time. Which meant you'd have to invest in a good deal of ice to make sure what groceries you had didn't spoil before they could get the power back on. That or find some place that sold generators, but you doubted there was anything like that near by, and you really didn't want to drive all the way to London.

Wormtail looked startled by your grumpy and soaked appearance, but said nothing as you handed him his food. Rather than leave the room you sat down near the fire to eat your breakfast. You weren't about to show either of them any fear or wariness. Plus you were still damp from the rain and the house was drafty.

Your new friend the snake came slithering over as soon as you sat down and curled around you loosely, closing its eyes with apparent delight as you stroked its scales. That actually helped pacify your bad mood a bit, though you were suddenly struck with curiosity again. This time about the snake instead of yourself. You had no idea how to tell if it was a girl or boy honestly and you also wondered at its name.

For a moment you pondered over if Voldemort would tell you or if he'd be annoyed at your questions. Wormtail always seemed so terrified of breaking the silence around him and it was becoming a little infectious.

"Her name is Nagini." Voldemort stated simply without you even having to ask.

"Nagini, huh?" It was becoming less and less startling that he could apparently read your thoughts and more useful. Plus it was nice that he was considerate enough to answer like that. He may have been strange and creepy, but he didn't give you any reason to fear him like he seemed to do with Wormtail.

Nagini lifted her head and moved it to lay in your lap as you dried off and munched absentmindedly on your breakfast thinking about your morning so far. You'd found out that it was indeed morning while you were in town, so you had a better sense of time now at least. You also knew more about your bed buddy and that you apparently could ask questions of Voldemort, but you weren't sure where to start. There was an explosion of things that you wanted to know when you realized that it was probably okay to ask.

You remained silent while you sorted them out and this meant the room stayed silent as well, save for the crackle of the fire, the occasional clap of thunder, and the roar of rain and wind from outside. It was actually peaceful just sitting there beside the fire with Nagini. The only thing that disturbed this was Wormtail. He was silent, of course, and kept his distance, but out of the corner of your eye you could see him watching you.

You caught him looking your way every now and then only to quickly look away when he thought you were going to spot him. It was like a nervous tick and it kind of made you want to throw something at him. You started to call him on it, but decided against it in case it got him into trouble with Voldemort. It may have been annoying, but for all you knew you could have been the first woman he'd seen in ages.

Finally, you decided on what you wanted to ask.

"Voldemort?" It felt strange hearing your voice after so long without anyone speaking. "Do you mind if I ask you a few things?"

You turned to look over at him and found his crimson gaze already upon you. Had he been expecting you to speak? Probably. It was as intriguing as it was unnerving.

"I'm surprised you haven't already." He said simply, his tone almost amused but just a little too chilly for it. "You've been very complacent."

That made you bristle just a little. "You are the first person to jog anything close to a memory for me, otherwise I would have raised serious hell last night."

His lips quirked wryly and it was a strange look on such an odd face. Now that you were getting a better look at him he really did make you think of a snake. A red snake-like humanoid with crimson eyes and a chilling voice.

"Bold words, I am quite impressed by your lack of fear before someone like me." His voice had become silky and hinted at danger, but you had already made up your mind and you weren't going to turn back now.

"I should probably be afraid, but all I can think about is that darkness in my head. All I want is to fill the void where my memories should be and I feel like you can help me with that." This was as honest as you had ever been with anyone and not just because you believed he could hear your thoughts. If he was the key to your past then you didn't want to screw it up by lying or downplaying anything. Perhaps if you were entirely honest with him, then he would be honest with you.

His eyes closed for a moment and when they opened you actually felt a little worried. You knew that look, even on a face like his: it meant bad news. "I can not give you back your memories. Only the wizard who took them from you can return them."

For a moment it felt like the bottom of your stomach had dropped out. You were silent with shock and contemplation. Not only had he claimed that your blank past was the work of a wizard, but he had said they were taken. Not wiped, not erased, not suppressed, but taken.

"Someone… took my memories?" Your voice sounded strangled and you could hear the shock in your own words.

"Indeed." His eyes seemed to glow in the light of the fire as he looked at you. "Someone was very determined to erase every trace of our world from you."

It seemed he had reached the point that intrigued him most of all, because that look in his eyes was hungry. You stood up suddenly, making Nagini hiss at the sudden and rude awakening as you strode over to the chair and knelt down before Voldemort.

"What do you mean 'our world'? Why would someone take every single memory I had? Why not just kill me if they wanted to hide something?" It seemed like his answers were only creating more questions. You were probably stepping way over the line being so close to him and asking so brazenly, but you didn't care. Someone had stolen your life from you. Everything you had ever known before you had woken up on the street was gone because someone had taken it all away and you wanted to know why.

"You're a witch." He said simply and seemed to take a certain pleasure in the shock this statement caused. "I've seen all the magic, all the things you've done, in your memories." So he really could read your mind. You didn't get the chance to entirely appreciate this admission before he spoke again. "As to why you are still alive or why someone went to so much trouble, I can't say. However, I am very interested in finding out."

Before you could gather your wits to say anything else, there came a noise at the window and you looked up to see an owl perched on the ledge outside. Wormtail hurried quickly to open the window, letting the owl soar in and drop a letter by your legs before taking off again. This was so strange and unexpected you almost forgot the conversation you'd been having. You picked up the letter and found that it was addressed to your house but with no name.

"Open it." Voldemort said simply and you complied out of curiosity.

"It is done, my master." You read from the letter and if anything this only served to confuse you further. What was done? Who was this letter from? Why had it been delivered to your house when Voldemort had only just arrived? Why was Voldemort here in the first place? The questions in your head seemed never-ending.

When you looked up at Voldemort he seemed very pleased by something, probably whatever the letter had been talking about.

"My lord?" Wormtail seemed about as nervous as you were curious.

"This is good news," Voldemort even sounded pleased. "Everything is going according to plan."

Chapter Text

As always, when living with people you start to develop routines. You had three new additions to your house and, despite not having invited them, you found it was nice to have the company. Nagini made a habit of curling up in bed with you each night, Wormtail made a habit of trying to be sneaky with his staring when you were in the same room, and Voldemort was… well, Voldemort.

He was hard to classify or get used to and not just because he didn't look remotely human. His looks had actually been the first thing that you had gotten used to, but his personality was difficult because it seemed to vary between who he was dealing with. In the case of Wormtail, he was terrifying and cold. You found out very quickly why the man was so nervous around him. He treated his lackey like he was expendable and stupid. You really didn't like Wormtail all that much, if at all, but you did feel sorry for him.

On the opposite end of the personality spectrum was how he treated you. The difference made your head spin. Now, it wasn't like he was all warm and snuggly or anything, but he was… pleasant. When Wormtail wasn't in the picture he seemed more open and easy to talk to. Not that you ever had any issues talking to him though. Whether it was his interest in you or just something about you that he liked, he treated you far better than he did his underling. You didn't question why though, at least not aloud—you didn't want to ruin it.

Besides, for all you knew, maybe he was just nicer to women.

Either way, the first week with them passed very easily, and you were learning a lot about the world you had once been a part of. Voldemort had even started teaching you magic. It wasn't as difficult as you had thought it would be either, but then he had claimed you were gifted. He seemed to take a great deal of pride in your quick progress and it made you extremely happy.

Wormtail, on the other hand, always seemed sullen during your lessons. You weren't sure if it was because he was jealous of the way Voldemort treated you or of your progress. For the most part though, you didn't pay the man too much mind other than polite, though awkward, conversation. He was just difficult to like and you couldn't properly put your finger on why.

He was a meek, mousy little thing that wasn't threatening or overbearing. Perhaps it was the staring or just something neither of you could help. Regardless, you spent far more time with Voldemort and Nagini than you ever did with him.

It wasn't long before you found out that Voldemort could actually speak to and understand Nagini and you wished it was something you could learn as well. Sadly, being a parselmouth was not exactly a learned skill, it was something you were either born with or not. Still, you were learning so many things that not learning parseltongue didn't put too much of a damper on your spirits.

It seemed that every day you were discovering something new and yet also something you felt you had known before. That tingling feeling of déjà vu was almost a constant companion these days. It was at its strongest whenever the subject of Hogwarts came up, which led both you and Voldemort to believe that you had been there before you lost your memories. According to him witches and wizards began attending this school of witchcraft and wizardry at the age of eleven. You weren't entirely sure of your exact age because of the memory loss, but it seemed like you would have been close to eleven when your memories were taken.

This was something. It meant that you had lived in England or Scotland as a child and that you'd likely been born there. So there was a growing list of things that you knew about yourself. You knew that you had been from either of the two countries, that you were a witch attending Hogwarts, that you were particularly gifted with magic—which made Voldemort believe you were likely a pureblood—and that you had known something so important that a witch or wizard had taken the time to wipe out every single memory you ever had. Somehow this had been preferable to killing you. Either they hadn't had the stomach for killing a little girl or your death would have been worse for them than your disappearance. This actually worried you the most, because the first thing that had come to mind, after years of watching crime shows with your father, was that you may have been related to the person who did this.

For as long as you could remember you had wanted so badly to know about your family and the idea that they could have been the ones who left you in the gutter with no memories made you sick to your stomach.

Voldemort was of the opinion that you had seen something or heard something that could have been very damaging to a powerful witch or wizard. This didn't mean that you weren't related to them, but it helped a little. It made you think of all the times on TV people had been killed to protect someone's image just because they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. So maybe that was what had happened to you, but instead of killing you they took your memories and dumped you on the other side of the world.

It was odd though that they took them all instead of just the incriminating ones. You'd run through it so many times in your head that it felt like a broken record. The best you could come up with was that if you didn't have your memories you couldn't find your way back to your family who might have been able to figure out who did this to you. Voldemort hadn't disputed this, so perhaps you were on the right track. As for why they had taken the memories at all, instead of simply making you forget, apparently a powerful enough wizard could get at those forgotten memories. Which meant that removing them was the only way to be sure no one would ever find out what had happened.

At first this had upset you, but according to Voldemort that meant the memories were stored somewhere. You can't destroy the memories of a living person and if they weren't contained they would have come back to you already. So it was just a matter of figuring out who in the world had them, which was a daunting task in itself; but it was made worse by the fact that you had no idea where to start and going to Hogwarts was out, at least for the time being. Apparently Voldemort and Wormtail weren't very well liked in the Wizarding community, to put it mildly. Plus both men were supposed to be dead and it would cause a lot of trouble if anyone knew that they weren't.

As badly as you wanted to know your past, you couldn't do anything that would jeopardize Voldemort. He was not only your mentor, but your best bet at finding out about who had your memories.

What with your lessons and all the excitement with having house guests, you had let yourself get way behind on things at home. True, you had maids and such for the cleaning, though you'd had to give them strict orders to stay away from the room with Voldemort, Wormtail, and Nagini, but you still had loads of unpacking and exploring to do.

Voldemort wasn't really interested in any of it, despite the fact that the house belonged to his family. With the way he spoke about them, rare as that was, he hated their guts. The only one he spoke of with anything close to fondness was his mother who had died giving birth to him. And considering that his father had abandoned him and his mother just because she was a witch, you couldn't blame him in the least for hating the guy.

Wormtail, on the other hand, was interested in exploring with you. Whether this was out of a desire to be away from Voldemort or tied in with whatever feelings he had for you, you couldn't be sure. You had wanted some company on the adventure through the house, but if you were being entirely honest: you would have preferred Voldemort.

"Ready to head back?" You called as you finally tired of the silence and awkwardness of this trip.

"S-sure." He replied softly and you didn’t have to look back to know he was staring as usual. You still hadn't called him on it, though you were sorely tempted. There were even a couple of hexes you'd learned that you could use on him, though you weren't sure if you were ever going to be irked enough to try.

He was just so pathetic looking that it was hard to be mean to him, even if he did annoy the hell out you with his staring.

The two of you headed back to Voldemort's room without another word. You had no doubt that if you chanced a glance back you'd find his eyes on you, but you tried not to think about that lest you actually hex the guy.

The trip back was a bit long since you were all the way up in the attic—which still had many items left from previous owners and renters—and it was also just dull enough to keep you thinking about the eyes you could feel on your back. Try as you might to ignore it with nothing else to occupy your mind it remained at the forefront of your thoughts. A particularly cruel notion occurred to you in your moment of ire. It was possible that Voldemort would hex him if you asked him to. He had no love for the man, not a care at all for him, and he was always willing to instruct you in magic.

All you'd have to do was mention an interest in seeing how it worked on another human being and maybe chance a glance at Wormtail… it was such a cold, unseemly thought that you actually felt kind of bad for even thinking it.

On the landing of the second floor though, something happened that drove these thoughts right out of your head.

There was a sudden flash of green light that flashed from Voldemort's room and it made your head spin violently. The reeling sense of familiarity left you completely unbalanced. Wormtail stepped forward to steady you, but stopped short when you leaned against the wall for support.

"That light…" You whispered as you held your head tight between your hands.

"Did you remember something?" Wormtail seemed anxious and maybe even afraid, though you weren't sure if it was because of you or the light.

"It feels like I know it, but I don't…" You suddenly looked at him. "What was it?"

"Avada Kedavra." He replied and those words filled you with a sense of dread. It was something you could almost recall and your instincts told you it was very very bad.

You shoved off the wall and moved swiftly towards Voldemort. A million questions were racing through your mind in the few seconds it took to get to the room. What had happened while you were gone? Had it been Voldemort who had cast the spell? Had someone else shown up after him? Was he…?

You burst into the room without considering what might be waiting inside and Wormtail was right on your heels. Whatever you might have expected or considered: it wasn't this.

Voldemort was just fine, but the people laying on the floor were not. They were clearly dead and the sight of the man and woman with their sightless eyes and horrified faces made your head hurt worse than ever.

Your neighbors were laying prostrate and lifeless on your floor and all you could think about was how your head was splitting and how in the world you might have known that spell. It didn't occur to you at the time that you should have been thinking about them and their sudden, untimely demise.

In fact, the very first thought that you really had about them was pondering what the hell they were doing in your house. And that was after you had sunk down onto the nearby couch under Voldemort's watchful gaze. He was clearly expecting some sort of reaction but you weren't sure how to react.

Voldemort was highly unlikely to give a damn if you pointed out the moral issue with killing people, so you went for the legal one as you looked away from the dead bodies on the den floor. "If people are dropping dead in my house, it's going to attract attention."

Voldemort looked both bored and uncaring. "They had told no one they were coming here."

"And the bodies?" Were you really discussing the murder of two people in your own house so callously?

"Wormtail will dispose of them." Well, one thing you could certainly say about Voldemort: he had a plan for everything.

Your stomach twisted itself into knots at your own cold, capricious thoughts, but what could you do? You may have had powers, but you were still far from being properly trained with how to use them. Voldemort was an extremely powerful wizard even in his weakened form. If he wanted to kill people there wasn't a damn thing you could do to stop him. Still though, you thought you'd at least try asking if only to make yourself feel less guilty. It wasn’t like you had any particular love of the people in town, but it didn’t really sit well to think about them dying in your house.

"Could you please not kill people... at least around here?" You frowned at him and hoped against hope that he'd actually listen. Whatever his reason for keeping you alive and unmarred, you knew better than to think you had any power over his decision. "I have enough trouble from the town already." Not to mention you really didn't like the idea of anyone dropping dead under your roof.

He gave you a long piercing look and said nothing. This did not deter you though. "Please?"

After some thought and a lot more staring he finally replied: "I have no interest in attracting attention. So long as these muggles keep their distance, I will not end their lives."

Well, that was something at least and it was better than you expected.

"Fair enough, thank you." You replied and noticed suddenly that the bodies were gone.

Voldemort did not reply and you sunk deeper into the couch, turning to watch the sun setting out the window.

You wondered what would become of the bodies. Would Wormtail put them in their house or dispose of them entirely? Would the town assume you were guilty and persecute you? Or, perhaps they would assume Frank was at fault, as they had with the Riddle murders.

The thought made you ill in all the ways the bodies alone should have. That poor man had been through so much already and you were forced to keep him at a distance now with Voldemort and Wormtail living in your house. Just the idea that he might be in for more suffering made you more miserable than the helplessness of your situation had already done.

Chapter Text

It was staggering when you realized that it had been almost an entire year since your house guests had shown up in the night. Voldemort had kept his word and there were no more deaths under your roof. Wormtail had disposed of the bodies in some way or other and the disappearance of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson had been a subject of great discussion in town every since.

No one had pinned the blame on you and you had accounted for Frank's whereabouts, so they had exhausted that option too. Your wide-eyed wonder and seemingly sincere shock and worry over the disappearance had convinced the town you were innocent and no one really knew about your house guests, which put them in the clear too. It made you a little sick with yourself that you had fooled them all so easily, but it was better than being suspected at least.

Even if you really knew exactly what had happened to the poor, nosy couple.

Voldemort and Wormtail had set up several spells around your house to keep people away, so this kept any more unwanted visitors out and prevented snooping from nosy townsfolk. You finally had your privacy, because apparently no muggle would be able to so much as enter the house without being allowed in by someone living there. This included Frank, who you had slowly but surely distanced yourself from for his own protection.

It was painful to think of him being left all alone, kept away by magic and lies; but it was far better than putting him in danger. You took solace in the fact that your continued health and glowing praise of Frank to the villagers were making him rethink their opinion of him. True, the older and more stubborn inhabitants still liked to paint him as a clever murderer, but the younger and more rational people were starting to see the light.

Over the months Voldemort had taught you many things about his world, magic, his life, and his ambitions… there was just so much you wanted to know and he seemed more than willing to help you learn. He never said no when you wanted to know something, even if it was something very personal. So you also never shied away from the truth when he was curious enough to ask. It was, by far, the most open relationship you could ever recall having with anyone. You hadn't even been this open with your own father.

Yet, even with the flood of knowledge every day, you still had room in your head for your own mysterious past. You wondered constantly about who your family was, what your life had been like, and why your memories had been taken. It had been a very thorough job and Voldemort said that only small remnants of your memories even remained. This was why you had been able to regain the knowledge of your name and why you had felt like you knew his when you heard it.

It had gotten to where you could use your magic with far less effort than before and a fair amount of it could be done without a wand. Voldemort seemed quite pleased by your progress and promised that he would be able to greatly further your education when he got his actual body back. You were looking forward to it honestly. It was so intoxicating being able to wield these kinds of powers and hearing his stories of the things he could do at full strength only made you long for it more. He said he could even fly and without a broom at that!

And here you had been so impressed about wizards flying about with the brooms.

The closer it got to his impending ‘resurrection’, the more anxious the two of you became though. Wormtail was more on the wary side, worried about how this was going to turn out. He also continued to be very sullen over the fact that Voldemort was far more interested in imparting his knowledge on you, even though he'd been the one to find his master. Not to mention the fact that Voldemort still hadn't told him about who he had stationed at Hogwarts. You decided it was best not to impart the fact that you actually did know who it was.

If Voldemort had wanted him to know, he would have told him. Truthfully it made you feel very special that he was being so selective and that he trusted you so completely with the truth.

Finally, finally, the day for his rebirth came at last; but the hours seemed to drag by as if time was mocking you.

You spent the daytime hours cleaning and piddling around just for something to do, but it never managed to take your mind off of things or make the time go any faster. When night finally fell, it was time to head for the cemetery down in the valley behind your house. Wormtail took care of the preparations and you brought Voldemort out in your arms.

His temporary body was so physically weak and helpless, it was like carrying a baby. You knew that it bothered him to be so dependent on anyone. He was used to being strong and powerful, something he was anxious to return to and that you were equally anxious for as well. However, there was that whole 'time mocking you' debacle that seemed content on making you wait.

To pass the time in the cemetery you practiced wandless magic with a handful of stones.

You made them levitate and held them aloft above your hands as Voldemort lay bundled in your lap and Wormtail lugged all the necessary items towards the tombstones. It was hard to focus though when you knew that Voldemort would be regaining his body soon. You weren't entirely sure what all this entailed, having not considered asking, but Wormtail seemed quite nervous about the whole ordeal. He was always nervous though, so you paid little mind to it.

The rocks switched positions, spinning clockwise above your outstretched hands. However they were doing nothing to take away from your nerves and you sent them flying with a dismissive flick of your wrist.

Voldemort chuckled at your impatience. "Soon, very soon."

His mind-reading thing really did come in handy. You didn't have to say a word about how you were feeling. Which was good because aside from the obvious impatience, you weren't entirely sure what you felt. Nervousness perhaps, curiosity of course, and then there was something that tingled in the back of your mind: like a warning someone was shouting that you couldn't hear the words to.

Nagini slithered across the top of the burial vault where you were sitting, brushing against your hip as she came to rest with you and her master. She curled around your body like she was guarding the two of you and you wondered for the first time if you were going to be in any danger. You didn't know all that much about what was going to happen other than one of Voldemort's enemies being sent there against his will. The way he had said it made it seem like this Harry Potter wasn't going to know what hit him when he showed up.

This made you wary, but you were fairly confident in your abilities and you had Voldemort's wand for the time being if anything were to happen. Plus Voldemort had said that Wormtail wasn't "as useless as he looked". If it really came down to it, you remembered the words from that killing curse 'Avada Kedavra'.

Voldemort had told you the key to a spell like that was to really mean it when you used it. If you didn't mean it then it would be harmless and useless. Though the notion of killing anyone made you a bit queasy, you would certainly be able to mean it if it came down to a choice of living or dying.

There came a sudden clamor of noise that brought you back from your thoughts. A whoosh of air rushing by and what sounded like a muffled crash. As Wormtail drew his wand with a look of forced determination, you realized that the time had finally come.

Harry Potter had finally arrived.

When you had pictured this Potter in your head, it had been someone dangerous and surly. The type of guy who wouldn't have been out of place in a biker bar. And, as usual with these sorts of things, the real thing didn't live up to your imagination.

The real thing was far worse.

Not because he was terrifying or dangerous looking, but exactly the opposite. He was a scared little boy tied to a tombstone for some unknown purpose that you didn't even want to think about anymore. He was so young and so helpless and you weren't doing a damn thing to help him. You couldn't even look him in the eye out of your own guilt.

Wormtail drug the cauldron into position as you sat there in stunned and horrified silence. This was Voldemort's enemy? This child was the person he had been after all this time? You had never really asked him about his Potter, because you had wanted nothing to do with someone he planned to kill. It seemed like it would be so much easier if you just didn't know the guy, but this had backfired and left you blindsided. Nagini curled herself tighter around your body as if she could sense the turmoil inside your head that you wished you could just run away from; but you knew you would never take one step away from this.

Voldemort had become the only person in the world you really cared about and you would not turn your back on him, no matter what it cost you.

It felt like your legs were made of led as you walked towards the cauldron with Voldemort in your arms. Even knowing that you could not and would not run away did not make the short trip any easier and neither did the fact that Voldemort almost certainly knew every doubt that was going through your head.

You lowered him into the cauldron feeling sick with guilt because you knew that this was going to be the death of that boy; you knew that Voldemort regaining his true power meant that Harry Potter was going to die. Yet you could not stop, you could not walk away. He was the key to your past, he was your mentor and companion, and you felt beyond indebted to him. He was helping you, teaching you, and had never once harmed you or treated you unkindly despite his villainous nature and generally cruel disposition. If anything he had been better to you than you could have ever dreamed or hoped.

This boy was in danger, but what could you do? You had become stronger, but you didn't have the strength or will to turn against Voldemort. He had his claws so deep in you that the thought of betrayal felt like a knife in your heart.

So you continued to lower him into the potion that would bring him back to power. This was all that you had to do and then it would be done. It was the most important part of this whole damn thing and Voldemort had trusted you with it. He had asked you to be the one that put him in that cauldron, to be the one who gave him his life back. It had been an honor you were all too eager for and had asked far too few questions about.

You stepped back from the cauldron, dropping Voldemort's empty robes as you went, and tried not to look at the boy; but you just couldn't seem to help yourself. He looked like he was trying to plead with you without words. His lovely green eyes were wide, fearful, and pained. Your vision blurred from tears and you had to look away.

Damn it all to hell, you knew Voldemort was planning to kill someone, but this was torture. His other kills had been when you weren't there and it was easier to put them aside because you hadn't had to witness the deed. Now you were going to be subjected to watching a young boy die and know that you had just stood by and done nothing about it.

All of this was happening because of the selfish desire to have your life back. Was there nothing you wouldn't do to take back what had been stolen from you?

You didn't want to watch as Wormtail began the spell, didn't want to listen as he spoke, or witness as he drove his knife into helpless boy's arm, but you did. Like it or not you were a part of this and even if you weren't the one who planned it or enacted it, you were just as guilty as they were. You clutched Voldemort's wand close to your chest and shut your eyes as you realized what was coming next.

But you couldn't do anything to drown out Wormtail's scream.

Nausea whipped through you fast and powerful, but you managed to keep your lunch down somehow, even when you heard the thump of his severed hand hitting the ground. The splash there after must have been his hand joining the rest of the ingredients and when you chanced a peek, Wormtail was curled up on the ground sobbing and whimpering.

You felt horrible just standing there, but you didn't know what to do. It felt like your legs would give out if you tried to move towards him.

The potion in the cauldron, which had been blindingly white, suddenly became a mist of steam that overflowed into the night. It was so thick that you could no longer see the boy or Wormtail writhing on the ground, but you could see the dark outline of someone tall and skeletally thin rising from where the cauldron had been.

"Robe me," Voldemort's voice demanded as you stood frozen. Wormtail did as he was told, though you couldn't imagine the pain he was in as he rushed to pick up the bundle of robes from the ground to dress his master. It occurred that you should have helped but you couldn't seem to find the will to move.

All of this, everything that was happening, had happened, and would happen was drowning you. If felt like if you moved, if you breathed, you would be pulled completely under and never resurface.

This strange new form that was your mentor stepped out of the cauldron. He was so drastically different now. His skin had gone from raw red to palest white, which was a startling and haunting contrast with his bright red eyes. His face still reminded you of a snake and those eyes were still just as piercing as ever.

He didn't glance at Wormtail as he fell back to the ground moaning in pain or to the boy he planned to kill.

He only had eyes for you.

His long white hands cupped your face and he smiled. The expression was strange and foreign on him, but also a great relief. Like a lifeline that helped keep your head above the water. "My delicate little protégé," He murmured, wiping away a stray tear you hadn't even realized you'd shed. "crying over their pain even as you help to bring me back. Such a sweet, loyal child."

His voice was like Novocain numbing the pain that seeped through your mind, body, and soul. For a brief moment you forgot your surroundings and everything that was causing you pain, but then Wormtail whimpered and the moment shattered like glass.

Voldemort gazed down at his bleeding underling without pity or compassion. "Give me your arm."

"O-oh.. thank you, thank you m-master!" He cried, sobbing as he drug himself closer and held out his bleeding stump to Voldemort. You had to repress the urge to throw up and pressed closer to Voldemort to keep away from the hemorrhaging mess.

"Not that one." He said icily and Wormtail whimpered again. You wondered if he was planning on taking the other hand too, but instead he yanked Wormtail's sleeve up to reveal a tattoo. The dark mark, as you recalled from Voldemort's stories. It was used to call his death eaters to him.

He pressed his thumb to the mark and it changed from vivid red to darkest black while Wormtail continued to writhe and cry in pain. You wished Voldemort would do something about it. Wormtail had literally given his right hand to give him a new body and even if he didn't like him the least bit, he still owed him. But he simply released him and curled his arm behind your back instead.

"Now let us see who is brave enough to return," He grinned maliciously as he looked at you. "And who is foolish enough to stay away."

"How long will it take for them to show up?" You questioned, looking around to see if anyone was going to pop out of the shadows.

"Not long. They know better than to make Lord Voldemort wait." His tone was menacing and the thought of what he'd do to those late comers made you shiver a little.

You chanced a glance at the boy doomed to die and had the misfortune of meeting his gaze. His eyes were such a captivating and unique shade of green and they were so full of heartbreaking emotions. It took a moment to realize you were crying again and you only noticed when Voldemort made you look away. He tilted your head back so that you were looking into his eyes instead and normally this would have helped, but it was so hard to forget that this child, this poor helpless boy, was going to die soon by the hands of someone you trusted so implicitly.

He said nothing for the longest time and you both just stared into each others eyes. Slowly you calmed down and you opened your mouth to speak, though you weren't sure what you were going to say. Words were warring on the tip of your tongue. One side wanted to beg him to let the boy live and the other just wanted to get the hell away from there before he died.

Neither had a chance to have their say, as a sudden sound shattered this moment as well. 'Pop', 'pop', 'pop' sounded out through the cemetery as one wizard after another apparated into the graveyard. Every last one of them was covered by a black hooded robe and an unnerving mask that looked like a skull, and every last one of them froze in shock at the sight of their master.

You could feel their eyes on you as well, and imagine how it must have looked with you standing there so intimately close in his arms, but Voldemort gave no introductions or explanations. He looked at them briefly and then turned his gaze back to you.

"Wait inside." He was freeing you from having to watch Harry die, sparing you from any more pain. Yet it was so very hard to handover his wand and turn away. So very very hard to put one foot in front of the other, knowing that as you did so you were condemning that boy to death.

You were shaking violently beneath the covers as your mind betrayed you with image after image of what Harry was probably suffering through at that very moment. The tears poured out unbidden as you pressed your face into the mattress to try and force away the images, and pulled a pillow over your head to drown out the noise from the cemetery, but nothing seemed to help.

It was uncertain how long you stayed like that, but after awhile the noises faded, the images with them, and you fell into an uneasy slumber.

Far, far away from where you lay sleeping was a room with many strange items and large paintings with people moving inside. It was the office of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts.

After Harry had escaped not once, but twice that evening, he'd told both his godfather and the headmaster of what had transpired inside the graveyard. He told him about Voldemort's return and the woman who had helped him regain his power.

Dumbledore had sent Harry off to the hospital wing with Sirius after the retelling. There was much he needed to be doing in the wake of Voldemort's return, but he couldn't will himself to rise. He couldn't make himself move or free himself from the recollection of just what Harry had seen in the cemetery.

It wasn't Voldemort that occupied his mind though; it was the girl who had cried for a boy she didn't know even as she helped the Dark Lord regain his power. The girl who's eyes had been so very familiar to Harry and who had been unable to stay and witness what she obviously thought would be his death.

Even after all of this time he still felt that glimmer of hope. The fact that Voldemort of all people was the one who had this girl had to mean something…. Could it be that after all these years he had finally found you at last?

Were you really still alive?

Chapter Text

There was no doubt that Voldemort could sense your relief over Harry's escape just as you could sense his rage over it. Yet another time that the boy had slipped right through his fingers and this meant that his enemies would be on the move long before he wanted them to even know he was back.

Neither of you mentioned how the other was feeling and while he sent his men out to gather followers, you tried to placate his frustration and anger as best as you could.

Your presence brought a lot of attention from the Death Eaters. Much like Wormtail, they couldn't seem to help themselves with the staring, though they seemed to be terrified of looking anywhere near you when Voldemort was in the room. Not that they didn't quickly look away any time you caught them staring, but they didn't even attempt to glance at you with him around. Whether this was because of their assumptions from the graveyard or something Voldemort had said at some point, you neither knew nor cared.

There just wasn't enough energy left in you to worry about such things. Between the taxing events of Voldemort's rise back to power and all of the rigorous training he was putting you through now that he had his body, you had no time for anything or really anyone.

Not even poor old Frank, who you learned had tried to come and see you several times without your knowing. But the spells guarding the house were strong and every time Frank had tried to come see you himself he had completely forgotten what he was doing and why. Unless he was directly invited before hand, he couldn't so much as knock on the door.

This made you feel even guiltier about the distance you were putting between yourself and him, but it meant that he was safe which was the important thing. You knew that it would be foolish and selfish to try and see him more than you had to, especially with the flood of wizards coming and going through your house. Your house which had become Voldemort's base now that he had returned to power. It probably should have irked you more that your home was being used by so many strangers without your actual permission, but that was just another thing you had no energy for.

Besides, you had long since welcomed Voldemort into your home and it was big enough that he could realistically do what he wanted with it. You didn't see the Death Eaters at all when you weren't training with him anyway, so it wasn't inconvenient or anything.

Voldemort hadn't been kidding though when he said he'd be able to teach you more efficiently with his body. He was drilling so many curses, counter-curses, charms, and what not into your head that all you seemed to have room for in there was magic. You rarely had a chance to think about anything else at all and most of the spells no longer tickled your missing memories because they were far to advanced for any young witch to have ever attempted.

Plus, when you weren't training, you had books to read through as part of your education. One of Voldemort's death eaters, Lucius Malfoy, had given you a stack of them to help with your training. You had no doubt that they were all what would be considered black magic. That was easy enough to tell based on the use and effects, but the horrifying pictures proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. It had ceased to matter what type of magic you learned though, not that you had worried about it very much to begin with.

You wanted to become stronger and to integrate yourself more into this world you had been stolen from. The deeper you delved the closer you would get to your past and your family, for better or for worse.

It had been another long day of training. Voldemort wasn't cutting any corners it seemed when it came to drilling knowledge into your head. You had little doubt that you could kick some serious ass in a fight, though you still needed to learn how to apparate and fly to be more useful against people who were highly trained. However, you were at least prepared enough if shit hit the fan: so long as it didn't happen while you were dead tired from all the training.

You sluggishly made your way down the hall, waving absentmindedly at one of the Death Eaters in case it was Malfoy. Really, he was about the only death eater you even knew aside from Wormtail. You'd forgotten the names of the other ones and had no actual contact with them anyway, aside from the stares when they thought they could get away with it.

As you rounded the next corner though you ran smack into someone. At first you thought it was another death eater because of the black cloak you'd hit face first, but when you looked up he didn't have a hood or a mask on and you knew him.

Seeing him sent a jolt through your system that left you breathless. You knew him.

"Sevvy…" You murmured softly and he looked at you, startled. Honestly, you didn't know where the name came from. It didn't pop up in your mind, but instead rolled right off your tongue as though you'd said it a thousand times.

It felt like he was looking through you, seeing something beyond your appearance. His hands gripped your arms tightly and he opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short and quickly stepped away. You realized why when Voldemort came around the corner.

He eyed the two of you with some emotion you couldn't rightly place. Though you felt so stunned and scatterbrained that you weren't sure you could have identified any emotion just then.

You looked up at the man you'd called Sevvy again and felt that breathlessness hit just as hard as before. This man… it wasn't like with Voldemort, like knowing his name. There was a relationship here, there was real knowledge, but it was taken and all you had was the ghost of it—the feeling it left behind. You wanted to ask, you wanted to know, but he wasn't looking at you anymore and before you could gather your wits to speak he and Voldemort left you standing there in the hall.

It wasn't often that you drank and less often that you did so in excess, but that encounter with Severus (his name having come to you after he left) had broken down a wall you hadn't realized you'd put up. A wall between your mind and your heart. Once it came down all the guilt, the horror, the self-loathing, the fear, the anger… everything you had tried to push aside and forget came tumbling out threatening to crush you under the sheer weight of it all.

The bottle of tequila had seemed like the perfect solution to bide your time with until that wall could be rebuilt, but that was a terrible mistake. It didn't take away the pain or make you forget like it should have. Instead, it just sharpened the focus and made you an easier target.

Oh how you must have looked: drunk, crying, and sprawled out on the couch. Your hazy and sluggish mind didn't register that someone was even there until he was kneeling beside you. At first you thought it was Voldemort: who else would be so bold? But it wasn't him.

When you finally looked up the eyes were dark and warm, not red and cold. It was Severus and he looked torn. He lifted his hand absentmindedly to stroke your cheek and you leaned into his touch needing the comfort just as desperately as you needed air to breathe. The move was slow and soft, betraying his confliction. You both knew he shouldn't be there, but you wanted him to be. For whatever reason you couldn't stand the idea of him not being there now that he was.

You couldn't bring yourself to ask what he had been to you in your former life, because you were afraid of the answer. You were afraid of many things these days, but you had been repressing these worries.

"Look at me." He said finally, taking your face in his hands. "None of this is your fault." The words shocked you to your very core. How could he have possibly known about all the guilt inside your head? Was he like Voldemort? Could he also read you that easily? "You've done what you had to and nothing else."

This made sense—hell, you’d been telling yourself the same thing—but those tears just kept on falling.

"I was going to let that boy die." You through clenched teeth sounding far more sober than you actually were.

"There was nothing you could have done to stop it. When the dark lord wants someone dead, there is nothing anyone can do about it." He replied softly, brushing the tears from your cheeks. "He escaped and you have nothing to feel ashamed about."

He was being so soft, so warm, and so very gentle. You could feel where a memory should have been but of course there was nothing there. Perhaps it was the fragment of that memory, his kindness, or just the alcohol, but right then you did something very foolish.

You leaned up suddenly and kissed him.

The moment he put you on the bed, you passed right out. Alcohol and tears will do it every time. He pulled the covers up around you and should have turned on his heels to leave, but he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

He stood back and watched you sleep, raking a hand through his hair as he wet his lips which still tingled from your kiss. Obviously the kiss had been because of the alcohol and he should have been able to shrug it off. It was meaningless and you didn't even remember him properly anyway.

It was just so unexpected and you were so heartbreakingly lovely…

Letting out a breath that hissed through his teeth he forced himself to leave and shut the door quietly behind him. He was just going to forget this ever happened for both your sakes.

Chapter Text

Every thought in your head seemed to belong to Severus and the fact that he was nowhere to be seen only made it worse. All you could think about was him: the kiss, the sound of his voice, the warmth of his skin, his smell, his eyes… What had he been to you to consume you so completely when you couldn't even remember your life with him?

He wasn't there for you to ask and it made doing anything impossible.

Voldemort was busy and for that you were grateful. Not only because you couldn't handle training under the circumstances, but also because you didn't want to have to explain yourself to him. You weren't entirely sure how he would feel about all of this and honestly, you didn't know how you felt about it either.

Your mind had become such a confusing place that you felt lost and strange inside your own head. So you tried not to think about anything at all as you sat there in Voldemort's favorite chair. It was more throne than chair though and part of you enjoyed the notion that you were the only person he'd allow to sit there.

Nagini curled herself around you and the throne. Her head came to rest on your shoulder, her lower body draped across your legs as her upper body coiled around and up the back of the chair with her tail falling over one of the arms. Sitting there in his chair with Nagini wrapped around you so protectively, possessively, made you feel powerful, important, and safe. All things you needed when it felt like you were losing a war with your own mind.

It was as if the power you'd been honing was radiating out of you and it was intoxicating. One of the death eaters knelt before you, their eyes to the floor as they showed you utter and complete respect. You were not Voldemort, but they were just as terrified as if you were.

Try as you might not to let it all go to your head, you knew that you were falling for all of this. The power, the respect, the company, everything. Voldemort made you feel better than normal or accepted—he made you feel like a queen.

And Severus…

Just thinking his name made the feelings from before shoot through you like a bullet. He made you feel many things all at once and it was impossible to pick one single feeling out of them because they were all so tightly woven. You tried to push it all back and cling to the present, to what you were feeling in that moment; it was all that kept you from falling into the madness of these feelings for a man you could not recall knowing.

The death eater was speaking and you turned your focus entirely to him. Most of his words floated in one ear and out the other. There was plenty of respect and praise, he spoke to you like he really was speaking to a queen. Though you couldn't recall half of what he said after he was done speaking, you'd at least caught the gist of it and nodded to let him leave.

Voldemort was busy but he would be home soon.

You tried to cling onto the little bud of happiness this news caused, but the other side of your thoughts was winning and then… Then he walked through the door and Voldemort was forced out of your mind once more.

Why did he do this to you? It was uncalled for and unthinkable for you to be so happy just seeing Severus again when you couldn't remember a single thing about him.

For a moment, beneath the surprise of seeing you there, you thought he looked happy to see you too. But he composed himself so quickly that you couldn't be sure.

Nagini lifted her head to stare directly at him and it came out as threatening, like she didn't want him to come any closer to you and to your great disappointment he didn't. He bowed his head in a show of respect that you suddenly felt you didn't want or deserve. With the others it felt nice but with him it was horrifying. He didn't say a word to you or look you in the eye again, but instead turned on his heels to leave.

You wiggled your way out of Nagini's hold before you'd even realized what you were doing. Without knowing why or what you were going to say, you were running after him desperate to keep him from leaving.

You rounded the corner too fast feeling panicked that he was out of your sight and scared that he would vanish forever like a dream… never to be seen again. You slammed straight into someone and looked up expecting to see Severus again, but it wasn't him.

It was Voldemort.

A moment of sorrow threatened to choke you and then you were clinging to him, hugging yourself into his chest to fight back the descent into madness. Neither of you spoke and for that you were grateful. He just let you stay there against his chest and in his arms as you tried to make sense of what was happening and to force away what you couldn't explain even in your own mind.

These feelings were absolutely terrifying.

If you lived a thousand years you doubted you would ever be able to make sense of what was happening in your life. The terrible pain of being away from Severus seemed to grow stronger every day that he was gone and yet before he had come back into your life you hadn't felt it at all. If there had been a wound from his absence before that moment, it had been numbed by time and your missing memories. Now that he had appeared it was inescapable and only your time with Voldemort seemed to help.

You stayed with him constantly during the day and fell into terrible nightmares during the night. It felt like you were losing your mind and it was affecting your training in very noticeable ways. You had no focus, your powers were weakened, and you were prone to angry outburst because of this.

Voldemort never commented on it, though you knew he noticed, and you weren't sure if this made it better or worse. Every time you looked at him he had this look in his eyes that put you ill at ease. It was hard to label, but it was dark and possessive. If he really could read minds then he knew everything you felt about Severus and you were terrified that this was why he hadn't been seen again.

It haunted your dreams, these horrible possibilities, because you knew what your teacher, your companion, your life line to sanity was truly capable of. You may have been safe from his fury, his covetous and dangerous nature, but you were alone in that safe haven. Whatever heart he had was not big enough to accommodate giving a damn about anyone else's safety or their life for that matter. It was not hard to imagine that Voldemort would kill Severus, especially not if he thought he would lose you to him.

All the time he had spent training you, guiding you, protecting you… he wouldn't give that up to anyone. You could see it in those blazing red eyes: you belonged to him. And this pleased you just as much as it terrified you—the notion of belong to someone so twisted, dangerous, and cold.

It was strange for Voldemort to actually summon you, especially by way of some death eater you didn't even known. Strange, but not alarming.

The man led the way in silence, either too afraid to speak to you or just having nothing to say. You were too busy trying to keep your mind off of Severus' continued absence to think up a topic to fill the silence or to really care why it was so silent to begin with. Thankfully the trip was brief and as usual you felt better able to control your wayward mind when you were finally with Voldemort.

"You needed me for something?" You didn't wait for him to speak, as he had that look in his eyes again and that meant he was unlikely to break the silence himself.

He was silent for a moment too long, but finally his voice washed over you in that silky tone that numbed your pain. "It's time you have a wand of your own. Lucius will take you to Diagon Alley."

This news startled and pleased you so immensely that it managed to wash away your lingers thoughts of Severus. A wand! Thus far you had gotten by with borrowed wands and you knew that they paled in comparison to the power of one that truly belonged to you and you alone.

You smiled at him in unabashed glee. It felt like the first time in ages you had actually smiled and this seemed to appease him because that covetous, dangerous gleam in his eyes softened into something that was as close to warmth as you had ever seen from him.

Lucius presented himself then, bowing first very low to his master and then just as low to you. Once again this pleased you.

You leaned down pressing your lips softly against Voldemort's cheek. "Thank you."

He didn't speak, but nodded instead as you stood up to follow Lucius. You weren't sure why at the time, but it was very hard to actually leave the room, even with such a prize waiting at the end of the journey. Something felt final about leaving that day. It made your heart clench even with all your excitement over the trip, because for some unfathomable reason you feared that you would never see Voldemort again.

Chapter Text

It was hard to maintain that unnerving feeling of loss or your worries about Severus when you stepped into Diagon Alley.

Everything was just so bright, lively, and new. There was so much to see and it made you feel giddy like a child on Christmas day, something that seemed to amuse Lucius greatly. It was the first time you had been around him when he wasn't in his death eater getup and you couldn't help but admire how amazingly handsome he was.

His shoulder length platinum hair gleamed dazzlingly in the bright sunlight as he watched you take in the sights. He was the type of man who would be imposing to meet but that was also hard to look away from. There was a grace and power in everything he did and while his eyes were cold, his expression was warm as you both walked down the street.

You wanted to see everything, but he reminded you that you were there to get a wand and it could sometimes be a lengthy process. This saddened you and perhaps he noticed as he sighed and said: "If time permits, we will look around after."

This put the pep right back in your step and you practically bounced into Ollivander's shop.

Inside however, the happiness melted off and cooled into the kind of nervousness that came just before something new and potentially scary. The shop was filled with boxes, dust, and silence. It felt like the types of places where laughter and merriment weren't appropriate: like a funeral home or a very strict library.

You pushed back the urge to turn around and leave, though that desire resurfaced again quickly as someone walked out of the shadows. Someone with very unnerving pale eyes.

"My oh my, I never expected to see you again, my dear." The man who must have been Mr. Ollivander looked and sounded startled, but in a strangely calculating sort of way.

His statement took you by surprise and you were moving towards him without ever consciously considering doing so. "You know me? I've been here before?"

His brows shot up at your anxious and breathless questions as you came to stand not a foot away from him with your eyes imploring and your hands wringing. "Of course I know you. I remember everyone I have ever sold a wand to." He leaned forward just slightly and looked at you as if he were trying to see the very inner workings of your mind. "Eleven and a half inches, blackthorn and thestral hair. Unyielding. A very old, very unique, and very unpredictable sort of wand."

You gripped his arm suddenly. To Hell with the wand, you wanted to know who you were! "Who am I? Who is my family? When was I here?"

He placed his hand over your own and held your gaze. "It's been almost seventeen years to the day since we met. You were here with your father and uncle."

Seventeen years… Voldemort said that wands were bought just before attending Hogwarts and that children went there when they were Eleven.

"I'm twenty-eight?" This was older than you had thought, but it was something more definite than your own calculations. "But, you know my family. Where are they? Can you take me to them?"

"Your father lives in Hogsmede and yes, I can take you to him." This news made you feel light and breathless. It was more than you had dared to hope and you couldn't believe the luck of it all. You had come in for a wand, but you were going to find out who you really were at last!

What with all of the excitement you had but forgotten about Lucius.

"We should go back and tell your husband." He stated softly, stressing the word husband. You knew he meant Voldemort and it made your stomach clench, not just because it was strange associating marriage with someone like him. It had always been your plan to meet your family with him at your side, but he was supposed to be keeping people from knowing that he was back. And you just couldn't stand the idea of turning your back on seeing your family right then and there. "I'm sure he would want to be with you when you meet him."

Lucius had certainly picked the right words to make you hesitate, but the desire to finally meet your family was just too strong to overcome. Voldemort wouldn't be upset at you for visiting your father first without him, right? You just couldn't wait after all these years of not knowing them. After all, he'd been helping you look for them and he could get there quickly enough on his own. He may not be able to show himself, but he could still wait near by.

"Go back and tell him to meet us there." You told him firmly. "I'm going to find my father."

Lucius hesitated, his mouth opened and closed twice before he bit back whatever it was he wanted to say and nodded. It seemed to be very clear that you were not about to change your mind and there wasn't much he could say to sway you with Ollivander in earshot. He turned on his heels and walked out of the store then headed down the street in the opposite direction of where you'd come in.

You wondered about that for a moment but quickly brought your focus back to Ollivander as he put up a closed sign and motioned for you to join him in leaving the store. All the way down the street and out through the pub you remained right on his heels. The excitement in your gut warred with the nerves that had begun building at Lucius' reminder.

It would have made you feel more at ease to be going with Voldemort, but waiting was just impossible at this point. Not when you were so very close to what you'd been searching for all these years.

"Are you ready?" He asked, offering his arm for side-along apparition when you were outside of Diagon Alley, just as Lucius had done to get you there.

"As I'll ever be."

Apparating was something you doubted you would ever get used to as it left you feeling unbalanced and tingly; but it was hard to dwell on the strange sensations when you knew you were about to meet your father. Someone you had wanted to meet for the past fourteen years. You were so close to finding out everything you had lost and it was all you could do not to run headlong down the street. You had to remind yourself that Ollivander was the one who knew who he was and where he was, not you.

He guided you briskly, but the pace was still too slow for your anxious state of mind. You couldn't even take an interest in your surroundings, even with all the witches and wizards going about their business. Any other time you would have been fascinated, but now all you could think about was that your father was somewhere in this town. Finally, Ollivander brought you to a halt in front of a pub called the Hogs Head Inn. It was a seedy looking place and you had a difficult time imagining anyone respectable visiting such a place, but you didn't care. Your father was behind this door and you couldn't make yourself give a damn right then if he was respectable or not. All you wanted was to know him.

Ollivander motioned to the door with a smile. "Good luck."

Before you could ask who you were looking for he turned on his heels and walked away. He was gone from your sights before you could get your voice to work to muster up a call. It was only now sinking in just how very nervous you actually were and it looked like you were going at this alone.

You pushed the door open and cautiously strode inside feeling immensely unsure of just what to expect. The inside matched the outside in that it was dirty, dark, and unwelcoming. Not for the first time you started to question if it was a good idea to be doing this without Voldemort. You remembered your fears of your family having been the ones that stole your memories. What if that was true and you were walking right back into their arms?

But then that fear had been based on the notion someone powerful not wanting to be outted and what powerful person would be caught dead in a place like this?

"The bar is closed." A voice startled you so badly you jumped.

The bartender wasn't even looking at you, but instead was wiping down the counters with a rag that looked dirtier than the counters themselves.

"S-sorry, I'm looking for my father," You explained tentatively. "Mr. Ollivander said he was in here."

The bartender froze for so long you wondered if he hadn't petrified but then slowly he lifted his gaze and you could see his eyes.

Eyes that looked exactly like yours.

Your breath caught in your throat and you didn't know what to do. This was him, wasn't in? This was your father. He stood up slowly and you were struck by just how tall he was. He was older than you expected and rougher, but those eyes were just the right shape and color to match yours perfectly. He walked around the bar like he was in a daze, still clutching the dirty rag in his hand.

The rag finally slipped through his fingers when he came close, so close that you could easily reach out and touch him, but you were frozen in place. You didn’t know what to expect from him and you still couldn't breathe. It was making you light headed but you were too afraid to make any move at all. What would he do? Was he happy to see you? Was he angry?

Suddenly you got your answers.

His arms were around you so fast you almost didn't see him move. He was a lot stronger than you expected too and he held you to him so tightly that you knew you couldn't have gotten away even if you wanted to try.

"I knew you were alive," He whispered and you could hear the tears in his voice just as you could feel them on your cheeks. "I knew it."

You shut your eyes tight and clung desperately to your father, never wanting to let him go.

Finally, finally you had found your way home.

Chapter Text

The two of you stood there just holding each other for a very long time. You couldn't stand the idea of letting him go and he seemed to feel the same. For awhile time passed in silence as you both basked in each other's presence, of finally being together again.

Even without your memories you could feel that you knew him, that he was a part of you, and that you loved him. The fear you'd felt, the doubt and worry, it was so silly in hindsight and such a waste of energy. There was nothing to fear from your father and no doubt at all that he loved you, that he had always loved you. It was as if being in his arms had triggered a rush of memories that you couldn't remember but could feel.

You laughed and looked up at him. Both of you were teary and red-cheeked from crying and it just made you so damn happy. "I never thought I'd actually find you." He leaned down and kissed your forehead and if anything that just made more tears spill over, but they were happy tears. The scratchy feel of his beard against your forehead triggered another rush of feelings from memories that weren't there anymore.

You missed these memories.

"You're home now," He sounded so pleased by this that it made your heart ache. "That's all that matters."

"And I never want to leave again." You all but threw yourself into his chest and he wrapped you up even tighter in his arms.

"I don't plan to let you." He chuckled and you laughed right along with him.

It was only after a couple of sips of what he called 'fire whiskey' that you were both calm enough to sit down at talk. The drink more than lived up to its name and burned a path straight down to your stomach in a way that put tequila to shame.

For awhile you both just soaked in each other's appearance. He saw all the changes that fourteen years had brought in his child and you saw the man you'd loved all your life—memories or not.

He was a bit of an intimidating old man with long grey hair and a lengthy beard. Your initial impression of him, in that moment before you knew who he was, was of a curmudgeonly old man. It was hard to think of him that way now though, with the smile on his face and the gleam in his eyes.

Even sitting down he was taller than you were and he seemed so vigorous for a man with so many grays. He laughed when you asked how old he was, telling you simply that he was "old". He did confirm your age though, so you had been right in your assumption from what Ollivander said.

He didn't bother changing the sign on the door from closed, as he had no interest at all in anything but you. It was time for you both to get some answers. Naturally your father was very interested in what had happened to you over the last fourteen years.

"So you just woke up in the street?" This obviously troubled him greatly and you grabbed his hand holding it tightly to try and comfort his distress. "You don't remember me at all?"

"No, but I feel where those memories were. I feel that I love you and that you love me, that you're important to me." You confided not the least bit wary or shy about saying this even if you didn't remember him. He was your father and if you couldn't be sure of anything else, you could be sure that you could trust him.

"You're right about that." His eyes were watery again but he seemed to fight the tears back. "I do love you."

You smiled brightly and he lifted your hand up to his lips. "Everything else about my life before though is gone. I have nothing but remnants from the memories, Voldemort said someone powerful must have removed them."

In the span of seconds the warmth in the room seemed to evaporate into frigid darkness. The look in your father's eyes went from love into fury and you had no idea why until he spoke.

"Voldemort?" The way he said his name was almost terrifying. But those lingering feelings from where the memories used to be kept you from being afraid. So you weren't scared, but you were startled and nervous. It felt like when you were a child and had done something only to find out after that it angered your parents. Though, usually it was your stepmothers getting angry.

You nodded tentatively. "He's the one who told me what I am and helped me find you."

"I highly doubt that he actually wanted you to find me." He seethed and stood suddenly, pulling you with him as he headed for a set of stairs at the back of the bar.

"Why do you say that?" You were once again afraid but this time it was of knowing what he would say. Part of you knew though, part of you had always known.

"Because he was the one who took you from me." He said and suddenly you were falling. Physically, mentally, you were falling down into darkness and despair.

The man you had trusted with everything, the man you had come to adore and love, was the very man who had taken you from your home. He had lied to you, used you, and you had believed him all the while. You'd hung on his every word; forgiven his every sin...

Your father caught you before you could hit the floor, but it didn't matter: you were still falling.

The house on the hill was filled with the sounds of pain. Inhuman screams tore through the night air and filled the halls of the massive mansion.

If anyone heard them, they stayed away. Fear kept everyone away on this night; fear that they would be next. Because Lord Voldemort was very very angry. He'd given such a simple order, such a simple task: take you to get a wand and bring you home.

How hard was it to follow orders?

The screaming stopped briefly, but only just. Voldemort looked down on the shaking, writhing body that was his failure of a subordinate. Lucius shook with the aftermath of the unspeakable agony, his hair splayed across the floor as he lay face down before his master. He couldn't muster up the strength to pick himself up and would not have been foolish enough to try even if he could.

"M-mas-ter," His voice was broken with pain but Voldemort did not care.

"You had one task:" the voice of his master was like the lash of a wipe cutting into his skin. "Bring her back."

"Sh-he… wou-ld-n't—" Lucius was cut off before he could finish his excuse, though he knew it wouldn't have helped, not now. Not with you beyond his master's reach.

"She is mine!" Voldemort seethed in a fury that could not be matched. "And you let that crackpot wand maker take her away from me? You let him send her to the one place you know that I can not follow?" The look in his eyes was a fire of rage that burned brighter than the sun. Despite the overpowering anger that seemed to emanate from his very being, his next words were slow and deliberate. "You will know such pain for this mistake. You will beg for death long before I have finished with you." He lifted his wand again and the screams so nearly drowned out his next words. "A death you shall not receive."

Chapter Text

You bolted upright choking back a scream as your eyes darted wildly around the room—a room that was both foreign and somehow familiar. Though your surroundings were hardly at the forefront of your thoughts as you searched for Lucius and Voldemort. It felt like you had been right there in that room with them; listening to Lucius scream, watching as Voldemort tortured him… You expected them to be there and it only made your anxiety and fear worse when they weren't. Because it wasn't a dream you'd just seen and you knew this, you knew it just as surely as you knew it was your fault Lucius was being tortured.

He was paying very dearly for your sudden flight and he'd done nothing more than what you'd asked him to.

You tried to breathe deep to steady your rapid pulse and shaking limbs, but it was just so hard to breathe around the panic and fear. There was nothing in sight with enough pull to drag you out of your head and away from those horrible screams. They were almost inhuman with the sheer amount of pain he was suffering and just thinking about it made your eyes blurry with tears. It wasn't his fault that you had left but it was your fault that he was suffering. As angry as you were with Voldemort, as betrayed as you felt, it seemed Lucius' life depended on you going back to him.

The thought of leaving your father after having just got him back though was so painful it felt like your heart was being crushed. But what choice did you have? Were you willing to let a man be tortured to death just so you could stay with your father?

Over the pounding of your heart and the frantic racing of your thoughts you could hear someone talking in the other room. Hearing those muffled voices helped solidify that you were somewhere else and not anywhere near the place Lucius was being tortured. But just where was it that you had ended up? The last thing you remembered was being in your fathers bar when he told you that Voldemort… you couldn't even continue the thought for the pain it caused.

So instead you tried to focus on the conversation in the other room. At first the voices were just a jumble of mutters, distant and unrecognizable. But then you could hear your father's voice in the mix as he said in anger: "You should have told me!"

Briefly you were overwhelmed by curiosity. What should he have been told and who should have done the telling? But then the thought of Lucius' suffering slammed down on you once again and though you had no idea just what you should do, you knew you simply had to do something.

You scrambled out of bed and fell to the floor in a tangle of blankets, it was only then that you realized just how badly you were shaking. Your legs couldn't support your weight and your arms could hardly handle just propping yourself up. You were also covered in sweat and suddenly very nauseous. It felt like you were recovering from some terrible illness that left you weak and fragile.

The door across the room flew open and your father came rushing in, obviously having heard the thump of you hitting the floor. However, he didn't come in alone. The man that followed momentarily shocked the horrible feelings right out of you. Because you knew this man; you knew him just as you had known your father. He looked so much like him too and shared your same blue eyes.

Where your father looked gruff however, your uncle appeared graceful and endearing. He was tall like his brother and his hair was very long, but it was white instead of gray and even more plentiful. His beard alone was long enough to tuck into his belt.

"Uncle," You hadn't realized you said it out loud until he was across the room scooping you up in his arms. Just like his brother he was far stronger than he looked.

And just like with your father you felt the rush of memories that weren't there anymore. All the feelings of love and adoration drowned every other thought and emotion in your head. You clung to him with every bit of strength you had. It didn't matter that you couldn't remember him, he was another person that you knew right away you loved dearly.

He hugged you tightly to him even as he set you on your unsteady feet. You felt his lips press against the top of your head and you hugged him tighter still. It was like you had gained back another piece of your heart that you hadn't realized you'd been missing. With every loved one regained it grew in strength and size.

"I have to go." You whispered suddenly, remembering the urgency and the reason behind it.

They both look startled by this. "Go?" It was your uncle who spoke.

You didn't have time to explain, but you knew they would never let you leave if you didn't. Hell, they probably wouldn't let you even if you did but you had to try. "He's going to kill him because of me."

It didn't take much to realize who 'he' was.

"Kill who?" Your uncle asked as your father came to stand beside him.

"Lucius. Voldemort is furious because he let me go." You explained and your eyes darted to the door. The man may not have been a friend or someone you loved, but you couldn't stand having someone tortured because of you.

"He won't kill him, he has far too few followers at this point to do something so rash." Your father assured but it didn't make you feel any less panicked. "And how is it that you know he blames Lucius anyway? It was Ollivander who brought you to me."

That was a particularly difficult question to answer because you had no idea why you were so certain what you had seen was real. But they might think you’d lost your mind if you told them it was because of a dream…

"Because it was his job to bring me back. I know how Voldemort is: he's furious with Lucius for failing. He was supposed to bring me back and I wouldn't let him." It was getting harder to breathe as panic took a tighter grip on your mind. What was happening to Lucius at this very moment? Was he still suffering Voldemort's wrath or had he been killed already? You wouldn't put it passed Voldemort to kill him out of anger. "This is because of me! If I don't go back he's going to—"

"You need to stop blaming yourself for Voldemort's cruelty." The sound of this new voice shot through you like canon fire. You turned so fast you nearly toppled over. It was him.

"Severus," You were running for him almost before you finished saying his name. He caught you in his arms and you finally felt whole again. "I thought you were gone. I was so afraid that he'd done something to you!"

"He sent me on a mission, that's all," He murmured into your hair. "Nothing to worry about."

You looked up at him torn between your severe desire to be near him and the horrifying vision of Lucius being tortured. "I have to go back."

Even before you said it, you knew he wasn't going to let you either. He shook his head, and you felt sick knowing there was nothing you could do to help the man who was at that very moment suffering because of your impulsiveness.

Severus lifted your chin to make you look at him again after your gaze fell to the floor in despair. "If you had stayed, you would have never seen your family again. You took your only real chance to get away."

"But, Lucius," you started and he cut you off.

"Lucius is not someone who deserves your sympathy or your tears." He sounded so cold when he said this, but the way he brushed away those traitorous tears was soft and careful. "He's tortured many people just for the thrill of it, he enjoys it, and it's about time he had a taste of his own medicine."

It made sense when he put it that way, but you still couldn't banish his screams from your head. You buried your face in his chest and tried to focus on him and the fact that he was safe and there in your arms. Your feelings were being torn down the middle between your guilt over Lucius and your utter need for Severus—the need that scared you with its strangeness and intensity.

"I'm glad you're back," You murmured into his chest. "Will you be staying?" You felt the heat in your cheeks as you looked up at him and realized how close your faces were.

He smirked, either at your question or your blush, and this made your heart pound something fierce. "I have to: school term starts in a week." This pleased you, but not nearly as much as what he said next. "Besides, it seems I need to keep an eye on you; wouldn't want you disappearing on me again."

As flustering as this statement was, there was a question tickling at your thoughts and keeping you from succumbing to your blush. "School term? Does that mean you teach?"

For some reason it was hard to imagine Severus as a teacher.

His lips quirked as if he knew just what you were thinking. "Yes, I teach. Not that I am overly fond of dealing with idiotic children."

"Yeah, you don't really strike me as someone overflowing with love for screaming kids." You teased and before he could reply your uncle's voice cut in.

"Perhaps…" His tone sounded speculative and when you looked back his expression mirrored this as he looked out the windows in contemplation.

"What is it?" You asked, feeling a bit confused.

"Severus informed us that you were being trained by Voldemort." Your uncle stated simply and your father scowled as if this information angered him.

You nodded feeling unsure of just where he was going with this.

He suddenly smiled and there was something oddly mischievous about his expression. It sent another rush of familiarity through you and you really wished you could remember why.

His next question took you by surprise. "How would you feel about teaching?"

It was a very unexpected offer and you weren’t entirely sure what to say. Your father seemed to share some of your surprise and you thought Severus would too, but when you glanced at him he seemed to be thinking it over quite seriously.

“You want me to teach?” You asked finally to break the silence.

“If you would be comfortable with it.” Your uncle stated kindly adding absolutely no pressure to this decision.

“It would certainly help keep the ministry’s meddling to a minimum.” Severus added in thoughtfully, though his voice had a bitter undertone that only added to your confusion.

Voldemort had spoken very little about the Ministry and all you knew about them was that they were the wizard form of government and that Voldemort was staying off their radar until his forces were sufficiently rebuilt. However, considering that your family obviously stood against Voldemort, you did not quite understand why Severus held such disdain for his government. It made sense that they would be brothers in arms if they knew that Voldemort was back, but even if they didn’t why would they be at odds?

“Why would they be meddling and how would me being a teacher help with that?” Your confusion made Severus smirk a little.

“The Ministry doesn’t believe that Voldemort is back.” Your father explained sourly. “They’d much rather claim that Albus has lost his mind than entertain the notion that he has returned.”

Hearing your uncle’s name caused another nudge of familiarity, but you pushed it aside—it was becoming a regular thing.

“So rather than secretly look into it to at least make sure that Voldemort isn’t back, they are willingly turning a blind eye to probably the most sadistic, dangerous man alive?” You really hoped that someone would tell you that you were even just a little off on that. The idea that the ministry had their heads that far up their own ass was unnerving. There weren’t that many governments that would just dismiss a major threat like that.

The three of them shared a look.

“Lemme guess,” You sighed rubbing the bridge of your nose. They didn’t have to say anything—the look said it all. “That’s exactly what they are doing, right?”

“That and more.” Your uncle replied and you felt the weight of dread building uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

You really did not like the sound of that.

“The ministry has decided that if I am unable to find someone willing to teach, then they shall send one of their own.” Your uncle stated.

“It’s their way of keeping an eye on the headmaster.” Severus added in to paint a clearer picture of just what was going on.

“And if I take the position, then they can’t.” Now it was starting to make sense. The ministry was looking for a way into Hogwarts to keep your uncle under observation and though you had no memories of him or even the school, something inside you burned furiously at the idea.

After all, this was your home at one point and this was your family that they were trying to mess with. The idea that anyone was out to get your uncle made you so angry you could hardly think straight. You had never been able to put up with weasels trying to mess with your family, which was why you had never gotten along with any of your adopted father’s love interests.

You protected your loved ones at all costs and even though you weren’t entirely sure if you were up to the task, you weren’t just going to sit by when there was something you could do to help your uncle out.

“Alright,” You said with a sudden rush of confidence, though your stomach still squirmed at the idea of teaching. “I can’t promise I will be good at it, but I’ll take the job.”

The smile this put on your uncle’s face made you feel like you could handle anything—even a room full of unruly children.

Chapter Text

You had never really envisioned yourself as a teacher. Though, to be honest, you hadn't actually figured out just what you wanted to do with your life anyway. You'd taken a few college courses before your adopted father's death, but nothing had ever really clicked. The only real passion you remembered having was annoying the hell out of your father's love interests. After all, you couldn’t remember what you loved before you lost your memories. It was only when Voldemort showed up and brought you back into the world of wizardry that you really started to find something you enjoyed—magic.

Everything about it pleased you: from how powerful it made you feel to the amusing, amazing, and utterly wonderful things you could do with it. There was a dark side to it too—you’d seen that plenty while under Voldemort’s wing—but even that was beautiful in its own way. As far as you were concerned, magic was really only as dark and evil as the person wielding it. You had already learned so much from Voldemort and from the books that Lucius had been kind enough to supply you with, but still there was so much left to discover. The knowledge you had was mostly based around the type of things Voldemort had thought you would need to know—how to fight and defend yourself or how to manipulate others. However, that was but a small taste of what there was to learn and you wanted to know so much more.

He had taught you a great deal, but you weren’t sure just how much of that knowledge you even trusted anymore. You couldn’t say with any certainty how much had been fact and how much had been skewed by his perception of things. In hindsight you could see just how foolish it was to let yourself trust and depend on someone like him, but at the time it had been wonderful. At first he had scared you and put you on edge, but as the months went by other feelings had blossomed as the fear and nervousness faded away. He put you on this pedestal and made you feel like something so much greater than yourself.

Rather than standing in his shadow you had been allowed to stand at his side and it had felt so good… Yet all the while he was hiding behind lie after lie after lie.
 
As he knew all along what had happened to you.. He knew because he had ordered it. Voldemort had been the one who had taken everything from you and he’d had the nerve, the gall, to pretend that he was your savior. He must have been so thrilled when he realized who you were and that he had finally gotten his chance to have you.

For it had been very soon after your disappearance that Voldemort had lost his powers and faded into the background like a faceless specter from a nightmare. The people celebrated the downfall of a monster, thinking he was gone for good. Meanwhile your family had been frantically searching for you across the country as your abductor stole your memories and dumped you in Brazil. It didn’t seem that you had even been in Voldemort’s clutches before his appearance in your home… His home.
 
You were utterly furious about the depth of Voldemort's deceit and betrayal—anger was so much easier than the pain. Yet even with all that anger and hurt, you still felt a pang just thinking about him. You wanted to just cut him out of your heart and out of your life, but he had sunk his claws so deep that it felt like you were ripping yourself in half trying to distance yourself from him.
 
Why couldn't you just hate him? It would be so much easier, so much less painful that way. After all, he was a monster who killed people because he thought he was better than everyone else. There was no kind heart lurking beneath the surface, no hidden warmth waiting to be discovered. The very best thing you could say about him was that he treated you well. He taught you, he protected you, and he coveted you for whatever twisted reason.
 
But it wasn't like he could ever or had ever loved you.
 
Because monsters like him can't love anyone.

Time seemed like it was rushing by, just as it always did when something potentially terrifying was waiting just ahead. There was just so much to take in and so little time with which to do so. Plus it was hard to focus entirely on planning your curriculum or learning more about the world of wizards when everything was so distracting.

Not only was Hogwarts absolutely the most amazing place in the world, but it was also your home—your original home. Everything from the flagged stone floors, to the creaky suits of armor, to the occupants of the castle seemed to cause that nudge, that strange tickle of a lost memory. This made it quite difficult to concentrate on books and planning when you were rediscovering your old life around every corner.

Before you had vanished you had lived within these walls nearly all of your life. Your uncle was the headmaster and according to him and your father you had spent most of your childhood wandering around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Everyone who had been around back then knew you very well and more than once you’d had someone you couldn’t quite recall just walk up and hug you or enthusiastically shake your hand. Apparently the only people who hadn’t thought you were dead were your family and Professor McGonagall, though she had been one of the unexpected hugs you had received. Not that you could really blame anyone for their conclusions—you had been gone for a very long time, after all. Plus they seemed quite thrilled to have been wrong.

Many of the professors were also more than happy to assist in your training to become a teacher and you were very grateful for any input on this. Practically everything that these children learned about the dark arts this year would come from your class and this put you under a lot of pressure. Your father was assisting by giving you ideas for things to teach and helping to fill some of the gaps in what you’ve already learned, along with your uncle who was adamant about improving your knowledge of defensive spells and dueling. Professor McGonagall and Severus helped you organize what would be appropriate based on the year the children were in and also helped to bolster your knowledge as well. Professor Sprout was even teaching you about the plants grown on the grounds and their use in defending against the dark arts.
 
Professor Trelawney on the other hand, who the other teachers seemed not to think very highly of, appeared far more interested in speaking with you about your 'aura'. Something that she found very strange and fascinating. The woman would have unnerved you with all of her odd questions and proclamations of danger and impending doom if she wasn't so frail and humorous in appearance. With those large glasses that magnified the appearance of her eyes and all of her many beads and shawls, she looked like a very large insect and tended to appear much older than she actually was with her stooping posture and rather batty personality.

All in all, though you were learning a great deal, it felt as though you would never be ready for the start of term. Most teachers had years of training on top of the years they spent in school learning about magic. You had one year of training under a dark wizard who most people believed to be dead. This gave you a lot of experience with hexes, curses, and dark creatures, but that wasn’t exactly the sum of what you would be teaching the children. Such magic was generally withheld until at least the fifth year, if not later depending on the spells in question. So you would have to learn right along with your students for this to work. You were already burning through books trying to cram more knowledge into your head before they arrived, but that was something you usually did only when you could stand to pry yourself away from everyone.

Finally having not only your father back, but your uncle and Severus and all the others that you hadn’t even remembered loving but suddenly couldn’t live without really made getting anything done quite difficult. You wanted to spend every moment with them, because sometimes it all just seemed too good to be true. At night when you were alone in your room you felt so terrified that at any moment all of this would be yanked away and you might lose them all over again. Sometimes you wondered if they didn’t feel that way too. They all no doubt had many things that needed to be done, but you were rarely left to yourself. Your father had left his pub shut down for days just so that he could spend all of his time with you. You knew that your uncle was busy trying to combat Voldemort, to get people to actually believe that he was back, and to keep the Ministry from meddling at Hogwarts; but he too seemed unable to pull himself away.

It made you feel a little guilty, but the happiness this caused was just too strong to be bogged down by negativity or guilt. While you were with your family it felt like everything was perfect and you wanted it to stay that way forever.

With less than a week until the start of term it just felt like there were not enough hours in the day to get everything done. Thanks to your father the books your students would be using had already been selected and the families had been notified of the change in curriculum. Your uncle had spoken with the owner of the book store in Diagon Alley and convinced them to allow families who had already purchased the other book—the one selected by the ministry—exchange them for the ones you would be using. Thankfully that cleared up any issues for the students, but that left you having to get through three different books as the series had a beginners book for grades one through three, an intermediate for four and five, and then an advanced for grades six and seven.

At least the books helped with topics for each grade and fit in nicely with the subjects everyone had suggested.

It was doubtful that you would make it through all three books before term started, but you had at least made some headway so that you would have enough info to get the classes going. Though you had already done so much reading since you’d come home that your head was ready to explode from all the new info bouncing around in there. You really hoped that you remembered it all and it didn’t get jumbled up or confused. It would be so horrible if you had your facts wrong and taught your students poorly because of it.

That was just one of many worries that kept you up at night.

You glanced over the top of yet another book you were trying to get through and saw that your father was still sorting through a stack of spell books the librarian had brought up. At the rate things were going, you’d end up reading through the entire library before next term. It was a tempting and amusing thought to point out, but before you could voice it an owl soared in through the open window. You were already used to this sort of thing, especially since you spent so much time in your uncle’s office, but it was still something that fascinated you regardless. Before all of this you could recall seeing an owl only once before and you had rushed home all excited to tell your adopted father about it. Now you saw them at least once a day.

Though while you enjoyed the times when owls would drop in, Fawkes—your uncle’s pet phoenix—never seemed pleased by the intrusion, especially when the owls used his perch or drank from his water bowl. In fact the phoenix left his perch as the owl came over for a drink and instead landed on your knee with his feathers ruffled to show his displeasure. He was a creature that you enjoyed even more than the owls and apparently it had always been that way. The phoenix had been your favorite animal as a child because of him and your uncle had spoken very fondly of how you would fall asleep in his office and Fawkes would perch as close as he could without waking you, looking after you like a guardian.

You stroked the agitated phoenix absentmindedly while rereading a paragraph for the fourth time and still not taking it in. It seemed like your brain was trying to shut down in protest of all the facts and spells and jinxes and what not that was bogging it down. So you finally just tossed the book aside with a sigh and decided on a break—your father certainly looked like he could use one and no doubt your uncle could as well. When you looked over at him to ask though, the expression on his face was cause for concern.

He looked worried.

“What’s wrong?” You asked in alarm.

“Trouble with the order, I’d wager.” Your father answered as he headed for his brother’s desk and accepted the letter to read for himself.

“Madame Maxime has returned with no luck, but Hagrid did not return with her.” The name hit you with such familiarity that you would have staggered if you’d been on your feet. Obviously this Hagrid was someone that you knew very well and, judging by the ache in your chest, cared about very much.

The fact that he hadn’t returned from where ever it he was supposed to have been seemed to cause your uncle to worry and this made you nervous. It was the first time you had actually seen him worry about anything and you didn’t like it one bit.

“He’ll be fine.” Your father stated simply, sounding not the least bit worried himself. “He probably got distracted by some ‘fascinating’ monster and is trying to bring it back to Hogwarts with him.”

Whether this idea appeased your uncle’s worries are not, you couldn’t really tell, but he did smile and that made you feel a lot better. Though, you had a lot of questions about the exchange still and decided on the one that didn’t directly involve Hagrid—lest you make your uncle worry again.
 
"What is the Order?" You asked finally causing both of them to turn their attention to you. "I feel like I know it."

The look your uncle gave you was calculative, as if he wasn’t entirely sure just how much to tell you. It wasn’t hard to tell why either when he spoke. "The Order of the Phoenix is a group dedicated to fighting Voldemort."

He was observant enough to know what mentioning his name did to you.

Your heart clinched painfully at the mention of him and your expression must have betrayed this as your father looked suddenly anxious and your uncle stood, moving to stand before you. He took your hands gently as Fawkes scooted closer, sensing your distress no doubt.
 
"I know that you feel indebted to him and that you care about him, but you must understand that he is a master of manipulation."

”Not to mention a monster.” Your father grunted as he tossed the now balled up letter onto the desk. Any mention of Voldemort upset him as well, but with him it was all anger whereas it was much more complicated for you. There was plenty of anger on your end, but it was diluted by the pain of betrayal and other emotions you weren’t ready to face or even name.
 
"I know.” You had always known what he was capable of—you’d just fooled yourself into thinking that he wouldn’t use you like he did everyone else. “I have no misconceptions about what he is and what he's like, it's just… he seemed so different when it was just the two of us. When others were around he was cold and dangerous, but when we were alone I felt something there that I can't explain… no quite warmth, but not his usual frigidness either." You looked up into those piercing blue eyes that were so much like your own, trying to make him understand how you felt. "As foolish as it sounds… it felt like he really did care about me in his own way."
 
He squeezed your hands and you could see that your words were troubling him—they certainly troubled your father. He was just about to reply when the door to his office slammed open violently.
 
You looked back quickly, already reaching for your wand reflexively as Fawkes took to the air in alarm. The man standing there scowling in the doorway did not look familiar, however he did look rather official in his pinstriped suit and black traveling coat—though the lime green hat was a bit offsetting. He was a portly, slightly short man and he was apparently very agitated. Your uncle did not seem surprised by this man's sudden appearance and neither did your father, but you certainly were. Not to mention you were getting more than a little irked by the less than friendly vibes coming off of him as he stared your uncle down.

He didn’t even glance at you until you stood up and fixed him with a glare of your own.
 
"Can I help you, Mr. Lacking In Manners?" You spat out vehemently while crossing your arms and moving to stand at your uncles side.
 
The man's response was a sneer. "Is it you then?"
 
Your brows raised a little out of confusion, but you continued to scowl. "You'll have to be a little more specific, short stuff."
 
He bristled at the comment and somehow managed to look even angrier. It seemed his height—which was a little on the short side for a man—was a touchy subject. Good though, let him be angry: you were getting pretty pissed off just having him in the room. Rather than reply however, he shifted his attention briefly to your father in the background and then finally back to your uncle and you did not like the way he was looking at him either. Your hands twitched with the desire to grab your wand and teach the little bastard some manners. It didn’t even matter who he was or why he was there or even why he was upset to begin with.
 
Your uncles hand on your shoulder brought some reassurance and also helped keep you from doing anything foolish, but only just.
 
"How is it that you have suddenly, miraculously, found a teacher? From what I'd gathered no one wanted the blasted job!" The man in the green hat seethed.
 
You glanced up and found your uncle looking quite unperturbed by this man's rudeness. He seemed perfectly at ease and sounded nothing but polite. "As luck would have it, I found the perfect teacher." He said simply and it made you feel all warm inside at the compliment and vote of confidence. "You needn’t worry yourself now with sending one of your own, though we do appreciate the offer."
 
You marveled at the way the man's face changed colors in his rage. It seemed like he was swelling up in his anger and you wondered if he wouldn't just suddenly explode.
 
Instead though, he turned on his heels and walked out. His only reply was a curt "this isn't over" and then he was gone just as suddenly as he had appeared. The urge to go after him was so powerful that if your uncle didn’t still have a firm grip on your shoulder you almost certainly would have chased him down.
 
"Who was that jerk?" You fumed as the door slammed shut. "Where does he get off talking to you like that?"
 
Your uncle looked quite amused by your anger and eagerness to defend him. "That was Cornelius Fudge: the Minister of Magic."

In other words, that pompous jerk was the man who was turning a blind eye to Voldemort’s return and having people drag your uncle’s name through the mud. Knowing that made you want to chase him down even more. You were so utterly infuriated by the man that you could hardly contain it.

Your father looked just as amused as his brother though and they shared a knowing look that suddenly made you feel like a child again. “Seems you were right: she really did end up inheriting my temperament.”

“It would appear so.” The fun they were having at your expense had you sitting back down with a huff and burying your face in your book to try and ignore them. If anything that just amused them more.

 
September first came along much faster than you'd expected, even with all your worries about how the time kept slipping by. It felt like you'd only just gotten home when the day dawned, bringing with it a bundle of nerves that settled right in the pit of your stomach. Even with all the preparation and the assurances that you would be just fine you still felt unsettled and anxious about this whole teaching thing.
 
But you knew that you couldn't back out—even knowing that your uncle would never blame you for it. Having you take up this position was vital to keeping the school in his hands and not those of the Ministry of Magic. Apparently the minister, who you officially did not like, had given your uncle an ultimatum. If he did not fill the position for Defense Against the Dark Arts, then the minister would do it for him. It was not an easy position to fill either. Your uncle had warned that the job was considered to be cursed and that it was actually most likely true. For no one had ever lasted more than a year, not since he'd turned Voldemort down for the job.
 
Just thinking his name sent a pang of sorrow straight through your system. You buried your head in your pillow trying not to think about him at all. It hurt each and every time you let your thoughts wander in that direction. He was a liar and a murderer who had used you. You had trusted him, put so much faith in him, and all the while he knew exactly who you were and what had happened to you. He’d been the cause of your loss all along…

Though, that still left the questions of who had taken your memories and what they had done with them. It had been on Voldemort’s orders that you had been abducted, but your uncle said it was unlikely he’d ordered your memories removed. You wondered how he could be so certain, but you didn’t have the stomach for pursuing it. Any topic dealing with Voldemort and his lies only served to cause you pain.

Regardless though, this meant that one of Voldemort’s underlings had done the deed. However, he had lost several of his Death Eaters either because they were killed off or sent to Azkaban—you had learned that from Voldemort himself. That plus the fact that you had vanished right around the time he’d lost his power meant there was a decent chance that he had never gotten his hands on your memories. If the Death Eater who took them was imprisoned then he would be unable to find out what they had done with them until his forces were strong enough to break them out.

However, if they had died then they had probably taken the location of your memories to the grave.
 

Chapter Text

The nerves you'd woken up with only seemed to intensify as the Great Hall quickly filled with children. You watched from the teacher's table at the far end of the hall as they swarmed into the massive room to occupy the four long house tables. At first the room itself had been enough to distract you, with its many floating candles and seemingly roofless ceiling—which you found out to be bewitched to look exactly like the sky outside.

But as more children filed in, it became harder to focus on the sky and all too easy to focus on them. There were just so many of them and most of them you would be teaching throughout the year. If anything these thoughts only made your worries worse. There was still so much you didn’t know and yet it was your job to prepare these students and make them knowledgeable about the dark arts.

It did help to some extent that you were surrounded by your family however. Uncle Albus was on your left, sitting at the very center of the long table and your father, who had decided the join the festivities, was on your right. Severus was on the other side of him and his closeness was also a relief in itself. Having him nearby helped distract you from your worries normally, but this time all it could do was help to soothe the anxiety that was quickly making you lose your appetite.

It was hard to forget your worries even for a moment when the room was absolutely packed with the very thing that was making you nervous: your students.

So you were more than happy to accept the glass of fire whiskey your father slid over with that knowing smile of his. Alcohol was always very helpful when it came to loosening up and that you both seemed to have this mindset in common was comforting and also amusing.

Like father, like daughter.

Harry was more than a little unnerved walking into the great hall. Between the fact that his two best friends were prefects, the sudden appearance of those strange skeletal horses pulling the carriages, and Hagrid's mysterious disappearance he really wasn't feeling quite as joyful about his return to Hogwarts anymore. Especially with guilt over leaving his godfather and worry over anyone having recognized him at the station.

As Luna headed off to join her friends in Ravenclaw and Ginny went off to sit with her usual group, he followed after Ron and Hermione to find a spot midways down the table. The moment he sat down he was already scanning the table, as if that were even necessary. It took all of two seconds to see that Hagrid wasn't there—he was much too big to miss. His heart fell at this realization, but something else caught his attention before he could look away. Dumbledore was in his usual spot at the very center of the teacher’s table and on his right was someone vaguely familiar. He couldn’t quite place why he felt that way at first, it was like a nagging sense of deja vu but without the familiarity of the situation itself—just the person.

It wasn't until this person looked up that he realized just who it was.

Suddenly his mind went back to the graveyard, a place he had been trying to repress for months. This time though his thoughts weren't on Voldemort or Cedric: they were on the woman who cried for him. The woman who had been helping to bring Voldemort back yet all the while seemed utterly crushed at what was happening to him during all of this. You were a contradiction that kept him up many nights. He never once thought he would see you again, but there you were looking a little nervous, but smiling none-the-less.

It hit him hard seeing you smile—you seemed like an entirely different person. It was such a contrast from the way he remembered you.

What in the world were you doing at Hogwarts?

Your attention was pulled to the man on your right and it drew Harry’s attention as well. Something about the man seemed familiar too, but he couldn’t quite place it. He couldn’t bring himself to care about him though, all of his thoughts were now on you and the mystery of your sudden reappearance in his life.

Had Voldemort sent you? Did the Headmaster even know just who it was sitting next to him?

As the feast went on you found yourself unwinding thanks to the infectious laughter, the good food, and not to mention the copious amounts of alcohol. You never expected there to be booze in the school, but apparently the teachers got to live it up when they weren’t working. It was just another thing to love about Hogwarts—it was really a laid back sort of place.

Plus having alcohol around helped to loosen tongues and that meant you got to enjoy several amusing stories about your father and uncle’s time as students of that very school. Like the time they had snuck out for a midnight snack and nearly got themselves caught by everyone from the astronomy professor to the headmaster himself. Not to mention being chased around by a very angry caretaker.

“And this guy,” Your father said with a smirk as he thumbed towards his bemused brother. “He had the bright idea of taking a ‘shortcut’ up this passageway by the portrait of Helga the Horrible—lets just say by the time we actually made it back to the common room the sun was coming up. Not much of a shortcut in my book.”

“As I recall, you had been quite adamant about getting out of that hallway by any means necessary.” Uncle Albus replied. “I remember you saying something along the lines of ‘anywhere is better than here’.”

He got a snort in response to this. “Well, Dunmore did have a nasty habit of locking ‘bad children’ in the dungeons and that was him being nice. We wouldn’t have been scrambling to escape though if you hadn’t knocked over that suit of armor.”

Your uncle looked playfully scandalized at this while you snickered at their bickering. “My dear Aberforth, I would not have knocked it over had you not tripped and pulled me down with you.”

“Bah!” Was your father’s response as he waved a dismissive hand. “I think you’re memory is starting to go, Albus.”

“Could be.” Uncle Albus replied with an indulgent smile that had your father rolling his eyes.

“Well, I certainly see where I got my streak of trouble-making from.” You contributed happily while refilling your glass. The fire whiskey seemed to get better and better with every drink—likely because your mouth and stomach were both numb to the burn at this point.

“I am proud to hear you inherited that most noble trait.” Your uncle supplied and sent you back into a fit of giggles.

Hearing him call it ‘noble’ and sound like he meant it just cracked you up—he probably did mean it too, which just made it even more hilarious.

The doors to the great hall slammed open very suddenly, silencing the room and sobering you up immediately. You had your wand in hand before anyone even entered the room—Voldemort had been very insistent about being on your guard. Even at Hogwarts that was a habit that would take awhile to shake.

A cloaked figure entered the Great Hall and walked casually down the center of the room. As they grew neared you realized this person was very short and squat in stature. It was only when this person came right up to the table though that you could see their face and it sent a jolt through your chest that you could only describe as horror.

It was hard to say why you felt that way. She didn't exactly have the face of a monster and you'd certainly seen worse with Voldemort. Yet this woman looked so alarming with her wide, smiling mouth and bulging eyes.

"Good evening, Headmaster." Her voice took you by surprise. It was very high and girly. The kind of voice that you would expect out of an eleven year old girl, not a creepy old woman. You were also alarmed when you noticed that she had a set of very sharp looking teeth. "I take it you've received the minister's notice."

Just the mention of the minister made you want to hiss in anger. The woman had only just arrived and your buzz was being ruined.

"What notice?" You cut in with no small amount of disdain in your voice making those bulbous eyes shift in your direction. Her grin widened, showing more of her eerily pointed teeth.

"Why, my dear girl, haven't you heard?" Her honeyed tone seemed to sink right beneath your skin making you feel unclean. "I've been given the honor, the privilege of being Hogwart's new High Inquisitor."

"And what exactly does that entail?" You pressed slowly, curling your fingers around the edge of the table to hold yourself in place as your whole body suddenly trembled with the anxious urge to rise. It was already becoming apparent that her being there meant bad things were about to happen and both the mention of the minister and this new position only added to your agitation. You felt the strong, nearly irresistible desire to leap over the table and throw this woman bodily from the room and the more she smiled at you the more appealing that idea became.

You could feel the tension in the room and it seemed to increase just as quickly as your anger.

She gave a very fake, very high pitched laugh that made you shiver with disgust. "Oh, where did I put it?" She made a show of digging through her bag and laughing. "I just had it before I left." Forcing back the urge for violence was making your chest hurt and you couldn't even put your finger on exactly why she made you so angry so fast—perhaps it was that sickly sweet voice or even just the fact that she was associated with the Ministry. "Ah! Here it is."

She pulled out a piece of parchment and waved it a little for show.

"Sorry," you said suddenly, standing up very slowly as the anxiety of sitting still reached its breaking point. "But you see I left my x-ray glasses in my other pants." Several people in the room laughed and you could hear many of the children snickering at her expense. "So why don't you read it to me?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she was still grinning that horribly evil smile. She stretched out the parchment and began to read in a loud, business like tone that carried through the silence of the hall:

"By the decree of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, order of Merlin first class, the High Inquisitor, Dolores Jane Umbridge—that is to say, me," She paused for another nasty grin that made you positively furious. "will have the power to address seriously failing standards at Hogwarts School of—"

"What the hell do you mean failing standards?" You belted out in a rage, silencing not only her but the children who had begun to whisper to one another as well.

She stared at you for a moment as if your outburst pleased her in some way. Then she rolled up the parchment and put it away. "Shall I make a list then?"

When she held up her stubby, many ringed fingers you had the sudden urge to break them. "Hiring werewolves and half-giants, having no set curriculum, allowing the children to be maimed by wild and dangerous hippogryphs—"

"That was Malfoy's fault: Buckbeak wasn't dangerous!"

This sudden outburst silenced the room once again, but it wasn't from you this time. You and everyone else in the room looked over at the boy who had stood up and you felt your heart twisting in your chest. Suddenly you were no longer standing in Hogwarts—suddenly you were right back in the graveyard with Voldemort, Wormtail, and the boy you had failed.

Harry Potter.

You shut your eyes tightly and opened them slowly thinking that he would fade back into your memories, but he was still there. The pain that shot through your chest at seeing him was like knife—stabbing deep and leaving behind a throbbing anguish that burned as it bled. You had been repressing your guilt over that night so intensely and seeing him again, being reminded of the fact that you had left this boy to die, made you absolutely disgusted with yourself once more. It brought the pain you had been holding at bay back to life in spades.

There hadn’t been any consideration, any thought on your part that you might run into him again. You’d been so busy with preparing for the start of term, you hadn’t stopped to realize that this might come up.

You had to look away from him so that you could regain your ability to breathe and when you did you caught sight of Umbridge’s face. She was looking at Harry as well, but in a way you really did not like. There was a wickedness in her gaze that made you even angrier than before. You had already failed to protect this boy once: you weren't going to make that mistake again. Especially not with her.

"So basically," You called out loudly, redirecting her attention back to you. "what you're saying is that you're here to get in the way of these children's education just because your boss is still pissed that I got the job."

Suddenly she wasn't smiling anymore. Apparently you'd picked just the right subject to make her just as angry as you where.

The two of you were both leaning over the table towards one another with scarcely a few inches between your faces. All it would take was just a little force and you could tackle her straight to the floor. She wouldn't even have a chance to pull out her wand.

Sadly though, you knew all too well the kind of trouble that could cause and not just on your end. Your uncle would likely get quite a bit of the backlash if you lost your temper. However, the look of loathing on her face gave you a savage pleasure and that helped to keep you from slamming her face into the floor.

"What's your name?" She asked finally and out of the corner of your eyes you could see the students craning to get a better look. Several of them were standing up on their seats. They were probably expecting a fight to break out and you dearly wished you could let them have one.

"Oh, I'm sure you can figure that out on your own." You smirked in response. "For now, just think of me as your worst nightmare, toad-face."

Her nostrils flared in a rage, but it wasn't like she could just hex you in a room full of curious onlookers. So she stood back up and it looked very painful for her to do so. She shifted her gaze to your uncle and you hated the way she looked at him—as if he were beneath her. It just made not losing your temper so much more difficult.

"I shall be inspecting every last teacher on these grounds." She shot a dark look your way. "Every. Last. One."

You just kept on smirking. She may have thought her little statement was scary, but she would learn very fast that you weren't the type to give in to fear. You had seen far worse things than a nosy bitch that needed a good kick in the ass.

She had no idea what she was in for.

“Term hasn’t even officially started and you’re already getting into trouble.” Severus murmured as he walked with you through the halls.

“You don’t sound the least bit surprised by that.” Despite the incident with the toad and the shock of seeing Harry again, you were actually feeling pretty good. Though that was very likely owing to the copious amount of alcohol pumping through your veins. With your adrenaline no longer pumping you were buzzing pretty good.

His lips quirked as he led you right to your room. “That’s because it is very much something you would do.”

You leaned back against the door letting yourself enjoy having this time alone with him. It was the first time it had been just the two of you since you’d come home. “That’s good to know—I’d hate to think I wasn’t living up to expectations.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” He said softly as he stood before you looking both pleased and conflicted. “You’ve always exceeded those.”

His words made your heart race frantically with all the possibilities and deeper meanings this brought to mind. Few, if any, of which he likely meant. He’d done nothing to encourage your feelings for him, though he hadn’t exactly discouraged them either. This made you hopeful and left your poor, fragile heart open to so much disappointment. It’s always the ones we willingly let in that hurt us in the end and you had hardly been careful about that of late.

Voldemort flashed through your mind briefly, though this moment with Severus gave you the strength to push him aside. He was all you had for such strength right then, but he was also a dangerous weakness.

It was impulsive and probably foolish, but seeing him there with that soft smile tugging the corner of his lips made you feel brazen. You leaned up suddenly pressing your lips against his cheek with a tenderness that could not be mistaken. Not as brash as a peck on the lips, but intimate enough to be more than friendly.

Your eyes were averted as you pulled away because even with the bravery came the fear of rejection. He said nothing against what you had done but also did nothing to stop you when you turned away.

“Goodnight, Sevvy.” You weren’t brave enough to look back.

“Goodnight.” His voice was almost too soft to hear.

He could have slammed his head back against the wall for being so damn stupid. There were reasons he hadn’t let himself be alone with you again, perfectly sound reasons that he’d gone and ignored. He stood around the corner from your room in furious contemplation—unable to leave though he knew better than to stay.

This was impossible.

Your love for him had never been a secret, but it was so much easier to handle when you were a little girl in his eyes. He’d felt a sort of love for you back then, but it had been innocent—simple. Seeing you again after fourteen years had complicated everything and that kiss—the feel of your lips burned down to his very core. He pushed the first one away with difficulty, but you had been quite drunk and he was able to use that to dismiss your actions, to dismiss your feelings for him.

This one was different. While it had been more innocent in essence, the feelings it evoked could not be ignored.

His head hit the wall behind him with a dull thump as he prayed to whatever gods there may be for a strength he knew would never come. He couldn’t let himself love you, it would only bring you both pain. Letting himself even consider such a thing was foolish and selfish—you deserved better, you deserved a real chance at happiness.

But damn if he didn’t already feel the stirring of his own treacherous heart.

Chapter Text

After having spent so much time dreading your first week as a teacher, the days seemed to pass by with remarkable swiftness. Not only because the situation was far less dreadful than you'd anticipated, but also because you were having quite a bit of fun. 

It was oddly empowering to be in charge of teaching so many children. Frankly, when you'd let yourself imagine the situation, you'd been having flashbacks to high school. The kids could never seem to resist giving the new teachers hell. Like poor Mr. Grady who'd gone to leave school after that first day and found his scooter had been stolen. It must have been a group effort too, because they found it on the roof of the faculty building. How they managed to do that without being caught was a likely still a mystery to this day.

Considering that these children could do magic, you'd anticipated something far more horrendous. Though, perhaps it made some difference that you could do magic as well. Or, maybe it had something to do with the fact that you'd publicly challenged a government official during the feast. It had been in front of the entire school, after all.

Regardless of the reason for it though, from the very first class there was a sense of respect in the way the students approached you. The children looked to you for guidance without any sort of arrogance or rudeness. Well, most of them at any rate. There had been a fair amount of arrogance from the older Slytherins, but one appearance from Severus had been enough to tone it down. Apparently he'd expected as much and decided to make a point of coming to see you during that particular class. It was very effective too. After all, very few people could claim to be friendly with their head of house. So that you were meant they saw you as being worth their time. Plus even they seemed to enjoy your hands on approach to teaching. 

Most students couldn't fully understand or appreciate something they learned straight out of a book. They needed to see, hear, and feel the lesson to truly grasp it. After all, experiencing something tends to leave a more lasting impression than just reading about it. Plus this way was a lot more fun.

There was still some reading required for the more dangerous and tricky spells, but mostly your classroom was filled with the sounds of shouted incantations and occasional explosions from misfired spells.

It got a bit messy, but everyone seemed to enjoy it and that was what really mattered.

It was in this way that most of the week came and went in a flash and surprisingly with no sign at all of Umbridge. Occasionally you would amuse yourself with the thought that you’d scared her off, but even as a fantasy it was doubtful. You'd seen the determination shining behind her fury: she wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily.

No, in all likeliness Umbridge was merely bidding her time, perhaps snooping around first to find some angle to play with you. It was easy to picture her skulking around the castle trying to bully information from people with that sickly sweet voice. She would find nothing of course and no doubt that would infuriate her further. Her only clue was something she would have either picked up on already or, more likely, overlooked completely. It was unlikely that she spent much time actually looking your uncle in the eye, so much as looking down her nose at him. If she had, she might have noticed that yours bared a startling resemblance and maybe she would have dug into his history instead of looking for one that didn't exist.

She wouldn't find anything looking under your adopted father's surname, after all. Which was part of the reason you kept it. The other part being love and gratitude. Thankfully your family was far from minding, as they were immensely grateful to him as well and agreed that it was a good way to honor his memory.

The sound of a bell made you jolt a little.

"Alright guys," you called out to your students as they began to pack away their things. "We'll continue with counter hexes next time, no homework this week!"

The joyous outcries this caused made you very happy. It really did seem silly in hindsight that you’d been so nervous about it. Being a teacher was quite enjoyable. You got to spend your days playing with magic and making children happy. This was the good life.

You were straightening up your notes as the next class came in and when you looked up to greet them you jolted again.

Harry Potter was standing in your doorway and he was staring right at you. It was hard to say with any amount of certainty if you felt more relieved or terrified. You'd known this moment was going to come at some point and you'd been repressing your dread of it. Now you didn't have to dread it anymore. You just had to deal with it…

Judging by the look on his face, you weren't the only one feeling conflicted and nervous either. Before either of you could make a decision on what to do someone cleared their throat.

"Hem, hem."

Your own throat tightened a little in response.

Of course. Why wouldn't she pick this particular class to show up? She couldn't have possibly known that you and Harry held any sort of aversion to one another. Perhaps she'd merely picked up on your shielding of him and thought he might be your weakness. Or maybe it was just him she was after and she followed him to every class.

The idea was unsettling and left you feeling even angrier, especially because it seemed so likely. Was everyone out to get this kid?

Umbridge held your menacing scowl with a smile. She'd already gotten under your skin and she knew it. She delighted in it.

You shoved the fury rising in your chest back down and clenched your wand hand into the tightest fist you could muster. Your emotions were already off kilter seeing Harry, having her leering at you from just a few feet away made it painful to hold onto your temper. What better way to vent your frustrations—with yourself, with this situation, with her—than to hex her into oblivion? This woman who spied on your family. Who's very presence undermined your kind, loving, and noble uncle.

She worked for the ministry that had been doing everything they could think of to make people think he was just a crazy old man. If you had known all this before you met the Minister of Magic you would have punched the horrible man right in the face after he stormed into your uncle's office.

That you knew this with Umbridge standing so close, standing for everything that was causing your uncle pain…

You inhaled deeply and held it.

Any trouble you caused would only add to your uncle's burden. That was the fact that let you resist the lure of violence. Knowing that was how you managed to push the anger back down into your chest and lock it tightly in its cage.

With the beast at bay you noticed how quiet the room was. The students were staring at you and Umbridge in silence and anticipation.

Most of them were hovering by their seats. Only Harry, a tall red head, and a bushy haired brunette still lingered near the doorway. The girl seemed to be teetering on the edge of saying something, rocking back a little on her heels as she bit her thumb anxiously. The red head looked pale, but also expectant. Like he was predicting a fight and wanted to know how it was going to turn out.

Harry just looked tense.

That hanging silence was like the calm before the storm. You could feel the pressure in the air as you turned your gaze and stared into those beady little eyes.

She stared right back. Silent. Calculative.

Then the storm rolled in.

"The Ministry seems to have no record of your existence." Her shrill, girlish voice was a tad too loud for the silence of the room. Several of the children jumped a little. "Now why do you think that is?"

"Yet another screw up by the Ministry." You fired back evenly and her mocking grin faltered, tugging downward on one side. "You guys can't get anything right, can you?"

There was something that she really wanted to say to that, but she seemed to think better of it. Audiences really do put a damper on arguments, especially if you want to look like the good guy. That was the other point of what the Ministry was doing. It wasn't just about making your family look wrong, it was also about making themselves look right.

She pulled out a silver clipboard and a quill. "Country of origin?"

"Brazil." A partial lie in that you didn't actually have any memories of originating elsewhere.

She wrote this down and looked up again. You held her gaze with cold indifference. "What are your qualifications?"

Brutal honesty had never been so tempting. Though, you could only imagine the backlash of saying something like: 'why, lord Voldemort taught me just about everything I know'. Especially in front of a government spy and a room full of kids.

So you had to settle with vague honesty instead.

"I know enough about the dark arts and spell work that it would make your little head spin." Thanks in no small part to a wizard so terrifying most people can't even say his name. "Now, if we're done here, I have a class you're keeping me from teaching."

Umbridge seemed to swell a little with rage, looking very much like an angry toad. A sight that amused you a little. She couldn't act on her desire for retaliation and it was killing her to hold back. You could see it in the way she clenched her teeth behind a forced smile.

"I'll have you know that the Minister of Magic—" She seethed before you cut her off.

"Is not a teacher, a headmaster, or even a parent. What he is, is an egotistical blowhard forcing his narrow-minded opinions down everyone's throat!" Your tone was laced with too much anger and your choice of words was ferociously antagonistic.

It was like striking a match. She lit right up.

"HOW DARE YOU—" Her shriek was a war cry. You'd found her weak point.

"Oh dear Dolores," the sharp, savvy tone threw you for a loop. Both you and Umbridge whipped your heads around and suddenly you felt… relieved.

Lucius looked just the same as he had the day you left. There wasn't a trace of the tortured expression that had burned itself into your mind.

"This is very unlike you." Lucius arched a brow and stared down his nose at her. "Cornelius did not tell me that you were here to shout at the teachers. Why, he made it sound as though you were here to observe and report."

You weren't sure what startled you more. That Lucius was defending you or that Umbridge was looking very much like a child getting scolded. She grew very red and flustered at his scolding. It was strange.

Was Lucius such an important man that he could silence even her? You couldn't help but wonder if that was why Voldemort hadn't killed him.

Like it did every time, thinking his name caused a painful jolt.

Lucius turned his attention to you suddenly. "A word? Privately."

Taken aback, you could only nod and follow him out into the hall. Lucius being at Hogwarts seemed surreal somehow. You kept picturing his tortured face, Voldemort's fury… You kept hearing his screams.

He led you down the corridor and through a set of double doors that he quickly closed behind you. Before you could figure out what to say to him he started enchanting the room—locks, soundproofing. Can't be too careful as a Death Eater on enemy soil.

That you were actually willing to talk to him made you feel a little guilty. After all, he stood against your family. He stood with the man who'd taken everything from you. Yet you felt far more guilt for what had been done to him because of you. It hurt more to know that he'd suffered for your actions than knowing that you were standing casually with someone who wanted your family dead.

You didn't look too deeply into what that might have said about you.

"I'm so sorry." Your hurried apology seemed to take him by surprise. "I never thought that he'd hurt you."

"How did you…" He seemed shaken. That had likely been something relatively private. He probably wondered how it was possible that you knew about it. Yet he didn't ask. He collected himself and changed the subject. "That was not your fault, but mine. Now, I need you to come back with me."

His request turned your insides to ice. Just the thought of going home, of going back to him was too much to think about. You couldn't even tell him half of what you felt at him asking that. Because that would mean admitting to feelings much worse than anger and pain.

Only someone you love can break your heart.

"He lied to me, Lucius." You said at last. It was hardly the pinnacle of his crimes, but it was linked to it. "He knew who I was the entire time and he kept that from me! He's to blame for everything that has happened to me!"

"Yes, he lied! Yes, he ordered your abduction! I know you are angry about that, but you need to realize just who it is you are dealing with." He seemed… frantic. It was odd to see him so desperate. "The Dark Lord does not simply give up! He will not stand idly by when he wants something. So long as you remain at Hogwarts, no one on these grounds will be safe. He will come for you if you make him."

There was something in the way he was looking at you that seemed unhinged. Like a part of him had been broken and was only just being held in place. He sounded terrified at the idea of Voldemort coming to get you and for a moment you thought it was because he would be punished for it. You thought it was the memory of pain that caused him such dread.

Then suddenly you remembered something. That day when Severus paid you a visit. Your first class of Slytherins. There was a name you'd come across that was all too familiar.

Draco Malfoy.

Lucius had a son attending Hogwarts. He'd even told you as much in Diagon Alley.

That was why he was so frantic, so out of sorts. It wasn't just the pain of Voldemort's torture that he feared, but the potential loss of his only child. You could only imagine what the thought was doing to him. It made sense suddenly that he would risk coming to Hogwarts, that he would risk speaking with you to urge you back into Voldemort's clutches. He was a father protecting his child. He would do whatever it took.

He'd probably drag you out kicking and screaming if he thought it would keep his boy safe. You almost wanted to let him.

"Give Voldemort a message from me." As with most people, hearing the Dark Lord's name made him flinch. It just made you hurt though. Especially since you weren't exactly sending your love. "Tell him that if he steps foot on the grounds I will see myself dead before I let him near me."

Lucius did not look happy to be the bearer of that message. You wondered briefly if he might not be punished for returning without you and with such a response at that. So you decided to tack on a warning as you turned to leave.

"Also, if he hurts you again I will know and it will be another thing I will hate him for. Another reason to never go back."

In all honesty, it was doubtful that he cared at all what you felt. It just made you feel a little better to toss a threat in there, weak as it may have been.

***

When you reentered your classroom the children were waiting in their seats and Umbridge was sitting quietly in the back. At least the surprise visit from Lucius seemed to have done something aside from adding to your worries.

"My apologies children, the lesson just keeps getting delayed it seems." You sent a pointed look towards the back before heading to your desk. "So," you paused in front of the class and turned to look from face to curious face. "Who here has heard of a little spell called Diminuendo and knows what it's other name might be?"

Only one hand shot into the air and it belonged to Harry's brunette friend.

"Ah, yes, Miss…?"

"Granger, professor!" She replied quickly and you smiled at her eagerness. "And the other name for Diminuendo is Reducio, otherwise known as the shrinking charm."

"Very good, Miss Granger, take five points!" You praised and brought the classes' attention to your desk. "Now—"

"Hem, hem!" Umbridge interrupted and continued before you could ignore her. Apparently that scolding from Lucius wasn't enough to keep her quiet for very long. "This hardly seems like an appropriate lesson for fifth years, professor."

The way she practically spat the word made the title sound like an insult.

"What's the matter, Umbridge? Afraid these children will decide to shrink that marble in your head you call a brain?" You fired off easily.

A chorus of snorts and snickering was nearly as pleasing as the ugly look on Umbridge's face. She well and truly hated you.

That was some very satisfying knowledge.

"Now," you continued as if you hadn't been interrupted. "It is more a matter of preference as to which incantation you use for this spell. It makes no actual difference when it comes to effect. I will allow each of you to pick whichever version you prefer and I will grade only on how well you cast it. Here are your examples. Watch carefully." You stood back from your desk to let them all see and pointed your wand at it with a clear and concise cry of: "Diminuendo!". Then, you pointed at your chair and… "Reducio!"

They both shrank until they would have been a little on the small side for even a gnome, but still were large enough for the children to see. Even the pens and parchment had been miniaturized.

You let the children absorb the image and then looked around the class. "Now, can anyone tell me the spell to reverse it?"

You steadfastly ignored the furious scribbling of Umbridge's quill.

Once again there was only one hand in the air. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Engorgio." She replied smartly and you were impressed. Such a bright and eager student.

"Very good, take another five points." You replied with a smile before turning back to the shrunken furniture. "Engorgio!"

They quickly expanded, growing back to normal size in just a few short seconds. There was a murmur of excitement and anticipation around the room from the children wanting to try this set of spells for themselves. The sound seemed to sour Umbridge further.

"Now, turn to chapter four in your books and read the passages on these charms." You picked up a box full of plastic figurines that were about as long as your hand. "Once you have finished I would like you all to attempt to grow your figurine and then shrink it back to normal size. Try to make it grow to your height, but be careful to focus on the size or you might just fill the room with it. "

The students were all too eager to get to work on this task. They were likely skimming the passages more than reading them, but you didn't mind. It was nice to see that they were enthusiastic and these spells would only be dangerous in this setting without supervision. You were perfectly ready to keep the room from filling up with giant figurines.

With the all the students so anxious to rush right into the fun part of the lesson, it was not long until the classroom's noise level skyrocketed.

Shouts of "engorgio" were joined by cries such as "watch it you idiot!" and "you are not that tall!". Plus a few of the figurines grew so large that they started tipping over and even crushing furniture. Then some of the spells fired were pronounced wrong and caused figurines to explode. One of them even turned a toxic looking purple and sprouted tentacles. You weren't entirely sure how that happened either.

Then when it became time to return them to normal size, there came an entirely new set of issues to contend with. Some of the figures were shrunk so small that they became impossible to find until someone accidentally stepped on them. Some actually grew larger. Then there was one that seemed to come to life and start chasing students.

Frankly, it was all very entertaining.

By the time the class ended only two students had managed to properly complete the task. Hermione, of course, and Harry. Neither of which surprised you. The girl was very bright and Harry had managed to survive a duel with the Dark Lord. It made sense that he would be good at this particular subject.

Thankfully the others truly did not seem put out that they didn't complete the lesson. They were still keyed up from all the excitement.

"Very nice, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger! No homework for either of you and as for the rest of you, get some practice in and we will try again next week!" You called out as the bell rang and the kids packed up.

Umbridge swiftly left the room before anyone else could.

Between her hasty exit and the palpable excitement radiating from the kids, you felt very buoyant as your classroom emptied out. It had been an odd day, but things had turned out alright. You were still worried about Lucius and the possibility of Voldemort storming the castle. However, it was officially the weekend and that meant it was time to relax. You could fret about your worries come Monday, but until then you were going to do your best to put it all out of your head.

The thought of seeing your father made it easier to do just that. You pictured his wry grin as you packed away your things. Closing your eyes you could easily see yourself sitting at the bar with a strong drink, watching your dad corral drunks. The bar was hardly the most lively place in town, but there always seemed to be something interesting going on. From brawls, to possibly illegal trading, and even to your father up and physically tossing people out of his pub. The latter being something you found highly amusing.

A faint sound, like wind, drew your attention suddenly to the windows. It sounded almost like a draft, but you could see that they were shut tight.

Sssssss.

You followed the sound along the wall, holding your hand out to feel for a breeze. As you grew closer it almost sounded like someone whispering...

Ssssssss.

The sound grew louder, but you did not find a draft. Instead you found something terrible.

The sight of two gleaming red eyes made your heart skitter and nearly stop. Your hand was still aloft by the windows as the albino snake lifted its head just as high as it could. It looked you dead in the eye and your hands started to shake. No normal snake would act like this. No normal snake had eyes like that.

You pointed your wand right at it. Right at him.

"Get out." You hissed through clenched teeth and to your surprise the snake did just that. Though it seemed to be in no hurry. It turned slowly and slithered its way across the room, pausing to look back at you once more before it slipped right under the door.

You slid down the wall keeping your wand pointed at the spot where the snake had vanished. He wasn't going to stop, was he? Maybe Lucius was right. Maybe if you kept ignoring him, if you stayed there at Hogwarts, then one of these days he would actually come for you. It wasn't hard to picture him walking across the grounds, bringing fear and death with him. He would kill anyone in his way.

Teachers, students, your family…

You didn't want to go back to him, but what if that was the only way to spare the people you cared about? They would never let you go without a fight and that thought was horrifying. Voldemort was too dangerous and they would put themselves between you and him if it came to that.

That was why you knew that it could never come to that. Somehow you had to keep him away. You couldn't let Voldemort step foot on the grounds, even if that meant never seeing your family again.

Even if you had to walk right back out of their lives.

Chapter Text

Seclusion was not ideal, not for your state of mind or your particular situation. Yet you strived for it every chance you had. Rather than spending your weekends with family and friends, you made up excuses to be alone. Homework to grade, books to read, feeling under the weather—anything you could think of to hold people at a distance.

Because you knew what was coming. You knew that one day Voldemort would grow tired of these games. That one day you would have to leave to spare the people you loved. You would have to cause them pain to save their lives and that meant vanishing on them yet again, but with a permanence that made you sick to your very core. After all, once he had you again, he wasn’t going to let you go. You knew better than to think otherwise.

It wasn’t as though you hadn’t tried to think of another way, that you weren’t still trying to think of something that wouldn’t hurt them. Never mind how much any choice hurt you in the end, you wanted nothing more than to spare them. Yet every path seemed to lead back into darkness, back into the waiting arms of the Dark Lord himself. There was no escape simply because he wouldn’t allow it. There was only a willing return or doing so by force and you knew the price the latter would come with. Force would mean a fight and one in which you would lose either way. Someone you loved would die that day. You couldn’t live with that. No matter who it was, the loss would be too great. Even if it was him.

Victory or death for him, either way you would lose something irreplaceable. The best you could hope for was a way to mitigate the pain. A lesser evil. A safer place to suffer. You would settle for anything that didn’t require the death of any of them. It might have been too much to ask, but it was the only way you could survive.

Perhaps Voldemort would at least give you that if you returned. Maybe, if you asked it of him, he would spare those you loved. You were willing to pay any price for that.

***

It wasn’t just in your waking hours that Voldemort haunted you. He stole your dreams as well.

There was no escape from him, nowhere to hide. Even when you slept you saw those red eyes watching and you knew it was him. A glint in the dark, a familiar presence, a whisper that struck out at your heart like a cobra’s bite… He always found you in your dreams.

This time though: you seemed to have found him instead.

The hallway had been familiar even in the dark and the room beyond even more so. You were home and Voldemort was sitting on his throne with one of his Death Eaters kneeling at his feet. The nostalgia of seeing him hit you hard. Even though you knew it was a dream, knew you were still in your bed at Hogwarts, you felt compelled to touch him. Just to see if you could. Just to prove that he was a dream and that you weren’t really there.

Though you weren’t sure if that would cause comfort or heartache. Because seeing him hurt in ways that had nothing to do with anger or betrayal, but were more akin to longing and despair. It was like seeing a ghost of someone you loved and knowing that if you moved you might lose them again.

You didn’t even notice or care about the other person in the room until you heard him speak.

“Forgive me, my lord.” It was Lucius and he was afraid. Even with his mask in place and no quiver in his tone you could taste it in the air. Feel it in his wavering thoughts. “She refused to return…” He seemed to hesitate, but spoke on. “She wanted me to relay a message.”

"Tell him that if he steps foot on the grounds I will see myself dead before I let him near me."

You heard the words before he said them and the most startling thing about that was that you heard yourself speaking them.

"Also, if he hurts you again I will know and it will be another thing I will hate him for. Another reason to never go back."

This might have passed as just a memory of the conversation if not for Voldemort’s reaction.

He started laughing.

“She sends me threats.” He seemed outlandishly bemused by this. “With anyone else I would think distance had made her brave, but she has never properly feared me.” Far from sounding bothered by this, he sounded pleased.

“You’ve never given me much reason to.” You murmured in response and felt a jolt of shock when Voldemort reacted.

His eyes seemed to focus on where you stood, though you knew he couldn’t actually see you. It was as if he could feel your presence in the room suddenly. Maybe he’d even heard you or perhaps your thoughts. Suddenly it crossed your mind that this might not actually be a dream. Though you weren’t sure how that could be possible. Obviously Lucius couldn’t see or hear you, so you couldn’t actually be there… could you?

Lucius started to speak again but Voldemort’s glance was enough to still his tongue. “Leave.”

Naturally there was neither questioning nor objection. Rather, Lucius would have likely been relieved to be sent away from his master. It at least meant he wasn’t going to suffer for the time being.

Voldemort’s gaze did not linger on his underling, but turned instead in your direction. Was he suddenly able to see you?

“No,” he said softly. “I cannot see you. I must admit that pains me.”

Your heart clenched and you tried to remind yourself that he would do or say anything to get what he wanted. He was a liar. He was a snake.

He held out his hand and you reached forward to take it without realizing it. So strong was your desire to touch him that you could not refuse. It didn’t matter that you were supposed to hate him, distrust him, and keep your distance. Having him so close and reaching for you was too much temptation to resist.

You wanted to touch him.

Just one more time…

Yet, as you knew it would, touching him broke the link. The moment your hands connected the room faded and so did he. Knowing it would happen had not lessened the pain of it in the least.

***

You didn’t want to open your eyes and that notion was hard to swallow. As much as you wanted to detest the fact that even your dreams were no escape from him, you still clung to the sight of him. To the brief sensation of numbing relief that touching him had brought to you. It was like trying to hold onto the sense of euphoria that comes with being heavily medicated or drunk. You only can attain that feeling for a short time before it starts to fade and reality starts crashing in with painful clarity. Before your head starts throbbing and your stomach twists.

You rolled over to bury your face in the pillow, but heard something move as you did so. The shift of something against the pillows. With where your thoughts were, you half expected to see Voldemort when you opened your eyes.

You were simultaneously relieved and disappointed when it wasn’t him laying there, but a snake coiled up where his head might have lain. Most people would have leapt from their bed at the sight of it, but you instead reached out. There was nothing threatening about the animal and its eyes were not red, but green. Voldemort did not control it, at least not presently.

The snake was so starkly white it almost glowed against the colors of your bed. It coiled around your arm easily, laying its head against the inside of your wrist. You realized that it was because that was where it could feel your heartbeat. A soothing sound for any creature apparently.

The sweetness of it reminded you greatly of Nagini and that brought forth a whole other set of pain and longing. You missed her. Missed waking up with her curled up in your bed. Missed the way she would coil around you lovingly, defensively. How she would follow you through the house like a little slithering shadow… She’d been another aspect of that life that had made you feel special and powerful. One more thing you had been trying not to think about, but that Voldemort was forcing you to face. All while ensuring that he had as direct a line to you as possible.

After all, the snake was both a gift and a spy. Just the sort of thing you’d expect him to send. Underhanded and bittersweet. You both loved and hated him for it, though that was exactly how you felt about him in general.

Still, the notion of sending it away was too painful to act on. It was all that you had of him, aside from memories and pain. Your sole link to the one who broke your heart and kept a piece of it for himself. A desperate and pathetic thing to cling to, but one that you couldn’t seem to help. You would have to alert your uncle at least. Though, no doubt he would pick up on it regardless.

You just weren’t sure how to explain why you wanted to keep it.

***

“I’m really really sorry, Professor!”

The urgent pleading drew you back out of your thoughts. It was getting harder and harder to focus on the present rather than allowing yourself to lapse into drowsy musing. You glanced down at the boy in front of your desk with an indulgent smile. The weariness of struggling through another day made it hard to stay alert and attentive. Perhaps the nervous boy mistook your silence for danger. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t warranted a fear like that. He had just blasted a chunk out of the wall goofing around with his friend when he should have been concentrating on a new spell. Danger was something to expect from most teachers. Fortunately for him, you weren’t all that bothered by it. He was scared enough by the results not to do it again and you were much too tired to worry with it. It wasn’t like it would be hard to clean.

“I’d recommend against fancy wand moves when practicing new spells and for dueling in general.” The boy fidgeted a little under your gaze and seemed to be holding his breath. “As you saw it can alter the spell and in an actual fight it wastes time. A few extra seconds spent on wand-work is time your opponent can use against you.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am!” He replied after a moment of shock. It still seemed like he was waiting for something to happen. Like perhaps for you to hex him or sic your snake on him. His eyes did dart to the serpent around your shoulders an awful lot.

Most students had taken your new pet as a bit of a shock, though it wasn’t exactly an altogether uncommon animal. Naturally the Slytherins had loved it.

“Lets wrap it up here for the day.” You called to the class at large.

Most of the students had little difficulty with the spell—an intermediate counter curse that had the misfortune of being confused with a very similar sounding spell for warts. The only issue had been when one of them had gotten cocky with his wand waving and ended up looking very foolish and sheepish at your desk. Ultimately more amusing than anything else.

The boy lingered nervously as you waved your wand to repair the damaged wall. “Homework for the week shall be to finish reading chapter seven on counter-curses and then write me an essay about a spell in that category that you like or find interesting. Maybe we’ll even try to use some of them next week.”

The final remark stalled out the grumbling that had started up over the essay. Rather the children left excited instead at the prospect of potentially getting to pick the spells they’d get to work with. Even the nervous boy, who kept sending you darting glances as he made to leave, started chatting excitedly about it as he left the room.

A touch drew your attention away. A brush against your cheek as the snake moved its head. You cast your eyes to the side and felt a jolt when the gaze that you met wasn’t green. The snake’s eyes were red.

It tilted its head to the side and you could hear the question even without him being able to speak.

“They learn better if they’re happy about learning.” You murmured to him as you looked away. It was hard to stare into those eyes and keep your emotions in check. He caused them to go all over the place. “Get your students involved in their lessons and they will practically teach themselves.”

You weren’t entirely sure why you were bothering to explain anything to him. It wasn’t like you were telling him anything he’d take to heart or really care about. All he wanted was for you to come back, not a lesson in how to educate children. Though you knew he would have listened even in person. He always listened.

***

It was hard to keep track of time in your state of mind. You were torn somewhere between dreams and reality with Voldemort’s continued presence in both. Frankly, it was startling when you realized that months had passed rather than weeks. Time slipped through your fingers like grains of sand. Each moment indistinguishable from the other was they fell away. Try as you might to put on a good show not only for your family, but for your students, and occasionally for Umbridge, you could see the effect Voldemort was having as you readied yourself in the mirror. You weren't sleeping well, the color of your skin was paling to sickly shades, and it had gotten to the point where even makeup and spells weren’t helping.

He was truly like a sickness, an addiction in the way he completely and utterly destroyed you. The way he would not let you go. The way you couldn’t bring yourself to break away.

The excuses you gave out was practically believable at this point, though terribly overused—that you were under the weather or fighting something. Sometimes you doubted that anyone believed that, even the young children, but that could be paranoia. It was another symptom of your current state of mind: being paranoid.

Though, could you really classify it like that when there really was something stalking you? It wasn’t as though it was all in your head, the snake was very real and so was the fact that Voldemort wanted you back.

The worst part was that some part of you, a large part in fact, wanted him back too. But you were still so angry and hurt… as evil as he was you had thought you'd found some good in him. You thought you could bring it out of him, but all that time he'd been the monster that took your life away. All the time you'd spent with him, trusting him, loving him, and he was lying to you. You'd thought you were the only one he was entirely honest with, that he was open with, but apparently he couldn't be entirely honest with anyone. You weren't even sure if half of what he'd told you was the truth.

You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

The betrayal stung and made you sick with anger and pain. Yet, it felt like you should have seen it coming. Of course hindsight is always twenty-twenty, but it is never so easy to tell the truth from the lies in the moment. When you were with him it felt like you were special: he made you feel like a queen. However the cost was steep… if you had stayed you would have never seen your family again—you never would have known the truth.

Yet as happy as you were having them back, the hole in your heart was not entirely filled. It felt selfish and childish to wish that you could have it all, because you knew that Voldemort was the only person who could fill that last space inside your heart, but you also knew that it was impossible. Voldemort was the monster that people warned their children about, he was the enemy that your family was fighting against.

Still, he was also the man who had saved you when your life had been meaningless. He was the man who had taken you under his wing and taught you how to be powerful and strong… but that did not excuse the fact that he was the reason you had lost your family and the life you'd had in the first place.

At first you had been certain that he was also the one in possession of your memories, but according to Severus this didn't seem to be the case. From what he had gathered the person who took your memories had not returned to the Death Eater ranks, either because he was already dead or he was too afraid to return. Voldemort was apparently tracking him down though, dead or alive, and that meant he was likely after your lost memories.

Which was why your father and uncle were trying very hard to find them first. If Voldemort found them, then the only way to get them back would be to confront him yourself, which was an option that you secretly liked as you had much you wanted to say to him, but no one else would even entertain the idea. They were all far more wary of Voldemort than you were.

Because even though your trust in him was shattered, it still seemed so inconceivable that he would ever actually hurt you. What you worried about was that if you went home, he almost certainly wouldn't let you leave. You weren’t even sure you’d be strong enough to try.

***

The last class of the day gathered their things, chatting happily about the day’s lesson which had covered intermediate hexes and counter jinxes. Thankfully it had been a lot of reading and wand waving on the parts of the students, which left you able to sit and rest. If any of the children had noticed your lack of energy, they hadn’t brought it up. Which was good as you were running out of excuses.

You waved your hand to close the door behind the last of the children and finally let yourself succumb to the soul crushing fatigue that you’d been trying so hard to fight. Your head dropped onto a stack of essays with a dull thunk that you barely even felt.

If it was Voldemort’s intention to beat you down with lack of rest, it was certainly working. It also made you much more vulnerable to his wicked machinations. You couldn’t fight the sleep to keep him out of your head anymore than you could fight the fact that he haunted your dreams.

The fatigue didn’t creep towards you, but lunged like a hungry beast. It devoured your mind just as easily as it had already done your body. Resisting was never an option, all you could do was let it drag you down into those dark dreams were you would be left at the mercy of a madman. Somewhere deep down you welcomed the chance just to see him again. Even if you tried to fight it, missing him was always a given. He was just as much a part of you as your family was, though you hated him and clung to that emotion with all your might.

The sensation of something on your arm made it twitch and jarred you from your hazy thoughts. At first it felt like something crawling across your skin, but as you moved to swat it away you realized instead it was someone’s fingers trailing down your arm.

Your head lifted slightly so that you could peer at your folded arms. What you saw was indeed a hand, but it was connected to someone wholly unfamiliar. He was tall, dark haired, and pale. Very pale. His black hair hung near his shoulders and his eyes were dark—in the low light you couldn’t make out the color. It should have been startling that this stranger was in your classroom touching you for whatever reason, but that was not what you felt.
Curiosity lit up like a torch inside you.

The stranger’s hand slid slowly down to your own, his fingers twisting between yours as he urged you up. Resisting never even came to mind.

He was taller than you were by at least a head and the first hint of familiarity came when his arms were around you. Laying your head against his chest, letting him hold you, it seemed like something you had done before. Your free hand curled against his dark robes as you tried to remember why this was so painfully familiar. It felt like it should have been obvious. It felt like you knew him, that he was a part of you.

—up—

He wasn't speaking and neither were you, but you could have sworn you'd just heard a voice. It was the furthest thing from your mind though to care. Especially when he held you tighter and tilted your chin so that you were looking directly into his eyes.

Eyes that were no longer dark, but bright, gleaming, and horrifyingly familiar.

Miss—up!

His eyes were red and boring into yours as they widened. You realized suddenly that you were leaning up towards him; you couldn’t have stopped yourself even if you wanted to. He smiled just a little as he started to lean in.

You knew who he was and that only made the yearning you felt more powerful. Seeing him hurt even as it made you feel finally whole again. He leaned down towards you and the warmth of his body, coupled with your searing need for him left you dizzy and dazed. It was impossible that he was there and strange that he looked nothing like himself. Yet the why and the how did not matter. What mattered was his closeness and the ache you felt for him. You'd never wanted to kiss him so badly before and his lips were so close you could feel them.

“Vol—”

He pressed his lips to yours and it was like salve to a pain you hadn’t noticed before, but that you realized in that moment had been killing you. Slowly eating at your insides like a cancer.

He was your cure.

“Miss Dumbledore needs to wake up!”

Your entire body jolted and your head shot up—from where? The desk? Your desk?

The hazy mix of thoughts, both real and unreal mixed together in a jumble that made no sense at all. You’d just been standing—with Voldemort—and now you were sitting. Someone had spoken, someone other than you or him—someone had been speaking for awhile.

“Miss Dumbledore!” That someone was a very small, very strange looking creature that you did not recognize.

Though the most befuddling thing was not this short, bat-eared creature—a house elf if your mind was working right—but what it was calling you. It was the first time you could recall being referred to by that name. Both to make Umbridge work to figure out who you were and also in respect to your adopted father, you were still going by your adopted name. Whoever this little creature was though, they knew your real one.

“Who—” Your head was spinning at the strangeness and suddenness of all this. You realized the snake was no longer on your shoulders, though you had more pressing issues to worry over than where it had wandered off to. “What’s going on?”

“The Headmaster wants to see you, miss!” The tiny creature squeaked and it seemed to be very anxious about getting you up and heading out the door.

You wondered if perhaps your dream hadn’t had more of an effect on you than you realized. Perhaps you looked as drained and confused as you felt. That would explain why your legs nearly gave out from under you when you stood. The house elf pushed against you to keep you from toppling over and you gripped the desk tightly for balance.

It spoke again, though you missed what it said as the room twisted around you. You had to close your eyes to keep from being sick and stand there just focusing on your breathing. Though this sadly helped very little as you could still see Voldemort when you closed your eyes.

The house elf waited though as you pulled yourself together, still keeping its tiny hands pressed against your leg.

“Where is the headmaster?” You asked when you no longer felt that nauseous twisting in your stomach.

“The astronomy tower, miss!” It pipped up immediately. “He seems troubled.”

The knowledge that your uncle was troubled was enough to push your own worries and ill feelings aside. It took a lot to get under his skin to and to actually make him look troubled. Regardless of your unsteadiness you hurried out the door with a quick ‘thank you’ to the house elf.

You rushed down the halls, up the stairs, and around to the other side of the castle just as quickly as your unsteady feet would carry you. Thankfully all the moving around did you more good than ill, because by the time you burst out of the door into the night air you felt very much like yourself again. Though, of course with the added worry in the pit of your stomach stemming from not yet knowing what it was troubling your dear uncle. Not to mention the settling chill against your skin from the winter air.

You hadn’t thought to grab a coat before you rushed out.

Your uncle looked around when you dashed out onto the landing and to your dismay he certainly looked very much in turmoil. The weight of whatever issue bothered him made him look much older and even a little sick. Such a sight made you feel very anxious.

“What’s wrong?” Your question came out winded and rushed, but he heard you none-the-less.

He looked so serious and the intensity of his gaze left you unsettled. Though not nearly as much as the words that followed. “We need to talk.”

That one statement told you far more than you would have expected. Somehow you knew exactly what he wanted to talk about. That it wasn’t just your strange behavior or your inexplicable illness. The way he was looking at you and the way he said it told you that he knew Voldemort was behind your condition. It was like he too could see right through you.

Though unlike Voldemort, what you saw in his gaze was not shrewd or calculating. It was concern. He was afraid of what was happening to you and it showed on every inch of his face. Your shoulders slumped as you faced the fact that you had failed to hide your problems from him. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about without knowing that Voldemort was slowly driving you mad. He’d probably even put together the meaning behind your new pet as well, though you still hadn’t told him for fear of the questions it would bring up. Questions you didn’t know how to answer.

You couldn’t even stand to hold his gaze knowing all the pain that you had caused him, that you were still causing him. The only thing that could be worse was if he wasn’t the only one you were hurting.

“Does dad know?” The question tumbled forth sounding meek and almost too low to hear. However, your uncle had moved closer after you looked away and seemed to hear you just fine.

“I thought it best not to worry him just yet.” His reply was weary and made your heart ache, though you were also filled with an unbearable amount of gratitude. He was keeping it to himself just as you had kept it to yourself. You both had suffered in silence, but no longer did you suffer alone.

“Thank you.” It was hard to convey everything you felt. You just couldn’t seem to find the right words for any of it. There were apologizes on the tip of your tongue, along with endearments and much more gratitude. However, they were a jumbled up mess that you couldn’t properly sort through. What came out wasn’t even close to covering all that you wanted to say, but it would have to do.

"How much do you know?" It had taken a moment to collect yourself enough to speak and longer still to look up at your uncle's face.

He looked as tired as you felt. "I know that Voldemort is behind your 'illness' and that he's been spying on you."

You nodded, though he needed no confirmation. "If it's not his snake in every shadow then it is him in my head. I hear him speak sometimes so clearly as if he's in the room with me." You didn't have to look at your uncle to know that your words were affecting him. Yet you knew better than to try and hold back or lie. "I see him when I close my eyes. Even in my dreams I can't escape him. I want to hate him so much. Everything he's done, everything he continues to do..." You tried to muster up the strength to look at him, but you felt too much shame to lift your head. "Even with all the anger I feel, I just can't do it."

“What you’re feeling: it’s—” He sounded so conflicted and as though he really wanted to say something but it didn’t want to come out or he had no idea how to say it. It was the first time you’d seen him like this. “It… will pass.”

You knew that wasn’t what he’d wanted to say, but you kept your mouth shut. He sighed suddenly and you chanced a glance up at him. He was looking off in the distance and seemed somehow even older than before.

“I can help keep him out of your head, but you must want to keep him out.” The way he stressed this made it obvious that he knew your inner plight. That he knew you weren’t entirely sure if you actually did want him out and somehow that felt like the most shameful thing of all.

***

Sitting in your uncle's office suddenly made you feel like a child. Perhaps it was because it was dark and you were briefly alone, but it seemed much bigger than usual and much more imposing. Though, the fact that you were being watched by most, if not all, of the former headmasters very well might have had something to do with that too.

They pretended like they weren't looking when they thought you might see them at it, but you could tell they weren't asleep. Curious, prying eyes bearing down on your back. More eyes in the dark.

You glanced down to see the glow of red in the far shadows of the room. Crimson eyes some how glowing in the dark. A familiar gaze in a familiar room.

“You’ve been here with me before.” The words popped out of your mouth, soft but certain. A whisper of a memory that did not exist in your head anymore. Yet somehow you were sure that you’d once stood in that very room with Voldemort himself. You just weren’t sure how that was even possible.

You broke his stare to chase that thought, that memory. Yet it was like trying to tug at air. It did not have a form. It was the ghost of your memory. You could feel it, but you couldn’t touch it. That didn’t keep you from trying though, even as your head started to split from the pain of chasing ghosts. Even as you turned from the red eyes and to a pair of blue ones.

Only when your uncle knelt before you were you forced to let it go.

“He was here with me.” You whispered to him and then glanced to where the snake had been before.

“Yes,” your uncle’s voice was just as soft. “He applied for a position here when you were a child.”

You looked back at him suddenly. Voldemort had wanted to teach at Hogwarts? It was startling to know that about him, though you didn’t need to ask what class.

“Same position as me, right?” There was something almost comforting in that. Something familiar.

“Yes, though I had to turn him down.” He admitted easily enough, though you caught the way his eyes lingered on the shadows where the snake had been moments before. Had he seen it too? Or only just felt the presence of danger in the room? “It is, perhaps, one of the reasons why we can never seem to keep a teacher for it.”

You actually smiled a little at that. Though it was more ironic than amusing. Voldemort’s student unwittingly obtained the position he’d once been denied. “Well, maybe the curse won’t work on me. He actually was my teacher for a time. Funny how these things work.”

His grin was wry. “You are far better suited for the position.”

The compliment helped lift your spirits just a little. The notion that you might be better than Voldemort at anything made you feel a bit of pride. Though you knew that he could be an amazing teacher if he had a mind for it. He’d been great with you.

“So how do we do this?” Your stomach clinched a little at what was coming. Occlumency was a subject you’d touched on briefly in your research, but you didn’t know much about the practical applications of it. It was meant as a way to keep others from prying into your thoughts through legilimency, but that didn’t explain how one actually went about it. It was an obscure and ancient branch of magic dating back to at least the middle ages. The thought was a little intimidating.

“I will attempt to access your thoughts. What you must do is resist.” He stated as he helped you to your feet and made you stand. With a wave of his hand he sent your chair sailing easily towards the wall. Much of the room was cleared in this way, in fact. He took his place directly across from you so that you faced one another. “An occlumen depends upon a strength of will. A determination not to yield.”

Basically all the things you lacked in response to Voldemort. Though you were careful to tuck that thought away and at least try to muster up the things he asked of you. It certainly would be easier if you didn’t have that little voice in your head all the time. Urging you to give in. Tempting you. Coaxing.

You steeled what resolve you could find and looked your uncle in the eye. Staring at him across the room like this, as if facing him in a duel, felt familiar but wrong.

He’d been smiling before.

You tried to push the thought away, because it made your stomach twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t smile this time because he was worried. For you. You’d wanted to protect him and yet all you were doing was making him worry.

A sudden feeling of floating covered your mind. It was a comfortable sensation—peaceful. Even as it started dredging up images, memories, that you hadn’t been thinking about.

Staring down Umbridge in the classroom. The mayhem of the children learning new spells. Lucius asking you to join him elsewhere…

Voldemort sitting in his throne. Reaching for you just as you reached for him.

You pulled away from this memory because it hurt and suddenly you weren’t floating—you were falling. You staggered and nearly fell, but you managed to lock your knees and brace yourself on them. Your hands shook, much as the rest of you did, but you forced yourself to stand straight. A chill had settled into your skin in the absence of the spell. Looking into your uncle’s eyes and knowing he had seen everything you had only made it worse. As if the sickness inside your head was leeching out into your flesh.

Your resolve wavered. What else might he see in there before you could find the strength to keep him out?

The warmth covered you once more and the doubts faded beneath the fog. It felt like only the tips of your toes even touched the ground. As though the magic held you aloft like a puppet on strings. A happy puppet, without a care. You almost didn’t remember that there was anything to care about. The nagging voice that reminded you of it was weak and hard to hear. The memories flashed like vivid pictures. One after another. Scenes that were familiar and comforting.

Sitting at your father’s bar watching him toss a rowdy patron out on his ass. Curling up before the fireplace in your uncle’s study planning lessons.

Voldemort holding you in his arms, looking very unlike himself but still managing to be a familiar and welcome sight.

You could feel it as if it were as real and tangible as the wand in your hand. The yearning that came along with this image was so powerful you could have lunged for that scene. Though you knew very well it was all in your head. That you couldn’t actually touch him. But you wanted to so bad it almost didn’t matter. You wanted to fall back into that moment and never leave. You could almost feel it.

His touch. His closeness… His lips.

You didn’t fight it. You couldn’t.

Yet still the vision faded. Even without resistance on your part the memory slipped away and reality came crashing back in its place. Your knees nearly buckled as your classroom traded places with your uncle’s study and you traded red eyes for piercing blue. The relief slipped away so quickly you could no longer remember what it felt like. In its stead was a creeping sickness as you realized the gravity of what had just happened. What your uncle had just witnessed.

He’d seen you kiss Voldemort. Worse yet, he’d seen how you felt about him and no doubt sensed your desire to remain there with him as well. Suddenly you were horrified on top of everything else.

When you looked up his expression was neutral, but only just. As though he’d quickly hidden his feelings right before you could see them. The thought was not comforting in the least.

You wanted to explain yourself, but what could you say? He’d seen what had happened, he knew who it was, and there had been nothing hidden or contextual that might make it better. Your feelings for Voldemort was a subject carefully avoided, but he’d always known in some respect that you had them. You wondered suddenly if he’d ever realized their true strength. That it wasn’t just the power you’d become addicted to, but the man himself. Voldemort was the vice, the power was a bonus.

“Again.” You grit out despite your inner struggles and the way your limbs felt leaden. After all, what more was there to see that could really hurt either of you? He’d already dug out the worst of it, hadn’t he? You couldn’t think of any memory more painful for him than of you kissing Voldemort. The worst was over and you damn well wanted something to show for your troubles.

This time when you felt the warmth of your uncle’s spell though, it wasn’t the same. There was a wobble to the way you floated, as if at any moment you might just fall. You didn’t lift into the haze the way you normally did. Instead your mind seemed to duck in and out of it in quick flashes.

An image of your adopted father smiling. Back to the room with your uncle. A brief, flickering memory of that night in the rain. The street where your adopted father had found you. The first memory after everything had been taken away. Your uncle’s expression changed suddenly into a look that you didn’t understand. Almost as though he’d confirmed something. Yet the next memory was… gone. Not a memory so much as a sensation.

Something you couldn’t see, but that you could feel and it felt wrong.

You rejected it on instinct more than by actual thought. The force of your rejection was enough to send the spell flying off of you and bouncing right back on its caster. Suddenly the memories weren’t yours. Suddenly you were looking at three terrified young men around the body of a red-headed girl. Her dead eyes seemed to bore straight into your soul.

It was only a glimpse before the link was severed, but in it you had felt immeasurable pain. A name teetered on the very tip of your tongue, but you didn’t dare to say it out loud.

Ariana.

Chapter Text

For a long time neither of you spoke. You barely even looked at each other.

That one suspended moment, that single image, caused you so much pain just in passing. You couldn’t begin to imagine having something like that in your head. To live each day carrying that kind of hurt. It went beyond anything you’d ever felt before. Even betrayal didn’t cut that deep.

Knowing that someone you loved more than anyone or anything was dead and there was a one in three chance you’re spell was the one that killed them. A chance you shared with two more people you loved. It was the worst sort of nightmare. Made worse still because you knew your father had that same pain locked away in his mind as well. Two of the people you loved most in the world were tormented by the same demon. They held the majority chance of having killed their own sister.

You wanted to say something to him, to reassure him somehow, but you didn’t even know where to begin. He’d lived with that horror for so much of his life, how could you even begin to undo the damage or offer him comfort? You barely even knew what happened. You’d only glimpsed his pain, you couldn’t really hope to understand it. Not without asking, without delving deeper, but you were afraid to open that wound any further.

He already looked like a haunted man.

You moved closer because that was the only thing you could do. It was the same reason you reached for his hands. You didn’t know what to say to help him, but you loved him and wanted to do something to let him know he didn’t have to shoulder that pain alone. Not anymore.

His hands curled around your own as you looked up at him.

“I’ve done many terrible things in my life.” It was like he spoke to the pain in your heart. Like he could see it in you just as surely as you could see it in him… and it was all you could see right then. The weight of the pain in his eyes could have crushed you. He looked ancient, far beyond his years. Like a man who’d seen all, knew all, and carried the burden of countless mistakes. But then he smiled and looked much more like himself again. “Forgive me.”

His words held a certain duality and you know he didn’t just mean for his melancholy.

“You are forgiven.” You could only hope he heard the same in yours.

***

It never felt like the lessons helped at all. If anything they seemed to make your condition worse. As though you were more open to this connection with Voldemort than you had been before attempting to shut him out. It felt that way after the first and hasn’t changed in the many lessons that followed.

There was also the addition of Ariana to your thoughts that needed to be purged each night. Yet there really wasn’t an image in all the world that could erase the memory of your long dead aunt from your mind. Though you’d seen it for only a moment, it had lodged itself so deep in your thoughts that you doubted even magic could remove it.

Her face was disarmingly peaceful, surrounded as she was by the aftermath of the battle her death had halted. You couldn’t say if it was her expression, your uncle’s, or your father’s that haunted you the most.

Empty your thoughts.

You had to keep reminding yourself of your purpose each night.

Think of nothing.

Of why you were doing this in the first place. Why it had to be done and done right.

Emptiness. Nothingness. A black abyss… that just would not stay black and empty.

Every wayward thought in existence seemed to pop in and change nothing to something. A pair of red eyes that you could feel boring into your skin. The man they belonged to. The snake he was possessing. How much you wanted to scream at him for robbing you of your freedom and sanity. How much you missed him despite every attempt at hating him.

You’d picture him in your head and think up every possible reason for hating him before remembering that you weren’t supposed to be thinking of anything at all. Then you’d be right back to the mantra.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

No imagined arguments. No images of the one you wanted to argue with. No thoughts twisting like snakes in your head…

It sounded so easy before you actually tried. There were far more thoughts in your head than you’d realized and they only seemed to make themselves well and truly heard when you were trying to force everything out. They weren’t about to go quietly, if they went at all. It certainly didn’t help that Voldemort was watching your pathetic attempts either. The snake’s eyes were still red as it lay coiled on the pillow beside you.

He was probably getting a kick out of your efforts to block him. Both of you knew it was ultimately futile. What good would it do to shut him out when he could just come get you? In fact, what if shutting him out was the thing the ended up forcing his hand? What if ridding yourself of him on your end made him all the more determined to come get you himself?

You turned your back to him in frustration.

All of these worries weren’t doing a damn bit of good. Especially not in clearing your head: they just muddied it up further. More thoughts that needed to be banished. More confusion that made you feel restless even as exhaustion weighed down upon you. It was harder than it should have been to just lay there and try to think of nothing at all. You were so tired and yet your mind raced in a thousand different directions. There was just too much information rolling around in your head. Too many thoughts taking up space and keeping you awake.

You were tempted to seek out Severus and see if he didn’t have a potion that could forcibly clear your head. Or at the very least give you one for dreamless sleep. Yet it was late and you were loath to subject anyone else to sleeplessness on your behalf. No doubt he’d question why you needed the potion and it was bad enough that one person knew of your troubles. You weren’t one to spread misery if you could help it.

Plus his room was a long walk from yours and you didn’t really have the energy to get out of bed. Nor did you have the heart to summon him to yours. Misery may love company, but you were too stubborn to let it have any. It wasn’t worth dragging anyone else into this abyss of turmoil and terror just for a little less suffering on your part. Assuming it didn’t just add to it instead.

So you turned your focus outward as best as you could, looking for something, anything, that might hold it. There wasn’t really much in your room to look at though, especially not in the dark.

Your gaze was eventually drawn out through the crack in the curtains where you could just see the sky from your bed. Half the moon was consumed by clouds that threatened to devour it completely. It felt like there might have been some sort of metaphor in there appropriate to your situation, but you were much too tired to properly consider it. Plus you were supposed to be pushing away all thoughts, not summoning more of them.

Thus you continued to fight what felt like a losing battle, forcing back each thought—new and old—and focusing only on the sky. You watched the moon fade into the black abyss only to pull itself back out over and over again. Sometimes just in pieces, fragments of its true form, and sometimes almost entirely.

A mindless activity that did little to ease your troubles, but helped push you just a little closer towards the nightmares that were sure to come. You knew better than to expect your halfhearted attempts to do anything about the monster lurking in your head. He would be there when you shut your eyes just as he always was.

You knew this. He knew it as well. Whether by magic or longing, he was always in your thoughts.

Finally, utterly exhausted, you fell into restless slumber. Later you would realize that you were not alone in this. That across the castle someone else shared your troubles and that this would be one of many nights that you would also share dreams.

***

It was not the first time Harry had dreamed of things he didn’t understand; that he’d shared in thoughts, feelings, or moments that did not belong to him. It wasn’t even the first time that he’d seen you in them.

You’d been in his dreams plenty over the summer and that trend hadn’t stopped upon his return to Hogwarts. It just wasn’t contained to the graveyard anymore. Sometimes he would be in your classroom, but not in his usual seat. Instead he was beside you, as though seated at your desk. Sometimes he would follow you down the hall and Hogwarts would become something else entirely. The halls that were familiar faded into the dark, curious place where all of his dreams ended.

It was better with you there though. Better because you were both a guide and companion in this dark place. You were like a being of pure light, so luminous that you were nearly blinding in the dark hall. He felt warmth at your closeness and a strange possessive need just at the sight of you. A need that grew in strength until it became utterly maddening. He’d reach out for you with hands like pale spiders and he’d just miss.

You’d walk right through the door, though it never opened, and suddenly he’d be left in the dark.

Then sometimes he merely watched you sleep, as though he were lying there next to you. A conflicting place to be: full of confusing emotions that he couldn’t seem to grasp before they slipped away and he awoke wondering why his chest felt so hollow.

He wasn’t sure why you were in his dreams so often. The graveyard made sense to him. There you were the only light in a darkness that seemed endless. The only person not trying to kill him or laughing at his suffering. You didn’t want him to suffer at all: that much was clear; but what could you do? What could anyone do?

Voldemort had been dangerous and neigh unstoppable even before he’d regained his body. With it, it felt like he couldn’t be defeated. The only way he’d been stopped the first time around had been by accident. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice either. It seemed impossible that anyone would ever best him again, even Dumbledore, and knowing that you were mixed up in it made it worse. Seeing what he did to you and knowing that there wasn’t anything he could do about it was torture.

Voldemort was the worst kind of evil: a true monster. A monster who consumed all that was good in the world and turned it to ash. He would consume you too, he was already doing so in fact. Harry could see it in your eyes, in the way you seemed to fade just a little more every day.

Voldemort was killing you.

He saw it when he was awake and watching you from a distance. He saw it more when he was asleep and closer to you than he had any right to be. When you were at your most vulnerable and he was so drawn to you that he couldn’t stand it. During the day you were his teacher, but at night you were his obsession.

Yet another ‘similarity’ he and Voldemort seemed to share, though he took solace in the fact that at least he wasn’t hurting you.

Every day you looked more weary than the last and he wondered, as he often did, what Voldemort was doing to you. What nightmares were stealing the life from your eyes? He could imagine them being similar to his own, at least in having the same face as the one that leered at him between the graves night after night before you had replaced it. As much as these dreams of you worried him, confused him, and left him lying to the people who cared about him: he couldn’t consider them being any sort of terrible. Not like the ones of Voldemort.

You were a thousand times better than that.

***

It didn’t matter how much you actually slept: it never seemed to be enough. Each day you were more drained than the last. The strain of occlumency lessons on top of everything didn’t help either, though your uncle assured you that they would eventually solve your problems. However, you had to actually improve at it and that required a strength of will you couldn’t seem to muster.

Something that your uncle was no doubt aware of and that only made you feel worse. It was bad enough he could see the demons inside your head, but so much more horrifying that he knew some part of you wanted them. That he could see your feelings for Voldemort with clarity no one should have to suffer having, let alone someone who loved you as surely as he did.

He was understanding about it, more so than you’d ever expected, but that only seemed to make it hurt more. Frankly it might have been easier to take him screaming at you for such stupidity and self-destruction. Pity and understanding was so much worse.

With no appetite or energy, you decided to skip dinner altogether that evening and retire to your room. No one could say you didn’t need the extra sleep—for all the good it would actually do. At least it would give the appearance that you were trying to get better. Trying to beat the sickness that was sapping your strength and will to get out of bed each morning.

Not that your uncle would be fooled. Nor likely would anyone who knew what was really wrong with you. Even the people who knew only that Voldemort was involved seemed to see through your attempts at normality. You didn’t think they believed your smiles any more than your lies. Though you weren’t sure if that was better or worse than actually fooling them. They would have likely worried less if they thought you were merely ill.

You entered your room with no real enthusiasm about being there. It was a conflicting place these days. Easier than being around people and yet somehow harder all at once. In there you suffered alone. This meant protecting the people you cared about to some extent, but you knew well and good that you were losing this fight.

Try as you might to pretend otherwise, you could see clearer than anyone what Voldemort was doing. How he was breaking you down in every sense of the word.

Leaning against the doorway that closed your suffering off from the world, you looked to the bed to see exactly what you’d expected. A pair of brilliant red eyes that saw every bit of your pain.

“Enjoying yourself?” You all but sneered at him though you were much too tired for any sort of venting or true anger.

He’d worn you down well beyond that point.

Naturally all you got for a response was his continued staring as he waited for you on the bed. Briefly you wondered what it must have been like for the snake to share a body with Voldemort for any length of time. You wondered if maybe it felt as tired as you did from it.

You dropped to the bed face first right into the pillows. At least that way you wouldn’t have to look at him. Though you could still feel his gaze as if it were a physical touch. As always, it was distracting and made it that much harder to fall asleep. Especially knowing that he’d be waiting for you there.

Groaning at the thought and the utter exhaustion you rolled onto your back and looked towards the ceiling. You were steadfastly avoiding the temptation of looking at him, of giving him any more satisfaction than he already took in knowing how easily he could get under your skin. You shut your eyes and tried in vain to clear your thoughts. Though even with them closed you still saw those eerie red eyes… this time they had a face. One you both loved and loathed. Two faces really. The one you’d become so accustom to, white and snake-like, and the one he’d shown you only recently. The handsome, charming face he’d used in your dreams.

Someone knocked at the door.

You jumped a little in response, though the sound was soft and only carried because of the utter silence in your room. The knock seemed tentative, as if your visitor wasn’t entirely sure they wanted to come in. Much like you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to let them. It was getting harder and harder to hold yourself together even when you were alone, especially at the end of the day when everything you repressed came back stronger than ever.

Still, what would they think if you just ignored them? Would they give up and leave or just come in anyway? You could certainly think of a few people who’d be worried enough to break down the door…

Not possessing the energy to rise, let alone cross the room, you gestured halfheartedly at the door. It flung open to admit whoever was on the other side. Really, you didn’t much care who it was. You half hoped they’d see you on the bed and leave you be thinking you were trying to sleep.

You didn’t even bother lifting your head off the pillow, though your serpent companion—thankfully green-eyed rather than red—lifted his. You hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of checking to see if he was still there. If those red eyes had turned to the doorway towards whoever it was paying you this sudden visit.

The fatigue greatly overpowered your curiosity, though you could hear them as they entered the room. Whoever it was moved softly, with hardly a step to be heard over the swish of a cloak against the floor. Your eyes fell shut with nary a care as to the intruder. It could have been Umbridge for all you really cared.

A cool hand against your forehead nearly made you leap out of your skin. They placed it there palm down as though checking your temperature. You cracked an eye open to see Severus frowning down at you. The sight of him so close and looking so concerned made an even greater mess of the mayhem inside your head.

You didn’t like it when he frowned like that. Didn’t like knowing that you caused him to worry. Because you could see it every time you looked at him… the concern he felt, the worries that plagued him, and how he too seemed to see right through the walls you built around your pain.

“I’m almost inclined to believe you actually are ill.” He stated simply, but there was something in the way he said it that sounded a little too shrewd and knowledgeable for your liking.

“Whats giving you doubts?” Your question was weary and your shoulders tight with anxiety. It was hard keeping things from your family, but somehow harder to keep things from him. If he asked the right questions, he would get his answers.

“You haven’t been to anyone for treatment.” He said this like he’d made sure of it before he’d even stepped foot in your room and you had little doubt of that being the case. Severus was nothing if not proficient in everything he did. He’d have checked with Poppy and your family to be sure.

Knowing this made it that much harder to hold back, to keep your feelings and fears hidden from him. “Maybe I’m just stubborn when it comes to dealing with things myself.”

“You truly believe you can deal with him on your own.” It wasn’t a question and that knowledge left you cold. It sounded like a revelation: one that he couldn’t seem to fathom. “You think that if you hold yourself together and suffer through it, that it’ll just go away. That he will just… give up.” His eyes locked yours in place and he stepped forward in a surge of anger. Regardless of the anger his next words were slow and measured. “He does not give up.”
 
“I know.” There was a finality to these words and maybe that was what left him looking so staggered. Or perhaps it was the fact that you knew exactly what you were up against and still tried to fight it alone.

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that and it was hard to put a name to the feeling this left in you. To see someone so confident and seemingly assured in all he did reduced to looking like a lost, scared little boy. His eyes were so full of pain… A deep sort of hurt you wanted more than anything to suffer in his stead. To draw out of him and into yourself where it couldn’t touch him.

You couldn’t though. He was as doomed to suffer as you were, as your family was. This sweet, broken man who loved you. Maybe not the way that you loved him and maybe not with the same fierceness that you felt; but he loved you. He worried for you. Feared for you. Broke into tiny little pieces over what was happening to you and the fact that he didn’t know how to save you from it.

You wanted to protect him from it all. To make his pain go away, make him forget it had even existed in the first place. But how? How could you save him when you couldn’t even begin to save yourself? What good was it to try and spare him this pain now when you were going to cause something much worse later? Was it any sort of kindness to attempt to shield him? Or would it only make the betrayal that much harder to bear?

Yet you couldn’t just not try. To give up on him when he wasn’t giving up on you. He was worth fighting for. If only just to spare him even a little hurt.

He raked a hand through his hair in frustration as he turned away, his movements stilted and tense. You could see the anger beneath every moment, the tension and nerves that he tried to hide away. He looked like an animal in a cage as he paced.

Several times he turned towards you as though to speak, but either lost his nerve or decided against what he’d planned to say. Maybe he just couldn’t find the words at all, though he desired to say something. Every time you glimpsed his face he seemed more aggrieved than the last as he lost the battle to hold onto his anger and succumbed to the despair you both seemed to share.

Finally he just dropped onto the couch. Despondent and tired. His profile alone looked as weary as you felt. And you knew you’d put this in him. This helplessness that left him so drained.

In that moment you realized what you needed to do to save him in the long run, what would have been better for him overall despite the pain it would cause you both. You should have sent him away… you just didn’t have the heart to. Not only because of the way it would hurt him either, though that was a large part of it. You didn’t think your heart could handle doing that to him or continuing to suffer alone when you could take comfort in someone.

You needed him. More than he needed you and more than you really should have. It was selfish, but impossible to ignore. You were drawn to him as surely as the tide is drawn to the shore. You fought it, tried to pull away, but you were always drawn right back to him. There was no escaping him anymore than you could escape Voldemort.

For better or, more likely, worse; you were trapped between these men whom you loved with every fiber of your being.

You moved towards him slowly, but with a sureness you hadn’t felt in a long while. Though you tried to reason with your own desires, your own selfish needs, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. You sat down beside him and lifted his arm up to tuck yourself under it. You hadn’t even thought about it: merely acted upon it. As though it were a reflexive response to his pain. Something instinctual that made you feel as though you’d done it before.

He certainly reacted as though it were. His arms curled around you, tucking you safely into his side. It seemed reflexive on his end as well. He didn’t so much as pause to think on it: he just acted. Though after he turned his head to look at you and there was something akin to a smile tugging at his lips before he turned his body as well. He pulled you closer to him, held you tighter, and let his head rest atop your own. You could almost feel the relief in him just as surely as you felt it in yourself.

He exhaled deeply, a heavy sigh that said more than words ever could. The two of you didn’t need words though. There was something in his touch that spoke to you on a completely different level than mere words. He changed you with that touch.

You felt suddenly like a much younger person. Someone much less burdened with much more hope. Maybe this was where your need for him, the safety you felt with him, came from. Because there in his arms you felt like nothing could touch you. Not worries, not fear, not the nightmares that plagued you night after night… Not even Voldemort.

It felt safe there. Warm and comforting. You nestled closer to him and he held you tighter for it. Like he may never let you go… and that sounded wonderful. You wanted to stay in his arms forever.

Though, when you looked over to see a pair of red eyes in the shadows, you knew that the wish was foolish and dangerous.

***

You were in a hallway, though you had no memory to explain how you’d gotten there or where ‘there’ even was. It was too dark to make out very much at all of your surroundings. A deep, impenetrable sort of darkness that should not have left you feeling quite so… innervated.

The natural, sensible response to being alone in the dark was fear.

And you were very much alone.

Sssss… sssss…

At least, you’d thought you were.

Something was moving through the shadows, slithering its way down the hall where you couldn’t see it. Yet another thing you should have been afraid of and maybe to some extent you were… but you moved closer rather than turning away. You were drawn to this figure in the dark.

You could almost hear it calling.

Speaking your name in a voice both familiar and heartbreaking.

Urging you closer.

Come to me. It beckoned and you couldn’t find the will to resist. As though following this voice would give you everything you’d ever wanted.

Closer… closer… closer…

You let it lead you down the hall with nary a reservation or thought of opposition. Some part of you wanted to follow: a part much stronger in will than all other parts combined. You wanted this, wanted whatever the voice had to offer. You wanted to see them, to put a face to the voice that caused you such torment and happiness with distant words alone. Who put so much emotion into saying your name and then withdrew in all else they said.

You hurried onward into the darkness, racing to find them somewhere in the shadows of a seemingly endless corridor. On and on it went and further and further the voice seemed to slip. You were losing ground and yet you couldn’t seem to move any faster.

Yet for the endlessness of the hallway, the darkness was eventually broken. A light was pouring out from beneath a doorway and seemed to call to you with the same intensity as the voice.

However, you realized there was something else in the hall. Something waiting near the door. You kept moving towards it, picking up the pace as the sound of movement grew further and further away. A heap of shadows within shadows that was at first quite shapeless and strange. Yet when you came closer you could make out what it truly was. A person. Asleep and only half visible. You realized that it was because of his cloak. It must have been enchanted to render its wearer invisible, but it had slipped while he slept so that it started to bunch up in his lap.

You reached out towards the cloak falling off of him and froze when you heard the voice again.

Here…

It was coming from behind the door.

Forgoing the cloak and the man wearing it, you headed for the door. It wasn’t, in itself, and altogether appealing door. There wasn’t anything particular or attractive about it. Yet you couldn’t quite dispel the curiosity at what might be waiting behind it. At why the voice was so insistent on you going there.

You reached for the handle feeling a mounting suspense like a current beneath your skin. Your fingers lingered so close yet your body froze before you could touch it.

Something slithered across the floor and a surge of piercing dread countered the excitement of the reveal. You looked back to see red eyes in the dark. The person was still asleep and completely unaware of the danger. He had no idea how close he was to Death itself.

Those eyes kept coming closer and the man kept right on sleeping. You wanted to do something, but you were frozen.

Go on. The voice urged. What he said next felt more like an afterthought. Something not meant for you to hear, though you did. You don’t need to see this.

The fear rose in your chest and you tried to scream for the man to run, but you couldn’t make a sound. The snake lunged out of the darkness and you knew it was Nagini just as surely as you knew her that fangs were deadly.