Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s windy when you approach the big fancy office complex. The sun is beginning to settle in for the night, drawing back behind the tall concrete buildings surrounding your destination and dipping the world in heavy, cold shade. The chill that accompanies seems to seep up from the ground and into the air, erasing with it all traces of late summer warmth. You shiver involuntarily, feeling it seep right into your bones, and grip the handle of the small pram more tightly while making your way towards the wide glass doors. You take care to avoid the businesspeople who are crossing your path, presumably to hurry back home to their loved ones. One of them – a tall man in a dark blue suit and round glasses – holds the doors open for you on his way out and you give him a graceful smile as you push yourself and your precious cargo inside a wide, open lobby. The rush of noise meeting you here immediately slaps you wide awake.

The place is crawling with people, hustling and hurrying about as they see to get the last of their work done so they can return home. Heels and polished leather shoes are clip-clapping on floors of dark stone and mixing with the voices of so many people that a quick familiar feeling washes over you, like you’re back in the halls of the grand castle you had used to call your home. The smell, you notice, is very different though. It’s all floral perfume and stinging cologne and – is that coffee? Although not a common good in the Wizarding world, you recognise the rich aroma right away and it makes a tiny spark of comfort light up within you. Indeed, you can spot several small coffee shops along the hallway walls and briefly wonder whether one of them sells Firewhiskey too – Merlin knows you could use a shot now – but you quickly force yourself to concentrate on the issue at hand instead, which is finding the contact person who you were told would be waiting for you here.

As you set off to make your way down the long hallway, you start scanning the faces around you. There’s a young lady with her dirty-blonde hair drawn up in a professional bun, talking into her earpiece. A young man with dark skin busily discusses something about stocks with his muscular colleague who nods enthusiastically. An older man, all grey hair and hooked nose, brushes past you and spares you but a fleeting glance in the process. It’s only when you see all these people, hear all their voices, that you realise that you actually have no idea what you’re looking for. In your hurry to escape imminent danger, you hadn’t even asked what your contact looked like. The realisation sends a brand-new spike of anxiety up your spine, a certain tightness manifesting in your throat which seems to cut off all air from your lungs, making you feel light-headed.

Apparently, you’re not the only person who feels entirely too uncomfortable, too unsafe in this place though, because the small creature right in front of you chooses this very moment to stir in its sleep and make a noise of discontentment which pulls your attention right to it. You bow down above the pram and catch a glimpse of a round face surrounded by blankets. The little nose is scrunched up in irritation and for a moment, you’re afraid that the small one will start wailing, right here, in the middle of this unfamiliar place filled with people whose attention you would definitely prefer to avoid. As if to mock you about the thought, somebody bumps into you as you stand in the middle of the hallway and you mumble an apology, shuffling closer to the wall and out of the way. When you turn back to the babe, however, the face turns sideways, burying itself deeper into the soft fabric of the blue blanket and with a small sigh, the tender features relax back into blissful slumber. You sigh too, content for now that the little one can rest. This journey has been long and taxing already, and while you can feel how heavy your limbs and heart feel, you are glad that your companion is able to doze off again and shut out the world. You, however, must soldier on. For both of your sakes.

You allow yourself just another quiet moment of preparation to continue your journey through the hall when you feel a gaze on you that’s making the small hairs in the back of your neck stand on edge. The word DANGER seeps into your mind in a band of bold red letters, setting of an alarm which immediately sets you on edge. You are being watched. Stay calm, you tell yourself. There are so many people here, of course some will find you peculiar enough to stare. You repeat the words like a mantra and try to look entirely unbothered, but you just can’t shake the tenseness from your shoulders. Your mind is dangerously close to slipping into a panic attack, you realise, so you inhale deeply, grounding yourself in the feeling of stale office air filling your lungs. This is just an office. A normal Muggle office. There is no way they will find us here. And even if they do, help is here somewhere.

Unless I already missed them.

Something solid collides with your shoulder again, strong fingers wrapping around your forearm this time to keep you from stumbling to the ground. The unexpected contact shakes you from your thoughts and saves you from spiralling further. You turn your head up to apologise once more for not paying attention and a hooked nose shifts into your field of vision. At the sight of the man, something stirs in the back of your head, some vague kind of recognition. You have seen this face before, rushing past you in the hall- You stop short in your tracks when you make eye contact with a pair of carefully blank, dark orbs and a kind of mental force pushes into your mind. You are not prepared when the external force conjures the clear image of a small sandwich shop with a bright, yellow sign before your mental eye. Another forceful push and you are told to Wait there. Then, the fingers unwrap themselves from your arm and the man’s gaze breaks away from yours, and just like that, the presence in your head is gone as well.

~*~*~

By the time Severus steps back into the hall, only few people are left wandering the building anymore. The Polyjuice Potion has worn off several hours ago already but its aftereffects, paired with the strain of warding the place – charms have never been his strong point – make him feel slightly dizzy as a mild headache breaks out near his temples. He scans the area quickly, making sure not to draw any attention to him, but the place is almost abandoned, save for two cleaning ladies and a couple of late-night workers. The sun has long since vanished from sky, no longer breaking through the big dirty windows and leaving only the artificial overhead lighting to flicker through the halls. It’s dipping the interior of the office building into a sickly-cool sort off glow and making the features of the young woman look pale and sunken as she sits close to the bright yellow sign, cradling the babe close to her chest. It almost looks as if she were holding on to a cocoon of pale blue silk, still so far from breaking into a sparkling butterfly of hope, but the little tuft of hair peeking out from the top betrays the illusion and confirms that it is, indeed, a tiny human hiding between the soft folds of fabric instead. Somewhat pleased by the fact that the women followed his instructions, he navigates towards her.

The woman herself is staring ahead blankly, her mind seemingly somewhere else. Her eyes are unfocussed as she gently rocks back and forth to soothe the bundle in her arms, the movement entirely automatic and probably for her own comfort just as much as for her child’s. She doesn’t even seem to notice him as he approaches her, although his steps are quick and echo back from the old stone walls of the empty hall. A quick surge of anger fills his chest and he curses inwardly. Foolish girl! Here he is, once again risking everything for a person he hardly even knows, and all she can do is sit and stare and further endanger not only her own life, but that of her infant child as well! Within just a few more long strides, he is standing right in front of her and already reaching out to grab her by the shoulders to shake some sense into the daft woman. However, her eyes are suddenly snapping up to his in a surge of pure instinct and she rises from her seat as swiftly as a pixie, momentarily bringing herself between him and the bundle in her arms.

He feels something then, a strange kind of energy seemingly emitting out from her in waves. Something about it seems familiar, faintly scratching far back in his mind. It’s not a silent curse, nor some unspoken spell, but something much older, deeper, which reaches all the way into his magical core as she stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights. The sensation is entirely too repelling, as if this violent burst of ancient magic is trying to push him away from the woman’s form which now stands a few feet away from him, tension in fibre of her body, as if preparing to bolt from him at any moment. Her eyes are wide in her panic, catching every twitch of his body, but something else swirls in them too. A kind of strength born out of determination, so steadfast and steady that the unspoken challenge is as clear as a perfect brew of fresh Veritaserum. Just you dare. A second ticks by, and as he sees her like this – really sees her, from the dark bags of exhaustion under her eyes to the tired strain of her breathing and the firmness of her protective grip on the child – he suddenly knows just what this bust of magic that still pulses through him is all about, why it feels so familiar, and the realisation hits him like a train at full speed.

It’s blood magic. The love of a mother.

Like Lily’s.

A complicated mix of emotions breaks loose in his head and for an overwhelming moment, he thinks that he might have to vomit. He closes his eyes against the sensation, for just a moment, but when he opens them again and trains them at the pair in front of him, something in the girl’s gaze has shifted too and a flash of recognition flashes over her face. He can practically see the pieces clicking into place as she stares at him with wide eyes and a tremor runs through her body, breaking her out of her stupor.

“S-Snape, you…?”

Fine, Dumbledore, you old bastard. As you wish. Always as you wish. The ache in his temples intensifies, but he pointedly ignores it and takes a step closer, gesturing towards the door behind which their portkey is all set up and ready.

“Come. I will take you to a safe place.”

Chapter Text

You find yourself in a whirlpool of sounds and colours while painfully clinging to the pram with your left hand, and to the dented old bucket with your right. The characteristic feeling of being pulled towards your destination by an invisible force near your navel makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. Travelling by Portkey has never been the most pleasant form of transport but considering the unavailability of an access to the Floo Network and the anti-Apparition wards surrounding your destination, you don’t really have any other options. After only another moment or two, your surroundings start to solidify again, and you somehow manage to land both yourself and the pram somewhat gently on the ground.

Suddenly, your vision swims and the giddiness in your head makes you blindly stumble sideways, away from the pram and right into the shoulder of the taller man next to you. Hands gripping onto his billowing black robes, your stomach decides that, yes, this is the perfect time to violently empty itself right onto your former Potions Professor’s black boots. As you painfully retch up what little fluids have been left inside your stomach, you feel a pair of hands settle on your shoulders, awkwardly steadying your swaying form. Under different circumstances, you are sure, the scene would look absolutely hilarious. You can’t quite suppress the small, bitter giggle that bubbles up in your throat at the idea, the image the two of you must make. Only… the sound of loud and very unhappy wailing reminds you that it’s not, in fact, just the two of you.

Taking a shallow breath to clear your thoughts, you spit out once more to combat the sour taste of bile in your mouth – making sure to miss the man this time – and turn away from Snape with a small, mumbled apology. You don’t even bother to look up at him, sure to find an irritated scowl and maybe a disgusted grimace on his face. You’ve had your fair share of hostility lately, and you’ve never been on good terms with the man to begin with, not since he first stepped into the classroom to teach you and your 7^th year classmates for the first time.

Severus Snape had indeed been young when he first started out as a teacher, hardly a handful of years older than yourself. In fact, he must’ve still been a student himself when you first entered Hogwarts, during what was later to be known as the First Wizarding War. You can’t say now that you particularly noticed him during that time. You’ve had enough troubles as it was, caring about your studies and trying not to drown in the political madness of this world. On that first day of 7^th year, when the young man with pale skin and greasy hair stepped into the classroom, recognition had stirred within you. You had quickly brushed it off though, because albeit unusually young for this position, Professor Snape had made sure from the very first minute that respect and discipline where of the utmost importance to him. What followed was a tough year of difficult brews, hard studies, and an almost ridiculous number of points deducted from your House for reasons beyond your knowledge, but nevertheless, you had somehow managed to pull through with a passing grade in your N.E.W.T.s. Now, just a few years later, you find yourself thanking the man by vomiting on his boots. The ways of fate are curious indeed.

With a wordless swish of your wand, you vanish the mess you’ve made on the dark wooden floor of the house and lift the protective cushioning charm off the pram to scoop the little girl up into your arms. She’s still crying, big tears rolling down her round cheeks as heavy sobs bubble up in her chest. She has a bit of a hang for the dramatic, that one, but you acknowledge that this first experience of using a Portkey surely wasn’t a good one for her. In an effort to calm her down, you mumble sweet soothing words into her hair and rock her gently while turning back towards Professor Snape, eyes silently asking What now?

The man lets his eyes settle on you and your child for a moment, expression guarded and unreadable. His posture is rigid and buttoned up as always, but there’s a certain slouch to his shoulders which you can’t help but notice. It’s not something you’ve seen on the man before so your curiosity momentarily piques, but before you can even think of asking, Snape turns with a swoosh of his billowing black robes and grumbles “Follow me.”

After only a second of hesitation, you do as told, closely trailing after him. The pram stays behind but judging from the size of the hall which Snape leads you through, the flat should be small enough to easily find your wheeled helper again once you need it. In fact, there are only five doors branching from the small corridor you’ve landed in, the one closest to the pram looking just a little sturdier than the others – the house’s entry, you presume. The remaining doors look simpler, less sturdy, but just as run down as the walls with their faded flowery wallpaper which is peeling off at the edges. A thin sheen of dust covers every inch of the place and your and Snape’s steps leave faint footprints on the ground where you treat. An old coat hanger to your right carries what looks to be a severely moth-eaten grey cloak, about two times your size and equally as lost as the single red boot underneath it. Snape stops in front of the last door to the right, white paint chipped on the cracked wooden boards, pushing it open to reveal what looks like a small bedroom. He wordlessly steps aside, mentioning for you to enter.

“What is this place?” you ask softly as you move to sit on the bed, carefully balancing the now calm toddler in your arms. The springs squeak softly underneath your weight when you settle on the pale blue blanket and create a small cloud of dust to disperse into the room.

“This is a safe house,” Snape supplies matter-of-factly, his tone entirely unimpressed. “Only few know of its existence and the wards around it will provide additional protection. You are to remain here for now.”

You hum in agreement, letting your eyes wander around the room which is just as barren as the entryway. The old desk near the small square window looks like it could fall apart at any minute but maybe you could transfigure it to use it as a changing table. The height looks about right. You unconsciously shift your baby’s weight onto your other arm.

“I have supplies left for about a week,” you contemplate, mentally going through the contents of your duffle bag which still rests with the pram. “Will I be able to go outside and buy what I need?”

“You are to remain inside at all times.” Snape’s voice takes on an irritated tone and his dark eyes bore down into you. Immediately, you feel like you’re back in the dungeons of Hogwarts, about to mess up whatever delicate potion is bubbling in your cauldron. Your cheeks grow warm but you hold Snape’s gaze. After all, you are not his student anymore, and if you can trust Dumbledore – which you have no choice but doing right now – you are safe with the Potions Master. “Then how-”

“YORI!”

Snape’s harsh bark is followed by a loud crack like a whip crushing through the empty air, and a scrawny-looking house-elf with bulging pale yellow eyes appears in front of you. The loud sound makes both you and your baby jump and you immediately go back to shushing the child, gently stroking her head to sooth her tiny whimpers. The creature whose left ear is missing a significant chunk eyes you wearily, obviously not happy about having been summoned at this time of day, before it turns to give a quick and improper bow of the head towards Snape. “Professors Snape has called for Yori, sir?”

“You may call for Yori on occasion. He shall provide you with the necessary… materials,” Snape provides, ignoring the sour look he receives from Yori upon not acknowledging the house-elf. When he continues, the words which are directed at you are accompanied by a warning glare. “Be aware, however, that his services are needed first and foremost at Hogwarts Castle, and that he will report your every step to the Headmaster directly.”

It is meant to come across as a threat. You can tell by the way Snape’s eyes narrow at you, by the way his lips crawl at the mention of Professor Dumbledore. This was not my choice, he silently seems to communicate, so you better be grateful for what is being done for your sake. For a moment, you wish that you could speak with Dumbledore directly, if only just to feel the comfortable warmth that the older wizard radiates with every knowing twinkle of his eyes. The bundle pressed close to your chest reminds you, however, that comfort is not your primary concern right now. What you need to focus on, instead, is to survive, and to bring a child with you. And if Dumbledore sees fit to appoint a grumpy Severus Snape and a bitter house-elf as your protectors, then so be it. In a feeble attempt to calm your nerves, you take a deep breath and steadily meet the Potions Master’s gaze with your own. “I understand.”

Seemingly accepting your answer, Snape scoffs and gestures for Yori to go who vanishes with another loud crack and a low unhappy mumble. The house-elf leaves nothing behind but a new set of footprints on the dusty hardwood floor. Without sparing you another word or look, Snape too turns to depart, but before he has the chance to leave, there’s something which you feel like you can’t leave unsaid.

“Wait Sna- uhm, Professor!”

He stiffens, already halfway out of the room when you call out to him. You can see him hesitate for a moment, seemingly torn between rushing to leave and turning back towards you. When he decides to opt for the latter, however, you have already risen from your spot on the bed and moved towards him. You take a careful step closer and lock your eyes with his, channelling every ounce of sincerity within you into your gaze to make sure that he understands. The man doesn’t move a muscle as he stands before you, waiting, and his expression remains unreadable.

“Thank you.”

Neither of you moves, your gaze remaining steadily on his. Resolute. The child in your arms is silent too, as if time has stopped for just a second to allow you to express just how much this means to you. He needs to understand. Then, for the fraction of a second, you think that you can see something new flash through Snape’s hard eyes, but it’s gone as soon as you see it and you wonder if this is just your tired mind playing tricks on you. Without another word, the moment ticks by and Snape nods at you curtly before disappearing into the hallway in a whoosh of black robes. The sound of his footsteps lingers in your mind long after the front door falls shut with a dull bang and locks itself with three tell-tale clicks.