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Severus always felt like life was outside of his control. One day, he’s happy with his best friend, seen as an outcast in the Slytherin Common Room and just trying to keep his head above water. The next, he called her a word he had never used before (and never used again), losing her for what felt like could be forever. With nowhere else to turn to, he joins a ‘cult’ (as someone he knew would call it), participating in some awful acts with a heavy heart. All he ever wanted was to feel like he belonged, and for a while that was what his Lord did: made him feel like he was a welcomed member. Until the mask finally slipped, and every little thing was worthy of torture. Severus did want to belong somewhere, but he did not want to feel like he was a child again, trapped underneath his father’s belt.
Then came the prophecy. The stupid prophecy, the thing that changed the course of his world. When he first heard the information, he believed that it would be the thing that stopped his Lord from ever raising his wand to him again; he would later find out that that was an incorrect way of thinking. If he had truly thought about it at the time, truly listened to the words, he never would have said anything: but by then it was too late.
For the prophecy would ruin the lives of others, but he had been too selfish at the time to realise that. It announced a child, an infant, would be born on the seventh month of the year, with the power to destroy his Lord. Something that his Lord would never allow, so he would do everything he could to eliminate that infant, no matter what stood in his way. And Severus would be the cause of that child, that baby, being killed. It was abhorrent.
Even worse, he knew of two of his old classmates that were expecting a child at the end of July. One of them he hadn’t interacted much, but he knew her name, knew whose world he would be the reason for destroying. The other one was his old best friend.
This final factor was the reason that he broke down, running to a new Lord (for it truly felt that way, sometimes, though at least this leader didn’t torture his followers) and begging him to do anything to save his old friend’s family. He became a spy, feeding information to both sides, no one ever truly trusting him. He became a professor at Hogwarts, probably so Dumbledore could keep an eye on him, something that he had never wanted to do. He wanted to be a freelance potioneer, or researcher, or anything that did not have to do with teaching children. Nevertheless, someone else was controlling his life, so he was stuck doing something he hated.
Things seemed to be going okay for him, though: once he was a part of the Order, he was able to apologise to Lily (and even her insufferable husband, only because it made her so happy to see), and had even been round for an uncomfortable dinner or two before they disappeared, too afraid that someone would find their vulnerable child. He was tortured less by his first Lord, the man deeming him useful enough that he had to at least leave the meetings in one piece. He didn’t even hate teaching that much, although none of the students really listened to him, especially the older years that had gone to school with him. It was too good to last.
Someone ratted out Lily’s location to their Lord, and on the thirty-first of October he truly lost his best friend, with no chance of ever getting her back. His world turned grey again, even if his Lord was gone. There was no hope left in his life. Or so he thought.
That was when she walked back into his life, at Lily’s memorial service after her funeral. All soft smiles and kind eyes, with a slightly haunted look behind them. They bonded over their shared grief, and ended up in a passionate love affair, made easier by Severus’ leave of absence. With both of them still in Birmingham, they had easy access to each other’s homes, and they didn’t spend a night apart.
They got married too soon, a drunken mistake which was slightly embarrassing to think about the next morning, until he realised it meant he got to spend the rest of his life with her. Severus truly thought he was falling in love with her, deeper than any emotion he had ever felt before, and he believed that she felt the same way as well. They were happy together, planning their future, even planning a make-up wedding to replace the one they should have had.
Then he went back to work, Dumbledore saying he couldn’t stay away forever. They had a deal, so Severus had to fulfil it. No matter the cost to his own soul, or his happiness. She couldn’t follow him to the school, stay there like some of the other spouses could, as she did not have a singular drop of magical blood in her body. He dreamed up every solution he could, but none of them were feasible, so he had to leave her behind every week, only keeping her company on the weekends.
He was distracted with his work, unable to think about how complicated their relationship really was. They only started things because they were grieving a person they both loved, but Severus didn’t think that mattered. What really mattered was what they had now: a loving relationship, full of feelings that Severus didn’t think he was allowed to have. He couldn’t see their relationship decaying; couldn’t see the imperfections that were sneaking through the cracks. She apparently could, and even her busy life of going to university and working part-time as a waitress could not save her thoughts from turning darker. It could not stop her from falling out of love with him. Or, at least, that was how it felt to Severus.
When she asked for the divorce, his heart stopped in his chest, and he finally looked up to look her in the eyes for the first time since he had come home for the weekend. She did look exhausted, with dark circles around her eyes, yet he thought that was just her university work draining her; he didn’t imagine it could be him draining her. He didn’t want to believe that it could be him draining her. He tried to think of any solution to this problem, but she had an answer for them all. None of them were good enough for her: her decision was final.
Some of her motions made him believe she was still in love with him: she treated him gently, and she still tumbled back into bed with him, and she cried silently to herself from time to time. Yet, she still wanted the divorce. A clean break. Away from him, away from any reminder of the pain. It felt like Severus was going through more pain now that she was going, but there was nothing to be done.
They had one last night together, before the terrible event happened. One night that almost felt normal, like this could last forever, but of course nothing good ever lasts. Dumbledore had a knowing look in his eye as he performed the unbinding ceremony, as if he knew this was going to happen, as if he knew they were setting themselves up for disaster since the moment he bound them. Their final goodbye was haunting, her assuring him she would not be in his home any longer than she had to be, planning to move out the very next day — as if she couldn’t bear to be near anything that reminded her of him. Once he got back to Hogwarts, Dumbledore gave him a knowing look, as if he knew exactly what was going on inside of his mind. “Are you okay?” he asked needlessly, like a dick: of course he wasn’t alright.
“Some things are better left unsaid,” Severus responded, not wanting a lecture on unwise decisions at that moment, knowing the older man had one prepared.
So he fled to the safety of his room, losing himself into yet another bottle, just trying to remember all the happy times. The things he once enjoyed remembering were now starting to feel a little grey, and he just wanted her back. He wanted to leave the school, but he feared for his safety in the Wizarding world if he tried to quit. He knew Dumbledore would threaten to get him thrown into Azkaban, and then they would be in the same position anyway. No matter what he did, he would never be able to get her back. He was all alone.
When he caught sight of himself in the reflection of his mirror later that night, all bloodshot eyes and pale skin, he murmured sarcastically to himself, “You poor thing. Poor little Severus, never loved enough. Never good enough. Never enough.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, but he found himself punching the mirror out of misplaced rage, shattering the object into a million shards. Tutting to himself, he ignored his bleeding fist, only able to think, ‘Like father like son.’ After all, Tobias had always used his fists when he was drinking. He was no better than his father. She had left one situation like that before: maybe she could see the warning signs before he could, even though he knew in his heart he would have never raised a fist to her. She was his whole heart.
Over the next few weeks, he was a shell of himself, attending his classes but never really putting that much energy into his teaching. The students used that opportunity to misbehave more, without his usually sharp eye around to catch them talking or shoving each other. There were more potions accidents in those few weeks than there had been in the rest of his time teaching, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His world had gone dark, and nothing else mattered.
Once, he had gone home to check if she had really left, just in case. Just in case he could convince her to come back to him, start again from the beginning, try anew. They could do things the long way, instead of rushing into anything. He would flee to a different country, go in disguise, anything to keep her. But she wasn’t there, and he hadn’t realised before how empty the house would feel without her in it. It wasn’t a home anymore without her light laughter, or the scratching of her pen on her notebooks as she made notes for her university course. It was empty without her there. He wasn’t sure how he could ever live there again.
Over the coming months, he kept tabs on her even so, seeing how she was doing at university. Never getting close, and never actually stalking her: just picking up the odd newsletter from her university to see if her name was mentioned. Sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t. Any little hint of information about her was enough to know that she was safe, she was alive.
His life became a meaningless circle of waking up, teaching classes, doing patrols, and taking a sleeping draught to fall back to sleep. Every day was the same, with Severus just longing for something to change. He couldn’t sleep without thinking about her, and without the potions his nightmares crept in, adding her face to all the other long dead people. Just in case, he got a newspaper from Birmingham every day, but her name was never mentioned in an obituary.
The summer was harder: he spent a lot of his time at his home in Cokeworth, just trying to improve the place as much as possible. Just in case she one day came back to him, though he knew that likelihood was impossible. She had probably moved on by now, as she had every right to do. She was so bright, beautiful and brilliant that it was inconceivable that someone hadn’t tried to snatch her up, make her theirs. He had no right to feel bitter over that possibility, although he couldn’t help but be jealous at the thought regardless. If only he could be there, if only he could’ve been more present. Instead he was trapped to the bindings of his past mistakes.
He could not stop himself from attending her graduation all the same, though he hid in the crowd so that she couldn’t find him. Severus was proud of her for finally overcoming all of her past fears, for attending university, for getting her degree. There was a time where he would say that to her over the kitchen table, after she had finished a long day of lectures or whilst she was working on an essay, but now he had to think it to himself instead, hoping to Merlin that she could feel his pride. Only staying long enough to hear the name ‘Petunia Evans’ announced, and to see her go up onto the stage to receive her diploma (and didn't she look gorgeous in a graduation robe and cap?), he quickly left the auditorium, feeling his self control slipping the longer he was in her presence. He was the one that said no contact, so he would stick to it. It had only been to protect himself from further heartbreak, after all.
School started back up, in the same monotony that had fallen over him during the last few months of the past school year. There were a few days he begged Dumbledore to let him have the day of classes off, claiming he would be too much of a wreck to properly teach: the one year anniversary of Lily’s death, what would have been the one year anniversary of their marriage if it had lasted, and the one year anniversary of the divorce. Next year he would work them, he promised, it was all just too fresh right now.
He wondered how she was faring, on those three life changing days. If she was feeling the same grief as him, if she was clinging onto the past like a vice on those days too. Selfishly, he hoped that she was: that she too was burdened by the memories of what could have been. He knew that at least the anniversary of Lily’s death would be affecting her, maybe even more than it was affecting him, and he almost broke his resolve that day just to make sure she was okay, but he forced himself to burn the letters he had written. He couldn’t let himself get hurt again, no matter how much he craved her presence. No matter how much he wanted to get lost in her again. It was just not the best solution for his problems.
So he trudged on, making it through all of those hard dates in one piece, preventing himself from fully crumbling. Things were getting easier, the more time that passed: he stopped relying on the sleeping draughts every night, just on the weekends when times got hard again. The times that he would have been lying next to her, laughing with her, eating dinner and just talking about their days. His head was clearer now, his pain burrowing deep down into his soul instead of just being at the forefront of his mind, and he knew that that must have been one of the breaking points for her. Unable to follow his stories about his day, she would have withdrawn into herself, pretending to understand whilst really just struggling to keep her head afloat. She would have felt out of her depth: she would have felt lost. Worse, she could have felt unable to live up to him, his life as a wizard so different to hers. She might have felt unworthy, and Severus never wanted to make her feel that way again, even if it was by pure accident, just because he was trying to catch up with her. They were different, but at first it was fine. It just was never meant to last, no matter how much he wished it had.
Things got better, after the anniversary of their divorce. He finally accepted the fact that they would never see each other again, that they could never rekindle their flames. Even if he secretly still wanted to try again, he could admit to himself that it would be a mistake, something that wasn’t meant to last. Not until he could escape the shackles of his second Lord, but that day seemed like it would never come, and by that point she would have moved on, being beautiful and brilliant for someone else.
Then, he received a letter, and the results would set him back for a few months. A momentary relapse that would impact his soul greatly, though at the time it was the only thing he wanted. It would always be the only thing he wanted. It was like she was a drug, and he was hooked on her. One little hint of the drug, and he was back on his spiral.
She said that she needed his help, at one point in the summer holiday, her address marked on the back of the note. He fed the owl (he would wonder how she had managed to get a magical owl for a long time, he was sure) a treat before making sure he was presentable. Maybe it was crazy, maybe it was stupid, but he lingered in front of the mirror, cursing the fact that potion brewing always made his hair so greasy. Helplessly, he cast a few charms on his hair to make it look softer, giving in to that temporary weakness. He just knew that she was still going to look so gorgeous, and he wouldn’t be able to compare. Yet still he wanted to leave some kind of impression on her, he still wanted her eyes to linger on him, maybe even have a little hint of want.
Two surprises greeted him when he finally apparated to her apartment, wand in hand: Petunia looked absolutely stunning in a pantsuit, and Mary Macdonald (a woman presumed dead) was lying unconscious on her sofa. Whilst she lectured him about having his wand out in a Muggle neighbourhood, his eyes roamed around the small flat, only seeing the tiniest glimpses of her own personality shining through. Rented property, then. No noticeable signs of a boyfriend living with her either, but that did not mean that there wasn’t one. And how could there not be one, when she looked like that, and spoke with such passion?
Mary’s story was a little more complicated: she had cast a heavy obliviate on herself, erasing all of her memories from the magical world and reconstructing them with fabricated ones of growing up in the Muggle world. She had even forged papers for herself, depicting all of her fake grades from exams she would have never taken, and given herself a degree from a university she never would have went to: one in Birmingham, of all places, although that was probably her last little bit of sentimentality to their shared best friend, one last thing to connect her to the witch who was now dead. When she had a bout of accidental magic, her magical core forced her into a coma in order to protect her, to formulate a new story on the events of the night so that she wouldn’t remember her past.
Petunia asked him to stay the night to keep an eye on her friend, to make sure that nothing went wrong. He should not have agreed: he knew that Mary would be fine, that she would wake up the next morning thinking that she had just drank too much. She did not know that as instinctively as he did though, as she was unable to go into her friend’s mind like he had, she was unable to see exactly what was going on. This fact was probably for the best: Mary’s thoughts on her past were rather dark, and there were a lot of scenes from the war that flashed through like lasers, temporarily bringing Severus back to a darker time. He knew that she must have been in a lot of pain to remove herself from the magical world like that, and though he thought she was incredibly brave for it, he could never imagine doing something like that himself. Maybe only for her, but he would be a completely different person without the memories of his mistakes constantly plaguing him: she might not even like him without that remorse running through him.
She made him a tea, trying to make things seem as normal and comfortable as possible, although all he wanted to ask was if she was seeing anybody, if she had moved on. He wanted to know all about her new job. He craved to know every second of her life that he had missed. Worst of all, he longed to press his lips to hers, longed to tangle their bodies together in a passionate moment, longed to claim her as his once more.
Inevitably, he asked about her love life, unable to stop the words tumbling out of his mouth. This was why he wanted no contact to begin with: with her right there in front of him, looking angelic and sounding so beautiful, he could not control his impulses. The second that she told him she was single, he pounced, quickly searching her face to see if she wanted this too. One small look into her eyes to see the pleading expression held within them was enough for him to crash his lips against hers, pouring all of his longing, his want, his regret for how their relationship had ended into the kiss. She returned in kind, her fingers digging into his skin, tangling into his hair (thank Merlin he had at least attempted to make it less greasy). She was the one that led him to her bedroom, though either way that was where they were going to end up, no matter who pulled who. Both of them wanted this, and oth of them did not want this at the same time. That much was obvious, though once their clothes were off and they were pressed against each other those thoughts were far less loud.
Allowing themselves one day of weakness, they fell asleep together, her alarm set for early in the morning in case Mary woke up. Severus was not sure what would happen if the woman saw someone from the past, someone she would definitely recognise, but he didn’t want to find out. He hid behind the door whilst Mary woke up, complaining of a hangover — her drunken cover story intact. Once Mary had pulled herself into Petunia’s bathroom, she gestured for him to leave, wanting him out of her house (and her life) as soon as possible once again. He knew that would happen; he knew this was just a temporary relapse, one moment of weakness that they would allow themselves. Still, he couldn’t look at her as he walked past, though he let his hand brush past hers one last time before leaving her life once again.
Once again, he was a ghost of himself, though it was only for a short while this time. It was easier to cope with a pain he had already lived once before, easier to deal with the sting of rejection. Sure, the best thing for him would be having her again, but one last night with her was okay in the long run. One last moment with her, the light of his life, would have to be enough. It was all he was allowed.
So he threw himself into work, making lesson plans that the students would never listen to, setting ridiculous essays so that he could cover them in scathing red ink, overfilling the Hospital Wing with potions so that Madam Pomfrey never ran out. Whenever he had time, he decided to work on his research some more, allowing himself to imagine that one day he could do this for a living, and never have to deal with snotty brats again. It was a nice little system, and Severus really thought it could work.
Then, one random day in April (Severus had in fact worked all three of the days he had begged to have off the year before, sticking to his word, even though he snapped at his classes more than normal), Dumbledore pulled him into his office, claiming he had something important that he needed to tell him. Severus did not understand, but he followed him regardless, knowing his place on the chain. Loyal servant, always obeying.
Once safely inside the Headmasters office, the man sighed, placing his head in his hands whilst offering out a lemon drop that Severus refused. “Severus,” he began slowly, the twinkle in his eyes dimming slightly. “I’m afraid there’s something that I have to tell you that may be upsetting for you to hear.”
For a short moment, Severus’ heart stopped. What if Dumbledore had found out that Petunia had died, and this was the way he was going to tell him? Worse, what if Dumbledore found out Petunia had remarried — she had every right to, of course, Severus just never wanted to find out. He would hope that she would feel the same way if the roles were reversed. “What is it?” he finally asked, gulping slightly, his voice sounding stiff.
“You know how Voldemort was vanquished?” Those words did not ease Severus’ spirits at all, although it was a tiny relief that Petunia’s name was not mentioned. “I have reason to believe that that fact is not entirely true, and it is possible that he could come back. I did not want to tell you until I was sure, but… there have been sightings of a spirit in the forests of Albania that contains the same magical signature as him.”
Letting out a heavy breath, Severus let his mind run wild. If his Lord could come back to life, if he wasn’t truly dead, that meant he would have to go back to him if he ever came back to life. It meant that his life was at risk once more, playing a dangerous game every day. It meant… it meant there was the risk of him finding out about his all-consuming love for a Muggle, and punishing her for something she couldn’t control. Murdering her in cold blood just for the crime of having no magic. She would be at risk for being in association with him, and as long as the possibility of his Lord coming back and being around forevermore was around, he could never try again, could never remarry her, even if that was what she wanted. Even if Dumbledore let him go. Because she would be at risk, being so openly associated with him. All because of a lonely teenager's mistake.
“I understand," Severus replied slowly, letting his mind and body go numb. “How likely is it that he will come back any time soon?”
“I reckon he will still need some time to recharge, to rebuild himself,” Dumbledore determined, looking at Severus sadly. “But by my projections, within the next decade, he should be back to his full strength.”
A whole decade, and probably more. There was no chance he could ever get back with her, and that was assuming he even made it out of the next war alive. It was so improbable, so unlikely, that a spy could survive twice. So unlikely that a man like him could live a happy life. “I see,” Severus simply replied, fully fading behind his mask now. “Is that all, Albus?”
Dumbledore just nodded sadly at him, as if he was holding something back, but Severus was too numb to read too deep into it. What else could he feel? He had to realign his life, become a worse man, make sure his connections with the Dark side were still strong by the time his Lord was back. He had to come up with pleading excuses, figure out different ways to say that he was only sticking at Hogwarts for him, to make sure he had information if he ever came back. To make sure he had a strong foothold in the other side. To make sure he was still useful.
That could come later, for that night he would drink, once again mourning her loss. It was ridiculous: he knew he would never have her again, not whilst he was still bound to Hogwarts, not whilst he was still a wizard, yet deep down he had let himself fantasise about quitting and running away to Birmingham. Running to her flat, hoping she was still living there and hadn’t yet moved. Falling back into her arms, starting their relationship the right way, talking through problems as they appeared. Having her steady presence back by his side, laughing with him at movies in the cinema, sharing her fries with him at restaurants. All of his fantasies about her bubbled up in his mind, spilling over into a symphony of tears.
He adjusted his lifestyle, becoming harsher to students, making sure he favourited students from his old house. They were the ones that would talk about him to their parents, and their parents were the ones in his Lords circle. They were the key to his mission being successful.
Any thoughts of her he locked away, deep inside his mind. Trapped under strong occulemency shields were all of his memories of their marriage, all of his love for her. He could still feel it, and remember her: it was not as bad as what Mary had done. However, the pain of the memories had been dulled down, considering they had to flicker through layers of shields. Somehow that fact hurt him more, knowing that he had to lessen the pain of her loss. He should be feeling this, but he would not allow himself to anymore. He would not allow her to be plucked from his mind easily.
Then, three years after he found out about the possibility of his Lord still being alive, a small letter found its way to him, asking him to meet at a cafe in Birmingham. Unable to stop himself, he immediately replied, asking for a date and time, and that was where he found himself a week later. He had resigned himself to never seeing her again, but he would risk just one more hour.
Petunia walked into the cafe, looking as stunning as always, though she had darker circles than he remembered, and her hair was only tied back into a simple ponytail. Her hand was linked with a small girl, no older than three. A girl with black hair and blue eyes, pale skin and a longer than average neck. “Hello, Severus,” Petunia greeted him weakly, noticing the cogs turning in his mind straight away. “This is Poppy Eileen Evans. She’s your daughter.”
If there was ever any more proof than that that his life was outside of his control, he did not want to hear about it. It felt like his world had stopped entirely at those words. This was not something he had planned for.