Chapter Text
AEMIRA.
THE CARRIAGE FOR THREE.
When the young witch Alicent Hightower of Slytherin married the Gryffindor Viserys Targaryen, head of the famous ‘Targaryen family, whose flame shall never be extinguished’, she did not expect so much turmoil.
Let it not be misunderstood. The marriage was happy, fruitful. That witch, with the magic of a fairy, would soon prove to be as beautiful as she was fertile.
From that union came four daughters.
The young and rebellious Alyssa, whose white curls were often seen darting through every doorway in search of the unknown. A healthy, strong-willed daughter. And proud.
The second was the complete opposite of her sister. Helaena, a girl with hair of the same silvery hue as her elder sister, but with a way of exuding calm that was unusual for the blood that coursed through her veins.
A year later came Aemira, scrawnier, more solitary, with a great ability to become charming when she wished. She did not resemble her sisters—she lacked the sharp features of her lineage, the same frown, or their manner of dress. No, Aemira could easily be mistaken for a pure-blood of House Florent, another surviving branch.
And finally, the exceptional Daena, as beautiful as she was captivating. Cultured, mature, intelligent. She lacked nothing.
The heir of the household, Rhaenyra Targaryen, liked to say that she was absolutely certain Aemira would be a Slytherin through and through. She wasn’t far from the truth.
That is why, on that afternoon, when the scent of smoke and coal hung in the air, there were so many white and golden-haired heads that none could be mistaken for servants.
“I’m sure you’ll be a Ravenclaw, Aemira. I am one, and believe me, I rather enjoy it,” said Helaena, trying to offer comfort to her younger sister, who was about to begin her first year at Hogwarts.
“Unless you’re a Slytherin,” Alyssa added, crossing her arms and frowning just as their father Viserys might.
“I wish that were true,” said Aemira. “Believe me, I wouldn’t expect anything less. I’d quite enjoy watching the Slytherins hex you without having to complain,” she added with a sulky tone.
“All right. That’s enough,” Helaena gave them a warning look. Both girls sighed. “Look, there’s a special carriage reserved only for House Targaryen. We don’t sit with other pure-bloods. We are…”
“More unique,” Aemira finished the sentence.
“Yes, that. Good.”
As the three girls walked past, everyone made way. Out of fear, for the popular Alyssa. With a half-smile, for the beloved Helaena. And with curiosity, for the mysterious Aemira.
“Believe me, Slytherins are known for practising dark magic. Don’t fall into that—it’s wicked. Do you know what they say about that mad Slytherin, Bellatrix Black? That she tortures Muggle-borns in her room with her friends. The Slytherins are mad.”
“Alyssa. Enough,” Helaena scolded her once again, trying to peer through the crowd.
“If you ended up in Slytherin, I wouldn’t want to spend much time with you, Aemira. Slytherins and Gryffindors like me don’t get on. They’re disgusting. They’re evil. You’ll be a Ravenclaw, I’m sure of it. Not a Slytherin—not as a Targaryen. There hasn’t been a single Slytherin in the family for over a decade. The last was Saera Targaryen, and you wouldn’t like to know how she ended.”
“Mum was in Slytherin,” Aemira looked at her with disdain, and Alyssa clicked her tongue.
“Yes, but not like them. She’s not a Targaryen. That’s why you mustn’t be in Slytherin—because I’d have to leave you with a bunch of useless people I don’t even know. And believe me, I love you so much I’d build a statue of you and place it in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.”
“How charming.”
“Should I also put your bag in the luggage rack?” Aemira asked, and Alyssa sighed.
“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question.
Aemira pressed her lips together.
“It’s normal, but we’re not walking through that whole crowd again. It’s better if you go alone.”
“Alyssa!” her sister scolded, once more forced to become the eldest of the three for the day.
“I’m serious, Helaena. It’s better this way,” the actual eldest replied, sharp-tongued.
“I’ll go with you. It’s your first time on a train,” the second daughter from the second marriage stood up.
“I don’t need help,” Aemira insisted, clutching her bag full of books that were most likely banned at Hogwarts.
She vanished as soon as she could, exploring the area with growing intrigue. Some young people didn’t look at her; others didn’t approach but certainly watched her. Aemira felt her cheeks flush.
She adjusted her spectacles with a weary sigh. Her first year would not be easy—she hadn’t expected it to be.
Suddenly, two boys ran past just as the last silhouettes of students were disappearing into the carriages. They knocked her forward, and her glasses fell to the ground, rendering her effectively blind.
She heard slow footsteps approaching, then sensed the person observing her closely.
“Umm, here they are,” the figure said calmly, handing her the glasses. Aemira put them on at once, looking up to find the culprit.
“I think they’re gone,” said the girl, now distinguishable. Aemira blinked slowly.
“What’s your name?” she asked, intrigued.
“Oh, my name’s Lily Evans! And yours?” The girl wore a plait like her own, and her dark red hair was reminiscent of her mother’s. Like Alicent’s.
“Aemira Targaryen,” she replied, hoping it might stir some recognition. But instead, the girl beamed and extended her hand, which Aemira took. They shook hands.
“Lovely to meet you, Aemira—” Before the girl could finish, another child approached.
“Lily, what are you doing out here? I’ve already found us a carriage for the two of us…” This boy had black hair, dark circles under his eyes just as deep in colour, and eyes narrowed with suspicion. Yes, he knew.
“Shouldn’t you be in a carriage with your rich family?” he asked, giving her a reproachful look.
“I got lost,” she confessed, but wasn’t allowed to explain further.
“Oh, come with us!” Lily insisted, smiling so warmly that Aemira didn’t feel too guilty about leaving her sisters to worry a few minutes longer.
“I don’t think she should.”
“Oh, leave it, Severus!” Lily scolded him, frowning and clearly not on his side. She was now pulling Aemira along with them.
Well, she had planned to leave her bag. But instead, some strangers had swept her along. That was something worth writing about in her journal. Yes, very well. Let it be so.
“What house do you want to be in? I want Gryffindor! Severus told me it’s the house for the very brave. I want that—to show I’m brave.” Lily sat beside her, gazing happily out the window. They had already departed, and the first ten minutes had passed in pleasant chatter with the silver-haired, violet-eyed girl.
“Almost all of my family were Gryffindors,” Aemira said, blinking slowly. “My father, my uncle, my two sisters. My ancestors as well. Aegon, the greatest wizard after Valyria.”
“What’s Valyria?” Lily looked at her curiously.
“It was a place where the descendants of powerful wizards led their own rebellion and forged a bond with dragons. That way, they had the purest and most powerful magic possible, with specialities. Each descendant gained a power that, while impressive, was also deeply tied to their personality,” Severus explained, as if he had memorised it from an old book.
“Oh! Then why don’t you live there anymore?”
“Lily! Valyria was destroyed after the curse was sealed. Or do you think every pact doesn’t come with consequences and sacrifice? It’s said: those who are reborn from flame…”
“…Die in it,” Aemira finished, having also memorised that line. She was impressed by the boy’s vast knowledge.
“Not long after, Daenys the Dreamer fled Valyria with her family. Her power was predicting dark omens. Some thought it was a curse, but I believe it was meaningful. She foresaw the fall of the most important city in the magical world. And it happened. They all died.” Aemira looked at the floor.
“That’s so sad,” the redhead said softly.
The boy arched a brow. “You’re a Targaryen. Your house is the most important in the magical world. What are you doing here with us?”
“I suppose, sometimes it’s good to have a change of scenery. Pure-bloods just pretend everything. You two are the most expressive people I’ve ever met. At home, we don’t express much. Only what’s necessary—keeping still… or showing displeasure.”
“Believe me, I noticed.”
“Your name is… Severus, is it? How curious. I’d never heard it before.”
“Nor had I ever heard of Aemira,” Severus replied like a snake, stretching, ready to strike.
“Well… I’d never heard your name either, Aemira,” Lily hurried to add with a half-smile.
“As I come from ancient Valyria, we preserve its names and traditions… like weddings, garments, and some celebrations,” she explained.
“That’s incredible!” Lily beamed. “Do you have that special kind of magic too?”
“Not yet. I need a bit more time, but my sisters already do. Helaena can predict some things—she’s sometimes wrong, but usually right. And Alyssa is incredibly energetic; she was accepted onto the Quidditch team in her second year, tried out as a Chaser. She can summon whatever she wants.”
“Like, if she wanted a potato?”
“Why would you want a potato, Severus?” Aemira stammered.
“It was an example,” he muttered.
“Yes, like a potato. Right now, she only summons small things. She’s been more focused on catching a Snitch than holding a book.”
“Excuse me. Have you seen—? There you are! You gave Helaena a fright!” Alyssa approached her, clearly annoyed.
“I’m staying here. They’re my friends,” Aemira said petulantly. “Severus and Lily—first years, like me. Here. Yes, I’m staying here.”
“Mum will be furious you’re sharing a carriage with this Mudblood and… a Muggle-born?”
“Muffliato!” Severus cast the spell the moment he heard the insult toward Lily, without hesitation. Alyssa clutched her ears in pain, dazed.
Aemira walked quickly through the crowd, weaving her way like she always had, learning how to become invisible amidst the chaos.
“Emi! Over here!” Lily called, waving through the sea of students. Of course someone like her could stand out so easily.
The nickname startled her. No one had ever called her that—not even Helaena. She found it curious, yet somehow… endearing. Still, she advanced with all the decorum her private lessons had instilled in her.
“First-years, this way!” A stern woman with a refined presence called out to the newcomers, gathering them together promptly. “Here. Yes, very good. My name is Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, and I shall be escorting you to the Great Hall, where the Sorting Hat will determine your house.”
As they walked, the professor continued giving instructions and details.
“There are four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff,” she explained, speaking mainly for the Muggle-born students.
But when they entered the Great Hall, Aemira blinked twice—not in surprise at the floating candles, for she had seen similar lavish decorations back home during what her family called an ordinary night.
No, it wasn’t the magic that caught her breath.
It was the silence, the weight of history in the air, the quiet hum of hundreds of whispers beneath high stone ceilings, and the cold floor that had been worn down by centuries of nervous students just like her.
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was not like the throne rooms she had known. It did not demand reverence through opulence—it commanded awe through memory.
They were led to the front, where a ragged, patched-up old hat rested atop a stool. It looked unimpressive—until it suddenly opened its brim and began to sing.
“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,
But don’t judge on what you see,
I’ll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me…”
Aemira paid attention—but with a critical mind. This wasn’t Valyrian magic. This was something else entirely. Something older, perhaps.
Once the song was done, McGonagall held up a scroll.
“When I call your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and I will place the Sorting Hat on your head. It will decide your house.”
The list began.
“Lupin, Remus!”
A small girl stepped forward, trembling. A few seconds of murmuring from the hat, and then—
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The table on the far right erupted into cheers.
Names were called one by one. Aemira stood still, composed, but her heart thudded in her chest.
“Evans, Lily!”
Lily looked back at Aemira with a bright smile, then skipped forward and sat down.
It took the hat only a moment.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Lily looked positively radiant as she ran to join her new housemates.
“Snape, Severus!”
Severus glanced back—only once—before moving forward with a solemn expression.
This time, the hat took longer.
Aemira watched, narrowing her eyes. She could almost imagine the inner debate—Slytherin or Ravenclaw?
Finally—
“SLYTHERIN!”
The table second from the left clapped, although not as joyously as Gryffindor.
And then…
“Targaryen, Aemira.”
The hall quieted.
Whispers ran through the older students. The name was familiar—no, famous. A Targaryen. At Hogwarts.
She moved with elegance, spine straight, chin slightly lifted. She sat.
The Sorting Hat fell over her eyes.
“Hmm… fascinating… very fascinating. A mind like yours is rare—sharp, ancient, observant. And yet, there’s something more. Hidden fire. A deep-rooted pride… a touch of prophecy. Where to place you?”
Aemira said nothing, but her thoughts rang loud.
“Not Gryffindor. That’s where they expect me.”
“Ah… not Gryffindor, then. Clever. Brave, but in a different way. Oh yes… you have a hunger to learn. Secrets call to you. History. Power. Even pain. Yes, there’s cunning, but not cruelty… No. No, I see it now…”
The hat paused.
Then roared:
“SLYTHERIN!”
The table second from the right burst into applause.
Aemira exhaled quietly, removing the hat and stepping down. She didn’t look at the Gryffindor table. She didn’t need to. Her sisters would’ve heard.
She walked toward the Slytherin table and sat with poise, ignoring the lingering stares.
She had chosen her path.
SEVERUS
DISORDER ON THE FIRST DAY
The dark-haired boy grumbled as he walked towards the dungeons, farther away than any other room. Slytherins didn’t have a good reputation—no, not at all. It was obvious, and he noticed it even more when someone as cold as Aemira froze up for the rest of the evening. Yes, that was amusing.
“First-year students, over here. Your assigned rooms have four beds each. Boys, further down. Girls, one floor up. A bit more distant. It’s safer that way,” the prefect sounded as exhausted as the Head of House, Slughorn.
Because if the Sorting Hat had said he should be with her, it hadn’t meant Lily—no. Otherwise, it would’ve placed her in Slytherin, or him in Gryffindor. Why?
He didn’t know anyone other than Lily, and honestly, he didn’t intend to.
So he went to sleep staring at the ceiling while his roommates babbled about how excited they were. Not Severus, though. The day had been ruined. Nothing had gone as he wanted. First a girl he didn’t know, then another one who insulted them and would likely seek revenge, a different house, and now, he couldn’t even sleep.
Falling asleep was difficult.
That’s why, at breakfast, he looked disoriented, walking with the sluggishness of someone who distrusts everyone, muttering curses he’d learned under his breath.
And that’s also why he was surprised when the same silver-haired girl sat beside him, ignoring the chance to make friends with her fellow pure-bloods.
“Severus, right?” She received a nod from the boy. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?” he asked, curious. Not many people paid him attention at home—mum was usually busy cleaning up dad’s messes, and dad only approached to give him a beating.
“That… what you did to stun my sister. How? I want to know too,” there was a sparkle of amusement in her gleaming violet eyes. Severus swallowed hard.
“My mum taught me, a while ago. She said I should learn to defend myself. That’s why I like the Dark Arts… my favourite class is Defence Against the Dark Arts.” Aemira tilted her head.
“I want to learn it too,” she said again, trying to persuade him. “I’ll pay you, if that’s what you want. Or I’ll buy you something.”
Of course, the Targaryens had as much gold as beauty, and each had their own vault by the age of ten. Aemira had just opened hers—taking out a few Galleons wouldn’t hurt.
“I don’t need your wealth,” Severus frowned. She blinked.
Why couldn’t anyone understand that he didn’t care how he was dressed? Sure, there must have been people staring at his worn-out robe. It wasn’t new—it was second-hand—and Aemira wore the newest of everything.
“It’s like being friends. You’re Lily’s friend, you should be mine too. I have… well, you like dark magic, don’t you? I’ve read a few books recently. If that spell was created by your mother, it means you’ve inherited her gift.”
“You carry your father’s blood, yet you don’t have any of those gifts the others do.” He shrugged, and now it was Aemira’s turn to look at him like one of those odd things in Muggle museums.
“You’re repugnant,” she said, frowning, though she remained calm—it was strange, really. “It means we could create a spell good enough to be considered defensive.”
They stayed silent for a few minutes, looking at each other like two people who didn’t know each other.
“I’ll take you on my dragon.” Severus blinked, startled.
“Your what?” Of course, he hadn’t heard that right—dragons were supposed to be massive and dangerous creatures.
“My dragon, Vhagar. She’s very pretty, but very large. I’m sure she could carry all of Slytherin House.”
“She doesn’t bite?”
Aemira giggled quietly, as if trying to hold it in. Of course she didn’t expect that—not from someone so severe.
“Of course not,” she said plainly, adjusting in her seat to start breakfast.
They ate in silence, exchanging the occasional glance, as if they had known each other their entire lives. It wasn’t uncomfortable—they didn’t really know each other. But they were eleven, and they had a longing to grow. Who doesn’t want to grow up at eleven?
They also sat together during their first Potions class that very morning. Severus wasn’t the best at potions yet, but Aemira had read books, and he clearly had a talent that stood out.
“All right, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Aemira read from her book, frowning.
“I’ve never read a Potions book in my life, sorry. I’m not a good partner this time,” Severus blinked, looking at the cauldron.
“Draught of Living Death,” she replied. “It’s the first one. And Professor Slughorn seems more focused on his odd notes. We’ll just have to improvise.”
“You’ve never done anything like this? I mean… you’re the pure-blood,” he said, ashamed somehow. Aemira always had that gift of making people uncomfortable at first sight—or first interaction.
“My mum prefers that I learn how to fight. She says knowing how to wield a wand is enough. But I know she was good at this too,” she muttered.
“It’s fine. We’ve got to start somewhere. If Lily were here, I’m sure she’d have already solved it—she’s really clever.”
“She’s your best friend,” Aemira said suddenly—not with disdain, more like she was accepting it herself.
“She’s the only friend I’ve ever had growing up,” he said. “Not many people got close to me. I suppose it was because of how I look.”
“What’s wrong with that?” she asked, unsure. She was fairly certain it was his attitude—Severus wasn’t easy, but they had managed to get along.
“I’m not exactly like the other boys. I’m uglier. I don’t mind admitting it. I’m not rich either. This robe was my mother’s.”
“I already told you I’d pay you to help me make a spell. I’d give you whatever you needed…”
“Charity? Absolutely not.”
“I mean it. I’d buy you a new robe. And something for those under-eye bags. You also need to help yourself—you’re skinnier than me, and in my case, it’s genetic. Yours is malnutrition. At breakfast you barely touched your food,” she added a strange little drop of something to the cauldron.
“My family isn’t as rich as yours. Sorry—no, I’m not sorry!” Severus was chopping something odd, following the book’s instructions.
“You’re so stubborn, Severus!” Aemira groaned, dropping the entire contents into the cauldron. She let out a horrified squeak.
“What?” Severus looked up, irritated.
“Get down,” she whispered. “Get down, now!” She pushed him, and fell to the ground herself.
Because that mistake made the cauldron explode, and the shelves of books collapsed behind them.
ALYSSA
THE FIRST-YEAR BOYS
For as long as she could remember, Alyssa had always felt like something stood between her and her sisters.
Perhaps it was the lack of attention—Aemira would get a response from Father at dinner, and Helaena would earn a rare smile from the tired man. But Alyssa? Hardly anything. The only time they spoke for more than two minutes was when he taught her how to properly catch the Snitch during a Quidditch match.
She had always worried about her family. When Aemira scraped her knee or Helaena got a scratch, Alyssa was there—more than their mother ever was. Mother was always busy, attending to high society. She was the organiser of gatherings among families of lower rank but impeccable reputation. Like the Blacks.
At one of those very gatherings, she didn’t know how many times Helaena had elbowed her into silence when she recalled how Sirius Black had been Sorted into Gryffindor and not Slytherin like the rest of his family.
Sirius Black.
The same boy now walking alongside a bespectacled one and another with scars across his face. Behind them, a fourth boy trailed timidly, clutching a book to his chest.
“Black! Fancy seeing you!” she beamed with energy, approaching the young first-years. “Are these your new mates?”
“This is James, that’s Remus, and this one’s Peter. Can you believe it? Gryffindor! I’m sorry about your sister though—being Sorted into Slytherin was in her blood,” the boy shrugged. Alyssa chuckled lightly.
“No matter! Have you seen that boy who’s always with her? That one… the one in the Hospital Wing because of the explosion? Typical. That boy’s an idiot. Do me a favour, Black—play one of your tricks on him, like you used to with the others,” she added with a wink.
Sirius smiled. “Did he do something to you?” he asked, all traces of humour briefly gone.
“He attacked me! See? He’s a brute,” she feigned innocence.
Because she’d first met Sirius Black when her mother introduced him as heir of the House of Black. He’d groaned and rolled his eyes so much that Alicent had said in disgust that he was far too rebellious to sit at the table of the obedient, and had sent him off to sit with the other pure-bloods already talking confidently.
Of course, someone like Aemira would sit at the obedient table—paying attention, well-mannered, already charming the mothers.
Because Sirius was like her. More Gryffindor, more fire, more Targaryen. Not like her sister—she was colder, with a temper that made her seem one of the dragonriders. But Alyssa often heard Grandfather Otto say that Aemira reminded him of Grandmother Evelyne. If only she had brown hair and blue eyes, they’d be identical. Sometimes, Alyssa felt they were far too alike already.
“You owe me one after this, Aly,” Sirius grinned, quite pleased to have a prank to plan.
⸻
AEMIRA
A FIRST FRIEND
Aemira walked calmly beside Severus Snape, now reconciled through silent glances.
“I meant what I said,” she murmured steadily. The boy looked at her.
“About what?” he asked, blinking slowly, not taking his eyes off the corridor. They were walking quickly.
“I really do want to learn all that stuff they do. I’d truly enjoy it,” she folded her arms, more stoic than usual.
“Believe me, I don’t know that much about the Dark Arts. That sort of thing is better left to older Slytherins,” he said, stopping when Aemira halted first.
“Targaryen, what a pleasure. What are you doing wandering around?” Bruce Mulciber, followed by two other boys—Edmund Avery and Wilhem Wilkes—approached.
“I’m not lost. I’m with my friend. This is Severus—Severus Snape,” she introduced him, because of course, she had seen them at some pure-blood event her mother had organised.
“Never heard of that surname. So now you’re friends with half-bloods? Or worse… Muggle-borns?” Avery sneered, clearly unable to stomach the idea.
Severus would have defended himself, but Aemira saw this as an opportunity.
“If Severus isn’t coming, then neither am I. He’s my friend. Let’s stick together, all five of us. Without Severus, I’m not staying. He knows plenty. He could teach you loads. Right, Severus?” she looked at him for backup.
“Yes, fine. I do. Yes,” Bruce smiled faintly, now paying the half-blood more attention than before.
“All right, then,” he replied. Before he could say anything else, a group of four boys came marching over.
“You there—boy!” One of them pointed at Severus. As soon as he turned, he was launched into the air.