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Chapter Text

The biting wind whipped across Severus Snape's face, a stark reminder of the folly that had led him here, to this desolate corner of Yamalo-Nenetskiy, Russia. He pulled his threadbare cloak tighter, the meager fabric offering little resistance against the unforgiving arctic chill. He could still taste the acrid tang of fear, still feel the phantom sting of betrayal, the echoes of laughter that once warmed him now ringing with a cruel mockery. He was running, a fugitive from his own life, carrying a secret that burned like a poisoned ember within him. A secret he’d tried to extinguish, but now pulsed with a life of its own.

He had been foolish, naive to believe, even for a fleeting moment, that he was anything more than a plaything for the Marauders. James Potter, with his dazzling smile and practiced charm; Sirius Black, all swagger and reckless abandon; and Remus Lupin, the quiet observer, the one who’d seemed to see beneath the surface. They had captivated him, drawn him into their orbit with heady promises of acceptance, of a world where he wasn't just Severus Snape, the greasy-haired outcast. And then, the reality, cold and sharp as the winter air, had set in.

Now, the result of that disastrous dalliance was growing within him, a silent testament to his humiliation. He was pregnant, carrying the child – or children, the Healer had hinted, with a grave look – of all three Marauders. The thought was a bitter pill he had to swallow daily – or as often as he could stomach food at all, the nausea a constant companion. He was a walking, breathing contradiction: a half l-blood wizard carrying pure-blood children, a potions master who couldn't brew a cure for the despair that gnawed at his soul.

A crooked sign creaked in the wind, the Cyrillic letters barely visible through the gathering gloom. "Potion's Emporium," he translated hesitantly, the archaic script a strange comfort in this foreign land. It wasn't much, but it was shelter, and right now, shelter was more precious than gold.

He pushed open the door, a small bell jangling overhead. The interior was a stark contrast to the bleakness outside. Bottles of all shapes and sizes lined the shelves, refracting the lamplight in a kaleidoscope of colors. The air was thick with the earthy aroma of herbs and spices, a familiar smell that eased the tension in his shoulders, if only for a moment. Behind the counter stood an old woman, her face a roadmap of wrinkles, her eyes sharp and intelligent. She observed him with a quiet scrutiny.

"Welcome," she said, her voice raspy but kind. "You look like the wind has carried you far. What brings you to my humble shop?"

Severus hesitated, his meticulously crafted facade crumbling. "I… I need… some supplies," he finally managed, his voice hoarse. "For... brewing."

Remus Lupin, Grimmauld Place, London:

Remus stared at the half-empty teacup on the table, the lukewarm brew doing little to soothe the turmoil inside him. The silence in the house was oppressive, a stark contrast to the raucous laughter that used to fill it. James was withdrawn, his usual exuberance replaced by a gnawing restlessness. Sirius paced like a caged animal, his anger a volatile force that threatened to erupt at any moment.

"It's been three months, Remus," Sirius barked, his voice sharp. “Three months since he vanished. We need to find him.”

Remus sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "And how exactly do you propose we do that, Sirius? We've searched every corner of Britain. We’ve even sent owls to Europe.”

“We should be looking harder!” James, silent until now, slammed his fist on the table, making the teacups rattle. “He wouldn’t just disappear. He… he wouldn’t do that.” The conviction in his voice sounded as fragile as the china.

"We didn't know him as well as we thought we did," Remus said quietly, the truth heavy in his chest. All the taunts, all the cruel jests, had come back to haunt him. He had told himself it was harmless, part of their rivalry, their need to push each other's buttons. But now, in the deafening absence of Severus, the reality of their actions was inescapable. The image of Snape's pale, pinched face when they’d all learned of the outcome was haunting them all.

He’d thought for a long time of the potions master as ‘easy to read’. He had never been.

“I…” James started, his voice cracking, “I just want to make sure he’s alright.”

“We all do, James.” Remus murmured, he knew the guilt that James was trying to conceal.

Chapter Text

Days bled into weeks, the rhythmic drone of the wind outside the only constant in Severus’s life. The old woman, whose name he had learned was Baba Yaga - a name that brought a peculiar smile to her wrinkles - took him in without question, offering him shelter and work in exchange for his expertise. Her sharp eyes followed him as he worked, her silence a constant, not unkind, scrutiny.

He brewed potions, not the complicated, cutting-edge elixirs he was used to, but simple remedies for the ailments of the small Siberian town. He found a strange solace in the routine, in the precise measurements, the meticulous stirring, the slow transformation of ingredients. The familiar smell of herbs and potions became a comfort, a refuge from the storm of emotions that threatened to consume him. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had become his life.

He tried to not think about the Marauders, about the life he had left behind. But they invaded his dreams, their faces flickering like ghosts in his mind's eye. James’s smug smile, Sirius’s reckless laugh, Remus’s watchful gaze. Each one was a fresh wound on his already battered heart. Sometimes, during his nightmares, he saw himself reaching out to them, craving the comfort of their presence and he would wake in a cold sweat. He hated himself for it. He had to be strong, for his children, for the new life he was making.

His belly was rounding now, a gentle curve that betrayed his secret. He often caught Baba Yaga looking at his midriff with a knowing expression. It startled him, as if she could see straight through his soul.

One evening, as he was organizing the shelves, Babayaga spoke, her voice low and thoughtful, "The wind whispers many secrets, little wizard. It tells me you carry more than just potions within you." She didn't accuse, didn't pry, but the statement hung in the air, heavy with understanding.

Severus froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He met her gaze, her aged eyes seeming to hold the wisdom of centuries. For the first time since he had arrived, he felt a crack in the wall of his carefully constructed isolation. He could not lie to her. He didn't want to.

He finally exhaled, the sound a shaky whisper in the quiet shop, "Yes," he confessed, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. "I am… I am with child."

"Children," Baba Yaga corrected softly, a faint smile gracing her lips. "The wind speaks of more than one." Her gaze pierced him and then softened. "And the wind also tells me that they are not unwanted.”

Severus opened his mouth to vehemently protest, but suddenly the sheer exhaustion hit him and he just began to cry. Hot tears streamed down his face and he began to hiccup, the sound echoing in the silent shop. He brought his hands to his face, trying to muffle the sobs and he felt Baba Yaga's thin hand on his shoulder, grounding him, at least for a moment.

“Hush now, little wizard. You are safe here. We will take care of you.”

He didn't deserve her kindness, but he desperately craved it.

Chapter Text

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow that filtered through the grimy windows of the potion's emporium. Severus stood by the counter, his hands deftly measuring out dried herbs, the familiar scents swirling around him like an embrace.

Two years had passed since he had welcomed his twin babies into the world – Sylvia and Harry. The girl, Sylvia, had her father’s grey eyes, which shone with curiosity and the beginnings of magic. The boy, Harry, had inherited his father's untidy light brown hair and a fiery spirit that seemed to dance in his every move.

As they grew, Severus watched with a mix of pride and trepidation. Would they face the same darkness he had known? Or would they break the chains of fate? They were the light in his dark world, the very essence of hope that kept him going.

Severus worked tirelessly at the Potions Emporium, brewing potions day in and day out, ensuring that he could provide for his children. The shop, with its shelves filled with colorful vials and jars of magical ingredients, was his sanctuary. It was here that he found solace from the memories that haunted him - memories of a past filled with pain and regret.

Despite the passage of time, the scars of his past still lingered, buried deep within his heart. The fear of what could have been and the pain of what had been, they were his constant companions. Yet, for Sylvia and harry, he pushed forward, determined to give them a life he never had.

“Baba Yaga, do you think they ever think of me?” The words slipped from his lips before he could catch them, a whisper of vulnerability in the otherwise quiet room.

The old woman, hunched over her own task, paused. Her gnarled fingers stilled, and she looked up. “Who, little wizard? The ones who cast you aside like a broken wand?”

Severus flinched at her bluntness but didn’t turn away. “They were… my friends,” he murmured, the ache of the past tightening around him. “Or at least, I thought they were.”

“Friends?” she echoed, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Or puppeteers, pulling your strings until you danced to their tune?”

He clenched his jaw, the bitterness rising like bile. “You don’t understand. It was complicated.”

“Complicated, yes, but painful, too,” Baba Yaga replied, her voice softening. “You carry that pain with you, like a cloak that weighs heavy on your shoulders.”

With a heavy sigh, Severus returned to his task, but the weight in his chest was harder to shake. “I just want my children to have a life free from this… darkness.”

“Then you must first free yourself.” Her voice was steady, like the steady tick of a clock. “You must learn to let go of those who hold no power over you now.”

He nodded, but inside, he felt the familiar ache of longing. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Trust the wind, little one. It carries more than just whispers; it carries hope.”

As the sun surrendered to night, the atmosphere shifted. The door creaked open, and the familiar jingle of the bell echoed through the shop. Severus looked up, his heart racing as two small figures darted inside, their laughter slicing through the air.

“Mama, Mama!” they chorused, their voices high and full of joy.

“Baba Yaga!” they squealed, rushing to her side. Their tiny faces shone with delight, innocence radiating from them like light.

Severus's heart swelled. “What mischief have you gotten into now?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Nothing!” The twins replied in unison, their eyes glinting with the thrill of their little secrets.

Baba Yaga chuckled, her laughter like wind chimes dancing in the breeze. “Oh, I think that is a lie. Children are born with mischief woven into their very being.”

Severus crossed his arms and regarded them with mock seriousness. “What did you do?”

One of the twins, Sylvia, giggled. “We just found some frogs! They’re so slimy!”

“Do you have them with you?” He raised an eyebrow, but his lips quirked in a smile.

“Of course!” The boy brandished a small jar, the frogs inside leaping energetically. “Can we keep them?”

“Only if you promise to take care of them,” Severus replied, kneeling down to their level. “Frogs are not toys, you know.”

“Okay, we will!” they chorused again, their voices filled with enthusiasm.

Baba Yaga watched them fondly, a knowing smile on her lips. “See, Severus? They bring light into your world, just as you do for them.”

He sighed, the weight of the past momentarily lifted. “I want to give them everything I never had. But what if… what if I fail?”

“Failure is a part of life, little wizard. But you must not fear it. Embrace the messiness, the chaos. It is in those moments that we grow.”

Severus absorbed her words, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. He looked at his children, their laughter a melody that filled the room, and he felt a warmth bloom within him.

“Alright, then,” he said slowly, standing tall. “Let’s make a potion for the frogs.”

The twins squealed with delight, clapping their hands. “Yes! A potion!”

As they gathered supplies, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. Maybe, just maybe, he could carve out a life that was more than just survival. He could create a legacy, one filled with laughter, love, and perhaps a little chaos. The shadows of his past lingered, but they no longer felt insurmountable. With each day, he was building something new, brick by brick, for his children—and for himself.

__________________________________________________

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, the Marauders lived in a different kind of quiet. A quiet filled with the echoing silence of regret, a quiet that had started to become unbearable.

James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin had searched tirelessly for Severus. They’d scoured the country, ventured into neighboring nations, but found no trace of him.

The realization of what they had done – their cruel prank, the fake relationship, the casual brutality with which they’d broken his heart – gnawed at them constantly.

It had started as a game, a way to pass the time during their adolescence, but it had become a monstrous, life-altering mistake. They hadn't just hurt Severus; they had shattered something within him, something they now understood, they could never truly fix.

They didn't know about the children. They didn't know that Severus, their Severus, had carried their seeds and grown not one, but two vibrant lives. That ignorance was, perhaps, the most profound of their hurts.

The laughter that once filled their lives felt like a distant memory. The camaraderie that had been the foundation of their friendship was now brittle, strained by the weight of their shared guilt. James, once the perpetually optimistic one, often found himself staring into the fire, lost in quiet contemplation. Sirius, always the impulsive one, was now prone to bouts of angry frustration, his usual swagger replaced with a deep, self-directed loathing. Remus, the rational one, was burdened by the knowledge that he had been complicit in their actions, that he hadn't tried hard enough to stop them.

Their light was gone. Their hope had dwindled to a flicker, extinguished by the realization of what they had thrown away. Severus hadn’t just left; he had taken a part of them with him, a part they now desperately wished they could return.

As the days turned into nights, Severus and the trio in Britain existed in parallel worlds - one filled with hope and determination, the other cloaked in regret and sorrow. Little did they know that fate would soon bring their paths together once more, setting into motion a series of events that would change their lives forever.

Chapter Text

The flickering candlelight of ‘Potion's Emporium’ cast dancing shadows on the dusty shelves, each jar and vial holding a story of forgotten magic. Severus, perched on a stool behind the counter, meticulously arranged a collection of dried moonpetal, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The shop, his refuge in the remote Russian village of Yamalo-Nenetskiy, was usually a haven of quiet solitude. Today, however, the silence was punctuated by a nagging unease.

Agatha, with her usual knowing smile, had just announced the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. He'd dismissed the news as trivial until she'd mentioned the location: Russia.

Severus's fingers tightened around the chipped jar he held. Russia was far, far from Britain, a deliberate choice on his part when he’d fled. He’d built a new life, "Agatha," he began, his voice carefully neutral, "Did you say... Russia?"

Agatha, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, chuckled, a sound like crisp parchment crackling. "Indeed, Severus. A rather unexpected locale, isn't it? Quite a stir it’s causing in the magical world." She paused, her sharp eyes assessing him. "Of course, I'm sure you don’t follow such frivolous things."

Severus avoided her gaze, staring into the shelves. He did not follow 'frivolous things,' but he followed the movements of certain… individuals. The Quidditch World Cup was a magnet, especially for those who considered themselves at the pinnacle of sporting prowess. And he knew with chilling certainty that at least one of those individuals would be in attendance, proudly sporting his country's colours.

James Potter.

A flush of cold dread swept over him. Potter, the golden boy, the infuriatingly perfect Quidditch star. He was undoubtedly on the team. And where Potter went, his cronies followed. Sirius Black, the arrogant, reckless one. Remus Lupin, the quiet, watchful one, more dangerous in his subtlety.

He pictured them, young and vibrant – though surely they were older now - their roars of laughter echoing in his mind, a constant reminder of his past humiliation.

He closed his eyes, trying to push away the memories, the sting of their taunts, the burning shame of being their perpetual target. Had they changed? Grown? He doubted it. Some wounds didn't heal, some natures were immutable. What if he stumbled upon them, amidst the throng of cheering fans? What if they recognized him? He'd meticulously crafted this new persona, a quiet, watchful scholar in the shadows of a forgotten city. He wasn't the skinny, vulnerable boy anymore, but the ghost of that boy still haunted him.

The mere thought of Britain set off a maelstrom in his mind. A thousand 'what ifs' cascaded through his thoughts. What if they had been looking for him? Had they found him? Had they finally decided to seek him out after all these years? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, a primal fear that had lain dormant for so long threatening to awaken.

The consequences of his past catching up to him were terrifying to contemplate. He wasn’t ready, wasn't strong enough to face that again.

Before he could completely succumb to the despair that threatened to engulf him, the tinkling of the bell above the door drew his attention.

He blinked, momentarily disoriented, and focused on the entrance. A small woman with vibrant, dark-red hair and sparkling green eyes stepped into the shop, her entrance filling the small space with a burst of unexpected warmth. A pleasant smile graced her face, lifting the corners of her mouth and creasing the delicate skin around her eyes. It was a smile that was both disarming and strangely familiar.

The air shifted, and Severus's heart raced. Was this stranger a harbinger of his past, or a new chapter in his story?

Chapter Text

The door swung shut behind her with a muted click, cutting off the winter wind as if the world outside had been sealed away. The apothecary fell into stillness, save for the low hiss of the hearth and the occasional rattle of jars on their shelves. Severus straightened behind the counter, his hand pausing mid-motion as he set aside a vial.

The woman who entered moved with quiet assurance, her cloak dusted in snow, her posture unhurried. She seemed at ease in the dim, cramped shop. Yet it was not her poise that made his chest tighten — it was her eyes.

Emerald green, bright even in the candlelight. For a fleeting heartbeat, the memory of Lily Evans flashed before him — her smile, her gentle teasing, the warmth in her gaze. But this was no ghost returned. Severus forced the thought aside, clenching his jaw and tightening his grip on the counter.

“Good evening,” she said, her voice low, smooth, carrying an accent he couldn’t place. Calm, deliberate, the tone of someone who knew exactly what she wanted.

He inclined his head. “What are you looking for?” The words were sharper than he intended, a shield against the pulse of memory her eyes had awakened.

Her gaze moved slowly across the shelves, pausing only for a moment before she spoke. “Moonpetal. Dried, if you have it.”

Severus stiffened. Moonpetal was not a casual request. Rare, delicate, and used in potions that stirred memory, clarity, or truth — things people generally avoided unless they had purpose.

“You are familiar with its properties?” he asked, carefully masking his suspicion.

Her lips curved faintly, neutral but precise. “Enough. It helps one… see more clearly. Isn’t that its purpose?”

He studied her, looking for some hint of recognition, some trace that she knew who he was. But there was none. Her expression was neutral, her stance relaxed, as though she had no idea whose shadow she was standing in.

With deliberate care, Severus pulled down a jar of dried moonpetal and placed it on the counter. “Moonpetal requires precision. Misuse can be dangerous.”

Her gloved fingers brushed his as she accepted it. “Then I shall be careful. Thank you.” Her eyes lingered a fraction too long, steady and probing, but not accusing.

Severus watched her, the silence stretching. Every instinct screamed that she was just a customer — yet something about her presence unsettled the careful balance of his sanctuary.

She gave a faint nod, as though acknowledging some silent agreement, and turned toward the door. The bell above chimed softly as she stepped out into the night, leaving only the faintest trace of perfume — floral, elusive, maddeningly familiar — and an oppressive quiet in her wake.

Severus remained motionless, hand on the counter, mind racing. Logic insisted she was a stranger, an ordinary client. Yet the ache in his chest, the sudden awareness of how fragile his sanctuary had become, told him otherwise.

For the first time in years, the walls of his refuge felt thin, permeable. The quiet life he had built, the careful distance from his past, the shadow of the Marauders — all felt threatened, not by malice, but by fate.

And Severus knew, with a certainty that left a chill in his bones: this encounter was only the beginning.