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Chapter Text

A little girl with big, round glasses and wild black hair sat between the high hedges concealing the property from prying eyes and the overflowing patch where the man she knew as her dad grew a mismatched assortment of herbs and plants. Harlyn was playing with her doll. Wet sand from the sandpit still clung to her hands as she gave her doll a bottle.

Her mother was in the kitchen, preparing her dad’s afternoon tea. The little girl was too young to notice the quiet dissonance in her life yet, the subtle details no small child would be able to recognise.

The kitchen window overlooked the garden and yet her mother was not watching her. She was alone in the garden. She didn’t notice, nor care, too consumed by her imaginary play only she was privy to. She felt safe here, so close to the window of the study where the man she knew as her father was currently working. She didn't know danger or threats outside the bumblebees she tried to pet once, just to be bitten. She was a curious, brave little girl and the garden of their first house was her domain.

Her mother’s cat roamed around her, rubbing her head against the girl’s back and purring contently.

A flash lit up the scene, as though lightning scurried over the sky, but it was clear, not a single cloud covering the scorching sun. Harlyn was a curious and brave child. She looked up from her doll to investigate the flash. A noise coming from the bushes caught her attention.

Her doll’s arm clutched in one hand, she waddled across the lawn.

She was too young to know to stay where her mother could see her, too young to be left alone in the garden in the first place, too young to care about any of it.

Harlyn had yet to encounter true danger outside the wasps searching for food in the summers or the stairs that were difficult for little girls with short legs.

She was surprised to be faced with three men she had never seen before. They were cowering in hiding, away from the office window as though someone had revealed the blind spot to them.

“There you are little fawn.” One of them whispered. He wore a wide smile. Perhaps that was why Harlyn did not start crying. His black hair fell in casual curls over his shoulders. A tattoo peeked out from under the neckline of his shirt. 

The second man reached a scarred hand out to her.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere, Harrie.”

Harlyn frowned. She had never heard that name before.

Her mother’s cat meowed at the man loudly, as though greeting old friends.

Perhaps that was why she didn’t call for her dad, whom she knew would come upon hearing the urgency in her voice.

“We are friends with your daddy, Harrie.”

The words sounded wrong to her, even though she was too young to recognise why. Her dad’s friends always greeted her in the parlour. Her dad valued rules and guests were to be shown to the parlour and offered refreshments. Harlyn likes helping her mother, especially when Barty came to visit who always smiled brightly at her when she, carefully to not spill anything, carried his glass to him.

Mr Malfoy would often bring Draco by to play with her while he talked with her father.

Even the tall, scary wizard used the Floo in the parlour…

“You remember us, It’s me, Padfoot! And Moony.”

Those names meant nothing to Harlyn.

“Grab the child and let’s go before Snape notices our interference with the wards!” The third man growled at them. He had a rugged face. Parts of his nose were missing and one of his eyes kept swirling around in his skull, seemingly looking everywhere at once. It settled on Harlyn and stood still for several seconds. She felt as though it could look right through her - like the tall, scary wizard made her feel.

Harlyn emitted a frightened squeak and made a stumbling step backwards.

“Not without Lily!” The second man said. “I am not leaving her with Snape.”

“She made her choice when she made a deal with the devil. Foolish boy, this is war! She’d want us to save her daughter over herself, or do you disagree?!”

The first man opened his mouth to interject but the third had already grabbed Harlyn’s arms, his grasp painful. She wanted to scream but no matter how hard she tried, no sound left her throat. Tears poured from her eyes, dripping off her chin and soaking her dress.

“Let go of her, Moody! You are hurting her!” The second man hissed, his voice close to a shout, stifled through gritted tears.

“We do not have the luxury to be squeamish! If you do not understand that, boy, you are useless to the Order!”

“If we have changed to the point we no longer have qualms, then tell me - how are we different from them?!”

“Dumbledore will hear about this-”

Harlyn felt a slithering sensation glide over her skin, over her shoulder, up her neck, across her cheek…

All three men flinched away from her, their eyes ripped open in suffocating terror.

“What have they done to you?” The first man’s voice was filled with anguish. His words vibrated with barely contained rage. He gripped his wand tighter.

Harling turned on the spot and ran, ran as fast as her short legs could carry her, past the swing and sandpit, down the gravel path and collided with a wall of dark, starched fabric.

She couldn’t quite make the tall, dark figure out through the tears blurring her vision, but she’d recognise him blind.

He scooped Harlyn up in his arm and settled the little girl on his side, his wand drawn, pointed casually at the three men. Harlyn hid her face against his chest, slowly calming down as his familiar scent played around her, his strong arm holding onto her, his wand shielding her from the scary men.

***

Harlyn was ripped from her sleep by the blaring noise of her alarm clock.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes, annoyed at her dream for not leaving her be. Her memories of that day were fuzzy, and it was not spoken about, ever, leaving her to haphazardly piece together details, and her mind made up the rest. It was confusing and messy and Harlyn would have preferred to forget about it entirely.

They had moved out of that house after the incident. Three followers of Dumbledore finding the home of the Dark Lord’s second in command was not good.

Harlyn was glad that she had been too young to witness the fallout, and the consequences that befell whoever had made the mistake that led to their discovery.

Harlyn shoved her tangled, messy hair out of her face and got up to go to the bathroom and take a shower. The house was quiet. The grey carpet in the hallway muffled her steps. The door of the master bedroom was closed but Harlyn knew Severus was already up, despite the quiet. He never slept in. Never, no matter how late he came home from one of the Dark Lord’s celebrations or how late he worked.

If her mother had already gotten up?

She was quieter these days. As though she wasn’t fully present. Harlyn felt bad for her, but she was also annoyed at her behaviour. She was lucky Severus had taken pity on her and she had gotten away from her traitorous actions with only a broken wand.

Her mother wasn’t of magical descent but had still practised magic. Even after it was outlawed by the Dark Lord. She had blindly followed Dumbledore.

All of those were crimes worthy of a lifetime in Azkaban. Harlyn would have been all alone. But Severus saved them. Severus was protecting them. He had taken in another man’s child when he didn’t have to.

Had Lily forgotten what would happen to them without him?

Harlyn was a warden of the state since the old regime fell. Custody over the children of Dumbledore’s followers had been suspended. Mudbloods were slowly stripped of the rights wrongfully given to them by the old Ministry in their misled and spineless politics.

No non-magical person could raise a magical child.

Severus was the only reason Lily was still allowed to see Harlyn, the only reason that she still had a daughter.

With a sigh, Harlyn dragged her drowsy body into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She didn’t like dwelling on the past but once allowed in, the thoughts of her past and her bloodline’s fate, were difficult to expel.

Her biological father was James Potter. He had been caught and thrown into Azkaban to rot when Harlyn was only one for his crimes against Wizardkind, affiliation with a terrorist group, and for allowing harm to come to a magical child.

Her.

Harlyn didn’t know much about the circumstances, just that her father had offered her up like a pig for slaughter when Dumbledore needed bait to lure the Dark Lord into a trap. 

He had not only doomed himself but also the ancient bloodline of his forefathers. He was the last Potter, a once powerful and influential family of Purebloods. He had desecrated their memory by marrying a Mudblood and weakened their bloodline.

Harlyn was a Half-Blood.

It wasn’t a bad thing per se…Severus was a Half-Blood, and he was the Dark Lord’s most trusted, most important Death Eater though Harlyn couldn’t help but wonder how her life would look like, had her father not fallen for Dumbledore’s manipulations and lies. He could have abandoned the old man once the old Ministry had fallen. He could have chosen Harlyn. He could have asked for forgiveness for his crimes and pledged loyalty to the Dark Lord - he would have been forgiven. Many realised Dumbledore was leading them to nothing, but death and blasphemy and the Dark Lord forgave them. Harlyn could have grown up as the bastard daughter of a respected Pureblood but instead, he was willing to sacrifice her life for a lie.

Harlyn Snape might have carried her step-father’s name but only because Severus would not raise a child that carried another man’s name. She was still a traitor’s daughter. She’d always be a traitor’s daughter.

Harlyn stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself up in a towel. She wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror and stared at her own reflection, hands braced against the sink, scowling at the scar disfiguring her face.

Forked, pale tendrils in the shape of a lightning-bold pattern spread over her forehead and down her right eye.

It was an ugly scar.

It was a curse scar, so nothing could be done about it.

Harlyn hated it. She hated having to see it every time she looked in the mirror. Was it not enough she had to look like her father, did she have to carry the evidence of his sin on her face?

She sighed.

Harlyn knew she didn’t live in a perfect world. The war had been devastating and claimed many lives, a fact that could not be outweighed by the sudden influx of immigration after the Dark Lord’s rise. Many wizards and witches from all over the world came to live in the British Isles after his changes came into effect. They gave Wizardkind more rights than they had under the forced liberal rule dictated by men like Dumbledore.

Harlyn had been too young to witness Dumbledore’s execution or the gruelling devastation with which his acolytes wreaked havoc over England.

She was told it had been a spectacle. After weeks and months of interrogation, the leader of the resistance met a slow, cruel - public - death. One befitting of his crimes. Her best friends had told her about it once. Harlyn was glad Severus had not forced her to be there.

One of the men who had wanted to abduct her that day had been Alastor Moody, the infamous, unhinged ex-Auror. He followed in Dumbledore’s footsteps and became the new leader of the resistance, but the organisation once known as the Order of the Phoenix wasn’t as strong as it used to be. 

Another one of the men had been apprehended mere days after trying to take Harlyn. Sirius Black was now in Azkaban, in the cell next to her father’s. She had overheard that detail during one of Mr Malfoy’s visits. Severus sounded pleased. Many rumours existed as to how James Potter and Sirius Black escaped execution. Some said they had not been important enough within Dumbledore’s organisations. Others claimed Bellatrix, the Dark Lord’s favourite, had asked for her cousin Sirius to be spared.

Severus held no love for either of them.

Perhaps that was why he was colder to her these days, why he barely even looked at her anymore.

Harlyn was looking more and more like her father. Lily kept telling her, whispering it to her when she had a moment alone with Harlyn, tucking her into bed, brushing her hair. She knew her mother still loved him, but Harlyn could not understand how. He was a traitor, and he had abandoned them both!

She knew she wasn’t a pretty girl. She knew she wasn’t the kind of girl to turn heads when she walked by - at least not because of her looks. She was Severus Snape’s charge. A warden of the state granted absolution by the Dark Lord himself and long since rumours had spread about his involvement in her magical education.

No one would be falling for her and if they foolishly did - they’d never dare broach the subject to her. Nobody would be brave enough to approach either Severus or the Dark Lord to ask permission to court her.

Harlyn’s face was littered with freckles. She was short. Her body lean and kind of wiry-looking from hours of flying and ruthless duelling lessons.

She wasn’t delicate and petite like Daphne Greengrass or mild-mannered and graceful as Pansy Parkinson, nor did she have the feminine, luxurious wardrobe that made even Millicent Bulstrode look beautiful.

Severus was not the type of man who would spend a fortune on dresses to adorn his unfortunate-looking daughter and distract possible suitors from her face. He wasn’t so taken with his daughter as the fathers of Daphne, Pansy and Milicent were that he’d fulfil Harlyn’s every wish.

Harlyn would be seventeen in a year.

She would surely be expected to find a husband, right?

Even her best friends, Draco and Ron, had started talking about it with Draco telling Ron his father was looking into suitable matches for him.

They were Purebloods though. Rules were different for them. 

Ron’s parents were traitors like hers. He had been taken from them and placed in the care of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange alongside his younger sister Ginny. He was one of six sons. The oldest of them had died. Harlyn didn’t know the details and Ron had never cared enough to find out more. The siblings had been separated and placed with respectable Purebloods, so they weren’t very close with each other but as the youngest of seven sons, he wasn’t in the same position as Draco who was the sole heir to the Malfoy name.

And while a small part of her might be envious of Daphne, Pansy and Milicent, Harlyn knew she was not like them. She was the daughter of a traitor and a Mudblood and still, she had a roof over her head, clothes on her back and didn’t know the pain of an empty stomach.

She received an excellent education, which she knew was not to be taken for granted. Daphne had once confided in Harlyn that she would like to study the Dark Arts as well, but her father didn’t think it was necessary for her.

In the Dark Lord’s law, no difference was made in the education of girls and boys, but many parents were very protective of their daughters, the state’s biggest treasure, and shielded them from more unsavoury types of magic. 

Not all children of Dumbledore’s acolytes and many Half-bloods didn’t have it as good as her.

Harlyn lived a comfortable life.

Her home, a modest, rather sparsely decorated house, had a comprehensive library in which one could find books on every subject of magic one could think of, and a state-of-the-art potions lab.

Severus was personally seeing to her education. He was a prodigy in the field of potions and used to be a professor at Hogwarts. He had wanted to send her away to school but Harlyn suspected her mother had asked him to allow her to stay. Lily taught her magical theory. She wasn’t allowed to own a wand, but she was bright and according to Severus she had been a good student when they had been in Hogwarts.

And if Severus said that, it must be true. He was a genius. Harlyn adored him. She loved her stepfather dearly. When she was little, she would often watch him brew, sitting perfectly still because she thought he’d notice her presence if she moved and send her away.

Severus had never been overly affectionate to her, nor had he been very involved in her upbringing besides ensuring she knew and followed the rules of his house. He made it perfectly clear that this was his house and she and her mother were only allowed to be here by his grace. For years, Harlyn avoided anything that could anger or disappoint him, eager to be the perfect daughter. Perhaps if she was just behaved enough, if she was just like him, if she loved potions as much as he did, if she walked and talked like him, perhaps he would be able to forget that she was not his daughter.

Harlyn must not have done it right because as she got older, Severus withdrew more and more from her. He ignored her when she entered a room he was already in. He barely spoke to her and hardly ever looked at her.

Harlyn was cursed with her father’s looks.

And his hair.

Cursing, she lathered her wild, spiky hair in different products that all promised to tame every unruly hair type but fell short of bringing her hair under control. At least they made her look somewhat presentable. Harlyn quickly restrained it in a loose braid before it could decide to puff back up and secured it haphazardly into a bun at the back of her head.

Harlyn shuddered at the familiar and yet impossible to get used to the slithering sensation gliding over her skin. In the mirror, she could watch the serpent made of black ink crawl over her shoulder and towards her throat. She hissed at it but as always her Parselmouth left the Mark spreading over the entirety of her back unimpressed. She knew it could understand her, but it obeyed only one man’s word.

She tried to ignore the possessive, constricting feeling of the serpent coiling around her body and got dressed.

Her wardrobe was modest, consisting of robes in different shades of muted, dark colours, some adorned with intricate embroidery reserved for special occasions. They were simple but practical.

She had grabbed a set of dark brown robes that closed at the front with bronze buckles. Lacings at the sides allowed her to give the shapeless piece of fabric some definition. They had long, tight sleeves and fell like a flared skirt, ending a mere inch above her ankles. They had deep pockets, and a belt allowed Harlyn to carry some additional knickknacks like her potions knife and a few vials.

One never knew when vials might come in handy.

Harlyn wore her wand in a brace around her underarm.

When she left the bathroom, the door to the master bedroom was still shut.

She went downstairs, trying to be as quiet as possible to not disturb her mother in case she was still sleeping. She found Severus already sitting in the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee, reading the Daily Prophet.

“Good morning, dad.” She said.

Severus didn’t even look up from the newspaper. “I am not your father.”

Harlyn bit the inside of her cheek, clenching her hands to fists at her sides.

Their relationship had not been…easy as of late.

Severus was cold and distant. Harlyn yearned for his affection and attention. He wasn’t her father, no magic in the world would change the blood coursing through her veins but he was still the only father figure she knew! He had raised her. How could he suddenly stop caring for her or had he perhaps never truly cared for her to begin with? Had he decided, as her mother withdrew and gave into melancholy, that he would not keep up his end of their deal either? Had he only been kind and gentle to her because Lily had traded herself in exchange for Harlyn getting to grow up relatively normal, safe and sound...

Her mother was nowhere to be seen in the kitchen, so Harlyn drew her wand and flicked it at the stove. She prepared breakfast in silence, making herself eggs and toast and an omelette for Severus. She placed the plate in front of him without a word before sitting down across from him, bracing her feet against the empty chair of her mother.

Severus looked up from the newspaper. He raised an eyebrow at her choice of posture but did not comment on it. It peeved her that he didn’t say anything. He valued manners and being proper and shite but still, he didn’t say anything.

Harlyn had responded to Severus increasingly withdrawing his attention from her by getting up to all sorts of rule-breaking and trouble lately. Her mother warned her to behave, warned her of Severus but he had never laid his hand on her, he had never punished her more severely than she had deserved, or her age allowed. She knew it was different for Ron.

At this point, Harlyn would take his wrath over this damn silence between them!

Was it so hard to love her? To like her? Was it truly that terrible for him to have to share his house with her?

“I was unaware I had taken in a house elf.” He sneered, his tone scathing.

Harlyn shrugged. “Mum is still sleeping.”

An expression Harlyn could not quite discern flashed in Severus’ eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched. He returned his attention to the newspaper in his hands.

“You should not expect to see her before noon.”

Harlyn froze with her fork halfway to her mouth.

Was he… amused? Smug?

Had he always made such subtle innuendos, and she had simply been too young to notice?

She had lost her appetite, but she continued eating regardless, and if only to not give away how she felt.

Eventually, Severus put down the paper and turned towards the omelette she made. They ate in silence, a circumstance that had become a daily occurrence, but Harlyn hadn’t grown any more used to. She hated it. They used to talk about school, about potions or sometimes, when he was in a good mood, he would volunteer some details about the plots of the Death Eaters the public was not privy to.

“Do you like it?”

Severus merely emitted a grunt, one that could mean both yes and no.

“I was thinking…maybe I could make dinner some days? To practice you know…might be a good idea since…” Harlyn trailed off. She shoved her food around her plate, her gaze missing her plate, focussed on her step-father’s hands and the tendons tightening under his skin. “What do you think? Mum surely has some cookbooks-”

“Does your blethering serve a purpose?” His deep voice seemed to bellow in the quiet of the kitchen. Harlyn did not flinch.

“As I said, for practice.” She replied evenly. She knew Severus hated it when she wasn’t intimidated by him. When she refused to let herself be bullied into shutting up. 

Severus continued to scowl at her

“Since I will be seventeen next year?”

He still didn’t seem to know what she was alluding to.

“Surely I’ll be expected to get married soon after? I suppose you will want me out of your house as soon as I am of age.”

Something dangerous flashed through his eyes, lighting up the impenetrable black and chasing a cold shiver down her spine.

Severus braced his elbows against the table, both the omelette and Daily Prophet long forgotten. He steepled his fingers, all the while not taking his eyes off Harlyn.

“And do pray tell-” He spoke quietly. Severus never lowered himself to screaming in order to force respect from others. Harlyn was resolved to not waver under the intensity of his glare, no matter how much he tried to wake her flight instinct.  “-how did you come to the conclusion you will be getting married any time soon?”

“Daphne said…” Harlyn hated how small she sounded.

Severus clicked his tongue. “So we are comparing ourselves to the likes of Daphne Greengrass now, are we? I knew your bloodline had a disposition to hybris but this…this borders on unhinged.” Venom dripped from his every word, burning into Harlyn, eating at her pride until she broke under his sneer.

“No, I just-”

“Evidently you did not.” Severus’ chair scraped over the floor. The sharp noise made Harlyn flinch. He tossed his half-finished plate into the sink. “Another thing we have the Potters -” He spat the name as though it was something disgusting squirming on his tongue. “-to thank for.”

“I did not mean to, Sir.”

How could everything she said be brought back to and used as evidence of how much like her traitorous father she was?

She could feel Severus’ gaze burn into her from where he was still standing by the sink, heavy, full of disappointment and hatred for the man who had sired her.

“Do not make the mistake of assuming this world owes you something, girl.”

His every word was measured, stressed, sharp .

Severus Snape wielded words like weapons, forged emphasis into brutal blows and passed judgment with his voice alone. That deep, silky rumble that could express more emotions than most people’s faces. Boredom, contempt, amusement, derision - all with merely the pitch of his voice…

“The world does not care about you.”

“I did not claim otherwise.” She said through gritted teeth.

Severus moved without a noise. A billow of dark robes and he was in front of her, long, slender fingers gripping his chin, yanking her head back.

“I do not care for your cheek.” His snarl was all teeth, slow and quiet and therefore all the more dangerous.

“If you have a question swarming through that thick, empty skull of yours, I advise you to be forthright with you. I do not play games, girl.”

Her mouth felt dry.

Severus raised a brow.

“Yes, Sir.” Harlyn murmured.

“Do you have a question you would like to ask?” Malice had given way to mockery.

“Will you be expecting me to look for a husband?”

“There,” Severus let go of her chin. “Was that so hard?”

Harlyn shook her head. She wanted to force her body to look up, but it refused to comply.

“I expect you to focus on your studies. I did not raise you to waste your time running after boys.” Severus turned away from her, muttering something that sounded a lot like daft girl. He snatched his newspaper from the table and rolled his shoulders. “I will be away today. Do not wait up for me…” He tucked the newspaper under his arms and reached into his pocket. Harlyn could only see his profile. His features had smoothed back into the same expressionless mask he wore whenever he left the house, his Occlumency drawn around him like a coat in a snowstorm.

Severus opened his coin purse and fished a few golden coins from it, depositing them on the table where his plate had been standing. “I expect you to be home before your curfew…” His eyes snapped up to meet hers, resting there for a moment. Harlyn scrambled for her own mental shields, anticipating one of the impromptu attacks he was so fond of that left her with a headache for the rest of the day. “Happy Birthday.”

Chapter Text

Harlyn was left stunned, sitting in the empty kitchen, in the quiet house, even long after the woosh of the Fireplace announced Severus’ departure.

She stared at the coins on the table across from her.

She never could make sense of him.

Severus Snape was not a man one made sense of. 

He had been a spy longer than Harlyn had been alive. He had brought down Dumbledore. He had worked tirelessly on the Dark Lord’s side to reform the British Isles.

How could he go from disinterest, to silent disdain, to unhinged rage all within the blink of an eye? And end with congratulating her on her birthday no less…she had expected him to forget about it entirely or to simply ignore it. And he even gave her some birthday money…

That wasn’t the action of a man who could not stand her presence…right?

Harlyn sent her plate and cutlery towards the sink with a flick of her wand and gathered the coins, dropping them into her pocket.

Harlyn contemplated knocking on her master bedroom’s door but decided to leave her a note instead. She slipped into her boots and grabbed her broom from the closet by the front door.

She could use the Floo to get to Diagon Alley, but Harlyn loved to fly. She never let a chance to chase through the clouds on her beloved Nimbus pass her by.

The broom had been a Yule gift when she was twelve…back when Severus would still talk to her.

Outside, the sun was already scorching despite it being early morning. The wind lashed around her as Harlyn zoomed across the sky. There had been a time when wizards weren’t even allowed to fly their brooms, just so that Muggles wouldn’t notice. Harlyn couldn’t imagine not being allowed to fly.

There, high above the sky, Harlyn felt weightless. She forgot all her worries and the uncertainty her future held. She felt free.

Harlyn bid her Nimbus into a breakneck barrel roll, pulling the tip of her broom up, further and further until it tipped her backwards. Pressing her thighs against the broom and digging her heels into the stirrups, Harlyn clung to her broom. Again and again, she swirled through the air until her chest hurt from laughing and her thighs protested.

After a few minutes of cruising at a casual speed , a cloaked figure on a broom signalled her to land. Harlyn groaned and tipped her broom down, dismounting her broom before she had fully reached the ground, landing elegantly on her two feet with her Nimbus in her hand.

She was surrounded by Death Eaters. She got in line, watching the witches and wizards in front of her show their bracelets to the Death Eaters one after another.

Gold. Silver. Silver. Bronze.

“Do you have permission to be here, Mudblood?”

The short man flinched at the harsh tone of the Death Eater. With trembling hands, he handed over a sealed scroll. The Death Eater waived his wand over it, checking it for authenticity.

Harlyn groaned.

It was just her luck that she got pulled into a random inspection on her birthday.

The Death Eater continued interrogating the man. Harlyn tapped her foot impatiently. There seemed to be a problem with the man’s paperwork.

“Since this seems to be becoming a longer ordeal, would it not be wiser to pull him out for further questioning while letting the rest of us who are not too dull to have proper identification pass?”

She ignored the staggered, fearful muttering from the witches and wizards behind her in line, staring blankly at the Death Eater in front.

“And who are you to interfere with the Dark Lord’s-”

Harlyn took off her hood. The serpent flicked its tongue over her cheeks. The men took a step back, away from her.

“M-miss Snape!” Said the one who had snapped at her, eyes now wide in fear . Not because of her. Nobody was afraid of a traitor’s daughter. Still, Severus was infamous, almost as feared and adored as the Dark Lord himself . “I did not recognise you.”

“Evidently.” Harlyn stepped out of the line and drew back her sleeve, revealing the silver bracelet around her wrist. Two strands of silver, one of gold and one strand of bronze wound together to form a slim ring with no ending or opening. 

It stored all the information about her and served as identification, the colour corresponding to one’s blood status. Gold for Purebloods, silver for Half-Bloods, bronze for Mudbloods and traitors – tarnished, as their blood, not gleaming, polished metal but filthy green.

Severus wore silver with a single strand of gold. Her mother’s was bronze. Draco’s was all gold. Ron’s had a strand of bronze.

Another Death Eater tapped his wand against Harlyn’s bracelet. Her name, date of birth and picture flashed in the air above it. The Death Eater was young. Harlyn could not see his face through the silver mask, but she recognised his wand and the way his uncertainty and inexperience bled into his wand movements. She had briefly interacted with him once while staying at Slytherin Manor , though she had been too exhausted -both physically and mentally - from the Dark Lord's strict lessons to say more than two words to him.

“Oh, it’s your birthday.” He said. Even his voice sounded young. How old was he? Fifteen? He couldn't be much older. Silver gleamed at his wrist with a single strand of bronze. He must be a child of a traitor too, eager to prove himself and cast off the shadow his parents had drawn over his life.

Harlyn could understand.

“Happy Birthday, Miss Snape.” A smile was audible in his voice. He stepped aside and let her pass. Harlyn remained silent.

The world used to be very different. She heard whispers about the past here and there and her history books spoke of the change the Dark Lord had brought. Harlyn didn’t know any other world. She never had to feel ashamed of her magical parentage or hide who she was. Sometimes she hoped life could be different for her mother. She hadn’t meant to steal magic, Harlyn was sure of it. And was it her fault Dumbledore had brought her to Hogwarts? Had an elven-year-old with no prior knowledge of the wizarding world been supposed to know better? To decline? To know her place without being told?

Her mother was kind and warm and Harlyn loved her dearly - no matter how guilty she felt for it sometimes…

As soon as she arrived in Diagon Alley, Harlyn’s feet carried her to the Malfoy Apothecary. She observed the shelves and had their newest wares shown to her, weighing the coins in her pocket while contemplating what to spend them on. She didn’t have money at her disposal to spend however she wished very often. She got an allowance but most of that gold she spent on potions ingredients or books. She left with a few dried Deadlyius, a poisonous mushroom. She was working on formulating a new potion, but she was missing something. It didn’t work quite right. Perhaps the Deadlyius would be the answer.

A golden cauldron in the window of Potage’s Cauldron Shop caught her attention and she spent several minutes staring at it. She might have just enough for it…it did look wicked cool…

In the end, Harlyn decided against it, though with a heavy heart. Severus would never approve of it. And gold had terrible properties when it came to brewing, making it basically useless.

She browsed Quality Quidditch Supplies . It was her favourite store. Whenever she was in Diagon Alley she visited it, and she could spend hours just admiring the wares on display. Today, the shop had the Quidditch Robes of her favourite team set up in the window.

In the middle of the store, mounted on a podium was the most magnificent broom Harlyn had ever seen. The Firebolt. She had admired it often since it first came out three years ago and it was still the best broom on the market. Nothing could beat its max speed and most professional Quidditch teams were still using it.

She had no idea how expensive it was since instead of a price tag, a little sign by the podium read Price on demand.  

She didn’t have enough regardless.

Harlyn had no access to the Potter vault. She wasn’t of age yet and she was sure Severus would never allow her to access it just to buy a broom.

Even if it was the most amazing, wonderful, terrific broom on the market.

He did not approve of Quidditch, nor of Harlyn’s love for it.

She bought a sugar quill for a few Knuts at a booth selling different types of sweets and nibbled on it while wandering the many, convoluting paths, all lined with stores selling all that one could imagine.

Around noon, Harlyn considered sitting down in one of the pubs for a bite to eat but decided it was a waste of her precious birthday money. She could eat at home.

Harlyn was becoming increasingly frustrated. It should not be that hard to spend her money! She had been at the most famous shopping mile for all wizarding needs and desires in the British Isles and all she had to show for were mushrooms and a sugar quill!

Even her exploration of the dark arts stores left her empty-handed. The books they offered were inferior to Severus’ collection. The cursed jewellery was either too deadly to even handle or made so poorly, Harlyn would be able to do better.

Her curfew was creeping closer and closer and Harlyn was running out of shops when she passed by a small, sleazy-looking place she had never been to before.

Sometimes Severus would take her along to Diagon Alley when he had to get new supplies, and he had dragged her past this place by her collar. As though it contained something truly deplorable.

Harlyn stood in front of it, intrigued but uncertain.

Severus wasn’t here to stop her…how bad would it be to take a little peak? Perhaps he’d hear she’d been in the shop and barge into her room to scold her as soon as he came home. At least he’d have to acknowledge her existence then…

Harlyn pushed the door open. It was dark inside and smelled of alcohol, the biting scent of disinfecting potions. The walls were plastered with posters, each filled with different motives. Snakes and dragons, grotesquely disfigured fairies and much more, too much for Harlyn to take all in.

In a glass display case, different types of piercings rested on black satin pillows.

“See something you fancy?”

Harlyn startled , caught off guard by the employee entering the shop area through a doorway mantled with a dark curtain. Silver gleamed around his wrist. The tank top he wore left his muscular arms uncovered. They were covered in tattoos, every inch of skin hidden behind dark ink. He was heavily pierced too.

Harlyn didn’t even have her earlobes pierced.

“I don’t know…”

“Well, have a look around and let me know if you have any questions.”

She nodded absentmindedly, turning her head away from him to hide her scar. So this was why Severus had not wanted her to go into this shop. It seemed silly, especially considering the enormous snake spreading over her back in black ink. 

Though that was different, she supposed. 

The snake had been given to her by the Dark Lord himself before she had been old enough to form lasting memories. She had never been told more about it , just that she was not to ask questions. Sometimes the Dark Lord would order her to show it to him and she would feel the tip of his wand against her bare skin. It was similar to the Dark Mark and sometimes it would prick when he summoned his Death Eaters. It was a different pain than what she felt when he touched her scar though…

“Do you have something subtle?”

Harlyn knew she would not survive turning up at home with a metal ring through her nose or eyebrow…

“Bellybutton piercings are popular with girls.” He pointed at an assortment of piercings, all with bows and pink glittery stones that were very much not to her liking. Her disdain must have shown on her face because the young man chuckled. “I have another idea but…” He tapped his finger against his chin, thinking, contemplating Harlyn. She didn’t like being stared up. “You don’t strike me as the type.”

Harlyn crossed her arms. “What do I strike you as then?”

“Your father is a Death Eater, relatively important too, probably. You just realised your whole future is planned out for you already and you’re panicking. You realised you’ve never made a single choice for yourself and now you want to take control over the only thing that is truly yours, your body.”

“Dead wrong. ” Harlyn said silkily.

The man stared at her for a moment before shrugging. “One can’t always be right.”

Harlyn stepped closer to the display case, her eyes surveying the different types of jewellery while the man’s words echoed in her head.

Her body had never once belonged to her. Her father had used her as bait and the Dark Lord was using her for his experiment or whatever the Mark on her back was. She was a warden of the state, not allowed to own property or even access her family’s vault. Her future was one huge, blank canvas - though she supposed if there was a plan in place for her, it just wasn’t one she was allowed to know about.

What Harlyn wanted, more than anything, was to belong, for Severus to acknowledge her, to pay attention to her, to be- to be the dad he used to be!

And if she had to force him to parent her…

“This one.” Harlyn tapped against the display case. “I want this one.”

***

It had all sounded so logical.

For her whole life, Harlyn had done everything she could think of to be the perfect daughter, to be just like Severus, to embody the very values he represented. She had erased his need to be present in her life, to be a father figure to guide and shape her so what better way could there be to make him pay attention to her again than to act out?

Now it sounded stupid to her.

Harlyn felt stupid.

She was sitting in the parlour, wrapped up in a blanket with a book in her lap, her eyes skimming the page without reading a single word.

Her mum had cooked a feast for her with all of Harlyn’s favourite dishes and a huge Treacle Tart as her birthday cake with sixteen candles shoved into it. Severus hadn’t been home, just as he had announced.

The splashing of water and the noise of tableware clinking together spilt from the kitchen where her mother was cleaning up. It was getting late. Harlyn was stuck between wanting to flee to her room and stall the inevitable and remaining stoic, waiting for Severus.

The choice was taken from her seconds later. The fireplace flared. Green flames licked at the soot-covered bricks, spitting out Severus on the worn hearthrug.

Lily poked her head out of the kitchen.

Harlyn’s mother was beautiful, the polar opposite of her. Her long, dark red hair was smooth and silky, not like Harlyn’s spikey, plain, tedious hair. She was tall and slim and perfect in every way.

Only her eyes, her eyes were the same as Harlyn’s. Just as green, just as bright. It was the only pretty thing about her, the only part of her appearance she liked.

“You’re home.”  quickly dried her hands on her apron and rushed over to accept Severus’ cloak.

“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes. His gaze landed on her. She could feel it burn through the back of her head. “I heard you were in Diagon Alley.”

Harlyn cursed the Death Eaters from the control point. Of course, they would tell him where she had been headed.

She didn’t reply , merely shrugged, her back still turned to him.

“Did you find something to your liking?” His tone was flat, disinterested. He sounded bored, as though her answer didn’t even interest him. Harlyn didn’t know if it was true, but she knew he asked mainly to see whether she got something he would disapprove of.

Harlyn lifted the worn, half-sucked sugar quill over her shoulder before popping it back into her mouth.

“You spent six galleons on sweets?”

Harlyn thought to have heard a smidgen of amusement in his voice but one could never be sure with Severus.

“I bought Deadlyius too. I thought perhaps they would stabilize my potion during its second stage of brewing. It gets too hot.”

“Unicorn hair would be better suited.”

“But it interacts poorly with Wartizome, thus rendering my entire work useless.”

Severus hummed, a throaty rumble.

“I’ve set a plate aside for you.” Lily returned after hanging up Severus’ cloak, but Severus’ eyes were still glued to the back of Harlyn’s head. She noticed too late what he was doing, too late to brace her mental shields. The temperature around her seemed to fall, leaving her to shiver, her knuckles going white from clutching the blanket.

“Leave us.”

Lily stammered, left out of the silent interaction. Severus seized her by the arm and shoved her out of the parlour, slamming the door shut in her face. Harlyn watched from the corner of her eye, unable to move, frozen in place by trepidation.

Severus going quiet like that was never a good sign. She had seen him go from deathly still into a raging, feral fit that left a boisterous, arrogant young Death Eater in a bloody pulp on the floor. The Dark Lord had merely looked amused.

Severus had never raised his hand to her. 

Not once.

But when he grabbed her by the collar and slammed her into the wall, Harlyn was scared.

She had never truly been scared of Severus. She had always felt safe with him. He had been her protector, he was her protector. But now he was towering over her, his grip iron, his face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage, lips curled into a silent snarl baring his crooked, yellow teeth to her.

“Dad-”

Her head was whipped around by the force of his palm connecting with her cheek. It stung and left her cheek throbbing and Harlyn scrambling to get air back into her lungs. 

“I am not your father.” Severus’ voice was a raging inferno about to devour her. He grabbed her chin and dug his fingers into her cheeks, forcing her to open her mouth, showing him what she had really bought from his gold.

A tongue piercing.

Harlyn had gotten her tongue pierced. Two barbells, piercing right through the centre of her tongue in a vertical line.

“But you are truly as imbecile as he.”

His words stung. They were fingers being ruthlessly shoved into a wound, that deep, torn, bleeding cut slashing through her chest that no one could see, and nothing would ever heal. Severus wasn’t her father, and he didn’t want to be. 

Her own father had given her up as bait, willing to throw away her life before she had even learnt to walk for the poisoned words of a demagogue.

No matter how much Harlyn tried to make him love her, all she ever seemed to achieve was pushing him away further.

Severus let go of her chin, just to thread his fingers through her hair, grasp it tightly in his fist, yanking her head back.

“No snarky remark?” His tone was dripping with sardonic contempt. His breath smelt of whiskey and cigarettes. Deep shadows sat under his bloodshot eyes.

His rage made the fine hairs at her nape stand up straight and waves of cold sweat run down her back but at least he was looking at her. At least he was talking to her.

Her mind was an open book to him. Harlyn was too consumed by her emotions to even try to keep him out but then again she had always been shit at Occlumency, no matter how much he tried to shove the knowledge into her head. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t stand her. 

Severus was the most skilled Occlumens after the Dark Lord.

His lips twisted in a derisive, snarling mockery of a grin, all teeth and feral eyes.

“You Potters and your need for the spotlight.” He spat. “Are you so pathetic, girl? So fucking desperate for my attention? Well, you have my attention.”

Severus shoved Harlyn to her knees, using his height and strength to shamelessly overpower her. Her heart was racing in her chest. Her palms turned clammy. Harlyn was no stranger to pain, though she had never experienced it at Severus’ hands beyond the throbbing headaches of his attempts to hone her mental shields. She had looked the Dark Lord in the eyes as he cast the torture curse at her just to see how she’d react. She had endured his prodding at her scar despite it feeling like he was splitting her head open.

This was different.

The fear she felt around the Dark Lord was different.

The fear she felt right now tasted stale, putrid, rancid.

It made her want to turn back time and stop herself from acting so stupidly rash, so childishly petulant.

And yet this was better than his corrosive disregard.

“If you feel so mature, if you choose to deface your body to get a man’s attention like a common Muggle whore - then I shall teach you what that gets you, girl.”

If he’d only use her name.

If he’d address her by her name just once .

She was trapped against the wall by his body, caged in between his legs and the bookshelf digging into her spine. His blunt nails against her scalp were merciless, bruising . Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes, but she stubbornly held them back.

She had seen the pleased expression on the Dark Lord’s face when one of his servants endured his punishment, kneeling resolutely, keeping his mouth shut, showing accountability and humility at once.

Severus was his second-in-command, almost as feared as the Dark Lord himself - surely he’d think the same way?

Harlyn didn’t know, but what other choice was she left with?

This was what she had wanted, what she provoked with her actions. It was no use to try and escape the consequences of her actions now.

“Either way, I will get my money’s worth.”

Never could she have anticipated what he did next, never would she have guessed he’d unbuckle his belt. At first, she stupidly thought he’d use it to punish her, to hurt her, not realising the way she was positioned to his feet, or the subtle bulge of his trousers.

Harlyn was not some naive, shielded little girl. She knew about sex. When she had been thirteen, Severus tossed a book at her, a thick tome with dry, medical explanations about everything and anything a teenager could have questions about. When asked about it, he had merely said he would not have her source of information be the Weasley boy or Draco and let them feed her false information and foolish misconceptions.

She knew what a penis looked like.

In theory.

It was a very different thing to have one shoved in her face, one half-hard, thick, throbbing cock attached to her step-father.

Harlyn was too shocked, too taken by surprise to do anything more than emit a weak squeak when Severus pressed the angry-red, plush mushroom head against her lips, spreading a salty, disgusting sticky liquid over them.

Severus’ eyes bore into her, cold and dark, two black holes consuming everything that got too close to it, threatening to swallow her up whole and Harlyn did not know whether she wanted to escape them - or let them.

Was it defiance, or to test his resolve, whatever inspired her action, Harlyn stuck out her tongue and swiped a broad stroke over his cockhead. She did not allow herself to shudder at the disgusting taste of pre-cum flooding her senses. Harlyn pressed her piercing against his throbbing flesh, her eyes cast up, watching him, watching the darkness consuming his face.

A low growl rumbled in his throat and his grip on her hair tightened further.

“I’ve told you before, I do not care for your cheek.” His scathing tone made her shiver. She clenched the fabric of her robes in her hands, subtly pressing her thighs together, ignoring the effect his voice and cock had on her hormonal body. 

Severus snapped his hips forward, forcing himself into her mouth in one sharp motion that made her choke and sputter around him. Her jaw started to hurt immediately. Her lips stretched obscenely around his girth. Her throat convulsed, muscles working to dispel the foreign object. She couldn’t breathe. She kept gagging as oxygen started getting sparse, as her lungs seized up. She could feel his cock throb on her tongue, the sensation both strange and terribly arousing. 

Severus tilted his head to the side playfully. “No more back talk, hm? How easily you are made to shut up. Perhaps you are more like your mother than I thought.”

Harlyn glared at him, but it was swiftly wiped off her face. Severus set a brutal pace, keeping her head in place with his punishing grip on her hair. He thrust inside her with no consideration for her. Harlyn might as well not have been there. She was but a tight vice for him to use to bring himself pleasure. And yet he was looking at her, seeing her - Harlyn couldn’t tell when he had last looked at her and actually saw her instead of seeing through her, refusing to acknowledge her as he did with all who annoyed him.

“My dim-witted, dull charge…” He grunted as he forced his way into her throat. “...speaking of potential marriage, as your step-father I ought to teach you a lesson about men - ah - forget learning to cook, this here, this is all you need to know. How to shut the fuck up and take cock, like a big girl.”

Her brain had yet to catch up with the absurd situation she had found herself in. She had a terrible tendency to end up in absurd situations, living her life seemingly chased by danger , but this one had to be the cherry on top of the heap of absurdities.

Her lungs burned. Her throat ached. Drool ran down her chin and his balls, dropping on the ground between them and her robes. It lathered his cocks in absurd quantities, accompanying his brutal thrust with filthy slurping noises, only interrupted by her choking.

Heat was gathering between her thighs, a terrible, disturbing, concerning, smouldering heat that seeped through her knickers.

Severus’ dark eyes rested on her, etching need into her, reducing her to the heat burning through her inside, painting her skin a flushed pink. Harlyn rocked her hips, desperate for a little bit of friction to ease the pressure building between her thighs, that sticky, wet, throbbing pressure that mounted further with every time Severus shoved her nose into the short curls at his base, engulfing her in his musky scent, something so overwhelmingly masculine, it overpowered her racing thoughts.

Harlyn felt a whimper well up in her throat. She clutched Severus’ slacks in her trembling hands, drawing herself up as best as she could, seeking his approval with her eyes, silently begging him to never take his eyes off her again.

Severus cradled her head in his hands, drew her closer, blunt nails digging into her scalp, a calloused thumb mindlessly caressing her tear and drool-stained cheek.

Harlyn helplessly rolled her hips, finding slithers of friction against her own legs, her mind filling with filthy, depraved pictures, Severus’ dark eyes haunted her through every last one of them. Drool ran down her throat, tickling her flesh and soaking into the high collar of her robes.

She couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care.

Her sole focus lay on Severus’ face. He wasn’t attractive like the Pureblood boys she’d see at the lavish balls Lucius and the other heads of the sacred families would throw, cloaked in arrogance and an air of superiority.

Severus’ face was all rough edges and sharp angles. A squared jaw and high cheekbones further accentuated by his sunken cheeks, a testament to the hours he spent hunched over a cauldron, forgetting the whole world around him in the process of brewing. His hooked nose, prominent and regal, as though taken directly from a Roman statue of a god. His dark hair curtained his face, cloaking it in shadows and secrets.

Harlyn felt as though she was seeing him in a new light entirely.

Severus drew back, allowing her to breathe, his cockhead resting against her bottom lip. She gasped for air, coughing, each one sending thrills of pain through her throat and chest and making her cunt clench around nothing.

He brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face. His face did not betray what he was thinking. Harlyn knelt, waiting, hesitant to allow herself to relish in his sudden gentleness.

She could feel his cock twitch on her tongue and the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath her trembling fingers still twisted into the fabric of his slacks.

He snapped his hips forward, burying himself deep in her throat, forcing his way into her, past convulsing muscles, making her gag and sputter. He tensed up, a spasm jerking through him. He slams his hand against the bookshelf, bracing himself against the wood, dropping his head against a leather-bound book on the proper preparation technique for magical fungi.

“That’s it, baby girl- fuck-” 

That word alone almost has Harlyn come undone.

Praise is rare coming from Severus’ lips. Praise hissed between clenched teeth, his voice ragged with lust, straining, raspy, void of all contempt and sneer is a fucking revelation. It makes her whimper and leaves her cunt dripping.

Severus thrust - once, twice - shallow, short stabs against the back of her throat and he came, accompanied by low grunts.

Her step-father comes on her tongue.

Her step-father fucked her throat.

She knows what her step-father’s cock feels like, what his cum tastes like-

Before Harlyn had time to swallow the bitter, salty liquid on her tongue, Severus had tucked himself back in his trousers and looked as put together as always, as if nothing had happened. Harlyn remained on the ground, trembling and covered in spit and his pre-cum. She must look truly debauched, so utterly used and obscene.

“Clean yourself up, girl.” Severus snapped at her. Harlyn fumbled to obey but she needed two attempts before her cleaning charm worked. “You’re grounded. Now get out of my sight.”

He turned his back on her.

Just like that.

As if nothing had happened.

Harlyn passed her mother in the hallway. She shot a fearful glance at the open parlour door while asking Harlyn if she was all right. She managed to nod before Severus’ voice from inside the parlour summoned her. Lily forced a smile and gave Harlyn’s hand a reassuring squeeze. 

Harlyn stood in the dark hallway, as though someone had hit her with a body-bind curse. She felt odd. Lighter, but numb at the same time. Only when she heard muffled moans and the slap slap slap of flesh hitting flesh. Harlyn fled upstairs.

Chapter Text

Things went as normal.

Severus acted as though nothing had happened, treating Harlyn with the same mixture of indifference and annoyance at her presence, with an added flavour of scathing disdain dripping off every word he grudgingly directed at her.

But things weren’t normal for Harlyn.

Very, very much not normal.

She was haunted by the events that had taken place in the parlour. The blind rage Severus had gone into against her expectations, the stench of alcohol on his breath, the heat of his body against hers, his cock-

No!

No, Harlyn would not be thinking that again.

Her wrist was aching from all the times she had had to let off some steam.

She should be horrified. She should feel violated and unsafe and perhaps even bring what Severus had done to the Dark Lord’s attention - after all, rape was one of the biggest crimes a wizard could commit.

Put harming a magical child on top of it and any other man would have had to face a lifetime in Azkaban – or execution.

But Severus wasn’t any other man. He was the Dark Lord’s most successful disciple, that what all other Death Eaters aspired to be. He was his second-in-command, second most influential wizard in all of Britain, even more favoured than Bellatrix.

Harlyn didn’t know if he’d even face any consequences were she to talk.

The laws were iron, but even iron became malleable under heat and for the Dark Lord’s most trusted, most favoured, his closest Death Eaters - different rules applied.

But then again, she seemed to be special. The Dark Lord had always kept her close by, had taken a personal interest in her education…Harlyn remembered countless days she had spent sitting on his lap as a child, colouring while his Death Eaters were gathered around him, reporting on their assignments and discussing their course of action for this or that situation.

But would weigh heavier? His favouritism for her – or for Severus?

No, sneaking out to ask the Dark Lord for an audience was not an option. In the worst case, and with her luck, it would backfire in her face and be taken as her showing weakness.

There was nothing the Dark Lord hated more than weakness.

And then there was the other thing…Harlyn did not feel violated.

She had never made any advances on him, nor had Severus shown any inappropriate behaviour towards her ever, but since the evening of her sixteenth birthday, Harlyn was incapable of not thinking about her stepfather. Him bending her over his desk, laying her over his knees and spanking her until her arse was red, forcing her to her knees. Severus towering over her. Severus lying on top of her, crushing her into the mattress of her single bed and fucking into her. She woke in the middle of the night, sweating and close to coming from her dream alone. She stuffed her cunt with her fingers in the shower, biting her arm to muffle her cries. She blushed whenever Severus just came into her proximity.

Harlyn didn’t know what to do.

Her mother knew something had happened but not what had happened and Harlyn would be damned before she told her. Lily was careful to broach the subject with Harlyn, especially with Severus in the house. Harlyn brushed her off, claiming Severus had just yelled at her for getting her tongue pierced. Lily didn’t believe her but what was she going to do? She held no power in this world and Harlyn really didn’t want to discuss the subject any further with her. Not when she lay awake at night, making herself come to the thought of the man that was tormenting Lily’s every waking moment, thinking about switching places with her mother…

Harlyn desperately needed some space to think. Being grounded meant she didn’t get any. Severus shovelled on an extra heap of work and chores on top of her already challenging curriculum and so it came that Harlyn spent the coming weeks entrenched in her bedroom or the potion lab, hunched over a desk, trying not to look too much at the neat, elegantly curving handwriting of Severus, to not picture how his fingers had held the quill as he wrote down her tasks, or to picture those long, slender fingers curl around his cock-

Harlyn groaned loudly and dropped her forehead against the desk.

The scorching heat of the potion lab wasn’t helping her keep a cool mind at all.

She swirled around on the swivel chair and got up, a spring to her step born from excess energy she could not burn off by flying or foraging in the woods.

Harlyn did not do well cooped up in the house and Severus knew this.

A fire was burning under every single cauldron in the lab, several batches of different healing and restorative potions, at different stages of brewing lined the large butcher block in the middle of the cellar room. The air was stuffy and spent, filled with the fumes of the concoctions under her supervision.

She preferred this over brooding over her desk, raking through dry, ancient texts or sitting in the burning sun pulling up weeds.

Still, the humid heat wasn’t pleasant. Sweat stuck to every inch of her body, leaving her feeling sticky and disgusting. Her hair was also having none of it, acting even more unruly than usual, adding frizz to what already were untameable curls.

Harlyn wasn’t wearing her usual robes, instead opting for a pair of shorts and a backless tank top. She wasn’t wearing a bra either and she knew, if Severus could see her walk barefoot walk in his lab with her back and thighs exposed, he’d have an aneurysm.

But it was hot.

Perhaps the hottest day of the summer! Her cooling charms kept failing and she was sick and tired of casting them over and over and over.

It wasn’t like she was going anywhere anyway.

She didn't dare not to wear her steel-capped boots though...she was feeling hot and as though she was melting - not suicidal. Severus would rip her head off for not wearing shoes.

The Mandrakes that had been stewing in boiling water were done and Harlyn needed to finish the batch of Blood-replenishing potion quickly or all her work would be for naught. She plucked the wobbly tubers from their hot batch and used the back of her knife to grind them into a fine paste that could then be added into the grey, thick mass bubbling over a low flame. Stirring in the Mandrake paste was always exhausting and Harlyn had to put her entire weight into the stirring motion to get her glass rod to pass through the mass. Ten times clockwise…had she done everything right, the potion would begin to turn more liquid again now. Harlyn exhaled a relieved breath when the potion turned orange. Four more counter-clockwise stirs and it was as liquid as water again. A dash of powdered Unicorn horn and the potion took on its distinctive blood-red colour, ready to be bottled. Harlyn extinguished the flame and filled some of the potion into a vial that she set aside for now.

Her Wiggenweld potion had finally turned yellow. It was sensitive to humidity and heat and always took longer in the summer months during this step. It was an easy potion and Harlyn didn’t need to consult her recipe book while adding Lionfish spines, Flobberworm Mucus, Honey water and a few drops of Boom Berry juice, stirring in between each ingredient. She flicked her wand at the burner under the cauldron, hexing it to turn off in thirty minutes when the potion was done simmering.

Harlyn wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. The remaining potions would take some more time simmering, some she was not to touch, tasked rather with keeping an eye on them while Severus was busy with work.

She was parched and desperate for a break from the stuffy heat, so Harlyn headed upstairs, emitting a pleased sigh at the cool air of the kitchen settling around her sweaty skin. It was hot upstairs in the kitchen too but coming from the windowless cellar, it was a real treat. She padded across the polished tiles to the sink. Using her hands, Harlyn gulped down greedy sips of water. Once she had had her fill, she got up on her tiptoes and held her head under the cool stream of water, letting it soak into her messy curls that were already ruined by the humid potion air, and savoured it running down her neck, washing away some of the stickiness of her sweat.

Harlyn blindly grabbed a tea towel and dried her face and glasses. She turned on the spot to lean back against the counter and froze.

Across from her, in the parlour stood two boys in dark robes. The shorter one of the two was holding a familiar silver mask in his hands. A blush was creeping up his neck.

“Hi, Silas.” Harlyn’s voice held no particular warmth or interest. 

She nodded her head as the other boy, the same one who had checked her bracelet on her birthday. She didn’t remember his name, nor cared to.

“Miss Snape.” Silas bowed his head. He had the same chestnut brown hair and mad eyes as his father, Rabastan Lestrange. Generally, Silas looked a lot like his father with his long face, strong jaw and prominent brow ridge. Pansy once commented on how it was a shame he was a bastard, meaning that she could never be with him. Why that was unfortunate though, Harlyn could not comprehend. Sure, she didn’t know Silas, but he didn't seem…like the sharpest knife in the drawer. Mix that with generational insanity and you’d be in for a real treat of a husband.

“Is there something you need?” Harlyn said, audibly irritated by the boys staring at her.

“We were sent to fetch something from General Snape the Dark Lord would not entrust an owl with.”

“I see.” 

Harlyn had already lost interest in the conversation. She turned her back on them and reached up to pluck a box of cereals from a shelf. Flicking her wand at the ice box, she summoned a milk bottle while getting a bowl. The boys were still looking at her when she shoved a heaping spoonful of the candy-floss-flavoured, ghost-shaped cereals into her mouth.

Harlyn spotted Lily kneeling by the sofa, scrubbing the floor by hand, her head bowed, gaze averted. She didn’t want to stay under the annoying scrutiny of the young Death Eaters aspirants but the thought of leaving them alone with her mother, she liked even less.

Severus expected her to keep every inch of the house utterly spotless, while also preparing all meals, cleaning his clothes, polishing his shoes, and more things Harlyn would rather not think about (thought about too much already) - all without a flicker of magic of course. A human house-elf, though house-elves experienced more freedom still. And yet…it had to be better than Azkaban - or the brothels in Knockturn Alley Severus probably didn’t want her to know about but she had overheard Ron and Draco talking about in the past.

Severus returned just as Harlyn was finishing her snack, his steel-capped leather boots thundering against the hardwood floor. He had a sealed thick scroll of parchment in his hand, holding it up and pointing it threateningly at the young men, the shorter one still fumbling nervously at his silver mask.

Silas seemed unimpressed by Severus’ imposing appearance, which was in and of itself a red flag.

Only idiotic, arrogant fools thought it was a show of strength to underestimate a clearly superior, more experienced wizard who could wipe the floor with them before they even got the chance to draw their wands.

Harlyn washed her bowl and spoon quickly and set them down on the drying rack.

“Have you finished the potions?” Severus’ gaze burned into the back of her head.

“The Wiggenweld is cooling. The Blood-replenishing Potion is done. The wound-healing solution needs to steep overnight. Your Veritaserum is ready for the next step, so I put it under stasis. The Wolfsbane needs another hour of simmering and I’ll be finishing the Essence of Insanity once the Beetle Eyes have dissolved.” Harlyn rattled off while bending over the door of the ice box to pluck a cold can of soda out. It was her favourite kind. Lime flavoured with a dash of pixie dust that gave the drinker an energy boost and heightened their concentration for a few hours. “Sir.” She added at the sight of Severus’ face and the murderous expression twisting his features. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Harlyn fled towards the stairs leading down into the cellar but hesitated at the top when she heard Severus’ voice, a low snarl that painted goosebumps over her arms.

“Do tell, are you fond of the position of your eyeballs?”

It was a rhetorical question, one that was seething with barely held-back, devastating rage and hatred. She couldn’t imagine the boys being able to do more than hectically shake their heads.

“In that case, you’d do well to not let them wander to my charge in such a manner again or I shall pluck them from your skull with the back of a spoon. Is that clear?”

Another rhetorical question.

One Silas was foolish enough to answer, or perhaps too dumb to realise Severus did not want to hear another word from them.

Severus loathed backtalk.

“Sir, with all due respect, all I did was appreciate what she was willingly presenting-”

Crack.

The distinctive, chilling sound of a bone breaking was followed by a muffled cry and the thump of someone’s knees hitting the ground.

Harlyn covered her mouth with her hand, suppressing a startled noise that would give away her eavesdropping. 

“Are you suggesting,” Severus’ voice was perfectly even still, flat almost, nearly bored. “that my charge, the Dark Lord’s ward, cannot dress however the fuck she pleases in her own home? I know you are a motherless bastard son, but I would have expected one of your nannies to teach you the rules of hospitality - or perhaps they were too busy getting fucked by your father. I know you are harbouring hopes that the Dark Lord will allow you to inherit your father’s name and wealth…rest assured he will hear of this and now get the fuck out of my house.”

Hurried steps thrummed against the floor. The front door slammed into the door casing with a loud pang .

“Severus, I-”

Lily was interrupted harshly. “Get that fucking blood off my floor. What the fuck do I even keep you around for?!”

Harlyn could hear his boots against the ground and quickly ran downstairs before he could enter the kitchen and discover her. Her heart was racing in her chest, her mind scrambling to make sense of what she overheard but none of it was making any sense to her.

Had they stared at the snake?

It was given to her by the Dark Lord, and she should feel nothing but gratitude and honour at him choosing her to do whatever it was the snake existed for, but Harlyn had never had an easy time doing as she should. She couldn’t help but wish it weren’t there, that she’d look at least a little more normal, more like the other girls with their delicate features and mild dispositions.

If only it wouldn’t move.

Even now, she could feel the snake’s tail coil around her arm, its head wrapping around her torso…

Possessive, cloying…it felt controlling. Like some magical force kept her in check, permanently keeping tabs on her, like ropes that twisted around her anytime she took a wrong step though nobody had ever told her what was considered wrong.

How could anybody ever look at her and see anything but a freakshow?

“Fuck!” Harlyn jumped forward, rushing towards the overboiling cauldron of Essence of Insanity. With a flick of her wrist, she extinguished the flame of the burner and began to vigorously stir the toxic, green sludge. Her eyes raked over the counters lining the walls of the cellar room, searching for something that would break the reaction caused by overheating.

She ran towards the apothecary shelf next to the door and snatched a bottle of Sal Ammoniac from a shelf, hurrying up to get back to the potion before it could spill over the sides of the cauldrons. Two drops, stir, wait - repeat if necessary.

“That was close.”

After almost ruining her day’s work and possibly weeks and months’ worth of Severus’ work too, Harlyn was eager to finish her brew before something else could go wrong.

“Mum!” Harlyn gave a jump, startled out of her focus by Lily appearing, seemingly out of nowhere, right next to her. 

“I called your name, you didn’t answer.”

“Sorry. What did you want?”

“I just wanted to ask what you’d like to have for dinner.”

Harlyn raised a brow. “Shouldn’t you ask Severus that?”

“He doesn’t like to be bothered with trivial things.” Lily shrugged. Harlyn wasn’t convinced.

“He’s been pretty angry lately.” Harlyn said flatly, poking about a bowl filled with dried fairy wings. 

“You needn’t worry about that.”

“If he is angry because of something we did, and he might throw us out then I do have to worry about that!”

“It’s not that.” 

Harlyn continued to look unconvinced. Lily sighed.

“It’s the anniversary of his mother’s death. The weeks leading up to it are always…tense.”

“Oh…”

She had no idea.

Severus never spoke about his past or family. All that Harlyn knew was what everyone knew, the rumours and what the Dark Lord had told her.

Harlyn didn’t know what to say. It felt surreal that Lily knew so much about Severus, but at one point they had been friends. Like she and Ron were friends.

“How did she die?”

“His father killed her when he was a boy.”

Was that the reason he was even colder than usual? Even more unpredictable? Lily and Severus had been friends when they were children, Harlyn knew that, and she had seen the cigarette burn scars on Severus’ arms. She knew his father had been a real piece of shit. The Dark Lord told her about him once, how he was so intimidated by his son and wife possessing magic, he sought to claim control over them by beating on them…

He told her how he had helped Severus find his strength, helped him pull himself up out of the mud and mould himself into the man he was today…

Did Lily remind him of his past? Of a time when he had been weak, vulnerable? Did Harlyn’s face remind him of the teenager who made his life at Hogwarts hell? From what the Dark Lord had told her, James had been a horrible person, hexing people simply because they annoyed him whilst claiming the Dark Lord’s followers were evil, gruel…

Harlyn let out a bitter laugh. “So we both have shitty fathers.”

Pain flashed over Lily’s face, an ugly scar that cut through her beauty.

“James loves you.”

Harlyn turned towards her potion. It was turning a brighter green with a distinctive yellow hue. With quick, precise motions she chopped a rat brain into even, medium-sized cubes and tossed them into the cauldron. She stirred, four times counter-clockwise, once clockwise and then five times counter-clockwise. She lowered the flame.

“Do you know that potioneering runs in the family?”

“Your parents are Muggles.” Harlyn huffed. She charmed her hands clean and started tidying the mess she left in her wake.

“I was talking about your father. He personally never had an interest in it, he was naturally talented, but he didn’t care to hone his skills. He liked Transfiguration though.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s how the family acquired its wealth, even before your grandfather sold the recipe to Sleekazy’s.”

“I told you to stop talking about him! He is a traitor, and he abandoned us, abandoned me - I hate him! And I wish you’d stop reminding me of him or how much I look like him. I do not share the fondness you feel for him-” Harlyn stopped abruptly, her eyes trailing to the side. How could Severus move as silently as a cat while simultaneously being able to make his footsteps echo through the whole house?

He took his time descending the stairs, leaving time for the air to grow thick around Harlyn and Lily, for fear to creep into her veins and for Lily to regret what she had said.

Severus clicked his tongue. “How many years ago have I taken you in, Lily? When you stood on my threshold with a wailing child in your arms. They are fighting like dogs over her, you said… they are fighting like dogs and will tear her to pieces, I’ll do anything, anything if you protect her.” He had reached Lily. He towered over her, at least a head taller than the red-head, and even taller than Harlyn. His face was void of emotion. “How long, since I graciously took you in and saved your life?”

“Fourteen years.” Lily whispered, her head bowed.

“And have you, in those fourteen years, ever once been allowed into my lab?”

“No.”

“No.” He hummed, the single syllable stretched in a mocking melody, velvet sweet coming from his deep, rumbling voice and yet as sharp as the razor knife he had inherited from his father and still used to this day. “So what good reason could you have to be here now?”

“I am not a child, Severus.”

He had grabbed her by the throat faster than Harlyn could have reacted - not that there was anything she could do. Lily knew how much Severus hated backtalk.

“Oh, I am aware of that.” He pushed her face-first against the wall. Her thighs hit the counter, and Lily braced her hands against it to catch her fall. Tenderly, mockingly so, Severus brushed her hair aside and pressed his mouth to the crook of Lily’s neck, making her tremble with fear. “Perhaps I should show you just how aware I am. Perhaps I should make your little girl watch to teach her to make better life choices, so she doesn’t end up a whore like her mother. Girl-”

She felt his gaze upon her, heavy and hot and her thoughts ran wild, picturing herself pinned between him and the counter instead of her mother…how terribly rotten she was.

“-do you want to end up like your mother?” A scathing pout played around his every word. “Live life on your knees? Scrubbing the floor to a man's feet on your knees like a filthy house elf, getting fucked into the ground like a cheap whore?”

“Severus-”

“That is exactly what she sounded like when she offered me her body in exchange for your life. So fucking pathetic. ”

“Please, you promised you wouldn’t-”

Severus chuckled darkly. “That I wouldn’t tell her? I made no such promise. You felt no qualms sharing my personal affairs with her, why should I not tell her how you let yourself get knocked up fresh out of school? How you got married to him just because of her. Or perhaps she’d like to know how it is your fault, your parents were slaughtered? I could tell her how you decided to go out with James Potter to spite me, how you fucked the guy who was doing his best to torment your supposed friend…out of anger and jealousy. Or were you telling her what a wonderful man your dear James is- was…by now Azkaban will have erased most of what made him him.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of Lily’s ears. “Good riddance.”

Without warning, Severus pushed Lily away and towards the stairs, telling her to get out of his sight, that this would have consequences.

And just like that, Harlyn was alone with Severus.

Chapter Text

Harlyn was suddenly and painfully aware of how little she was wearing, and Severus seemed to be stripping her of the last remainder of fabric with his eyes alone. She was shivering despite the potions bubbling behind her.

“Did you find that to be…entertaining?” Severus purred, voice frosty despite the taunting melody of his words. “Reminiscing about your old man with mummy? Did you enjoy hearing the grand tales of his exploits?” He stopped right in front of her. Harlyn had to tip her head back until her neck was straining to be able to look up at him. The edge of the butcher block dug into her bare back.

Harlyn shook her head.

“An amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you think she told me, but I don’t care about any of it.”

Harlyn couldn’t flee, couldn’t escape the heat of Severus’ body or how his closeness made her feel…made her feel like no girl should feel about her stepfather…

“If I knew how to, I would craft a spell that would erase his DNA from my body!”

Long, slender fingers came up to catch her chin, gripping it just tight enough for her to feel his blunt nails against her flesh and be pushed back in time by the sensation, reminded of the evening of her birthday…

She tried her best to seal those memories off, shove them down deep, stuffing them into the same chest reserved for all that came after, for every time she dreamt of him, every time she made herself come to his words from that evening, to the memory of his eyes on her…

“To do what? If you were to succeed, what would you do? You cannot want to only carry your mother’s blood, to give up your wand, and magic…” His lips curled and they managed to say what he left unsaid to torment her.

“Why not?” Harlyn bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes burned treacherously but it was too late now to lock away the feelings tugging on her heart. She felt like a petulant child, and she probably sounded like it too. “You are more of a father to me than he ever was.”

Severus' thumb played at her bottom lip, digging his nail into her sensitive flesh until it hurt, just to rub it over the spot, his calloused thumb dragging over her skin…

“How depraved of you…would you call me dad with the same tongue that worshipped my cock mere days ago? My, my…you are more of a needy slut than I thought but - ah - what else could become of a fatherless girl who grew up watching her mother whore herself out…perhaps I was not the first to use that little mouth of yours as a cocksleeve …” His eyes were resting on her lips now. He watched as he pushed his thumb against her lips, watched Harlyn part them, watched her stretch her tongue out to meet his thumb, her piercing gliding over his skin…

She didn’t know why she did it, but it felt right , it felt so devastatingly good to give into those desires tormenting her, no matter how horrible the guilt would be later. Right now, Harlyn felt alive like she had never before. The thrill of it better than any breakneck broom manoeuvre.

“Perhaps you decided to get such a whorish piercing for your little delinquent friend…tell me, does Mister Weasley know how your tight little throat feels?”

Harlyn emitted a scandalised squeak.

“No?” Severus tilted his head to the side. “In all the hours you’ve been alone with him? Not once? Or did you prefer having him between your thighs?”

All she could do was shake her head. Severus pressed his thumb into her mouth, pressed down on the piercing, rubbing back and forth on the metal balls…Harlyn closed her lips around him. She answered his humiliating prodding by curling her tongue around him, savouring the salty taste of his skin …the heat his touch lit in her belly.

Severus’ lips curled into a sneer. “Perhaps you saved yourself for your stepfather…” He dragged his thumb out of her mouth just to slam his pointer and ring finger back in, grabbing her throat with his free hand, pushing her back against the table further with his body.  

Harlyn was forced up on her tiptoes. The edge of the table dug into her lower back painfully, the wood hard and unmoving against her spine.

“Are you so desperate for male validation, girl?”

Harlyn was close to tears, though whether from the sting of his words or the insistent, aching pressure growing between her thighs, screaming to be quenched, she did not know.

She just knew Severus was here. Severus’ body was pressed against her, his hands held her, his eyes…those sheer endless pits of darkness, so deep they might as well contain an entire galaxy, as impervious as the secrets space kept concealed, and more hauntingly beautiful than anything Harlyn had ever seen.

Severus grabbed her face. His large hand settled over her face, heavy and consuming, rough with callouses, wet from her saliva. He let go of her throat to settle his hand on her ribcage, just beneath her breast, warm and so big compared to her-

And so little fabric separating them.

Harlyn couldn’t hold back the needy whimper slipping from her lips at the thought. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe, to get herself under control but with every breath, more of his heady scent filled her, turning to hot, liquid lust inside her that rushed right to her cunt.

“D-dad-”

“Tell me,” Severus leaned in closer. The tip of his hooked nose brushed her cheek. Harlyn couldn’t move, could barely manage to inhale enough air to not black out - though this whole situation felt more like one of her frequent, inescapable dreams. “does that word taste like my cum? Does it make you writhe with shame? Or perhaps that is just the level of debauchery that gets you all riled up…”

Harlyn’s brain had ceased functioning. It was a useless, gelatinous mass swishing around her head with nothing helpful to add to this whole situation while her body was burning up with wretched lust.

The last remaining voice of reason in her head whispered about how inappropriate this was, how wrong of him to touch her in such a way and how wrong of Harlyn to want him to go further.

“Would you let me bend you over the table, fuck you however hard and rough I please, right here in the lab? Fill your little cunt up with my cum, stuff you full of it until it runs down your thighs?”

She bit her lip to suppress a breath whimper but judging by the way Severus’ lips curled, she failed.

Without warning, he took a step backwards, leaving Harlyn to scramble for purchase , her elbows braced against the table, her knees weak, struggling to carry her weight.

Severus’ face had frozen over. Every last slither of dark, taunting amusement had disappeared, replaced by cold indifference.

“Pack a bag.” He said silkily. Gone was the teasing purr. “You’ll be staying at Slytherin Manor for a few days. The Dark Lord wishes to examine your progress. I expect your essay on Dementors on my desk before Barty arrives in the morning, alongside samples of your potions. I will not deliver substandard product to the Dark Lord.”

“Y-you aren’t coming to Slytherin Manor?”

It wasn’t unusual for Severus to not accompany her , but it was rare, and he had always taken her to the estate in the northeast of England, close to the Anglo-Scottish border.

Harlyn didn’t like to be alone with the Dark Lord, much less when he was going to test her. His scrutiny felt cloying, suffocating, deathly. She could never quite shake the feeling of running face-first into a trap whenever he showered her with attention and gifts.

Severus’ lips curled into a sardonic smirk.

“I suggest you go tend to your meditation exercises. Did you think I wouldn’t know how grossly negligent you’ve been towards your Occlumency studies? You’ll see what the Dark Lord has to say about that.”

Merlin no-

Harlyn blushed at the mere thought of facing the Dark Lord. Enduring his prodding around in her mind was never pleasant and she hated how easy it was for him to rummage through the thoughts she’d have rather kept to herself - but this time around promised to be so much worse.

Severus’ smirk turned vicious.

He knew what she was dreading, and thus affirming what she had been secretly dreading.

He knew about her dreams.

And he was visibly enjoying tormenting her with them.

But he also wasn’t punishing her, though what could that possibly mean?

***

Slytherin Manor was an imposing castle.

A bastion made of cold grey bricks sitting upon a hill, ruling over sprawling grounds that were encased by a forest on one side and steep cliffs on the other. The forest teemed with every kind of nasty, dark creature imaginable. It grew so thick one could not see the sky. It ate one’s every sense of direction. Harlyn had had to spend a whole week inside it on her own , with no food or water. Sometimes, it seemed like the forest revealed and hid paths on a whim, the surroundings ever-changing and deadly.

Needless to say, Harlyn was not fond of it.

At the foot of the hill, behind the Manor, were the training grounds and barracks for the young recruits. Attendance at Hogwarts was mandatory - certain exceptions applied for high-ranking Death Eaters - and every student was assessed during their N.E.W.Ts. The majority of students were expected to serve for a year in the Dark Lord’s ranks. Most boys -especially Half-bloods and the Pureblood elite - continued to serve the Dark Lord even after that year was over, eager to either make their families proud or erase the smudge, impure blood left on their life .

The Dark Lord watched over them during their basic training and assigned them to their future positions based on the skills they displayed .

Harlyn had once asked him why he kept the young recruits so close, to the point where they dined in the same hall as him.

Seedlings require attention otherwise their stems grow crooked…or they die altogether, he had said. Harlyn had suspected there was more to it. Someone who grew used to the attention of a master they adored at a young age, would do anything to not lose that attention. And what master would not enjoy surrounding himself with the devotion of his young followers and their anxiousness to please?

The Dark Lord had smiled at her, that crooked flash of teeth, and praised her.

Harlyn looked back at the memory now with bitterness. She had come to prove her very own hypothesis.

“He is expecting you at the training grounds.” Barty next to her said, flicking his wand at the suitcase Harlyn had put down next to her while recovering from the unpleasantness of the side-along apparition. She had known him since she was a little girl. He was a good friend of Severus since they had been in school. Barty had been a year under him and in Ravenclaw but their ideals and aspirations to join the Dark Lord had forged a friendship that still held to this day. They weren’t as close as Cyril Mulciber and Severus, but close enough that he had been a frequent guest growing up.

Barty was the Headmaster of Hogwarts but during the summer breaks he usually stayed at the Dark Lord’s estate.

Harlyn knew the estate and its grounds well. She had spent a lot of time here over the years after all. She felt like the Dark Lord liked to keep her close, though why her specifically, she didn’t know.

She sighed and surrendered to her fate. Being summoned by the Dark Lord almost always involved extreme overexertion, overwhelming pain - or both. Perhaps that would set her mind right and stomp those confusing, highly inappropriate and plain reprehensible thoughts clouding her mind that were keeping her in a constant, exhausting state of arousal. Perhaps he’d punish her for those thoughts once he discovered them in her head and she’d be able to leave them behind once and for all.

A group of young recruits in Death Eater robes were lined up at the edge of the forest, receiving instructions from Rodolphus that Harlyn could not hear over the wind but even with her bad eye-sight, she spotted the change that went through the group at her sight. Their robes didn’t fit quite right. They looked wrong on them, or perhaps their faces were too round, too child-like still…

Their attention slipped off the infamous Death Eater as they watched Harlyn make her way across the well-maintained lawn. The man to Rodolphus’ left turned, spotted her and grinned. The red-head said something to Rodolphus and once excused, ran towards her.

“Fucking hell. ” Harlyn said as soon as he was in earshot. “Every time I see you, you’ve grown a head taller!”

Ron used to be shorter than her, but now he was at least a head taller. His once lanky body was replaced by broad shoulders and musclebound arms in recent years.

His grin stayed the same though , just like the freckles littering his face and the carrot-orange hair. It gave his face a warmth his foster father was missing.

“You just got shorter.” He retorted and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “Heard you got grounded.”

Harlyn shrugged.

“What did you do this time?”

She played with the piercing in her mouth, rubbing the two balls against the roof of her mouth, just as she had been doing ever since getting them. It shouldn’t be so satisfying to fidget with.

“The usual. What are you doing here?”

“Rodolphus is doing his usual duelling assessments, you know?”

“So you’re playing punching bag again?”

“Nah. Hardly. A bunch of wimps this year. The Dark Lord is not happy with Barty.”

“Is it Barty’s fault if they are imbeciles? Severus says the peace has allowed the next generations to be lazy.”

Now Ron was shrugging.

“There has been a shift at Hogwarts. People are too comfortable. The professors shouldn’t continue to let it fester.”

“What year are you in now?”

“Sixth, after the break. But Rodolphus wants me to graduate early and take my mark. Same goes for Draco. I know Lucius has already spoken to the Dark Lord.”

“Perhaps you’ll get a chance to prove yourself over the summer. You should stay vigilant. The Dark Lord doesn’t announce such chances.”

“Bella said the same.” Ron rolled his shoulders. “Though, and if you tell her that I’ll have to hunt you down, I’d much rather work on my creatures than join active service.”

“As if I’d tell Bellatrix anything. You know she hates Severus.”

“But not you.”

“Yeah, and she hates that she can’t hate me because of the Dark Lord’s interest in me.”

Ron laughs, as bright and clear as it used to be when they were children. The deeper he moved into the Dark Lord’s service, the more of his youthful lightness had disappeared but that laugh stayed the same.

“You should see the way her eye twitches whenever Ginny talks about you.”

“Ah, so your sister talks about me, eh?”

Ron groaned. “She’s obsessed. Honestly, it’s so annoying.”

“Are you planning to follow in your brothers’ footsteps then?” Harlyn asked after a moment of silence. The twins Fred and George had a talent for inventions - pair that with their explosive talent for violence, whether deliberate or not, and it became clear why the Dark Lord had never placed them on a battlefield.

“Perhaps. The Dark Lord commands an army of Inferi after all.”

“But you aren’t making Inferi.”

“Ha! Inferi are unrefined, crude sacks of flesh compared to my creations.”

Their conversation ended abruptly when the Dark Lord came into their field of vision.

“Good luck. ” Ron muttered and turned on his heels, making a beeline for Rodolphus.

Harlyn took a deep breath and stepped forward. The Dark Lord had his back turned to her, hands folded casually behind his back as he observed another group of recruits, these older, from the looks of it, their smooth, precise motions, the merciless expressions on their face, they must have been serving him for at least a year. How many of them would be granted his mark during the next branding ceremony?

The difference to Silas and the other boys was staggering.

“Harlyn.” He said softly, still not turning. Harlyn sank to her knees in the soft grass, her head lowered, waiting with bated breath for what would come next.

“My lord.”

“I hear you have been causing Severus some trouble.” A purr played around his words, thin tendrils of amusement that weaved through the hissing sounds of his Parseltounge . Harlyn knew of no other person in the British Isles capable of the language of snakes - why she had inherited it, when there were so many Pureblood children whose lineage made them much more deserving recipients of it, she didn’t know. Perhaps that was why the Dark Lord had chosen her out of them all.

Voldemort chuckled. It held no warmth, no joy, merely devastating, dark amusement. The sound of it grated on Harlyn. It lit up her nerves, tossed her body into a state of survival, activating her flight instinct. She struggled to remain on the ground, to surrender herself to the creature in front of her. It went against the very nature of humanity to remain stagnant when faced with a creature so overwhelmingly powerful, so utterly superior to her. The air tasted of his magic, darkness prickling on the tip of her tongue, billowing around her like smoke and dust.

His robes brushed the grass as he turned. Harlyn could feel his gaze crash into her instantly. Her scar burnt, the sensation tearing through her head and knocking the breath from her lungs.

His hand came into vision, ordering her up.

The Dark Lord was beautiful and terrifying. Dark magic had warped his appearance and prowess to the point he was barely human. He had risen above them all, above any wizard who had come before him, and he had squashed everyone who had ever stood in his way. The scattered remains of the Order were only still around because they kept hidden and weren’t worthy of being hunted down by Voldemort.

His face held the regal features of Salazar Slytherin’s bloodline whom he was the last direct descendent of. The symmetry of his face was distorted by something not quite human, leaving his appearance uncanny, making it difficult to look at him for longer than a few seconds, forcing people to avert their eyes in breathless veneration.

Only a handful of people could withstand him.

Severus…Bellatrix, the Lestrange brothers, Barty…

Not Harlyn.

His crimson irises burnt into her flesh and made her scar light up in white-hot pain. She gritted her teeth, eager to not show weakness, to not gasp, not give in to pain.

Faint grey veins snake down his forehead and up over his jaw, giving him a monstrous appearance , but nothing could ever fully dilute the aristocratic beauty of his blood. His long, silky dark hair fell over his shoulders like tar.

“One could think you were a Niffler in a former life, if one believed in such nonsense.”

A blush crept up her neck. So he knew about the piercing. Of course, he did. Severus would have told him. Had he also told him what he had done?

Voldemort chuckled. He gripped her face and forced her to look at him. Violence wasn’t necessary, Harlyn would follow the gentlest of nudges to heed her master’s orders. No matter how much she feared, she adored him too. He was family in a way , and Harlyn didn’t have much in that department to show for.

“You see something shiny and just have to claim it for yourself…” He spoke with an odd sense of…fondness? Harlyn could never quite see through his actions and his face offered no hint at what he thought .

“Gold Gobstones…”

When she was little, Harlyn had seen a set of gold Gobstones while accompanying her stepfather to Diagon Alley. Severus had merely sneered at it. Ridiculous girl , he had said. Voldemort had gotten them for her two days later.

“...shiny jewellery…”

There had been times, Harlyn’s eyes darkened in envy as she watched girls much prettier than her, of much better standing, swarmed with the eager advances of handsome young men. She was envious of the glittering jewellery adorning their necks and wrists, feeling so utterly out of place at the lavish balls with her - compared to those girls - plain robes and no family jewels to call her own.

The next morning, Harlyn had woken up to jewellery boxes littering her bedroom, each filled with the heirloom jewels she had so longingly stared at the night before.

Those were the odd extremes of her life. 

Severus and his rough reprimands and minimalistic, parsimonious lifestyle and values on one side - and Voldemort on the other. Voldemort who liked to overwhelm her with precious gifts, draping her in wealth and abundance, she had no idea how to handle- Who would treat her to lavish, hour-long meals with all the delicacies one could imagine. 

He was strict and ruthless in his training and always left her feeling insufficient , defeated, as though she had disappointed him just to receive another gold necklace she wasn’t pretty enough to wear. Putting a golden diadem on a scarecrow would only make it look all the more ridiculous…

His crimson eyes burned into her own and too late Harlyn realised what he was doing. Her day at Diagon Alley flashed before her eyes.

Harlyn cursed under her breath.

Just a single glance at her eyes and he had her open in front of him like a book to be perused at his leisure.

The Dark Lord’s lips curled. “...golden cauldrons.”

Harlyn pressed her lips together, staring defiantly over the Dark Lord’s shoulder.

“I see what Severus meant. Your progress is…limited.”

“I will do better, master.” She said breathlessly.

Voldemort turned away from her. “I doubt it.” He sounded bored.

Harlyn steeled herself for pain, for punishment, for magic to tear into her body and force her to her knees - it didn’t come.

“Severus holds you to too high standards, as always. Just as I did with him. In truth, those without a predisposition to mind magic can hardly ever obtain such skills. Besides, with Dumbledore dead it is unlikely you will ever encounter someone as skilled a Legilimens as Severus - or me. It is enough if you can successfully withstand Bartemius.”

She felt dumbstruck.

“Master- you are not..angry with me?”

The Dark Lord merely chuckled. 

“On the contrary. You are shaping up to be a fine young woman and an accomplished witch. Though any progress made is void if one allows themself to slack off.”

Her heart beat faster in her chest, a hectic fluttering sensation that sent eagerness rushing through her body. Harlyn squared her shoulders, filled with new vigour, anxious to show the Dark Lord her progress since he last put her to the test.

At a wave of Voldemort’s hand, led by Rodolphus and Ron, the group of fresh-faced, jittery young recruits crossed over the lawn, gathering outside the perimeter of bark mulch that marked off the obstacle course.

“We shall start with the obstacle course to get you warmed up.” Voldemort said conversationally, ignoring the group of mostly boys. Harlyn could feel their eyes on her and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to not snap at them. Didn’t she feel like enough of a freak show already? Did they have to make it worse by staring at her like an animal caged in a zoo?

“After focussing on your Transfiguration last time, I want to pay special attention to your duelling in the coming days but one should never make the mistake of neglecting one's physical strength. All too often, wizards underestimate how physically straining spellcasting is. Demonstrate to our young friends what I expect them to be capable of in the next months.”

Harlyn’s eyes swept over to the breakneck course. It was a deathtrap of wooden contraptions and enchantments that were designed to lure you into traps and exploit a false sense of safety. One needed to think on their feet, to be nimble and quick - and adaptable.

Nobody would be able to perfect it within a few months. Harlyn had been training on it since she was five and still , it managed to catch her off guard, vanishing a wooden plank beneath her feet mid-sprint or conjuring a new obstacle that had never been there before.

He was setting them up for failure, for frustration and crippling feelings of inadequacy - just as Severus liked to do with her.

Most of them would fail to overcome those feelings but the few who’d use their frustration and rage to channel them into stoic determination and hard work , they’d have a promising future ahead of them in Voldemort’s ranks.

Harlyn drew her wand from the brace around her arm and surrendered it to Voldemort. She opened the clasp on her cloak and let it fall to the ground before climbing the steps to the starting platform. 

This was promising to be a very, very long day…

Chapter Text

Harlyn woke with terrible muscle aches. Even though she took an ice bath before bed, she could still feel muscles in places she didn’t know she had muscles. Bruises littered her thighs and belly from when she’d collide with obstacles. She felt sore and tired, and it had only been one day.

Everything was made worse by the fact Voldemort had made the recruits watch for an hour before sending them away.

As if it wasn’t humiliating enough to fail in front of the Dark Lord.

A hot shower later and another workout in the form of brushing her hair, Harlyn was dressed and ready for the day. She took a potion against muscle soreness and sat down in the living room of their - well Severus’ - apartment at Slytherin Manor. It had a lavishly decorated living room, two bedrooms, two baths and a study. Harlyn’s bedroom was painted in a muted violet with a light grey, fluffy carpet on the mahogany floor. Her bed was a sprawling double bed with sage-green curtains and more pillows than any single person could ever need or use.

Her wardrobe and dresser were filled with dresses and robes and matching jewellery, all tailored to fit her perfectly and compliment her eyes and skin tone.  

She never wore any of them.

To be honest, Harlyn didn’t trust the Dark Lord’s generosity. His affection always came at a price, and she was too cautious to accept something she did not know the price of.

It was still early and Harlyn was hoping to get some time alone in the duelling room to warm up before Voldemort would summon her.

She passed by the mess, a spacious hall with three long tables and benches on either side of them . A horizontally positioned table towered over the hall, resting on a podium at the very back of the hall beneath green-tinted high windows. 

It looked similar to Hogwarts’ Great Hall.

Perhaps that was the intention. After all, most graduates from Hogwarts ended up here, continuing their education under Voldemort’s shrewd eye.

Banners bearing the Slytherin crest and portraits of long-dead, prestigious witches and wizards lined the wood-panelled walls.

“Miss Snape.”

Silas.

Bruises darkened the skin around his nose. He must have been forbidden from seeking treatment, resorting to setting it himself, leaving him with a roguish appearance. The girls among the recruits turned to watch him as he strode through the mess, towards Harlyn. He wore an arrogant grin on his lips.

Or perhaps that was his intent.

Harlyn sneered.

He had stared at the snake on her back and there were few things that she despised more than being made to feel like a freakshow.

“What is it?” Her disinterested tone rivalled that of Severus, but it didn’t seem to deter Silas.

“I thought perhaps you’d like to join me for breakfast?”

“I take my breakfast in my apartment.” Harlyn turned to leave, Silas followed her.

“Probably a good idea. I don’t fancy being surrounded by the rabble either.”

The rabble? Those were his fellow recruits. Voldemort did not take lightly to such things and there was no greater sin than to kill one of their own. Besides, Silas was a Half-blood bastard. He was the rabble.

Harlyn tried to ignore him, but Silas proved either oblivious to her giving him the cold shoulder, or he didn’t care.

“You and I, we’ve got a lot in common.”

She scoffed. “And what would that be?”

“You know.” He shrugged. “Bastard son, traitor's daughter…we’re both better and more skilled than every last person in that room and yet we have to jump through the same hoops as them just because of our parents’ mistakes.”

Silas went on, unprompted and unbothered by Harlyn’s lack of interaction or the scowl on her face.

“At least we agree that you were a mistake.”

Harlyn wasn't sure whether Silas chose to ignore her and didn't hear her over his own ego.

“Father won’t make my case to the Dark Lord until I’ve proven myself worthy of his name, but you’ll see. Soon I’ll have my mark and an inheritance.”

“Why you believe I care is utterly beyond my understanding.” 

Silas chuckled. “I know you were raised by Snape, but lighten up, Lynn.”

Her wand was in her hand before the echo of her nickname in the corridor had faded. Silas’ back hit the wall. The tip of her wand dug into his throat, a biting curse at the tip of her tongue and a feral expression on her face.

“And what gave you the idea you could address me so casually?” She hissed, her annoyance at his behaviour snapping over into rage.

Was he taking the piss out of her?

Did he find it funny to mess with her?

The disfigured, disgraced pawn of Dumbledore’s attempt on Voldemort’s life? Or did he think he’d heighten his standing with the Dark Lord by cosying up to her? To better his chances at being allowed to take his father’s name and inherit his wealth?

Silas’ brown eyes lit up with a manic joy that bled onto his face and curled his lips into a feverish grin. He didn’t draw his wand, nor try to push her off.

“Why not? You address me by my first name too, after all.”

Harlyn suppressed a frustrated groan. “You have no last name!” She hissed and let go of him. “You are a bastard!”

“I will not be for much longer.”

“Why would I care? Why would I root for you when my best friend stands to inherit the Lestrange name?”

Silas shrugged. “The Weasley boy inheriting the Lestrange name isn’t going to help you.”

“The Potter fortune is bigger than whatever you might get.”

Harlyn shoved her wand back into the brace at her arm, with one last scathing look, she turned away from him. “And I advise you to not let yourself be overheard when you insult your fellow recruits. The Dark Lord does not tolerate fighting among his followers.”

“Unless it amuses him. ” Silas called after her. “Isn’t that how your stepfather rose in his ranks?”

Was it not exhausting enough to be at Slytherin Manor, did she have to endure such nonsense too now?

But the way he had looked at her…that expression in his eyes didn’t seem to want to let her be, prompting Harlyn to throw herself all the harder into her training. Why had he looked at her like that? She had her wand at his throat, and he had…Harlyn had no words for it. He hadn’t looked at her with that arrogant expression that foolish young recruits liked to direct at her before she eviscerated them in a duel. There was no fear in his eyes like the older Death Eaters who knew to not underestimate her. No hurt ego at having a girl catch him off guard.

There was something…oddly appreciative in the mania…

Harlyn did her best to avoid any places where she could run into Silas during the next few days but there was another problem.

Silas wasn’t the only one.

As though seeing Silas approach her had been taken as an invitation, other boys approached her. Mostly the older boys who thought themselves next in line to receive their Dark Mark. They weren’t as forceful in their attempts to strike up a conversation as Silas, but Harlyn wasn’t any less annoyed. She didn’t know what they wanted from her and none of them could even tell her. They kept smiling at her or offering to walk her to where she was headed as though she was a foolish little girl who’d get lost in a place she had roamed since she was a little girl!

The height of their insolence was when one older boy wanted to correct her form, giving her advice on how to better hold her wand.  

As though she hadn’t been trained by Severus Snape. 

As though Voldemort didn’t oversee her training. 

As though she wasn’t regularly beating his Death Eaters with much more experience than a single little boy who hadn’t even earned his bloody mark yet!

Harlyn had given him a sickly-sweet smile and asked him to practise with her to see if she was doing better now, before stomping him into the ground not three minutes into their duel he thought himself sure to win.

Voldemort had merely laughed.

The incident at least bought her some peace but still, she started avoiding the areas recruits frequented. When Harlyn wasn’t training under the Dark Lord’s instruction, she spent her free time by herself in the library or her room. The recruits weren’t allowed to enter the upper floors of the manor, unless they came from a family that had an apartment at the manor. 

Even though Harlyn’s time was being utilised by the Dark Lord, Severus would still expect her to return with her assignments finished. Her days were consumed by gruelling hours of duelling, ceaseless and with few breaks , and during the evenings, she brooded over dry, lengthy, complex texts about ancient magical theory.

Her nights stayed the same. No matter how exhausted she was, how much her muscles ached, or her mind yearned for rest, she dreamt of Severus. Every night, without exception.

At least, the Dark Lord did not insist on trudging through her mind. He made her try to withstand Rodolphus or Barty, while they tried to trick her into letting her guard down. Against them, Harlyn had much more success than she could have ever hoped for with Severus.

Still, her dreams persisted and no meditation before bed managed to scrape him from her mind. His hands, precisely chopping potion ingredients…long, slender fingers coiling around his wand, holding it lightly, with such elegance…his face, so severe, as harsh as though it had been carved out of marble while his eyes were the utter opposite, alive, burning, shielded and distant as though he was privy to things a normal man wouldn’t even dare think about.

Severus…Severus was licking honey off of knives...he was dangerous , and everything about his person reminded her of that danger, the steel-capped boots, the lethal sneer, that murderous glimmer in his eyes but oh, how rewarding had playing with fire been…

Harlyn groaned, rubbing her face with her hands.

She couldn’t sleep. She was tossing and turning, trying her best to resist the images on her mind, the yearning that twisted at her guts, the treacherous wetness between her thighs…

This was wrong!

He was her stepfather.

He was probably fucking her mother right now, glad to be rid of Harlyn for a few days.

Harlyn fished a sleeping potion from her nightstand to escape the perverted thoughts tormenting her every quiet moment.

She kept thinking about Silas too. The thoughts of him weren’t as gruelling or relentless, but rather ridden with inscrutable curiosity. Why the fuck was he so obsessed with finding reasons to talk to her?

The nights were short, and sleep restless…

***

During dinner, Harlyn sat by the Dark Lord’s side forcing herself to eat slowly no matter how much she was starving while listening to the conversation of the older Death Eater with half an ear. Their grovelling drivel hardly ever piqued her interest.

Draco next to her scowled at her bad posture, hunched over, with her elbows on the table, arms almost hugging her plate of roast beef. He wasn’t staying at Slytherin Manor, but the Dark Lord was expecting reports from his inner circle, and he came early, presumably to speak to Voldemort about allowing Draco to graduate early.

Harlyn kicked Draco under the table. He sucked in a sharp breath and wanted to punch her arm before remembering where they were, stopping himself at the last moment. Harlyn grinned.

“You’re such a twat sometimes!” He hissed under his breath.

“Uhh, the prissy Malfoy spawn can swear.”

“You are worse than Ronald.”

“Wanker.”

Their conversation escalated quickly from there on, their insults growing longer and tumbling further and further into nonsense, with each of them struggling to not burst out laughing. Draco was much better at keeping a straight face than Harlyn. She ended up sinking deeper into her chair until her arse almost slipped off the seat, hiding her grin behind her arm.

They weren’t as quiet anymore either.

“I bet your mother wished she had swallowed you.” Draco hissed.

“I could call you a cunt, but you lack the warmth and depth.”

“I hope you apologise to the tree that has to replace the oxygen you waste!”

“Your eyes look so ashamed of that face they're trying to make an escape plan.”

“You look like you cut your hair with a knife and fork.”

“Well, you look like you come from a close family.”

“Vitamin D reject!”

“Mouldy sack of unripe oranges.”

Draco snapped. “Fuckface Von Clownstick”

Silence fell over the hall. Harlyn burst into a loud cackle, quite literally doubling down with laughter while wheezingly repeating what he just said. Draco’s face turned bright red, looking much as though someone had tried to transfigure his head into a tomato, which only made Harlyn laugh all the more.

On the other end of the table, next to Rodolphus, Ron was snickering.

“You called me a mouldy sack of oranges.” Draco hissed, voice tinged high with indignation.

“Of unripe oranges, thank you very much and I stand by that. Look at your hair.” Harlyn wasn’t trying to keep her voice down any longer.

“Says the right person.”

Lucius’ eye was twitching. Draco seemed to pray a hole would open up beneath him and swallow him up whole.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.” Harlyn retorted and shoved her goblet at him. She could tell he wanted to deny her, but his manners won over his annoyance with her. He grumbled something under his breath and snatched the jug with pumpkin juice off the table to refill her glass. Harlyn sucked on her pinkie and wanted to stick it in Draco’s ear, but she was either too slow or Draco knew her well enough to anticipate such shite from her.

“Fucking hell!” He slapped her hand away. “You act like you were raised by bloody wolves!”

Harlyn grinned. “Nah, I was raised by your godfather.”

Perhaps Harlyn had snuck a few sips of Severus’ whiskey before coming downstairs for dinner. 

She hated the stuffy, formal atmosphere in the mess during dinners. She sat among high-ranking Death Eaters and some of their children who were staying with them at Slytherin Manor during the summer break. It was boring and with Voldemort sitting to her left, Draco on her right was the only entertainment at hand - much to Draco’s chagrin.

There might have been an incident with mashed potatoes that resulted in her not being allowed to sit next to Ron anymore.

Irritated looks were shared between some Death Eaters, especially Antonin Dolohov and Corban Yaxley looked appalled. 

Cyril Mulciber was struggling not to laugh, his eyes gleaming knowingly. Yes, Harlyn had been raised by Severus and as his best friend, Mulciber knew Severus swore like a fucking sailor. Especially when he was frustrated or his temper ran out, he’d spew curses like a wild banshee, one of the last remaining pieces of evidence that Severus had grown up in a poor Muggle neighbourhood.

Harlyn stuffed the last piece of roast beef into her mouth and leaned back in her chair, stretching out like a cat in the sun.

Yep, she was definitely drunker than she had thought she’d be, but Severus wasn’t here , and the Dark Lord didn’t seem to care to reprimand her, effortlessly picking the conversation - or more like, his monologue - back up from where she interrupted him.

Their used dishes disappeared, and the dessert was served. A rich chocolate ganache tart with dark chocolate and a glass of red wine for the adults.

Harlyn played rock, paper, scissors - or better said Troll, Dragon, Flobberworm, the version they created as children. Dragon eats Troll, Troll stomps Flobberworm, Flobberworm scares Dragon. Ron was winning. Strategic fucker.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Voldemort had bent down to her, crimson eyes gleaming with something Harlyn could not put into words, something that unsettled her and comforted her both at once. He elegantly held a wine glass in his hand, swirling the deep red liquid around but his eyes rested on her, not the wine.

“Just blowing off some steam…” Harlyn muttered. She felt caught . Like a child that misbehaved behind her parents’ backs.

“You’ve been working hard, Harlyn. There is no harm in having some fun.”

Voldemort held his glass out for her. Tentatively, Harlyn reached for it, both overwhelmed with the situation and fearful of offending him by refusing. She took a sip. It was delicious. She finished the glass in one big gulp. It refilled itself.

Oh.

Oh, this was dangerous.

The few times Harlyn had gotten drunk had been when she stayed at Malfoy Manor and Ron was visiting. They’d loot Lucius’ wine cellar and bar cart and get shit-faced in Draco’s room.

That was with her close friends who were like brothers to her, not in a castle filled to the brim with adolescent boys. Harlyn could hear Severus’ voice in the back of her head, but Harlyn didn’t want to listen to him.

She took a cautious sip and put the glass down. She should wait a moment and see how she was feeling before drinking more. Severus’ whiskey was strong, and adding wine to the mix was probably not too wise. Her mother always lamented how thin Harlyn was.

She craved some time to let loose, get pissed and just shut off her brain for a few hours. No training, no prying look, no fucking Severus.

Absentmindedly, Harlyn played with her bracelet, dragging her thumb over the strands of metal . Silver, gold, silver, bronze…

“It is not a punishment.” Voldemort caught her wrist and pulled it up, inadvertently presenting it to the whole mess. Harlyn could feel heat creep up her neck and spread over her cheeks. Whenever the Dark Lord spoke, the most sycophantic of his followers hung on his lips as though glued to them. The buzz of many conversations melting together faded as they twisted their heads to look at them, to worm their way into the conversation between Voldemort and Harlyn.

“It is a reminder. The actions of few can tarnish the future of so many. Such weaknesses need to be eliminated, just like the forest that is lit aflame so that new life can flourish on ashen ground.”

Ron had stopped snickering, his grin replaced by a dark shadow. Uncompromising ambition burnt in his eyes.

“It is a stain upon our history, and a burden placed upon each of you who carries their tarnish with them wherever they go but it is a stain that can be removed, polished until none of their ugliness remains and your hard work will leave you stronger than their weakness ever was.”

That was the dream , wasn’t it? Why so many children of traitors and Mudbloods flocked to Voldemort…each and every last one of them hoped to polish the green tarnish off their bracelet through serving the right cause.

Harlyn’s good mood was ruined.

She poked about her dessert, slumped back in her seat and basically just waiting to finally be excused. Though, Harlyn wasn’t sure it would be any better. Was it any better to switch the insistent stares with wretched dreams of her stepfather?

Her pondering was brought to an end when Voldemort rose from his seat. Deathly silence fell over the hall when his loyal followers and those who craved to be one of them threw their attention to the Dark Lord’s feet, all but forgoing to breathe.

“You all will have noticed by now that we are graced with a special visitor. I have been testing Harlyn’s duelling skills these past few days and I shall request your help with a - ah - unique exam before she leaves us the day after tomorrow. Each and every one of you who…wishes to aid in her education.” His lips curled. Harlyn sunk deeper into her chair. She hated the acidic atmosphere, the little whispers among the recruits, the boisterous looks of those who still refused to acknowledge her prowess, down to the way Voldemort insinuated she needed help from the lot of them.

She has been working with Barty, Rodolphus, Bellatrix and Voldemort himself! What aid would it be to face a few recruits?

“Of course, I have some…let’s call it incentive , to offer. Whoever manages to draw blood first, will receive right then and there.”

Muttering swelled, replacing the adoring silence with unbelieving exclamations and frowns. Whoever draws blood? Looks are exchanged, one more doubtful than the other. How hard could that be? Slowly the confusion faded into a boisterous, cocky cheer as the recruits’ predatory eyes fell on Harlyn.

Only Ron and Draco didn’t join them. Their faces were set in stone, emotionless, hard. They did not underestimate Harlyn and saw this as the challenge it truly was.

“In duels of five to one, you will get a singular chance to earn your place in my ranks. Do not disappoint me.”

“What do I get?” Harlyn picked her glass of wine back up, taking a sip. “This hardly seems like a challenge to me.”

Voldemort tilted his head to the side. His crimson eyes gleamed. “What is it you want?”

Harlyn didn’t need to think.

“A Firebolt.” She said, returning the Dark Lord’s amused look by sticking out her chin, her eyes settling into determined resolve. “I want a Firebolt.”

“Very well.” He seemed pleased. “Prevail over one hundred of my recruits without losing a single drop of blood.”

A grin spread over Harlyn’s lips. “Not a problem.”

Her confidence seemed to dim some of their premature cries of victory, though especially the older recruits looked as though they thought the odds to be in their favour.

“Master-” One of them got up and bowed deeply. He had the blue eyes and black hair of the Fawley family. “Anyone who manages to draw blood - or the first?”

“Anyone.”

He bowed again before rejoining his friends who were already muttering among themselves.

Harlyn loaded her fork with chocolate ganache tart, rejuvenated and good mood restored . She let her eyes sweep over the gathered recruits, sizing up her enemies who were still underestimating her.

Her gaze caught on Silas.

He didn’t partake in his peers’ anticipatory excitement and miscalculated thoughts of victory. He looked pensive. His eyes were on her, but he seemed to look right through her, staring blankly into space as he calculated his odds. The arrogant boy who had been pestering her was gone, replaced by a much older, more mature young man.

Silas picked up his glass and toasted to her, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

Her cheeks felt warm and Harlyn quickly looked away.

For some reason, she was looking forward to facing him in a duel tomorrow…

Chapter Text

Flashes of light lit up the rain-swept afternoon. The sky was cloaked in stormy clouds. Water had soaked the lawn, turned to mud beneath Harlyn’s feet.

The wild untameable curls she inherited from her worthless father stuck to her face and neck, the braid she usually kept them in long lost to the quick succession of duels.

Her face was twisted into a feral snarl, her uncannily green eyes lit up with a mixture of adolescent refusal of failure and an embittered need for recognition.

The lightning-shaped curse scar spilt down her face, eerily white against her sun-kissed skin.

Mud splattered through the air as she swirled around, going down on one knee as she fired a curse at a helplessly outgunned wannabe Death Eater. Her curse sliced through his robes, drew blood, overpowered her opponent with needless brutality. Not a shred of mercy flashed through her eyes and Harlyn did not waste time by hesitating or waiting to see what would become of the boy. He went down, into the mud, and Harlyn had already set her sight on the next one.

Harlyn lunged at the significantly taller boy. He flinched and stumbled backwards, both taken by surprise by her sudden switch in tactics and intimidated by the skills she was showing off. The girl ducked around him and smashed her foot against the hollow of his knee with enough force to be sure to leave damage. The boy’s scream was swallowed up by the thunder blaring in the distance, followed shortly by lightning skittering above the sky. Harlyn’s scar seemed to light up with it. She wrapped her arm around the boy’s throat - she could break his neck and if this were a real battle she likely would - and used his body as a shield against a nasty, black curse zapping towards her. 

She fought like him.

Like a feral animal defending its life with all the desperation of a dying soul that has nothing more to lose.

Relentless, merciless, without a flicker of the fairness Dumbledore’s people like to cling to as though it would save them, as though moral superiority would have any influence on their soul when it came time to bare it to whatever power created the universe, awaiting judgement.

Harlyn fought like she herself was that power. As though her wrath had forged the solar system. As though the blood she spilt had filled the ridges of the earth. As though her sweat was fuelling the plants that populate the ground.

She was raw, crude, savage - and never had his eyes beheld a creature more beautiful.

Severus stepped out of the shadows, out of the hallways into the study. The terrace door was open, inviting the lashing winds of the fast-approaching storm inside.

Voldemort had his back turned to him, watching Harlyn.

Severus came to a stand next to him, his eyes not leaving his charge.

It had been fourteen years since Voldemort tasked him with protecting his Horcrux.

Fourteen years in the service of Potter’s brat.

Lily still foolishly believed it was her bargain that was ensuring the girl’s safety. The time that Severus had believed her to be smart was long gone. She had been his connection to magic before they started Hogwarts and so he clung to her, but she quickly lost her appeal when Severus met people who shared his ambitions, his goals and academic interests. He grew tired of her, and had it not been for Lily’s jealous need to keep him in her clutches, he would have cut her loose long before their fifth year when Lily made her grave miscalculation, believing she’d be able to lure him back in by showing him the cold shoulder.

She was jealous of Mulciber and even more of the fact that Severus had decided to fuck him, rather than her.

Severus no longer had any need for her, but Lily…Lily had grown attached to having someone follow her around like a lost puppy, to have control over another person, to be adored and depended upon.

And now she was depending on him.

No matter how tiresome she was, his revenge remained sweet. He enjoyed tormenting her, enjoyed sending pictures of her stuff full of his cock to James Potter’s cell in Azkaban. Her attempts to fight him grew more desperate every day and he knew he might need to get rid of her in the near future, but not just yet. He could still enjoy torturing her. If she were to try something as desperately foolish as alerting the Order of her daughter’s whereabouts again, he’d kill her. He promised her he would while he made her watch him disembowel her cat.

The only reason she survived that day was that they might need the mother of the girl who lived one day.

“Her skills are progressing nicely.”

Voldemort’s voice was sickly-sweet, filled with that same arrogant pride it always dipped into when speaking about Harlyn - like he was responsible for her every accomplishment.

“She is a vessel of your soul, my lord. She is destined for greatness.”

“And here I was thinking you had forgotten that crucial detail.”

“No.” Severus suppressed a smirk. “I would never, master.” A sarcastic undertone snuck through his mental shields, lacing through his words. “The girl deserved to be punished. My lord has taught me the invaluable lesson that nothing forges strength better than harshness. Besides, the girl and her mother were my rewards, were they not? You have bestowed upon me the privilege of raising the girl - your Horcrux - because of my loyalty and service to you.”

“You are forgetting your place, Severus.” Voldemort hissed, his words slipping into Parseltongue that raked over Severus’ skin like a knife. He ignored it.

“You also knew I would not let the truth of her… existence blind me, so that she would not grow up to be a coddled, weak, useless brat.” He gestured towards the fighting girl. Her enemies’ blood mixed with the mud to her feet. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her glowing green eyes observed her next opponents stepping forward, every last one of them unable to conceal their tremble. “Obviously my methodology of parenting is bearing fruits.”

Harlyn feigned an attack. Her opponent fell for it and braced himself, only to realise no spell was coming his way. Harlyn grinned. She left herself open, her hands casually at her sides, wand pointed downwards.

She was playing with her food.

The boy was wary though, assessing Harlyn carefully before seizing the supposed moment of weakness just to be struck down by the girl. She caught his curse with her non-dominant hand, as though plucking a falling leaf out of the air. He made the mistake of letting himself be distracted, staring in awe and alarm at the pulsing ball of magical energy in her hand, forgetting the wan in her other. Blood splattered through the air and crimson droplets, mixing with the intensifying rainfall. A deep gash was torn into his chest, dangerously close to his throat but Severus knew Harlyn was too good to slip up, her curse had landed exactly where she wanted it to impact.

No Death Eater was allowed to kill another Death Eater.

Whether intentional or not, Voldemort punished those who broke this cardinal rule severely. Harlyn knew how to tiptoe the line stretching through the blood-soaked soil of Voldemort’s taste for violence without allowing herself to lose balance. She knew how to make brutality entertaining to please her master. And despite her still failing to realise the snake branded across her back marked her as one of the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters, she still followed his laws religiously.

Voldemort settled on the leather chair behind his desk, crimson eyes resting on Severus, his magic scraping at his mental shields. Severus blocked him effortlessly. Voldemort hadn’t seriously tried.

“Shoving your cock down her throat can hardly be called parenting, Severus.”

“The little delinquent liked it.”

“And that is the sole reason you are not a eunuch now.”

Severus scoffed. He tore his eyes off Harlyn and sprawled into the chair across from Voldemort, a sardonic grin on his lips and eyebrow cocked challengingly.

“You offered the girl to me as a war bride.”

“And you were disgusted by the offer.”

The thought still disgusted Severus. He had held a wailing little girl in his arms when Voldemort made the offer. Harlyn had been two, screaming for her daddy, frightened by Voldemort’s appearance and the way she had been ripped from her familiar life. Severus had looked at the girl and seen a little child and the thought of teaching her to be his wife, to raise her to please him, made him sick.

Severus had been seven when he was first molested by the old priest after choir practice.

Voldemort knew this.

Voldemort had been there when Severus killed the Muggle.

She was not supposed to mean anything to him. Being the one tasked with her upbringing was a hassle that interfered with his other duties and taking his revenge on Lily, one that was only slightly sweetened by watching Lily’s desperation as she was forced to witness Harlyn grow up to be a loyal Death Eater, to witness her calling Severus dad, to witness her withdrawing more and more from the virtues Lily tried to instil in her.

She was a cute child, and her curiosity had made her charming - about as charming as a Flobberworm dressed up in pink bows could be - but he allowed her to watch him brew, he let her sit in his lap in the evenings when he was reading, flipping through a picture book with her sippy cup, taking a sip from her juice every time Severus brought his glass of whisky to his lips.

The tiny, dark-haired child was endearing, obedient and mild-mannered and nothing like the man whose spunk had created her.

It was when she grew older that her unseemly heritage bled through the discipline he had taught her. Her defiant, questioning, arrogant, irksome attitude. She looked like her father and acted like her father and Severus despised her for it. He despised having Potter’s spawn in his house, he despised having to endure her backtalk, and her arrogance, despised the way she screwed up her nose just like him.

When he returned home on her birthday, when he saw her with that guilty expression on her blasted face, that same entitled posturing of guilty feelings that had saved her father’s neck after attempting to use his werewolf friend to kill Severus - he had wanted to hurt her. He wanted to wipe that expression off her face, to make her feel real regret, to make her pay - he did not care about the piercing other than the fact she went out of her way to find something to piss him off and break his rules (as if she as Voldemort’s little pet project wasn’t already experiencing far more leniency than she deserved) - he was punishing her for the crime of being born her father’s daughter…of not being his daughter, of being so damn alluring, so irresistible when he had sworn himself he’d not turn into the man who had hurt him so much as a child.

Perhaps that was why he hated her most of all.

He had accepted her as his daughter, and she had disappointed him. He had refused her as his promised bride, standing firm on the one value he held dear, and he had disappointed himself.

Severus was a horrible man, as bad as they came, he raped and murdered, slaughtered and besieged entire nations at Voldemort’s order – he did not care what atrocity Voldemort ordered him to commit, he did it without remorse, every single time but he had one rule.

Not children.

Severus had worked his way up in Voldemort’s ranks to the point that the Dark Lord respected his flimsy moral standing.

Harlyn had the audacity to be an adorable little child that wormed her way into his life with her bubbly eagerness to explore life, her insatiable curiosity, her love for books and zealousness to help him forage for potions ingredients. Despite being Draco’s godfather, he hardly cared for the lad before he could have a proper conversation. Children vexed and annoyed him, but Harlyn had been so much like him. When she was that little she had even looked like him.

Then she grew up and started challenging him and chasing that blasted snitch Weasley gave her as a present across the sky. She kept playing with it at dinner time until Severus snapped and banned the wretched thing from the house.

While scientists debated nature vs nurture, Harlyn was rendering every last one of their discussions void by her mere existence. She had spent little more than a year with her father, in the middle of a war, and yet his pestilential DNA tried to overpower every bit of Severus’ parenting.

Severus threw a glance over his shoulder at the girl. She deflected a spell with a twitch of her wand while drawing back her arm just to plant her fist into another opponent’s face. A fine drizzle of blood spread over her cheek. She had rolled her sleeves up. Mud clung to the hem of her robes and coated her boots.

She looked like a fury.

Like a creature born from the old tales, drenched in her enemies' blood and cloaked in godly wrath.

He could not tell when his hatred spilt over into desire. Perhaps it was the part of his master’s soul that the girl harboured within her, perhaps it was Severus’ refusal to hand over the girl to her father’s genes.

She was his after all.

His ‘step’daughter, his charge, his special assignment for over a decade.

His, his, his!  

He created her! He made her into who she was today! He moulded her. He forged her. He gave her her name.

It was all due to him.

Voldemort’s lips curled into a nasty grin. “Or have you changed your mind?”

“I did not raise her to be my wife.” Severus’ voice was clinical. Harlyn noticed Severus, spotting him through the storm and the open terrace door, sitting at the Dark Lord’s desk. Her eyes widened, lit up by suppressed joy and a pathetic delight to see him watching her.

Severus tore his eyes from the girl.

“I never understood the appeal of raising one’s own bride, a demure, opinionless, dull little puppet that mirrors her husband’s every word.”

Voldemort hummed. “No, I suppose such a marriage is of little value to a man like you. And you do have your little toy to keep you busy after all.”

Lily.

His wife in Harlyn's mind, but in truth little more than an assortment of warm holes to empty his balls into.

She believed it was her bargain that saved them and failed to realise Voldemort had already pardoned them.

The events on the evening of Halloween 81’ had inadvertently bought her mercy. Voldemort had followed the prophecy Severus overheard as it was being shared with Dumbledore, but he hadn’t known the full prophecy. Severus had advised him to wait, to place his faith in Severus once more, he knew he’d be able to get the full prophecy but Voldemort, terrified by the prospect of his demise, did not wait for him. When Severus arrived at his manor, Voldemort had already left for Godric’s Hollow. He went after him and found his master in the ruins of the Potter’s house, weakened and almost defeated by whatever had happened. Severus managed to bring him back to Slytherin Manor where he learnt of what Voldemort had done to gain immortality.

Severus could stabilize Voldemort’s body, enough for his master to regain his strength and stop his remaining soul from being sucked into the void.

Voldemort owes Severus - and Severus wasn’t about to let him forget that.

“Rest assured Severus,” Voldemort growled, sensing what Severus was thinking about and taking deep displeasure with the smug expression on his face. “You are as expendable as any of them.”

Severus chuckled. “Hardly.” He pulled a newspaper from his robes and unrolled it, looking down at the photo stretching over the front page. “You need her.” He tossed the newspaper at the table. Little Harlyn playing with her doll in the garden of their first house. She looks up, her big eyes searching for the source of the camera flash before deciding to investigate. The headline read Sweet Sixteen: The Girl Who Lived Still Missing. The article went over the numerous birthday celebrations that took place all over the world in the name of Harriet Potter.

Their saviour .

Voldemort’s power was ever-growing, slowly spreading over Europe, claiming one nation after another. First was Spain, then he encroached on Norway, and Sweden. He joined forces with a dark wizard from Lichtenstein and together they defeated Germany and split the country between the two. The Death Eaters were currently fighting at the border to Poland and Finland.

“Harriet Potter is dead.” Voldemort hissed. He looked pissed but the days when Severus was scared of him were long gone. He held all the leverage - and his biggest secret.

“Harriet Potter died that day in Godric’s Hollow indeed. Harlyn however…” Severus clicked his tongue. “ I forged her into the weapon you need her to be, and she is so desperately in need of my attention. You could try to get rid of me, go ahead and see where that gets you…besides…” Severus drew a necklace out from under his robes, presenting the silver Celtic knot to Voldemort. “I have always been a studious apprentice, master - I cannot die, even if I was mortal, Harlyn is mine - and the girl who lived is going to be a powerful weapon against the ICW.”

Screams poured inside from where Harlyn was striking down one opponent after another, ceaselessly lashing her wand through the air, teeth gritted, muscles aching, pushing her body further and further, past her limits, past exhaustion.

She was formidable. She was lethal. Her magic was maturing, her technique cementing.

Her prowess was shaping up to be the perfect medley of Voldemort and Severus.

For a moment, the two wizards stared at each other in silence.

Voldemort’s lips curled. He summoned two glasses, and a crystal decanter filled with the finest bourbon gold could buy. He poured a glass for himself and one for Severus, pushing the glass towards him.

“I knew, when I first met you as a boy, that you were worth investing my time into.”

Severus brought the glass to his lips. “And for that I owe you.” He bowed his head. “ Partner.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

Voldemort took Severus in as his apprentice. He taught Severus most of what he knew now. He trusted him, enough to make him his spy, to listen to his advice. The only time he hadn’t, had been Halloween of 81’, and he had paid the price for it. Had Severus not been there to hold the fragmenting pieces of his body together, he would have lost his body and his rise to power would have taken a hit, possibly even thwarted what he had achieved until then.

Voldemort was trusting him with the secret of his immortality. He gave his Horcrux to him.

Voldemort was there when Severus created his first Horcrux. 

Their relationship was difficult to ascertain and oscillated between love and hatred, between gratitude and contempt, trust and mistrust but the simple fact was that Severus would not be here without him - and neither would Voldemort.

They needed each other, on a political level - and a personal one.

They were co-parents and enemies at once. Partners and usurpers.

Severus had several chances to steal his throne and Voldemort countless chances to kill Severus but neither of them ever did.

Severus watched Harlyn wrestle with a girl in the mud, Harlyn’s arm coiled around the girl’s throat, her legs wrapped around her waist, locking her into her deadly embrace. She shoved the unconscious girl away and jumped to her feet, looking at the waiting recruits, barking at them, taunting them with how easy they were making this for her.

“What did you offer them?”

It was clear this whole thing was staged by Voldemort. It reeked of it. Just like the times he had pitted Severus and Bellatrix against each other, nurturing a rivalry fuelled by the desire to please Voldemort. It had made both of them stronger.

“She asked for a broom.”

“And they?” Severus nodded towards the trembling recruits.

“Ah.” Voldemort chuckled and refilled their glasses. “Those who manage to draw blood will receive their mark.”

“Has one of them managed?”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t expect them to.”

“It would surprise me. They are…disappointing to say the least. They need some humiliation to shed their youthful arrogance before they can hope to amount to anything.”

Voldemort’s army always needed more soldiers.

“And…well, let’s say she has been attracting more attention than usual.”

Severus’ grip tightened around his glass, knuckles going white.

“She is growing into a pretty young woman.”

His dark eyes raked over the boys gathered around Harlyn, nose screwed up in barely contained anger.

Who were they to think themselves worthy of laying their eyes on her? She was his-

“That’ll need to be rectified.”

“I knew we would be in agreement over this. We cannot allow our little Harlyn to let foolish, unworthy boys cloud her mind and take her focus away from her studies.” Voldemort trailed a spidery finger over the newspaper, caressing young Harlyn’s little face. “As you said…we’ll need her.”

Chapter Text

Harlyn was beyond exhaustion.

She was being kept together by pride and spite.

Pride to prevail over the seemingly impossible challenge the Dark Lord had set for her. Spite to finish what she started. Desperate to not fail in front of Severus…

The spells woven into her robes had long surrendered to the elements raging around her. She was soaked to the bones. Mud as cold as ice clung to her bare legs beneath her robes and her arms. Her nerves were twitching, neurons firing uncontrollably, worn down by excessive use of magic. Her fingers, wrapped tightly around her wand, had grown stiff, muscles locked into a cramp, a rigor mortis kind of unmoving. No disarming charm would be able to tear it from her grip and Harlyn doubted she could let go of it, even if she wanted to.

The air around her was thick with spent magic, filled with electricity that licked at her skin and made the fine hairs at the back of her nape stand up straight.

89.

Victory was so damn close.

The high of triumph, the smug satisfaction of it had never been so close and so far away at once.

91.

Her fun had left her at the halfway mark. At first, she had enjoyed wiping the self-assured expression off their faces - the children of the Death Eaters had so arrogantly volunteered to go first. Dolohov’s spawn ended up face-first in the mud. Yaxley’s son almost lost his wand hand from the force of her Expelliarmus, followed by a nasty Diffindo. Carrow’s ugly daughter was neither quick enough nor smart enough to stand a chance against Harlyn. She had grabbed a fist full of her hair and aimed her wand at her throat, incapacitating her with a point-blank stunner that would keep her unconscious for a few hours.

It was easy to defeat them.

She sheer number of them was what made this whole thing so fucking gruelling.

Harlyn knew Voldemort had not set this challenge to observe her skills or challenge them. She regularly trained with his very best Death Eaters. This was about endurance, about stamina and perseverance when faced with an overwhelming amount of enemies.

95.

Almost there. Soon she’d get to fall into her bed and sleep for three days straight. Harlyn was beyond tired. She could feel Voldemort’s crimson eyes burn into the back of her head, the weight of Severus’ gaze crushing into her. She rolled her shoulders and straightened up, waiting, like a snake observing its prey.

“Waited till the end, did you?”

It was the last duel, the last group, and perhaps the one that would be most challenging. Harlyn was at the end of her strength and stepping forward were no others but Ron and Draco.

“You can hardly blame us.” Draco drawled. He was wearing emerald green robes, though the fabric was dripping from the rain, leaving the colour almost as dark as the sky above them. “We know better than to try and take you on when you aren’t handicapped.”

Ron cracked his knuckles. “We still don’t stand a fucking chance against you but eh, we’ve got to try.”

“Would have lost respect for you if you didn’t.”

“You respect us, huh?” Ron’s grin widened.

“You have your moments.”

Harlyn knew that neither Ron nor Draco were particularly fond of the idea of open battle , but she knew not to underestimate her opponent. Ron had some truly nasty dark curses up his sleeve. Bellatrix and Rodolphus had focused his education on the dark arts and duelling , and while he would rather spend all his time working on his creatures, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Draco did not have the appetite for violence, nor the stomach required to follow in his father’s footsteps, but Draco was smart. He knew his weaknesses and honed his intellect to the point he was useful enough to ignore his shortcomings. He was training under Barty to become a healer and worked at St. Mungo’s during the school breaks and on the weekends. Healers were invaluable, and the war had claimed many of them.

At one point, the Order hunted down the Dark Lord’s healers just to devoid his army of the chance to tend their wounds.

It was dangerous to be a healer, Draco understood this, and he worked hard to improve his defensive magic.

Harlyn was already at the limit of her strength, and she’d need to be careful with him. He’d no doubt try to tire her out further, keeping her on her toes until her reflexes grew sluggish and he could strike.

One vital mistake the recruits had made thus far, was that they had been fighting for themself. They had been paired in groups on purpose, not only to keep Harlyn from ending a duel too quickly but also because there was strength in numbers. Duelling one on five was difficult for any wizard if the opponents had a fragment of skill but they hadn’t worked together to defeat her. Each had wanted the mark, had wanted to stand out, to be noticed and prove themself. They’d have to learn to work in a team.

Ron and Draco were an excellent team.

And then there was Silas.

He had surprised her when he wasn’t among those overeager recruits who fought each other to get to be the first to duel her, the first to fail. He stood at the same spot, unmoving, his brown eyes watching her every step.

“Miss Snape.” He said, stepping forward. His gaze weighed heavy and chased goosebumps up her arms.

“Have you decided to join after all?”

“Oh, it was always out of the question for me to pass up this…opportunity. I look forward to duelling with you.” He flashed her a crooked smile. “One should never make the mistake of underestimating the power that lies in knowing who you’re up against…and I would not dream of underestimating you, Miss Snape.”

Harlyn raised a brow. “Is that so?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“I don’t fucking know you, Silas.”

“An unfortunate circumstance that I’d be very amenable to rectifying. At any rate, you are an intimidating opponent to have , and it is a blessing to know you are on our side rather than standing against us.”

The snake on her back burnt. Gritting her teeth, she ignored the unpleasant sensation.

“Ah, so you are done staring at me then?”

An impish expression snuck onto Silas’ face. “If you wish for me to stop appreciating beauty when I see it, I am afraid I cannot meet that demand.”

Harlyn blushed.

Oh, he was a bastard in more than just one way. Harlyn glared at him and turned her back on him. Was that the tactic he thought would get him victory tonight? By unnerving her? By playing with her? Feigning compliments to make her lower her guard.

She scoffed.

She was not that type of girl. She wasn’t that foolish. Severus would kill her if she allowed such foul schemes to cloud her head. 

Ron and Draco stood back, watching Harlyn make short work of the two other recruits who were no match for her. Her rage fuelled her magic and shattered their bones.

97.  

Draco attacked first. As Harlyn had suspected, they worked in a team. Draco cast flashy spells and curses that were aimed at distracting Harlyn, or obscuring more subtle, but no less lethal spells coming from Ron.

Her world turned into a swirl of blazing flashes and colourful lights streaking across her field of vision as she kept them at bay.

Silas wasn’t fighting. She was careful to not forget about him despite the ceaseless volley of spells slashing towards her. He lurked, observing the duel, watching her footwork and conjuring style. 

That boy was so vexing!

She’d redecorate his face with a Sectumsempra if she wasn’t so damn busy defending herself from Ron and Draco. She was so damn close!

She needed to end this quickly. If she allowed the boys to keep her at an arm’s length while they watched her slowly tire out from keeping up her shields and evading their barrage.

“Don’t take it personally. ” Harlyn shouted over the blaring noise of spellfire. “But I really want that broom!”

Harlyn thrust her wand out in a stabbing motion. She caught the perfect moment. Her spell slid right through the volley of spells lashing towards her, weaving past the crackling spells and hit Draco. Nimbly, Harlyn ducked under the spells mere seconds before they pierced through her shield charm.

Draco fell, unconscious.

98.

He had managed to hold his ground longer than the majority of the other recruits, but he would not get his mark tonight.

Harlyn cracked her neck. Ron’s face was lit up with manic delight, the traces of growing up a Lestrange. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull. Electricity filled the air around him, wrapped around his arms in tiny flashes of lightning. The ground rumbled to his feet.

“Fuck no!” Harlyn shouted over the roaring noise. She sent a volley of spells at Ron, any spell she could think of, confunding , jelly-legs, dark curses, anything to stop the skeletal creature that was crawling out of the gap tearing through the ground to Ron’s feet.

She had enough to deal with without facing Ron’s freaky experiments.

The snake coiled around her midriff still burnt, like the ink had turned to acid at Silas’ words, at the suggestion she could be joining forces with the rebellion. It slithered around her in a tightening circle.

Do not fight the snake.

She could hear Voldemort’s voice without him needing to speak. Harlyn jumped backwards, evading the disfigured skeleton crawling over the ground at a concerning speed. It was unrecognisable what Ron had used to create this thing . The spine and front legs seemed to be that of a wolf, while the head and legs were from a human. Rotting bits of tendons and slimy tendrils that looked as though taken directly from a devil’s snare held the bones together. 

Devil’s snare…

Harlyn turned on the spot and ran, away from the duel, towards higher ground, escaping the range of Ron’s spellfire, and conjured Fiendfyre. The cursed flames emerged from her wand a raging blaze, the flames screaming for fuel, to burn, to destroy, to claim and consume. Harlyn gritted her teeth and adjusted her stance.

It is not your enemy.

The snake flicked its tongue over Harlyn’s collarbone. Something was holding her back. Panic woke deep inside her chest and made her stomach clench. Giving in to the snake felt like falling without knowing how deep the abyss was. Like stripping herself of everything that anchored her soul in this world and surrendering to a power she did not know and could not make out. It was like getting lost…

The creature emitted a hissing scream as the flames consumed it. They wanted to spread further, to eat the grass, engulf the bushes and trees, claim the lives of the curious bystanders.

Wind lashed around Harlyn’s head, and the flames roared around her.

She was tempted to give in to the cursed fire…

Her eyes found Severus , standing on the terrace next to Voldemort, his onyx eyes resting on her heavily as the light of flickering flames danced over her face.

The snake whispered to kill, kill them all, eradicate their weak blood, wipe the face of the earth clean to start anew. To slaughter them all and claim power, that it was her birthright, her birthright-

Ron’s attack snapped her out of the trance the snake lured her into. Harlyn fired a Diffindo at Silas. She was tired of him waiting this out, she was tired. She wanted this all to finally be over! If he couldn’t get off his arse, she’d make him participate.

He parried but the force of her curse crashing into his shield caused his feet to dig into the mud. Harlyn used the cursed flames as a shield to take cover from Ron’s attack while focussing all her attention on Silas. Ron seemed to use this chance to catch his breath. His attacks ceased somewhat.

Silas had some good tricks up his sleeves. She recognised his style of fighting from the times she faced Rabastan, but it was unrefined and could not keep up with his father’s lethality. He threw himself into every spell he cast and while that made them stronger and harder to block, it posed the risk of burning him out. Her entire, focussed attention on him and him alone quickly pushed him into unknown terrain. Harlyn’s focus wavered somewhat, her body was tired, her magic was depleted and spent but bitter, raw determination kept her ignited.

She was not going to lose this.

Harlyn ducked under a curse zapping towards her, and under the cover of a barrage of spells - nonlethal or even particularly useful in a duel but bright enough to distract from her - closed the distance between them.

Silas noticed her at the last moment and blocked her punch, catching her fist in the air. His hand was warm around her knuckles. That same mania burnt in his eyes that had surprised her a few days back when he caught up with her in the corridor, when she had pressed the tip of her wand into his throat. His sleeve was torn, and blood had soaked the dark fabric.

He used the second of hesitation to his advantage, coiling his arm around her throat and pulling her back against his chest. His scent filled her nostrils, metallic, notes of expensive cologne slumbering beneath the smell of sweat and something earthy. She could feel his hard body behind her, the muscles in his arm working as it pressed against her throat, not enough to cut off her air supply, but enough that she could feel him.

“You wear the blood of your enemies well.” His voice was raspy, deeper, the words muttered directly into her ear, chasing a warm shiver down her spine. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look in the throes of battle?”

Rage burnt through her veins. The snake hissed encouragement, drenched in blood thirst and hatred. A battle cry tearing through her throat, Harlyn stomped on Silas’ food and threw him over her shoulder. His body hit the ground with a loud, dull thump. Harlyn disarmed him in the same breath and incapacitated him with a nasty bit of spellwork she had been working on for a while now - it subjected the victim to immense pain whenever they tried to move, rendering them utterly useless in a fight, more painful the more they tried to move.

Harlyn was above crying out for honour in a battle. Severus taught her that battle knows no honour - merely those willing to do what it took to win, and those foolish enough to lose. But to mock her like that? To try and manipulate her with such transparent tactics?

The duel with Ron stretched on. Ron had to work harder than anyone to prove himself. Not only was he the son of traitors, he was a sixth-born son.

And he did not hold back.

The snake spurred her on, goading her into using ever harsher curses. It sprawled on her skin, stretching over her body with relish, wrapping around her possessively, luring her into listening to it, trusting it.

Stop struggling against it , Voldemort’s voice whispered in her mind.

Night’s darkness had settled around her, only lit up by the spellfire flashing between them.

The air tasted of spent magic and electricity, of raw, primitive power .

It was a heady, intoxicating atmosphere and Harlyn fell.

No, it was more than falling.

Her gaze slid over to the manor, caught Voldemort’s crimson eyes , Severus’ scrutinising look… The snake urged her on…and she let go…

Do not fight the snake.

It is not your enemy.

Don’t you trust me?

Harlyn cried out. The air was pushed out of her lungs with a violent jab, her scream echoed over the grounds, magic burst forth from somewhere deep inside her, ripped through her and poured into the night. Her every nerve burnt, a heat far more torrid than the cursed flames still lingering around the ashen remains of Ron’s creatures. Her tongue prickled, her throat ached.

There is no good and evil, 

there is only power, 

and those too weak to seek it.

“CRUCIO!”

Ron’s body crumbled.

Harlyn could not hear his screams over the ringing in her ears. The snake rubbed over her skin, a mocking embrace, its wicked tongue hissing, pushing her to go further, to draw blood, to take his breath, to stand over him as she watched the light fade from his eyes-

Harlyn stumbled backwards. The curse ended abruptly and with it, the trance the snake lulled her into. She stared in shock at the body in front of her. The rasping, rattling noise of Ron dragging air into his battered lung. She was trembling. Words of apology, pleads for forgiveness pricked at the back of her throat but Harlyn said none of them.

Apologies were a sign of weakness.

The Dark Lord had no use for the weak.

Severus-

A wave of exhaustion crushed down upon her, making her knees buckle and her body sway-

Pain cut across her cheek.

Harlyn emitted a surprised yelp. Warm blood trickled down her cheek.

Ron grinned.

“Checkmate.”

His teeth were red from blood and his hands twitched still from the aftermath of the curse, but it did not stop him from scrambling to kneel before the Dark Lord when he reached them. Harlyn watched on numbly. Rodolphus and Rabastan held Ron down while Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand against Ron’s bared arm. The scent of burning flesh attacked Harlyn’s nose and she had to turn away. She felt dizzy and numb, exhausted and too awake, like caffeine had been injected directly into her veins.

When she stumbled, arms caught her, grabbing hold of her underarms, stabilizing her in the second her legs needed to remember how to fulfil their duty to her.

Harlyn looked up into Silas’ brown eyes.

Shame filled her stomach, made bile rise up her throat-

“It was the first time you-?” He left the question open, but Harlyn understood. She nodded, weakly, hazy, dazed. She felt vulnerable in a way she did not want to in front of anyone, but she was too weak to tear free of Silas’ supporting touch.

Her studies of the Dark Arts weren’t so advanced as that Voldemort would have taught her the Unforgivables yet.

Unforgivables , because it was unforgivable to use them against a Death Eater.

“It’s overwhelming the first few times.” 

Silas’ voice was hushed , soft, a soothing rumble at the back of his throat. He tucked a mud-crusted curl behind her ear. His fingertips lingered against the base of her ear. Harlyn was too stunned to do anything but stare when he cupped her cheek.

“May I ask you a question, Harlyn?”

Harlyn wet her lips. “Seeing as that I can hardly forbid you from speaking, the more prudent question would be whether I would answer your question.”

Silas chuckled.

A shy smile tugged on Harlyn’s lips against her will.

“Why do you get so angry at my compliments?”

She didn’t know why she answered him. Perhaps it was the exhaustion that made her guards fall, that allowed vulnerability to slip over her tongue…

“I do not appreciate mockery.”

Silas frowned. “Harlyn-” He stepped closer. The crowd had turned their backs on them to congratulate and praise Ron, all but forgetting about them.

Silas rubbed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away some of the blood trickling from the fine cut.

“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Harlyn scoffed.

“It is the truth, though it seems you are the last person to realise that…you are stunning. I could barely manage to stop myself from staring at you while we fought, so enthralled I was with you…”

She could feel the heat of Silas’ body against hers, cutting through the icy chill of her drenched clothes. Her mind was still processing what he said, scrambling to make sense of the words- He got closer, his palm still against her cheek. Her insides fluttered. She blushed when she realised how close he was to her. She could almost feel his lips against hers-

“Dad.” Harlyn gave a jerk and quickly scrambled away from Silas.

Severus’ eyes were cold and dark, impossible to read but his jaw was tense.

“We are leaving.” He said without looking at Harlyn. Severus grabbed her upper arm roughly and dragged her along. It wouldn’t have been necessary, she wouldn’t have disobeyed him, but she was too wary of his anger to say as much. She stumbled after him as he dragged her through the manor, towards the gates.

In the entrance hall, Harlyn’s legs ceased functioning. She fell, dragged to the ground by the weight of her exhaustion. The marble was cold against her bare legs and her wet robes did nothing to shield her. She was shivering bitterly.

Long, slender fingers wrapped around her chin. He forced her head up , made her look at him and the moment reminded her so much of the evening of her birthday that a whimper slipped from her tongue.

She expected him to yell at her, to shout and curse her out, to vent his rage at whatever he had decided warranted punishment - she did not expect him to bend down and pick her up.

His strong arms wrapped around her, lifted her off the ground, held her close…

Harlyn couldn’t remember the last time he had held her like this.

He would carry her upstairs and tuck her into bed when she pretended to fall asleep on the sofa. She could always coax a bedtime story out of him with a big pout. When she messed up a potion and the cauldron exploded in her face, covering her arms in acidic sludge, he had held her while she cried as he applied a soothing salve to her burns. He had run his hand through her hair until the pain subsided.

He didn’t do these things anymore.

Harlyn missed it.

Could one miss a person they hadn’t lost?

She could barely hold on to Severus, her arms wrapped around his neck, but Severus would never let her fall. He might hate her, but her mother had bought his protection for her…

Harlyn pressed her face against his neck, inhaling his musky, rich scent - the biting notes of potion fumes weaving through aromatic herbal scents and his sandalwood soap - with every snivelling breath she took. Exhaustion pushed tears into her eyes and grief made them run down her cheek, soak into the starched wool of Severus’ frock coat.

Grief over losing her dad, the only father figure she had ever known, over losing control and hurting her best friend, over losing the Dark Lord’s challenge. Silas confused her, he aggravated her, and she couldn’t help the bitter taste in her mouth at the thought that she almost let him kiss her, that she almost allowed herself to fall for that humiliation.

He was a bastard, but he was handsome and decently skilled with magic. He’d have no trouble rising in the Dark Lord’s ranks and he might even inherit a powerful name. He was charming…he could have any half-blood girl he set his eyes on and yet he chose to be a cruel bastard and taunt her.

Who could ever want her? Disfigured, prickly, ugly Harlyn. The traitor’s daughter…

Severus disapparated as soon as he stepped through the cast iron gate, leaving the perimeter of the anti-apparition spells. His magic wrapped around her, dark, dangerous and yet so familiar…

He closed the front door behind them and without shedding his cloak or taking off his shoes, he carried her upstairs. He didn’t say a word when he set her down in the hallway. Harlyn clung to the bannister of the stairs. Severus opened the door of the master bedroom. Harlyn caught a glimpse into the bedroom. The gothic-period bed was carved from solid ebony, a chilling dark presence with a wooden crown and dark green sheets. The walls were wallpapered in black with regal, dark silver damask patterns stretching across them.

Lily was sitting on the hardwood floor at the back of the room. 

Her red hair stood out in the dark room.

Like fire in the night…

Severus undid the collar around her neck that was attached to a chain anchored into the ground.

“Draw a bath. Your daughter is filthy. And then get her some food.”

Without looking back at Harlyn, he disappeared into the adjacent bathroom.

“Are you alright?” Lily hurried towards her. With all the concern of a worried mother, she cupped her face and inspected the wound on her cheek, searching for other signs of injury.

“Just exhausted. ” Harlyn muttered and clung to her mother’s slim body. Lily brought her to the bathroom down the hall.

While the sunken bathtub - that was really more like a small pool - filled with steaming water and violet bubbles, she helped Harlyn out of her robes. Chunks of half-dried mud fell off the hem onto the pristine, white tiles.

“Sorry…” Harlyn stumbled up the steps to the bathtub and sunk into the hot water. Her skin was ice cold and protested against the sudden change of temperature while her sore muscles welcomed the soothing heat.

“Don’t worry about it.” Lily avoided the muddy shoe prints Harlyn left and picked up her boots to place them in the shower cabin. She gathered Harlyn’s clothes into a laundry basket.

“What happened?” It was obvious Lily tried not to sound too curious. She was utterly cut off from the outside world and knew only that which Severus told her, which Harlyn presumed wasn’t much.

“I failed.”

Harlyn tipped her head back and sunk into the water, disappeared into the thrum of water pressing against her eardrums. Her hair floated around her like an extraterrestrial lifeform…

Harlyn stayed underwater for as long as she could before surfacing again. Her mother and the laundry basket were gone. Harlyn preferred it that way. She didn’t feel like talking. She needed time to sort the day’s events out for herself.

Failure weighed heavy on her shoulders. It made her sick and twisted around her insides like the tendrils of a deathly plant. Her eyes burnt but she was too exhausted to cry.

Lily came back sometime later. She sat down at the edge of the tub and grabbed a bottle of shampoo.

“You have such beautiful hair.” She murmured as she massaged the shampoo into her hair. “I always wanted curly hair growing up. Mine was always pin straight…even a curling iron couldn’t make them be anything but straight.”

“What is a curling iron?”

Lily didn’t reply. Harlyn didn’t really care to begin with. Something muggle . The only thing muggle in her life was Severus’ record collection.

Harlyn watched the bubbles float over the surface of the water while her mother lathered her hair in conditioner to attempt and detangle them .

“Mum?” Harlyn watched the water dribble from her hands and land on the foam, darkening it where the water touched it. “How do you tell if a boy likes you?”

“Some are brave enough to tell you. Your fa-” Lily stopped herself. “One boy kept asking me out every time he saw me, for years, pestering me nonstop until I gave him a chance. He tried to impress me a lot.”

“He doesn’t impress me.”

“Is it Ron?”

Harlyn cringed. “Ew, mum. He’s like a brother.”

Lily chuckled. “Not Ron then. Well, what makes you think the boy might like you?”

“I don’t know.” Harlyn shrugged and pulled away from her mother. She rinsed her hair and got out of the tub. “It doesn’t matter.” She muttered a spell to dry herself off and slipped into the silken nightdress her mother fetched for it . She didn’t usually wear it, but Lily always pushed her towards more girly clothes. Tonight Harlyn was too tired to fight it.

Harlyn ate dinner in her bed , some roast with potatoes, carrots and Yorkshire pudding drowning in thick, creamy gravy. She was starving and her mother’s cooking as delicious as ever.

Then, Harlyn waited.

And waited.

She watched her own reflection in the mirror by her wardrobe. The wound Ron inflicted on her wasn’t more than a red line on her cheek. The lightning scar seemed even more visible tonight , but perhaps that was merely the moonlight falling into her dimly lit bedroom.

Harlyn knew Severus would come, even before she heard his steps outside her bedroom door.

She messed up. She failed. She showed weakness. She froze in the middle of a duel because she felt pity for her opponent. She failed.

Harlyn was so fucking angry with herself! How could she have failed? She was so close! She worked so hard, but it hadn’t been enough.

She couldn’t help but wonder whether Voldemort ever expected her to succeed to begin with…

Perhaps Severus would make her suck his cock again-

She blushed at the mere thought rushing through her mind and quickly tried to bury it deep within her thoughts when the door to her bedroom opened. Severus stepped inside. Cloaked in black wool and shadows and inscrutable indifference painted across the harsh features of his face.

Harlyn felt so terribly small under his scrutiny. She couldn’t maintain eye contact, shrinking away from him, her chest tightening with shame, as though someone was pouring gravel down her throat it filled her ribcage. Apologies burnt at the tip of her tongue, and she bit her bottom lip to keep them from falling out, trying helplessly to force them back down her throat.

Severus didn’t say a word and somehow that made it all the worse. He was the type of man who could eviscerate a person’s sense of self-worth with one well-aimed insult, delivered as melodic and oddly enthralling as everything he spoke. He was leaning against her wall with the signed Chudley Cannons pennant at his back. Her room wasn’t as elegantly decorated as his. She had a simple single bed, a fluffy grey carpet, and a plush chair by her desk under the window. Her walls were decorated with a beige wallpaper that was covered in soft-toned flowers and leaves. Harlyn had covered most of it up with posters and drawings.

Severus pushed himself off the door and cut through her room with long strides, each accompanied by the heavy sound of his boots against the hardwood floor. He grabbed her chin from behind and tipped her head back. His onyx eyes examined the cut on her cheek in the mirror by her wardrobe. The mattress dipped behind her. She could feel his knee against the small of her back. He was dressed all in black as always, the woollen frock coat stern and immaculate, while Harlyn was kneeling on her bed in the short, silky nightdress.

Severus’ arm felt heavy against her chest.

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out then, a fierce blush on her cheeks.

“Sorry, mh ?” Severus dug his fingertips into her jaw. “Pray tell, what are you sorry for?”

“I failed.”

He bent down to her, his head on the same height as hers now. Her eyes never left his reflection. He was so much bigger than her. The broad-shouldered, black presence at her back made her appear all the smaller which did not bode well for her confidence.

“Are you confessing to not giving the Dark Lord’s challenge your best?”

“No! Dad- I tried so hard, but…”

“Did you give your best, girl?”

“Yes.” The word came out breathless, all suppressed desire and raging hormones. His scent was blinding, unfurling around him and claiming her room, invading her space and senses and carving out a place for himself in them. Her skin prickled where he touched her. Her insides burnt with the need for him, shame ate at her, pulsing through her veins like poisoned, black sludge but she was helpless to what Severus made her feel.

“So what more could one expect of you?” His tone was cutting but his words soothing . That was the disconcerting mixture that made Severus into the confusing, volatile man he was.

“I wanted to make you proud.”

His lips curled. She could feel them brush over the shell of her ear as they moved. A shudder ran through her.

“That boy, tell me what he had to say to you and do. not . lie.” He overemphasized the last part as though Harlyn needed an extra warning. She probably did. She never learnt her lesson despite knowing how terrible she was at Occlumency. Harlyn tried to remember the details of the conversation but the whole thing felt as though it happened months ago. Her mind was sluggish and only reluctantly obeyed her command.

“He was taking the piss out of me.” 

Severus raised a brow.

“He said I am beautiful and that he could barely stop looking at me during our duel. But I know it’s not true.”

“Is that the whole story?” A growl rumbled in his words.

“I think he wanted to kiss me. ” Harlyn murmured. “I wouldn’t have let him.”

“Good girl.” Severus placed a kiss on the base of her ear. It took Harlyn by surprise, dragging a gasp from her. His gentleness felt alien, utterly out of place for the tongue-lashing she had been expecting. He pressed his face against the crook of her neck, mouthed at her throat.

Harlyn’s brain had crashed.

Someone had deleted all the information stored in it, rendering a useless, gelatinous mass swishing around in her skull.

“D-dad-” Her voice was a terribly small thing, a tiny whimper, a fragile breath torn apart by the wind raging outside her bedroom window. Severus wrapped his hand around her bare thigh. The callouses on his fingers scraped against her skin. The heat of his body sought to devour her, swallow her up and form her into something else, something new like molten glass. She was caged in by his body, this possessive, harsh embrace.

He nipped at her jaw and took the last string of confusion and reluctance from her, made her melt against his chest, lean against him as she had so many times when she was a child.

She missed him so much.

She was consumed with her yearning for his affection and here he was, stealing her away into the warmth of his embrace. 

How was she supposed to stop this? She knew it was wrong, she knew it was sick of her to feel desire at his touch, but was it a surprise? Harlyn was starved for affection and if he’d make her lick it up from cock, she would.

Severus’ fingers glided up the inside of her thigh. Harlyn pushed her knees apart, inviting him to go further, all the while watching him in the mirror. He sucked and bit at her neck, leaving bruises and bite marks in his wake. He slid his hand into her knickers, drawing another gasp from her.

She was already so wet.

So wet for her stepfather-

Harlyn tipped her head back, letting it fall against his shoulders. Pleasure assaulted her nerves, drawn out expertly by firm circles against her throbbing clit. She emitted breathy moans, fragile little things born from insecurity. Severus seemed to encourage her, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit, while sliding a finger inside her.

She peeled her eyes open to meet Severus’ eyes in the mirror. She couldn’t read his expression. His harsh features were only accentuated by the eerie moonlight falling into her room, painting chilling shadows over his face.

“You belong to me, Harlyn.” His voice was deep and raspy and coaxed a whimper from her.

He said her name-

How long had it been since he last addressed her with her name?

Harlyn ground against his hand, chasing her pleasure, eager to please him.

“Only me.” He growled. His fingers dug into her jaw. He forced her head to the side, made her look at him directly. “Not some worthless little waste of oxygen.”

“Dad-” Harlyn grasped at his arms, clung to the thick fabric of his frock coat, her nails straining against the wool. Small tremors ran through her. Tendrils of pleasure spread down her thighs, making her battered muscles spasm. She rocked her hip more desperately, riding Severus’ hands in pursuit of her pleasure.

“I have invested so much time in you.” He went on, poising a second finger at her entrance. The stretch stung, making Harlyn yelp and tense in his arms but he was not deterred. She had never managed more than two fingers, but Severus’ fingers were thicker, longer. She squirmed in his arms, pushed against his arms and whined like a beaten puppy. The sensations were too much, too overwhelming and yet not enough. Harlyn was panting and moaning like the slut he had accused her of being.

“Why should I let another man earn the fruits of my hard labour? From your - ah - reaction” He chuckled as he watched Harlyn’s desperate attempts to spread her legs even further. “I assume you are amenable to that. Mh…my sweet innocent Harlyn.” Severus nuzzled the side of her head with his face. He ground the heel of his hand against her clit and stabbed his fingers into her, quickening his pace further until Harlyn felt like she would go insane from the pressure building inside her. She was no stranger to pleasure - she was a teenager with too much alone time - but she had never felt anything like this. Severus played her like an instrument, discovering parts of her she didn’t know existed and hitting them perfectly on every thrust. She couldn’t escape him either, no matter how much her body tried to escape the assault of sensations.

“Please- d-dad- I have to- have to come, please-”

“Say it, Harlyn. ” Severus growled. “You are mine.”

Harlyn looked up at him through blurry ears, unshed tears clinging to her lashes, heat consuming her body, pressure tearing through her lower abdomen, her heartbeat throbbing in her throat. “I’m yours, dad .” She whined between breathless pants. “Only yours- I don’t want anyone- ahh- only you-”

“That’s right.” He took her earlobe between his teeth, biting down just enough that it stung, and sucked on it, drawing a mewling moan out of Harlyn. “Your slutty holes are for my use only and I’ll kill anyone who touches you.”

Harlyn came with a suffocated cry on her lips. Her body convulsed in Severus’ arms, shaken by the sudden explosion of pressure accumulated in her belly. It ripped through her in trembling waves of hellish heat and nerve-singeing pleasure. Severus held her down, kept her trapped against his hard chest and he stretched out her climax, thrusting his fingers into her until she couldn’t breathe anymore, and stars danced before her eyes. It lasted for a long time, longer than she had ever managed to before, at Severus’ mercy, trapped in the clutches of pleasure, wiped her mind clean and left her feeling lighter, as though she was floating. Her muscles relaxed and she sacked against Severus, eyelids heavy from fatigue.

Chapter Text

Harlyn’s eyes had fallen shut. Her breathing was still heavy and small tremors shook her, making her whimper softly. She was resting against him with her whole weight. Her cheeks were flushed, hair slightly ruffled.

Severus kneaded her thighs, dragging his short nails over her skin, feeling her soft flesh twitch under his palms…

She looked utterly delectable.

What a shame it would be to leave her now.

Harlyn peeled her eyes open. The intense green of her irises seemed all the more as though they glowed, framed by her thick, dark lashes. 

His innocent little charge shrouded in virginal white silk…

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. The silence of her dim bedroom almost obscured the words falling from her lips. She turned around, even when Severus growled, displeased with the girl for squirming out of his grasp. She tipped her head back to catch his gaze. The crease between her brows oozed with adolescent insecurity. Harlyn knew that Severus did not have the patience to deal with youthful vanity and it was the first time she brought the matter up, though from their Occlumency training he of course knew the feelings she harboured towards her scar.

“I figured I’m not.” She went on, ignoring his scowl. “Ron and Draco talk about the girls they find pretty, and I look nothing like them. Daphne has gotten so many love letters and marriage proposals her whole life and I know you said to not compare myself to her and I’m not- but- since…because of what we’ve done-” Her voice grew quieter the more she spoke. She averted her eyes, staring at the messy bedding between them. “Merlin, I’m so stupid.” 

Harlyn sniffled and tried to turn away from him, perhaps flee from him - that was the sort of rash recklessness she had been prone to since she took her first step.

Severus caught her wrist before she had made it off the bed and pulled her back. She tried to free herself, tears gathering in her bright green eyes, threatening to spill over.

Had he followed Voldemort’s suggestion and groomed her for this moment from the day she fell into his care, he would not get this. He would not be on the receiving end of Harlyn’s deadly stare, the snarl on her plush lips, the fire burning in her eyes.

And how utterly boring would she have been without that fire?

She was Potter’s spawn through and through - but she was so much more too . She had her mother’s wild side, that untameable free spirit that Severus used to adore about her, before she fell in with the shallow popular girls and lost all about her that had made her unique and worth knowing. 

And she had his feral savagery. She had his wrath. His disdain for humanity. His ugly jealousy, that magpie-like desire to claim everything shiny and pretty for herself, uncaring whom it belongs to.

She was his masterpiece, a creation that far outweighed the ingenuity of his Sectumsempra, that surpassed the complexity of every last potion he had ever invented. 

Severus had created Harlyn, forged her from nothing, raised her up and moulded her into the young woman standing before him now, both wary of his authority, yearning for his recognition, and full of rage because he continued to deny her that.

She wore his name, both the worthless name of his father that he breathed meaning into through blood and sweat - and the name he gave her to replace the travesty of a name her father had insisted on giving her.

Harry, after his grandfather Henry.

Harriet to suit a girl, just to then still call her Harrie.

That was not a name for a witch! Least of all for this witch.

It was disgraceful and ridiculous to apply it to her, to dim the whole ferocity of her being with such a dull name.

Oh, she was no Harriet, his precious charge. She was so far from the kind of demure, meek girl who would be named Harriet.

His Harlyn was a raging forest fire.

Her name meant army land or grey land and what would be better suited for her? Severus had never much cared about name meanings, nor had he considered any when choosing her name. It was a proper name for a witch, taken from a distant ancestor of the Prince line, suitable for his charge. Nonetheless, Harlyn had grown into her name, and this was only further proven by the way she had bent Fiendfyre to her will.

He had seen the terror she instilled in the recruits who had been strong enough to stay and watch the rest of her challenge play out. He had seen the way her eyes reflected the fire, the darkness slumbering behind the deceiving green irises . Green as a meadow in spring, green as life - and the same green as the curse that could not take her life fourteen years ago.

Severus so enjoyed watching her burn down anything and anyone that did not have the sense to run from her, for they had not yet realised one vital, little detail - what Harlyn wanted, she got.

And Severus knew exactly what the little harlot wanted at this moment.

“Let go!” She hissed between clenched teeth and tried to pull her arm away from him. Severus’ grip around her wrist remained unyielding. With a single, sharp tug he made her tumble into him. Before she could protest any further or spew further curses, he had buried her slender form beneath him. 

The single bed creaked dangerously under the impact. 

Severus pinned Harlyn’s hands down above her head, crushing her wrists into the mattress. She snarled at him. The head of the snake tore open its maw, spreading in black ink over her cheek.

“I am not in the habit of fucking those I find ugly.”

His words made her shut up immediately. She could be so predictable.

“Y-you haven’t- we didn’t-”

“Did you think I was done with you? Silly girl.” He bore his crooked, yellow teeth to her in a savage grin. “And while you are on the topic of our past conversation, I do not play games. Say what is crowding that thick skull of yours or stop wasting my time.”

Her blush darkened. He could tell she was chewing on the inside of her cheek again. She sighed, closing her eyes, surrendering to him.

“I- if Silas really meant what he said, he would have just kissed me without babbling on like that…you- you didn’t chew my ear off before we- we got close, so if you think I’m pretty surely I must have been right about him.”

“That boy really got into your head.”

“I know it’s stupid.” Harlyn groaned. “And I know I’m being annoying, but I can’t help it! Perhaps if I was actually your daughter and wasn’t shit at Occlumency then I could…It’s just…I’ve never even been kissed…”

His poor little charge. Too blind to see her own beauty. Such delectable innocence. A mocking pout spread over his lips.

“Perhaps you should have let him then.”

Harlyn shook her head.

“You are right. You are stupid for wasting your time on that useless boy.”

She shrunk under his scathing tone.

“And you are even more stupid for your utterly incorrect conclusion.”

That was as close to a compliment as Severus would get. He was not the kind of man to bow down to a woman, to run after someone, to court with all of courtship's demented rituals and rules. 

Severus Snape bathed his hands in blood to fight his way up to the position he was in now, for the whole world to fear his name as much as they did Voldemort’s. He was the second in command, his general, his executioner.

He wore no ring on his finger, not because no woman wanted him, but because Severus could not be bothered to deal with the hassle of a wife to provide for and breed. What a cheap excuse of a legacy that would be.

Only Harlyn believed Lily was his wife and even she couldn’t possibly truly believe it. It was a lie Lily fought for by surrendering herself to his every wish, a lie to protect her daughter when she was younger, but these days Harlyn knew more of the reality of Voldemort’s reign than Lily.

Harlyn blinked up at him through tear-filled eyes, her lips parted in silent surprise.

Severus wrapped his hand around her throat. She was so fucking small compared to him, she looked as though a single wrong move would break her in two. His fingers touched at the back of her neck. The purlicue of his hand pressed against her throat.

Severus’ hair fell around them like greasy curtains when he leant forward, closed the gap between them, bent over Harlyn’s delicate body, hunched over her like a vampire from an old black and white movie, about to devour a virgin beauty - and in the end, which was exactly what he was planning to do.

He didn’t kiss her. 

Severus Snape didn’t kiss.  

He wasn’t some lovesick, idiotic schoolboy. Severus ravished her mouth. He left her lips bruised and throbbing. He claimed every inch of her mouth with his tongue and swallowed up every breathy whine welling up from her throat. His teeth clicked against her as he chased her taste - untouched, unsullied, her first and his for the taking.

Severus was no stranger to innocence. Many young recruits sought to seduce him, to gain power or influence or because they let their foolish little hearts make them believe they’d be the ones to soften his black, dead heart. Sometimes he claimed one of them for himself, when they were particularly pretty or interesting to him, whether they wanted or not, simply because he could, because nobody would stop him. He played with them until he grew tired of them. He fucked their innocence out of them, claiming the only thing about them that was worth taking, he taught them what it meant to attempt and play him. He made them regret ever having thought they could hold power over him.

He didn’t kiss them, and he doubted even the most alluring of them would have tasted as sweet as Harlyn did .

He didn’t give Harlyn a choice in the matter either and she did not protest, not that he gave her the opportunity to tell him no.

He had not yet had his fill of her, of her whines of pleasure, her fragile body contorting in his arms, the warmth of her skin against his.

She was consuming him, and he would ravish her for it. 

Severus grasped at her body, brutish, impatient, groping at her soft flesh through her nightdress. He kneaded her breasts roughly, licked into her mouth. The girl was trembling beneath him. Her hands found their way into his hair, and he did not stop her. He let her thread her finger into them, run her nails over his scalp, cling to him…

He hoisted her up by the waist and tugged her nightdress off, tossing it away without taking his eyes off Harlyn. Her lips were swollen and red, so damn alluring. He dragged her into his lap, leaning back against the headboard of her bed. She emitted a little gasp and blushed even further. Messy curls spilt over her bare arms. Her skin was littered with little clusters of freckles. She struggled to straddle him, her thighs spread wide to accommodate the width of his body.

She looked as though directly taken out of one of the old myths, a nymph that did not know anything but the safety of her forest, used to roam naked in her little paradise, a stranger to any type of darkness and the depravity humanity was capable of - and now she was here, utterly naked in his lap while he had not shed a single article of clothing, about to learn all there was to know about the sin of the flesh…

Harlyn had braced her hands against his chest, and they seemed lost, too small against his broad chest dressed in black wool. 

“Dad-” Doubt and fear filled her eyes, summoning tears and mute snivels that made her bottom lip quiver ever so slightly. 

Severus sat up. He grabbed a fist full of her hair, wrapped it around his hand, yanked her head back. His lips curled. “I am not your father.”

The usual hurt those words painted into her eyes was nowhere to be seen. Severus slammed his lips against hers, but he did not linger. He painted a sloppy trail down her jaw, over her throat. He let go of her hair to hold onto her waist, to hold her in place as he attacked her perfect, small breasts, as delicate as she was. He nipped at her soft flesh and dragged his teeth over her skin. He coaxed pathetic little mewls from her and savoured every single one of them . 

He didn’t care for foreplay but with Harlyn he found himself wanting to map out every inch of her body. He squeezed her arse and rocked her against his straining cock. He sucked her tits into his mouth and teased her hardened nipples. 

Harlyn had buried her face against the crown of his head. A near-constant stream of whines and shuddering moans fell from her lips as she surrendered her body to Severus’ forceful exploration.

He wanted nothing more than to fuck her into the mattress but it something about it felt sacrilegious. That was what those useless boys at Slytherin Manor would do if given the chance. They’d fuck her against a tree or against the wall of one of the many corridors. Hike up her robes haphazardly and leave her unsatisfied.

No, that would not do.

Harlyn was his masterpiece, one he invested fourteen years of his life to create - it would be a waste to let his composure slip now and rush this, no, he had no reason to hurry. He could take his time with her…he could savour claiming her virginity.

It was a fair price for all he had given her. No, this was his for the taking and he would not risk a little brat like Silas snatching it away from him, to ruin this best of his creations , he had worked so hard on.

Harlyn was trembling in his arms. His fingertips dug into her quivering thighs, his grip bruising, grinding her cunt against his throbbing cock. Her fingers tensed against his scalp and tugged on his hair. Her whimpering, shy moans were music to his ears.

“D-dad-” Harlyn squirmed on his lap, a senseless attempt to escape the sensations assaulting her. The pitch of her moans grew higher, laced with such need, such desperation for more. Severus flicked his tongue over her hardened nipple in his mouth and gave the other one a rough squeeze, making her cry out.

Severus yanked her head back with one hand securely knotted into her hair, forcing it back so much she had to arch her back to not lose balance. She blinked up at him through big, drowsy eyes. Some tears still clung to her lashes. She was panting, lips parted seductively, gasping for air as the pleasure he inflicted on her took away her breath.

“Are you going to come again?” He asked mockingly. Severus trailed a finger down her chest, following her sternum. She shuddered under his touch and goosebumps spread over her skin. Her thighs strained around him, muscles trembling in the wake of her climax inching closer, coaxed from her exhausted body at his hand. “Is that all you need? For someone to suck on those pretty little tits?” As if to underline his words, he slapped her right breast, leaving a red mark on her skin. Harlyn bit her lip to not yelp. Severus ran his hand down over her stomach, past her belly button and pressed his thumb against her swollen clit.

“Tell me what you want, Harlyn.” He purred, relishing in the humiliated expression on her pretty, doll-like face. “It’s a bit late to be ashamed now, go on, say it. Say that you want nothing more than to squirt all over daddy’s-” Harlyn flinched barely noticeable at his use of the term of endearment she used to use as a little girl, one that sounded so utterly rotten from his lips with his naked charge in his lap. “-trousers like the filthy whore you are.”

She shook her head.

“No?” His voice dripped with condescension. “You don’t want to come?” He drew a torturously slow circle over her clit. Harlyn whimpered. He chuckled. “It is hardly worse than what we have already done, Harlyn. And how bad is it really…you are not my daughter after all and as you’ve so astutely discovered, you are all grown up.”

For a while, Harlyn was quiet. 

Severus’ patience ran out. He would get what he wanted one way or another.

“A little tease you are, wasting my time. If you have such reservations, I’ll just have to make do with your mother-”

He went to sit up when Harlyn put her hands against his chest and shook her head, sending her messy curls flying. Severus concealed a smirk. He tilted his head to the side, questioningly. 

“Don’t go-” She whispered, too ashamed to meet his gaze. She curled her fingers against his chest, clenching the front of his frock coat in her hands. “I don’t care how wrong it is…I want you.”

“If you didn’t care, you would look at me.”

She didn’t. She slipped out of his grasp instead. Severus let her, curious as to what she was up to.

Harlyn settled between his legs on her stomach and reached for his belt, undoing his trousers and freeing his erection. She cast her eyes up, looking at him through her thick lashes.

“I don’t want to come on your lap. I’d rather you fuck me, daddy .” 

Harlyn stuck out her tongue and dragged the shiny metal barbells of her piercing over his leaking cock head. She had no idea what she was doing - a circumstance he was looking forward to remedying - but her clumsy attempts paired with the delicious sensation of the metal in her mouth and the sight of her slim, bare figure between his legs made up for her lack of experience.

She grasped his base firmly and licked along his shaft, making sure to apply firm pressure, putting his money to good use. She sprawled on the mattress with her legs in the air, ankles crossed. Severus gathered her hair at the back of her head to stop it from concealing her. This time, he didn’t guide her, didn’t batter into her throat. He relished in watching her explore his cock, watching her attempt to gauge his reaction, so very eager to please him.

It wasn’t enough to make him come but it was adorable how hard she tried.

He grew tired of it after some time regardless.

Severus dragged her up effortlessly and flipped her over. He adjusted her, tugging and shoving at her until he was satisfied. Back arched, chest on the bed, arse stuck out lewdly. He pushed her head into the mattress and aligned himself with her soaked cunt.

Harlyn gripped the sheets, bracing herself and yet her body pushed against him, begging for a good pounding.

She was tight.

He felt it when he made her come on his fingers but perhaps he underestimated how tight she was. She whimpered, and whined, each noise filled with the evidence of her innocence as he pushed on, coaxing his way into her wet little cunt.

He had managed to push his cockhead inside when she came around him, squeezing him even further, writhing beneath him, a whining mess.

Seconds went by, time ticking past them in a blur. He was surrendered by her sweet scent wafting up from the bedding, watched by the plushies that fell from her bed during their activities . He switched between watching her cunt take his cock and looking in the mirror, seeing her little body cower before him.

She was crying into the blanket.

What a sight she made.

On her back, the snake slithered over her skin, black lines of cursed ink, winding and coiling on itself, twisting, turning, constantly moving, not allowing Harlyn to forget whom she belonged to for even a second.

Severus’ body faltered. Overwhelmed by the vice clamping down on his cock, he tipped forward, bracing his hands against the mattress to catch himself, his nose a mere inch away from Harlyn’s neck.

He buried his face against her back, inhaled her scent in greedy, deep breaths and wrapped his arms around her torso, rocking his hips forward to bury the rest of himself inside her.

Her cunt fluttered around her. Harlyn panted helplessly.

Severus gave her a moment to adjust to him, then he pulled back, almost all the way. Cold air swirled around his cock, making him shiver after being surrounded by her heat. He slammed into her, his hips meeting her arse with a sharp slap, making her cry out, voice raspy from crying and unfulfilled need and the exhaustion of the day she survived.

Severus took no mercy on her.

His composure finally snapped, lost to the night sky like the sun’s light. He fucked into her ruthlessly, chasing his pleasure selfishly, only spurred on when she cried out in pain or dug her nails into his arms. He was hunched over her, his broad shoulders stealing her much slimmer form away from the night. She was utterly at his mercy, trapped in his arms, split open on his cock.

“Harlyn…” He growled into her ear, took the shell of her ear between his teeth, panted a sloppy trail of open-mouthed kisses down to the crook of her neck. He bit the flesh over her shoulder blades, hard enough to bruise, to make his claim visible to anyone who’d see her bare back. He followed the curve of her spine, nuzzled the winding body of the snake he and Voldemort created together to ensure nobody would be able to ever take her from them.

“My Harlyn!” He yanked her body up, shoved her hair out of her face, grabbed her throat. He looked at her reflection in the mirror, eyes blazing with blood lust. “ Mine.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She bit her own lip bloody. The muscles in her thighs were visibly twitching. She nodded, nonetheless.

“Look at you…” He mouthed at her throat, admiring the marks he had already left on her, her bruised nipples, the bruises and bitemarks stretching over her breasts and belly. “Working so hard to take me…working so very hard while I just take my pleasure…” If he meant to taunt her, it didn’t translate through the raspy, desire-drenched dark rumble his voice had turned into.

Harlyn nodded eagerly. She was clinging to his arms, knuckles and fingertips white….

“D-daddy-” Another tear rolled down her cheek. He licked it up, tasting the saltiness on his tongue, savouring the way her cunt clenched around him.

Severus twisted her arms onto her back, and held onto her upper arms, his nails leaving half-moon-shaped indents on her flesh. He picked up his pace, added force, rutted into her like a wild beast driven by its hormonal, primitive need to breed.

Her hair and breasts swayed from the brutal rhythm. Her entire body was trembling from the overwhelming force of sensations that stole the last bits of her strength from her. Her climax tore through her, ripped her apart, made her scream. Her walls didn’t stop twitching and mere moments later, she was coming a fourth time. It took the last bits of her strength, and she barely managed to keep her eyes open as it coursed through her veins and made her body convulsed, held upright only by Severus.

Severus pulled her back against his chest and snaked an arm around her stomach, gripping her throat with his other hand. He nibbed at her jaw, thrusting into her twitching cunt languidly. He basked in her broken, sobbing moans.

“Good girl.” He purred with a mocking grin stretched over his lips and stroked her belly. “You are doing so well for me, baby girl.”

“Daddy-” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She managed to peel her eyes open, twisted her head to the side to peer at him.

“You little cunt feels so good, baby girl. I’m going to - ahh - fill you with my cum, fuck it so deep into you, you’ll leak my cum for days.” 

Harlyn pressed her lips against his. He reciprocated, though a little taken by surprise by her, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Her piercing glided over his tongue. The memory of her using it on his cock wormed its way past his lazy, lust-soaked thoughts, rushing to the surface and he came with a snarl. He snapped his hips forward, thrusting into her, setting a punishing pace as he spilled inside her.

Harlyn slumped against him. Her fringe was wet from sweat and stuck to her forehead. Her body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as well. Cum and arousal dripping down the inside of her thigh.

Severus got up off the bed, but Harlyn caught his sleeve.

“Stay.” She whispered, eyes filled with vulnerability, her body still trembling, and twitching intermittently. 

Silence fell over the bedroom while he just looked down at her for a while, unmoving.

“Please…” She pouted. “Would you say no to me after I let you fuck me?”

And there she was again, the feral little gremlin he raised that could smell weakness like sharks did blood in the water , and jumped to capitalize on it whenever it suited her desires.

Severus shed his clothes and slipped under the blanket she held open for him .

“Your bed is too fucking small.” He growled.

"And whose fault is that?” She huffed. “I didn’t fucking buy it, did I?”

“Obnoxious brat.”

“That sounded oddly affectionate.”

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’m leaving.”

“You aren’t going to read a bedtime story to me, daddy ?” She batted her lashes at him, it did not hide the devilish gleam in her eyes.

“I should have smothered you with a pillow when you were a baby.”

“I love you too, dad.” Harlyn squeezed herself against his side and rested her head on his chest. He huffed and put his arm around her waist. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she wore a victorious smirk on her bruised lips.

After all, whatever Harlyn wanted, Harlyn got. One way or another.

Chapter Text

The very direction of the planet’s ceaseless rotation had been inverted, at least it felt that way to Harlyn.

Everything had changed.

And yet time passed as usual, her days filled with the same rigorous curriculum as before. Severus was as distant as ever. The most she could hope for was a grunt in reply to anything she said to him. He barely looked at her, barely even stayed in the same room as her.

He didn’t say her name.

Not once in the week since the Dark Lord’s challenge.

He acted as though he didn’t fuck the virginity out of her in her small, single bed. As though he hadn’t sucked on her breasts like they were the most delectable thing he ever tasted, as though he didn’t make her come all over his fingers, as though he didn’t wreck her with his cock…

He might have been able to forget about it, but Harlyn wasn’t. The memories of that night consumed her every waking moment and at night, she woke, her body sweaty, her cunt twitching, so close to coming-

It had been a week, and she still felt sore.

The morning after, she could barely walk. When she did make her way downstairs, driven by her painfully empty stomach, she found a large, rectangular box with a big, red bow on the coffee table. Her name was written on a card resting atop it, the Dark Lord’s handwriting caressing her name with elegant swirls. Inside was a brand-new Firebolt.

Victory tasted stale - mendacious and undeserving and of bend-rules.

“I don’t deserve this.” She said once she noticed Severus’ raised brow. He had visibly expected her to react with more enthusiasm. “Ron beat me.”

“He cannot even dream of defeating you.” Severus scoffed, turning back to his paper. “You were challenged to defeat one hundred opponents, and you did. You burnt Weasley’s crawling quilt of corpses before he injured you.”

She had taken the broom for a spin two days later. She was too exhausted, and frankly, she still didn’t feel like she had earned it. Severus would not tolerate her saying as much, after all the Dark Lord gave it to her, so he deemed her deserving and the Dark Lord’s word is law.

She visited Ron, plagued by a guilty conscience, but her worry had been for nothing. Ron was not angry. He didn’t care that she used an Unforgivable on him - but that did not stop him from using it to extort a test flight on her new broom out of her. It was better than she pictured in her wildest dreams. It was faster than anything she ever experienced, faster even than the railroad system leading into the depths of Gringotts.

But victory tasted stale.

Every time she looked at the broom, she remembered the challenge. She remembered the rush of magic burning her from the inside, the whisper of the snake lulling her into a trance, and the humiliation of being seen hesitating, of her guards coming crushing down…

“This really isn’t necessary, Mrs Malfoy!” Harlyn insisted for the fourth time. Narcissa was currently somewhere at the back of Harlyn’s wardrobe. She had intercepted her the second Severus and Harlyn arrived at Slytherin Manor for the monthly dinner with the inner circle. Severus hadn’t stopped her, hadn’t swooped in to save Harlyn as she got dragged away to her room.

“I am fine wearing the robes I have on!”

There was no escaping. Narcissa had sunken her perfectly manicured, almond-shaped nails into Harlyn and she would not be letting go. Harlyn was trapped with no hope of escape.

“I don’t want to trouble you.”

“You aren’t, dear.” Narcissa emerged from the mostly untouched wardrobe with a dress in hand. “We still have some time, there has been some unrest at the borders, a matter that needs to be discussed. Dinner has been delayed. Besides, it was the Dark Lord’s wish.”

A lump formed itself in Harlyn’s throat. The insides of her hands went clammy.

“Mh, yes.” Narcissa murmured as she inspected the length of rich, royal purple fabric. It shimmered softly in the light of the chandelier and Harlyn had no doubt it had been obscenely expensive.

She never wore the dresses or jewellery Voldemort gifted her and up until today he had accepted that.

Harlyn endured Narcissa stripping her of the smudged, black eyeshadow she liked to deliberately apply over her eyelids, replacing it instead with a barely-there layer of light brown. Foundation hid away every blemish, every last imperfection on her face and left it with a glowy sheen. Harlyn wished she would have covered her scar too, but its absence would probably draw more attention to her anyway. Everybody knew about it regardless.

When Narcissa finally put down her countless brushes and even more numerous make-up products, she looked like one of those Korean witches that were featured in last week’s Witch Weekly .

Not that Harlyn read that mindless tabloid.

No, she wouldn’t waste her time on things like that - at least, she’d never admit to it.

Narcissa kept her cool when Harlyn’s hair refused to cooperate and through some feat of ancient, dark magic she managed to tame them into an updo that made her messy, incoherent curl pattern seem deliberate. She curled the two strands she left to frame Harlyn’s face and flicked her wand at the waiting dress draped over Harlyn’s bed.

Harlyn didn’t recognise herself. The purple gown hugged her torso, kept in place by thin straps that criss-crossed artfully at her back. It had a modest neckline and fell below her knees, the satiny fabric swaying around her legs with every step she took.

Narcissa picked an antique, golden floral necklace with pearls, matching earrings, a bracelet set with purple opals and a series of delicate, slim rings set with different gemstones, one shinier and prettier than the other.

The look was complete after Narcissa urged her to wear gold heels, forcing her to abandon her well-worn boots with a heavy heart and finally, finally she was released from this makeover hell.

She fled downstairs before Narcissa could have another glorious idea, like putting one of the ridiculous tiaras on her head!

Harlyn was already making a mockery of herself, but what was she supposed to do? It was the Dark Lord’s wish, and they all were under his mercy.

“Wow.” Harlyn turned on the spot, searching for the source of the surprised gasp in the darkness of the hallway branching off the entrance hall. Bright red hair appeared, emerging from Voldemort’s office, followed by the Dark Lord’s elite. Harlyn blushed, though - and perhaps this was the only good thing about Narcissa’s mad wielding of a brush - she doubted it was visible through the layer of foundation. But then again, Narcissa had been liberal with the blush she applied to her cheeks and nose, so perhaps she constantly looked as though she was blushing.

She felt the eyes of the inner circle burn into her, their scrutiny heavy and terrifying and Harlyn would have liked to run, but she knew to not show weakness.

“You look like a girl. ” Ron grunted.

“I am a girl.” Harlyn hissed. Tears of shame burnt in her eyes. Of course, nobody would be fooled, no matter how skilled Narcissa was with her brush. Nothing could hide the shame of her blood or twist her disfigured appearance into beauty.

Hate welled up in her throat and it took every last bit of control she could summon to not glare at Voldemort for putting her in this situation, for serving her up on a silver platter to endure the mockery of his oldest and most trusted followers.

Rabastan Lestrange, Ignatius Selwyn, Abraxas Malfoy - those remaining from his original Death Eaters, his Knights of Walpurgis, and heads of their respective families. Rodolphus looked bored, though his gaze swept over her appearance, nonetheless. Behind Voldemort, Harlyn spotted Corban Yaxley, Antonin Dolohov, Thorfinn Rowle and Augustus Rookwood…

Those men preyed on weakness and Harlyn was being forced to bare her every last insecurity, paraded around for people to stare at for their entertainment.

Come, gawk at the traitor’s daughter, look at her pretending like she is as good as your daughters, your wives…

Lucius stood at the back of the crowd, the last to leave the office and beside him, Severus…his expression was as empty as ever and that perhaps hurt most of all.

Before they had the chance to burst out into collective, roaring laughter, Voldemort stepped forward, cut through the small crowd of Death Eaters that dispersed immediately, and offered Harlyn his arm. He escorted her past the mess. Harlyn forced herself to look ahead, but she could not help the way her hand tensed on Voldemort’s arm when the busy chatter of cadets excited for their weekend leave died down. She felt their attention, heavy and acid-like…

She should have fought Narcissa harder.

Resisted more…

Dinner was hosted in the dining room, one of the rooms off-limits to the cadets. It was much more intimate than the mess, the furniture made of tropical wood, polished to perfection, the dining table set to the number of select guests.

Harlyn had to come every damn month, but Voldemort had never tasked Narcissa to ambush her with powder puffs and lip tint - would this shit even come off? Subtly, Harlyn wiped the back of her hand over her lips, expecting to see at least a little red staining, but nothing. She cursed under her breath.

Voldemort sat at the head of the table, as always. Severus to his left - as always, and Harlyn next to him. The other guests changed every month, depending on who gained Voldemort’s favour. Sometimes he invited foolish, green-eared young Death Eaters just for Bellatrix to play with.

The four Malfoys sat on Harlyn’s left side. Ron was seated with his foster family, next to his sister. Ginny’s long red hair fell over her shoulders, perfectly straight. The freckles dusted over her nose and cheek suited her pale skin. She cast a shy smile at Harlyn.

The last guests entered the dining room and took their seats, among them Rabastan who had been placed next to Barty and Voldemort’s right and following him was none other than Silas.

Harlyn bit the inside of her cheek and proceeded to busy herself with the bread and butter in front of her. The others waited for Voldemort to start eating before even daring to touch their glasses. As far as Harlyn was concerned, she was already being punished, so what did it matter?

She earned a toothy smirk from Voldemort, one that revealed the sharp fangs hidden behind his lips and made his crimson eyes glimmer menacingly. Harlyn didn’t conceal her scowl.

Dinner dragged by, each course followed by another, even long after Harlyn lost all interest in food. By the time the palate cleanser, a creamy basil sorbet, was served her patience ran out. She glared at Silas, a glare so epic it should have made Silas avert his eyes, caught and properly ashamed of his rudeness.

“You look exceptionally pretty tonight.” He said instead. Did someone empty a bottle of love potion in his glass or what would make him act so brazen? And in front of Voldemort and Severus! Perhaps having his father at his side gave him more courage than was good for him.

Harlyn flipped him off.

She dug into her sorbet.

He opened his mouth again to say something, but Harlyn cut him off.

“What gave you the impression I am interested in conversing with you?”

Did she sound like Severus? conversing . What sixteen-year-old spoke like that? Harlyn cringed at herself.

“Nothing. But I am hoping to change that.”

“So you’re a smug arsehole too, on top of being a fucking nuisance?” Harlyn hissed, her exasperation with Silas bleeding into her voice, painting a lethal gleam into her green eyes. Silas’ smile was placid, innocent almost. His dark eyes held no malice, but Harlyn would not allow herself to be lured into a false sense of security for what was obviously some sick ploy to embarrass her.

The second course was served, Herb-crusted venison medallions - Harlyn’s favourite. She dug into the perfectly cooked piece of meat with all the enthusiasm of a starved girl, despite this being the ninth course of the evening. 

“What can I do to assure you of the innocence of my advances?”

Under the table, Severus’ hand found Harlyn’s knee. His calloused fingers slid over her bare skin, brushing away purple fabric to wrap around her thigh, nails poised against her flesh, his grip possessive, his hand heavy on her leg.

“What made you think I have any interest in your advances? Was it my avoiding you? Or perhaps the insult? Maybe you simply do not know the meaning of the word no ? Did daddy not teach you?” Harlyn was too mad to consider whether Rabastan might feel insulted by her tone but frankly, she didn’t care. “Who planted this notion in boys’ heads that if a girl isn’t interested, all you have to do is insistently, and ruthlessly pursue them?” The snake wrapped around her torso, its inky body heavy against her ribcage, hissed encouragements feeding Harlyn’s anger.

“If the girl refuses to give the boy a chance.” Silas’ eyes gleamed. He looked as though he was enjoying this, as though he thought they were bickering while Harlyn pictured plunging her steak knife into his eye socket. “What else is he supposed to do? Sometimes girls need to be shown what is best for them.”

Harlyn slammed her fist down onto the table, sinking the tip of her knife into the polished surface of the table . Her glare seemed to emit sparks, like a wildfire quickly gaining purchase, devouring every inch of life in its way .

Silence fell over the table.

The snake’s tongue flicked over Harlyn’s cheek. Her scar burnt.

“You are acting just like my father.” Her voice was a whisper, dripping with contempt and hatred. “He was so full of himself, so entitled , he decided at eleven years old that my mother would be his and he did not care what she thought of it. He stalked her every waking moment until he had worn her down enough that she gave in to him and then trapped her with an unwanted pregnancy. Boys like you disgust me!”

Harlyn got up jerkily and stormed out of the room. 

Every story Lily had told her about her father in secret, spoken about as though they were the most magical, romantic moments, left Harlyn with a bitter taste on her tongue. Her mother hadn’t been interested in him, but James would not accept it. Lily used to say that she hoped Harlyn would one day fall in love like that and Harlyn laid away at night hoping that that kind of love would never find her. Her stories didn’t paint James the romantic as Lily thought they did. Harlyn grew up seeing in him a predator, an entitled arsehole. Severus told her the truth about James. He told her what a coward her father had been, what a deceitful arsehole, hexing first-years in the corridors just because he could, never picking a fight unless it was four against one.

Was Severus to blame for her inherent distrust of boys? Why she, up until now, hadn’t even entertained the thought of romantic entanglements? 

“Harlyn!” Ron’s voice rolled over the grounds, unimpeded by wind, the noise of the cadets’ exuberant party muffled by the old rock of the manor. “Don’t make me run.” He groaned.

She didn’t plan on running away from him but the suggestion she would, made her want to do it just to spite her. Harlyn hugged herself, attempting to escape the cold night air before remembering the wand strapped to her underarm and casting a warming charm. Ron and Draco caught up to her.

“Did he send you to get me back?”

“Nah.” Draco shrugged. Harlyn could tell he was hiding something from her. He was a terrible liar - or perhaps that was just the price one had to pay for a lifelong friendship. They were her brother, they knew everything about each other…though…lately Harlyn had been one to keep secrets. Did they see through her just as easily?

“Can you just fucking stop staring at me? Why is everyone always fucking staring?!” She snapped at Ron. His eyes flicked up to meet her gaze, his face lax, almost disinterested. “As if I don’t feel like a freak enough already! Or are you perhaps losing your mind because you just now realised I have tits?”

“Oh, come the fuck off this bloody teenage angst trip you’re on!” Ron raised his voice. He never raised his voice at her like that. Yeah, he was a typical loud boy but never with such anger in his voice. Harlyn was too stunned to say anything.

Draco tried to tell Ron off, but the Weasley wasn’t impressed, simply brushing the smaller, more slender boy off.

“No! I’ve had enough of it. For fuck’s sake! Princess Harlyn and her obnoxious pig-headedness!”

“Don’t call me that-” She stammered, earning another glare from Ron.

“This whole act of yours isn’t cute, Harlyn!”

“I don’t know what the fuck you are on about!”

“I’ve known you can be dense, but this is just taking the piss at this point.”

“Ronald, calm down.” Draco cast a weary look towards the manor, as if he expected the Dark Lord to emerge from the entrance in a bloody fury. Ron ignored him.

“You are the Dark Lord’s daughter, Harlyn! He indulges your every whim. He bends the rules all the time for you. Everybody fucking knows it! What Harlyn wants, she gets!”

Harlyn shook her head, slowly, overwhelmed and confused but the necklace around her throat felt heavy, the satin of her dress caressed her skin in a cool embrace. She was envious of Milicent’s wardrobe, so Voldemort filled hers with the most luscious dresses known to man. Harlyn wanted a Firebolt, so she got one, even though she technically failed his challenge. Harlyn could act however she wanted around him and he never chastised her, never punished her. She could start eating at his dinner table before his wine glass was even filled, and he would merely smirk at her. That indulged, amused smirk…

“But Severus-”

“Has he ever called you his daughter? He calls you his charge, always. He corrects you every time you call his dad! ” Ron ran a hand through his hair, leaving it messy and tangled. “You think people stare at you to mock you, but they stare because you are Britain’s sweetheart, for fuck’s sake! Because not one of the guys in that damned place would not risk everything to gain your favour!”

Harlyn scoffed. “Yeah? That’s why they avoid me like the plague, eh? Why you two talk about your conquests in front of me like I’m one of the guys, why you just now realised I’m a bloody girl!”

“You are so infuriating!” Ron lifted his hands as though to strangle her, he dropped his hands with a muffled growled and turned towards Draco. “I can’t- I’ll smother her if she keeps acting this dumb!”

“Lynn, who would dare approach you with Severus and the Dark Lord looming over you every minute of every day? They are enamoured with you - not suicidal. Except Silas perhaps but you really should stay away from him.”

“Fucking Silas. ” Ron spat behind Draco. “First he tries to steal my inheritance and when he realised his father thinks he’s a wuss, he tries to go after yours.”

“Mine-?”

Ron blinked at her, slowly. He looked like he was re-examining everything he thought about her. “You are a bloody Potter. The last Potter. He has no last name, but if he were to seduce you, to convince you to marry him he’d get yours.”

Harlyn shook her head. “I don’t want that name.”

“I doubt he cares about that.” Draco huffed. “He is a conniving son of a bitch. I think he actually fell in love with you but that doesn’t change the fact he has always been following his own plan to rise up.”

“And what’s with that bullshit about our ‘conquests’?” Ron said, making air quotes. “Anyone who dares fucking talk about you like that will learn to regret the day they were born - I’ll make sure of that! We talk about worthless Mudbloods, Harlyn.”

Draco rammed his elbow into Ron’s side. Harlyn didn’t care. She knew her mother only had worth to Severus for one reason , and one reason alone.

“You aren’t the type of girl boys fuck and tell. You’re the kind one marries - and would be bloody lucky to marry too!”

“Not that we would. I love you, Lynn but you’re like my sister.” Ron cringed and Draco hastily shook his head. Harlyn chuckled. “Just like it was supposed to be.” He muttered under his breath, just to visibly regret having said something.

“What do you mean?” Harlyn braced her fists against her sides. She knew he didn’t want to tell her, but she was sick of everybody keeping so many fucking secrets from her.

Ron pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fuck. And if he punishes me, fuck this-”

“Ronald!”

“She has a bloody right to know!”

They had a silent fight, blue eyes bored into grey ones, exchanging arguments Harlyn wasn’t privy to. Eventually, Draco sighed and stepped aside, surrendering to his defeat.

“There is a reason the two of us were always brought over to your house, Harlyn. You probably won’t remember but Theodore Nott, Cassius Warrington, Jack Selwyn and Alfie Fawley used to be there too. Our fathers would bring us over and Professor Snape and the Dark Lord would observe us interacting with you.”

“Selwyn pulled on your pigtails once. ” Draco said. “I remember his father punishing him. He didn’t come back after.”

“You didn’t like how bossy Fawley was.” Ron mused. “And neither did the Dark Lord.”

“Nott was too pushy.”

“And Warrington cried at literally everything.”

“He isn’t much less soft these days either.”

“Such a wanker.”

“Boys!” Harlyn snapped. “Why are you telling me this? So more Death Eaters tried to get close to Severus through me, so what?”

“You misunderstand. ” Draco said. “It wasn’t about Uncle Sev. It was about you.”

“Draco and I were chosen to be your best friends. We were chosen to grow up with you like your brothers. It’s the whole reason Ginny was placed in the same home as me. They wanted me to be a protective older brother. It’s why Draco is allowed to focus on healing rather than preparing for the front lines. Neither one of us will go to war, Harlyn.”

“ You are our assignment. I passed my admission examination. I’ll start my healer training in the summer. I won’t go back to Hogwarts.”

“Neither will I.” Ron continued. “Now that I have earned my mark and proven to the Dark Lord that I am strong enough to protect you, I am to focus entirely on my assignment.”

“On me?” Harlyn’s mouth felt dry.

“The Dark Lord would not leave his daughter unprotected.”

“Daughter…” It felt odd, but it did explain his actions towards her, didn’t it? Why she’d sit on his lap during meetings, colouring…Why he showered her with gifts…why he tolerated her behaviour when he’d never tolerate it from another person…

“So, Severus-” Harlyn was merely thinking out loud, muttering to herself but Draco replied regardless.

“Who would be better suited to tend to his daughter than his general? We don’t know the details-”

“-and we think there is more to the story than what we were told!”

“but basically, the Dark Lord would not have the time to raise a small child so you were placed with Severus, and also to make you stronger, to teach you discipline.”

“The Dark Lord would have spoiled you rotten.” Ron grinned.

For some reason, the thought was rather terrifying.

Harlyn traced her fingertips over the golden flowers on her necklace, lost in thought, struggling with what she just learnt, struggling to reconcile the revelations with what she thought was her life, up until today.

“Don’t ever fucking call me Princess Harlyn again. ” Harlyn said, jabbing her wand at Ron.

“Whatever her majesty wishes.” Ron’s grin grew even wider. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Can we go back inside? It’s fucking cold!” The Malfoy whined and already trudged towards the entrance before either of them had time to reply, muttering something about needing a drink.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere at Slytherin Manor was thick with drunken overindulgence and the overzealousness of youth.

Tomorrow the graduating class of cadets would be joining the front lines after a year of training under the Dark Lord’s attentive eyes.

Their enthusiasm and boisterous joy were infectious and Harlyn felt as though someone had replaced the lenses in her glasses, allowing her to see clearly for the first time in her life.

She entered the mess behind Ron and Draco. The sweeping hall had been redecorated for the celebrations. The long tables were pushed up against the walls, loaded with enough canapés and alcohol to feed all of Britain and their colonies.

Voldemort and his lieutenants had settled on plush settees on the podium at the back of the hall. Severus and the Dark Lord were mid-conversation but when Harlyn entered, they both looked up, meeting her gaze.

Harlyn wondered if she would have ever thought the Dark Lord’s attention was disconcerting and unnerving had they been honest with her. Why didn’t they tell her? Why did they insist on keeping secrets from her? Harlyn had never felt dumber than she did when Ron snapped at her, telling her what everyone apparently already knew - everyone except for her.

Was she foolish for needing it to be spelt out to her?

No, Harlyn decided, suppressing an indignant huff. She grew up living with Severus and her mother, any child would assume that meant Severus was her new father figure! Voldemort’s involvement in her life and education had always left her feeling insecure and confused - he didn’t share such interest in the children of any of his lieutenants. He didn’t care for any of them until they were old enough to join basic training at Slytherin Manor, so why else would he treat her so differently if not for the simple reason that she was more than just a ward of the state, his ward.

Harlyn never lost a father figure… 

Severus was distant but while he had raised her, he was right, he wasn’t her father.

That also meant…

Harlyn blushed, scrambling to chase away the memories of the night they shared, the night she was convinced should not have happened - but that was before.

The Dark Lord wore that same indulgent, amused smirk he always directed at her and her alone-

She drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height in front of him. He was sitting on his throne and still, he was taller than her.

He clicked his tongue, his crimson eyes burning into the green of hers, effortlessly stripping back the layers of her mind. “Naughty boys.”

“I am sick of not being told anything.” She hissed. She didn’t care to avoid offending him, to soften her words or to hide the rage bubbling and seething in her throat. She wanted answers! For once in her life, she wanted to hear the truth, the whole truth.

The Dark Lord’s long, spidery fingers coiled around her wrist, like a snake trapping its prey, and pulled her forward, into his lap as he used to do when she was a child. Embarrassment crept up her neck, but Harlyn suppressed the surprised gasp that wanted to slip past her rage to escape her throat. She let him splay his fingers over her waist as he caged her in, cutting off her chance to escape in case she disliked what he’d say next. As if he sensed she would not be happy with the answer he had to offer. Her tiptoes touched the ground between his feet, his legs spread casually, his posture that of a man utterly sure of his standing, one that viewed any threat that could be made against himself as nothing more than the annoying buzz of a fly swarming around his head.

His long hair fell in shiny strands over his shoulders and chest. It was almost the same colour as hers…Harlyn’s chest constricted painfully, one single pang that tore through her, oozing with an orphan’s desperation to find similarity in every face that showed her even an ounce of kindness.

Voldemort traced a finger along the curve of her jaw, placed it under her chin, tipped her head up and caressed her cheek with his knuckle. Harlyn almost fell apart right then and there. Jaw tense, she fought the tears welling in her eyes, fought to hold back all the emotions she didn’t let herself feel, the countless times she laid awake at night, wondering where she belonged, feeling so terribly lonely-

“Father-” Harlyn melted into his touch. The consuming need to be chosen by someone, to have someone’s unconditional love, to have someone who would not sacrifice her life to defeat their nemesis was too overwhelming. She longed for it to be true, longed to know she had been chosen by someone, that someone - someone who wasn’t even related to her by blood - had seen her and chosen her as family.

Harlyn hid her face against Voldemort’s chest, fleeing into the sickly-sweet lull of his magic, prickling with a power she could not even wish to comprehend, heavy and all-consuming, a ravenous, insatiable beast.

“You will come to understand in due time, my sweet Harlyn.” He purred against her forehead, his lips brushing over her scar. “When I am convinced you are ready to take your rightful place by my side.”

Her place at his side…

Did he have a plan for her as he did for Ron and Draco? One chosen for her the second Dumbledore’s ploy to use her as bait failed to kill the Dark Lord?

“What do I have to do?” It was a broken prayer placed at the feet of an absent god, one reeking of despair and the willingness of a broken child to do whatever necessary to earn a parent’s love. Harlyn looked up, meeting Voldemort’s blazing eyes through barely contained tears.

Voldemort leaned forward, lips curling into a vicious smirk that revealed his sharp fangs. He whispered into her ear, set forth another challenge, one that sounded much more impossible than the last had. Harlyn’s eyes went wide. She shook her head.

“I could never-”

“Of course you can.” He chuckled. “Look at them, look at how they stare at you…” His Parseltongue slipped off his lips as a soft purr, wrapping around Harlyn like a cloying embrace.

“I suppose it is my fault…I should have known you’d copy Severus’ paranoia and distrust. He was not a popular child.” 

Harlyn could feel Severus’ eyes at the back of her neck. She knew how much he hated it when she and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue, yet another similarity between them Harlyn could convince herself meant familiarity. He did not like to be left out of their conversation, especially when he could tell they were talking about him.

“Really look at them, Harlyn…don’t you see their reverence? Their love? You are the daughter of the nation they swore eternal loyalty to, my darling snake. They would not dare betray you.”

Harlyn chewed on the inside of her cheek. She did see the reverence in their eyes whenever they dared glance at them but surely it was reserved for him?

“No? You do not believe me? Go ahead, thank them for their service, praise them for their courage, see how they’ll react.”

Her face was burning. She did not like being the centre of attention but before she could even object, Voldemort placed his hand on the small of her back and pushed her forward. She stood at the edge of the podium, facing the celebrating crowd of fresh-faced recruits, their eyes bright, chests swollen with pride, wearing the Death Eater robes with the utmost respect.

The Dark Lord cleared his throat, the simple noise carried across the room as though floating on a cloud of magic, amplified, just enough to summon the attention of his followers.

“Harlyn would like to say something to the graduating class before you depart tomorrow.”

It was easy to spot them in the crowd. They were older, stronger and their faces wore a sense of graveness in the face of the bloodshed they’d witness starting tomorrow.

“Harlyn.”

Harlyn forced herself to stop wringing her hands and smoothed down the skirt of her dress instead. Her throat felt too tight, as if no words stood a chance to form on her vocal cords ever again.

It was a simple order he had given her, so why was it so difficult then? She could summon dark power, fight for her life, push her body past its limits again and again but addressing his youngest disciples with encouraging words seemed so utterly impossible.

“I-” Her voice was so terribly small and yet they clung to her lips, eager to absorb every word passing them. “I wanted to thank you for the sacrifices you have made and continue to make to keep our nation safe…to protect your mothers and sisters from the forces that seek to destroy our way of life, eradicate our traditions and breed us with Muggles , sullying our blood and diluting our magical heritage…The courage you embody brings honour to your blood and families and will serve as inspiration to every last citizen of our glorious nation… and- you have my gratitude.”

The urge to run was overwhelming. Her heart beat at a rapid pace in her chest, slamming into her ribs. Cold sweat ran down her spine and made her dress stick to her skin. She would never be in danger with Severus and the Dark Lord at her back and yet her body seemed to think she just stepped onto a battlefield, facing an entire army with no backup. It was ridiculous but no amount of berating herself for feeling such foolish, senseless fear helped stifle the flight instinct screaming at her from inside her skull.

A boy stepped forward, he was at least a head taller than the younger cadets surrounding him. He came to a stand at the foot of the podium. Harlyn waited with bated breath, waited to be called out on her hybris to think she could speak to them of courage when her knees were quaking from merely facing them.

The boy went down on one knee and bowed his head. Not to Voldemort - but to her.

“We will find every last person who was involved in the despicable ploy that endeavoured to take down the Dark Lord by sacrificing you as a baby.” He lifted his head, warm brown tresses falling back to reveal a determined, bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes. “We shall make them pay in your name, my lady.”

More cadets followed, the entire graduating class knelt, each sharing the same expression as the first. Voldemort’s hand settled on her shoulder.

Could it be…did they know more about the night Harlyn was supposed to die fourteen years ago than she did? The Dark Lord’s imposing presence at her back whispered promises of finally learning all that he and Severus had been keeping secret from her her whole life , and it was so close- there was nothing she would not have done to get the answer she needed to have.

“Do you still believe you can’t fulfil my order?”

Voldemort gestured for the celebrations to continue, giving Harlyn an opportunity to escape. She slipped out of the mess in the drunken chaos, finding refuge in the cool corridor that led towards the greenhouse. She knew Severus kept a pack of cigarettes hidden in one of the flower pots as an emergency stash. Harlyn kicked off the uncomfortable heels and with them in hand, strolled past the rows of flourishing plants. The air was moist and filled with the heady scent of rich flowers and herbs. She fished a cigarette out of the pack and put it back into its hiding spot. She lit it with a snap of her fingers and came to a stand in front of the glass wall at the back of the greenhouse. She watched a hedgehog scurry over the lawn. Smoke rose to the ceiling in tight curls as she mulled over everything she had learnt today. Too many revelations to process all at once…

“I never meant to hurt you.” Silas’ voice was rough. “You misunderstood me-”

“You need to stop being so obvious in front of the Dark Lord and Severus. ” Harlyn murmured and took a long drag from the cigarette. The smoke burnt in her throat and lungs but she kind of liked it…perhaps because the scent reminded her of Severus and her stupid adolescent little heart ached for him.

“You will get me in trouble.”

“I seem to have to apologize a lot tonight.” Silas came to a stand next to her, watching the same hedgehog disappear in the dark of the night. Harlyn pushed herself up onto a planting table, facing the boy.

“You could start by telling me how pretty I am again…” The words felt awkward. Harlyn had no idea how to talk to a boy. Ron and Draco didn’t count. She supposed they didn’t register as boys to her, just as she didn’t as a girl to them.

Silas’ eyes roamed over her, over her chest and her bare knees, the fabric of her dress bunched up from pulling herself up on the table…

“There are no words capable of adequately describing you. ” Silas whispered. “You have no idea what you are doing to me…you are consuming me…”

“I’m not even doing anything.” Harlyn brought the cigarette to her lips. Silas followed the motion with his eyes.

“Which just goes to prove how royally fucked I am.”

“And how is that?”

“For one, I seem doomed to say the worst thing possible whenever near you.”

“You do sound like an arrogant donkey most of the time.”

Silas cringed. “I don’t know how to talk to you.”

“I’m just a girl.” Harlyn shrugged.

He braced his hands against the planting table on either side of Harlyn’s thighs. He bent forward, bringing their heads to the same height, so close to each other, she could feel his breath on her cheek.

“I suggest you use words and put them together to form sentences.”

“I adore your dry humour. You aren’t afraid to speak your mind either. It’s refreshing.”

“I’m not used to male attention. ” Harlyn confessed. “I don’t know how to talk to you either…”

“I suggest you use words and put them together to form sentences.”

Harlyn laughed and punched Silas’ shoulder. He just stared at her, a soft smile caressing his lips. He brushed a curl behind Harlyn’s ear.

“Am I the first who was brave enough to approach you?”

“The first brazen and stupid enough!”

“I thought my attention was unwanted.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a cheeky grin, something playful flashed in his eyes.

“As long as the Dark Lord and Severus think I find boys icky, they won’t start scrutinising every interaction I have with one.” Harlyn lied with ease and Silas ate out of the palm of her hands, eagerly devouring every word passing her lips. “Don’t ruin that for me. They can be so overbearing.”

“You are invaluable. ” Silas whispered. “The whole world holds their breath, hoping to catch a single glimpse of you…it feels gluttonous to have you to myself, to get to feast my eyes on your beauty as much as I desire…”

“And you aren’t just saying that to step out of your father’s shadow? To gain an influential last name of your own?”

“I’d break my wand in two and accept exile if that meant you would be mine.”

Harlyn could still feel Severus’ hand on her thigh, a phantom touch reminding her whom she’d given herself to already, who had claimed her…

“You are brave, unlike those other boys who keep staring at me…I like that.”

“Yeah?” His grin widened.

“Mhm.” Harlyn nodded.

“I could show you how brave I am, though perhaps you’d call it brazen.”

“We won’t know unless you do…”

Harlyn resisted the urge to pull back or slam the heel of her hand into his throat. His nose brushed hers and she tipped her head back, silently inviting him closer. Voldemort wanted her to prove she could keep her own feelings under control to fulfil an order, no matter how much it might displease her. He wanted her to prove she could be trusted to do what needed to be done. Why he had chosen this particular challenge to prove herself though, she did not understand.

No matter.

It was rather easy to lure Silas back in after she had done nothing but reject his advances ever since he started with them. Was this what love did? Dumbledore had believed love to be the ultimate power but looking at Silas, at how easy it was to wrap him around her little finger, Harlyn couldn’t help but wonder what kind of power the old fool had seen in it.

Harlyn held her breath, waiting for the flutter that tore through her belly when Severus had kissed her, but it did not come. Silas pressed his lips to hers. Harlyn didn’t even close her eyes. She felt nothing. Nothing aside from a burning desire to push him off her but that was not an option. Voldemort had told her to make Silas believe her after all.

Harlyn angled her head to stop her glasses from digging into her skin and when Silas swiped his tongue over her bottom lip, she parted them, fighting the disgust welling up inside her.

No, she did not like kissing Silas.

A part of her had thought she might, but after what he said at dinner, any chance he might have had with her was gone.

Harlyn had no frame of reference, but Silas wasn’t bad at kissing, not as good as Severus, he did not wake that consuming fire, that raging inferno of desire, but it wasn’t bad. He had more practice than Harlyn, that was for sure.

“I like your piercing. ” Silas muttered against her lips breathlessly. His eyes were dark with lust. His hands on her waist held her too tight. She did not like his greed or the victorious gleam in his eyes.

His hands wandered. He tried to nudge his way between her thighs-

“Can- can we slow down a little?” Harlyn didn’t budge. She kept her knees pressed together. She intertwined her finger at the back of his neck. “Just kiss me.”

Silas obliged. One moment he was kissing her, too much tongue, too insistent, too overbearing, the next, he was gone.

Harlyn gasped for air, surprise visible on her face and blushed fiercely when she spotted Draco. He was frowning, his lips pressed into a thin line just as his mother did whenever someone dragged dirt into her house. Ron was on the ground, kneeling over Silas. He drew his fist back. Harlyn let him punch Silas once - due punishment for his overeager tongue - before stopping him.

“Didn’t I just warn you?” Draco said while Ron dragged Silas out of the greenhouse.

“Yeah.”

He shook his head. “There are better ways to piss off Uncle Sev.”

“I didn’t do it to piss him off.” Harlyn held her hand out to Draco and jumped off the planting table when he took it. “It was just another challenge. It didn’t mean jack shit.”

“Does he know that?”

They followed Ron down the hallway, back towards the noise of the celebration.

“I made no secret of what I think about him. He ran into an open knife.”

She didn’t understand why Voldemort would thrust her at Silas like this but judging by Ron and Draco finding them and Ron’s reaction, it had all been part of one of his plans.

Harlyn was tired and she desperately needed some quiet to sort through her thoughts and emotions. She didn’t even care what would happen to Silas at this point.

The celebrations died down in the time Harlyn was gone with several cadets close to passing out on the sofas and benches arranged around the room. Some of the recent graduates sat together with stern expressions, talking among themselves, probably about the battle they’d join in just a few hours. Their attention snapped towards Ron when he burst into the room. He all but threw Silas down to Voldemort’s feet.

Harlyn peeled away from Draco to sit down next to Severus. His conversation with Barty had been interrupted by their entrance. He swirled the amber liquid around in his glass, his eyes weighing on Harlyn. She pulled her legs up on the sofa and leaned against him.

Rage twisted his features when Ron opened his mouth to report Silas’ ‘crime’.

“He told me to do it. ” Harlyn whispered, just loud enough for Severus to hear. She didn’t know why she felt the need to explain, to justify herself to him. He wasn’t her father, and he certainly wasn’t her boyfriend. He had hardly even acknowledged her since taking her virginity.

Severus encompassed her knee with his hand, his large palm settling over her flesh, warm and prickling. His arm rested heavily in her lap. Emotions welled up inside her chest and only now, back in the safety of Severus’ arms, she realised how unsettled she felt, just how much she hated what just happened. A tear crept past her eyelid and rolled down her cheek. Severus wiped it away just as Voldemort rose to his feet.

“There is no act as unforgivable, as wickedly despicable as forcing oneself onto a witch.” His voice was calm, dark and low, a simmering inferno waiting to be unleashed and Harlyn realised the end for which Voldemort had set his challenge.

It was about her, yes but mostly about Silas, about Silas and the effect he has had on the other recruits these past weeks. He made them think it was possible to approach Harlyn and it was becoming obvious that Voldemort and Severus disagreed.

“It far outweighs taking the life of a comrade.”

Ron kept Silas on his knees by crushing his foot into Silas’ ankle, one hand on the boy’s shoulder, the other holding his wand in an iron grip, the tip poised at Silas’ throat.

“And a witch can never be willing for a wizard who does not have her family’s approval.”

Before Voldemort’s rise, the birthrate for witches had fallen drastically, leaving large parts of the magical population unable to find a bride. Witches became a valuable asset and the centrepiece of Voldemort’s plans. After all, what were his efforts to rebuild worth if there were no witches to birth the children who’d continue his legacy?

His rules were about control, about power and shifting the blame after centuries of adverse effects the patriarchy caused for women. For centuries women had to bear the blame, had to suffer the power trip of lesser men . Not under Voldemort. Women were too precious and women with pure blood too few to waste.

Harlyn and Ginny could pursue any man they desired, and they would not have to face any consequences for it . Not like it used to be. Of course, Voldemort still held all the power. It did not matter whether a couple was in love and consenting, if the man did not have the girl’s father’s permission, he would be punished for touching her.

Harlyn wondered if Severus had Voldemort’s permission. As the one tasked with raising her, did he even need it?

“Well done, Harlyn.” Voldemort handed her a glass of red wine. Behind him, Silas was being dragged away, no doubt to find himself in a cell in the dungeon beneath the manor. She wasn’t thirsty.

“Isn’t Rabastan going to be angry?”

Voldemort cocked a brow. “He has not been pleased with his harassment of you either, my dear. In fact, he has asked me to help him toughen the boy up and set his head straight.”

“You won’t kill him?”

“Only if he proves…unreformable.”

Unreformable.

It was the same word her father had been branded with and Ron’s oldest brother too.

“He is just a bastard, Harlyn. It would not be a great loss.”

You and I, we’ve got a lot in common.

Severus scoffed. “You are nothing like him.” It almost sounded like a compliment.

“I’m tired.” She had wanted to tell him off for reading her mind, but she found she did not have the strength for a battle right now.

“Go to bed then.”

“I forgot my shoes in the greenhouse.”

“Sounds like a you- problem.”

Harlyn pouted. Severus stood firm . For exactly two seconds. Then his resolve crumbled.

“Impossible girl.” He hissed but he picked her up.

Was Ron right? Did she get whatever she wanted? It was a theory she’d have to put to the test.

Gold Cauldron here I come, she thought as Severus carried her upstairs to their apartment. He, rather unceremoniously, dropped her on the sofa in the living room and turned to leave.

“I did not like kissing him.”

That got Severus’ attention, she could tell, even though he didn’t turn around to face her. The tension in his shoulders was palpable.

“You were merely a chess piece in one of the Dark Lord’s orchestrations.”

“You sound displeased.”

“What gave it away, girl?” His tone was scathing.

His composure was cracking though, had been ever since Silas started talking to her.

Harlyn was poking a bear, and she wanted nothing more than to be devoured.

“I don’t appreciate that you’ve been ignoring me.” She said and pulled the pins that kept her hair in place out , dropping them carelessly on the coffee table one after another.

“I don’t appreciate you stealing my fags and yet you continue to do so.”

Harlyn ignored his jibe. “Why did you never tell me?” 

“I did.”

“Saying that you aren’t my father isn’t explaining anything.” She couldn’t stop her anger from bleeding into her words. “Do you have any idea how I’ve felt this last year?”

Severus didn’t reply. He didn’t move. He didn’t do anything at all, and it made Harlyn want to draw her wand and hurt him.

“You were my dad. The only real parent I ever had and then one day, you just stopped.”

“I was never your father.”

“No. He rots in Azkaban because he was willing to let me be murdered. And none of you ever bothered to tell me-”

“Tell you what, exactly?” Severus swirled around. His dark eyes were blazing with rage. He crossed the space between them with two long steps and sank his hand into her hair, yanking her head back. “Are you so arrogant you believe to have an inherent right to information the Dark Lord has not even shared with his most trusted Death Eaters? You know as much as you need to know, whether and when you learn more, that decision resides with me and the Dark Lord and us only .”

A victorious grin stretched over her lips.

“I know.” She whispered and sat up on her knees. “He has promised to explain everything once he deems me ready.” Harlyn already got what she wanted from him. His rage, his attention, his composure worn down and torn to pieces and he was realising it too.

“You infuriating, impossible, maddening girl.” He hissed, bracing his knee against the sofa in between her knees.

“I gave you my virginity, daddy. ” Harlyn whined, pouting playfully. “Was it so bad that it would warrant you to behave so poorly?”

“You are an insatiable slut.”

“And you aren’t my father.” The pitch of her voice dropped. “And if you ever want to feel my cunt again, you’d better convince me I can trust you to not freeze me out like that again! I am not my mother. I am not a toy to be played with and tossed aside once you’ve emptied your balls.”

For a split second, Severus seemed surprised, perhaps even proud but the expression left his eyes as quickly as it had appeared.

“Aren’t you brazen tonight...”

“Having a handsy boy stick his tongue in my mouth sure pissed me off.”

His nostrils flared. He bore his crooked teeth in a silent snarl before diving down, slamming his mouth against her, claiming her tongue for himself, seemingly intent on chasing away any lingering memory of Silas’ kiss. His hands found her arse, roughly bunched up her dress, palmed her flesh, dug his nails into her. He ground Harlyn against his thigh, igniting sparks of pleasure she eagerly chased, rubbing her clothed cunt against his leg like a wanton whore. 

A growl rumbled in Severus’ chest. He found the zipper of her dress and tore at it impatiently, shoving it down her shoulder and latching onto the freckled skin covering her shoulder.

“I’ll cut his fucking hands off.” He snarled, dragging his teeth over her collarbone. Harlyn would be lying to claim she did not enjoy his feral possessiveness. If he’d ever try to forbid her from doing or dressing as she pleased, she might just castrate him in his sleep, but she would not even attempt to claim it did not feel good to be wanted with such a burning desire, such consuming desperation.

“He said he liked my piercing.”

“I’ll rip his tongue out and shove it down his throat.”

Harlyn pulled on his frock coat until the row of buttons surrendered to her will, just for her hands to be stopped from feeling his skin by a white dress shirt. She whined impatiently, a plea for assistance Severus heeded immediately. He slapped her hand away, plunged his tongue into her mouth and slipped his left hand into her knickers. Blunt nails skimmed her flesh, grasped, needed, savoured every inch of her flesh.

Harlyn undid his belt and pushed his trousers down, freeing his sizable erection from the confines of his underwear. Severus groaned into her mouth. His hips snapped forward, rutted helplessly into her hand…

Harlyn drew back. She tipped her chin up, catching Severus’ stunned gaze. She licked her lips, chasing the lingering taste of his whiskey and cigarettes. Her hand pumped his throbbing cock slowly, squeezing just enough to get a reaction from him but not enough to sate his hunger.

“I want an answer, Severus.” She whispered. His name felt odd on her tongue but the effect it had on him was evident in the barely-there flutter of his eyelids.

What a ridiculous sight they must make. Both half-naked, Harlyn rolling her hips against his thigh, holding his cock hostage. It felt powerful to force a man such as Severus Snape to do something that displeased him deeply - and she knew he’d make her pay for it, not that she was opposed, but she wouldn’t let him play with her either.

And Harlyn had just learnt that she held more influence in this world than she ever thought possible.

“It took you a mere two hours to become a spoiled, overconfident brat.” Severus tried to drag her into another kiss, no doubt to make her forget about what she wanted from him , but Harlyn twisted her head away and gave a warning squeeze to his cock. He inhaled sharply and tensed. “Your mother tried to control me once and see what that got her.”

“I don’t want control.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want-” 

Harlyn’s eyes swept over the harsh features of his face, the sharp jaw, high cheekbones, hooked nose…his eyes seemed darker than usual, swirling with animalistic desire and something…skittish like an abandoned pet that learnt to not ever trust a human offering kindness. 

“I want to know that you care.” She whispered. “That you don’t view me like you do my mother…I want to know I am still as safe with you as I’ve been my whole life…I want you to not hurt me!”

His expression didn’t soften exactly. There was nothing soft about Severus and Harlyn doubted he even knew how to let go of his guards but there was a shift, one that she could not place, nor would have been able to ever describe and she was certain she was the only one to ever witness it.

It was assurance enough.

Severus cupped the side of her neck, his thumb splayed over her throat. She felt the gentle pressure he exerted on her Adam’s Apple, but she wasn’t scared.

Not of him.

Never him for he was as much hers as she was his.

He dragged her up, left her dress crumpled on the sofa and picked her up to carry her to his bedroom. Harlyn wrapped her legs around him, clinging to him, commanding him to never let go of her with the pressure of her thigh digging into his side. He held her like a precious offering, like a starving disciple carrying their goddess to an altar to worship her as their last act on this world before the underworld reached out its rotten grasp for him. 

Harlyn sunk into the silken, dark sheets that wrapped her into a cocoon of his scent, devoured her as much as his lips trailing over her body did. He stroked her thighs, nibbed at her skin with his teeth, placed open-mouthed kisses all over her body. As though he was aiming to create a map of her , more thorough than any map created.

She writhed beneath his attention, squirmed to the rhythm of the aching pulses tearing through her cunt, spurred on by Severus and yet left unanswered by him. His cock rested against her belly, heavy, thick, promising, a constant reminder of when he fucked the innocence out of her and that mind-numbing stretch she’d soon fall apart to again.

“Please-” Bleary eyes, blinking up through her askew glasses, meeting Severus’ sallow face, his sharp, commanding features, that grave, imperious expression in his impossibly dark eyes, black hair framing his face…a whimpered plea that coaxed a feral growl from Severus.

He dropped his head against her chest, mouthed at her breast, his hands following the line of her arms. He pinned her wrists to the mattress above her head, holding her in place with one large hand engulfing her crossed wrists.

Was he as consumed by yearning as she was?

Severus cupped her clothed cunt. A shudder tore through her, violent spasms of pleasure that sore through her nerves, set her on fire and only his touch could save her. She surrendered to the pulsing tendril of pleasure that melted down the inside of her thighs and ate through her spine. She ground against his hands and encouraged the teasing exploration of his fingers with wanton moans.

Severus wasn’t kissing her anymore. As though he had forgotten all about his cartographic ambitions. He watched her. Watched every flicker of pleasure passing across her features. Watched her struggle, her pathetic squirming beneath him, pinned to the bed beneath his much broader form.

“Foolish girl.” He muttered, though the words lacked their usual harshness. He dropped her forehead against the crown of her head, putting more of his weight on her, crushing her into the mattress as his fingers plunged inside her. His grip on her wrists was bruising. His lips brushed over her scar, a touch so disconcertingly gentle in comparison to how he had been treating her in recent times.

“Foolish, dim-witted little girl…” His voice was all breathy, a deep, husky rumble that poured liquid lust into her centre and wrenched a shaky whimper from her throat. “You have no idea the effect you have on the people around you.”

He thrust his fingers inside her at a hard, slow pace, spreading them on occasion, adding a stinging stretch to the riptide of sensations. His thighs pressed against her, forced her legs apart, making room for his hand in her knickers. He rutted against her belly shamelessly, seeking the insufficient friction of her skin against his cock.

“I can’t tell if it’s moronism or arrogance that feeds your acts of insecurities…or if I failed you.”

“Daddy-” Harlyn twisted her head to the side, tried to free herself from the cage the crook of his neck had become. She wanted to see his face, wanted to look into his eyes but - and perhaps by design - Severus had made it impossible for her to achieve. He was hunched over her like a vampire over his victim in one of the illustrations in the old textbooks the Dark Lord had her use to study.

“I wanted to teach you discipline and humility.” He continued. He spoke quietly, his words almost muffled against her forehead, his breath warm against her scar. “I knew the Dark Lord would only coddle you and indulge your every whim, but you are destined for so much more…”

Harlyn’s vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut. With crushing rolls of her hips she ground against his hand, chased the stretch of his finger plunged deep inside her aching cunt, desperate for the sweet sweet release teasing her from a distance. She barely managed to listen to Severus over the pounding of blood in her ears and the pressure tearing her insides apart.

Perhaps that too was by design.

Severus was not a man who easily showed vulnerability and Harlyn had never heard him admit to a mistake before .

“...destined to be a force of nature…”

Pressure . So much pressure. Growing between her thighs, spreading, filling her belly, pulsing, insistent, consuming, devastating. And through it all, the ceaseless, slow drag of Severus’ fingers sinking into her tripping hole with lewd squelches.

He was still talking but Harlyn’s mind could not make out a single word. She cried out and struggled against his grip. Her nerves had gone into overdrive. Harlyn felt like she was dying and being reborn both at once. It was too much and not quite enough. If she didn’t come soon, she’d go mad, no doubt about it.

Severus drew back, just enough to be able to look down at her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and her glasses were fogged up from the heat of his body and their sweat in the air.

“My beautiful, stunning, dense baby girl.”

He claimed her lips in a searing, bruising kiss before she even had the chance to make her melting brain cells work out the meaning of the noises he made.

He groaned her name into the kiss and Harlyn fell apart in his arms. He carried her through her climax, keeping her legs and arms pinned, no matter how much her body was shaken by brain-melting twitches and tremors. He claimed every whimpering moan, every breathy whine for himself, licking them off her tongue and stealing them away from the world before they could leave her lips. He sucked on her piercing. A satisfied growl rumbled in his throat. She felt the vibration of it in his chest pressed snugly against her own.

Before Harlyn had a chance to catch her breath, Severus tore her soaked knickers off her and aligned himself with her entrance. Harlyn tensed instinctively.

“Don’t be shy now.” He teased and pushed on, nudging his way into her, forcing her cunt to surrender. The stretch was somehow more intense than the first time or perhaps exhaustion had altered her memories after the fact.

He petted her clit, little, quick strokes that reignited the already fading remnants of pleasure that sought to wreck her, resummoned to finish the job.

“That’s it, baby girl. Fuck, you look so pretty taking cock…struggling so much, but you can take it, mh? You don’t even care if daddy hurts you, as long as you get some cock out of it…”

“You - ahh - only you- daddy.”

Her brain was mush. Any second now it would start dripping out of her ear, she was sure of it. She couldn’t form coherent sentences, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think . There was only Severus, Severus’ crushing grasp over her wrists, Severus’ bare chest rubbing against hers, her thighs straining around the girth of his hips, spread-eagled for him and pinned down to be stuffed full of cock like a mare tied up to be bred.

Pain and pleasure tag teamed each other, tormenting her, taunting her and lulling her back in with sweet promises of release.

Severus sheathed himself to the hilt inside her, his pelvis flush with her, impaled on his cock, torn apart on its girth. He ground his hips into her in small rolls, wrenching broken sobs from her and breathy gasps, getting her used to the feeling of him.

It wasn’t terribly painful, just uncomfortable enough to spur her lust on further. The stretch, the sting, the humiliation of falling apart to a struggling mess from something her body was made for was merely gasoline Severus liberally tossed into the fire that was the desire eating her alive.

“Look at me, Harlyn.” Severus nibbed at her jaw. Sweat clung to his forehead, plastering some lone strands of inky black hair to his skin. She had never seen him like this, so…open. Raw, somehow. Less guarded than she was sure he had ever been around another person.

Seeing him like that somehow felt more intimate than being split open on his prick.

“Fuck me, daddy.” She whispered. To add further emphasis to her plea, she clutched his cock, drawing a raspy groan from Severus in the process.

Severus set a languid, savouring pace, long, slow thrusts, making her feel every hard inch of his cock. He palmed her breast, smearing her own arousal over her just to lap it off her skin greedily. His tongue felt like sandpaper on her skin, every inch of her overstimulated and yet yearning for more - as though she was in a feeding frenzy…just for sex.

Or perhaps for Severus.

A Severus frenzy.

He let go of her wrists just to wrap his arms around her and turn with her, seating her in his lap, his cock still buried inside her. He reached deeper like this and trying to straddle him only worsened the strain on her thighs. Harlyn braced her hands against his chest to not lose balance. Severus grasped at her arse, kneading fistfuls of her soft flesh before sinking his nails into her and pulling her up.

Severus moved her delicate body atop his cock, used her for his own pleasure like one would a toy, a lifeless cocksleeve .

Harlyn’s thigh trembled. Arousal coated Severus’, ran down his length every time he lifted her up and dripped onto his pelvis, ran down her thighs. If she were any more coherent, perhaps Harlyn would have had the sense to be ashamed of just how wet she was for him.

Eyes of obsidian were glued to her cunt. He watched his prick split her open, watched it disappear between her thighs, watched her cunt swallow it up despite the frankly ridiculous size difference. How was it even possible for her to take it? It shouldn’t be but that sight of it, of his hand engulfing her waist, only lit new sparks of pleasure in her lower abdomen.

Her arms buckled and Harlyn dropped forward. She pressed her face into the crook of Severus’ neck. She curled her fingers against his chest, nails poised against his pale skin. She could feel the many scars crisscrossing across his torso rub against her sticky skin. Some were older, some rather fresh, all pale and silvery, as though kissed by moonlight. 

Just like the scar on her forehead.

Curse scars…

Severus thrust up, meeting her body with punishing force and loud, wet slaps of flesh meeting flesh. He picked up the pace, slamming her down on his cock at a much quicker succession, bouncing her in his lap as she writhed and moaned and clung to his chest as though clinging to life itself.

His arms encompassed her, one wrapped around her shoulders, trapping her arms in between their bodies, one resting heavily at the small of her back, pushing her down on his cock and keeping her in place while he fucked up into her with a feral snarl on his lips, making her take him with no consideration for her opinion on the matter. 

(It was an enthusiastic yes)

He found her lips, pulled her into a heated, wet kiss. Her piercing slid over his tongue, the roof of his mouth. His groans tasted sweeter than any sugary dessert she ever tried. The crumbling of his control and composure filled her with more pride than any victory over the Dark Lord’s challenges.

Severus threw his head back into the pillow, snapped his hips up into her, burying himself as deep as humanly possible in the twitching, tight channel of her cunt. Harlyn stumbled over the edge from the sensation of his cum splattering her inner walls, hot and sticky and primal .

They panted into each other’s mouth, rocking against one another as they rode the receding waves of their respective climax, both utterly wrecked by the other, hair messy, covered in sweat, out of breath and filled with the languid, relaxed warmth that always followed a particularly hard orgasm.

Harlyn dropped her head against Severus’ chest, content with not moving and simply falling asleep on the spot and Severus did not make a move to push her off.

Chapter Text

Harlyn stretched, sighing contently at the pleasant soreness tugging on her muscles and the delicious sting between her thighs that reminded her of last night. She didn’t open her eyes. She was surrounded by warmth, a comfortable weight around her.

Harlyn did not want to be awake just yet.

She wanted to bask in the warmth, in the feeling of utter safety and relaxation for as long as possible.

Arms pulled her back, dragged her closer to the source of warmth at her back. Severus pressed his face into her hair. His nose bumped against the back of her neck, sending shivers skittering across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Sleep dragged her back under and the next time she woke, Severus wasn’t in bed anymore. Harlyn peeled her eyes open. Light poured out of the bathroom. The scent of coffee and herbal soap hung in the air. 

Severus turned the light in the bathroom off and stepped around the bed, coming into Harlyn’s field of vision. He had his back turned to her, a tapestry of mystery, shimmering silver scars in a field of older, raised, distorted ones that seemed to be the result of wounds that never properly healed. They were not created by magic. Harlyn could tell from the lack of a silver sheen. Her heart twisted painfully at the sight. What monster had created those? What monster was capable of dealing such damage with their bare hands? Deal such destruction without magic?

Severus buckled his belt and picked up the cup from his desk, taking a savouring sip. The Prince family signet ring gleamed at his little finger.

Harlyn sat up in bed. The rustling of the sheets caught Severus’ attention. She swirled around, his hand jerking towards his wand on the desk-

“Harlyn…” His voice was raspy. The glazed expression seeped from his eyes, yielding to recognition. Severus dropped his wand back on the desk.

“What time is it?” Harlyn asked with a yawn and rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes while holding the blanket to her chest with her other hand.

“Far too fucking early.”

Harlyn nodded, just to be doing something.

“I never question that you don’t have wedding rings…” She didn’t know what sparked the thought, nor why she’d say it out loud but once the thought had arisen, she could not keep it to herself. “I suppose it was rather dumb of me to ever think you were married…that you were my stepfather…”

“A child rarely questions what it perceives as true.”

“Was any of it real?” Harlyn could not bring herself to look at Severus. Shame and fear formed a hard lump in her throat.

A tin in hand Severus knelt down at the side of the bed. He caught her wrist, his grip so very gentle, fingertips brushing against her bruised skin, holding her as softly as though she was the most precious object his calloused hands had ever held.

He didn’t look at her as he spread a pale green salve onto her skin. He worked as silently and diligently as he did when preparing rare potion ingredients.

Severus sat her hand down in her lap and held out his hand for her. Harlyn dropped the blanket to put her wrist into his waiting palm. The bruises on her left wrist were already fading.

Harlyn watched his long, slender fingers work, watched him gather more salve and spread a thin layer onto her neck. She inhaled sharply at the cold feeling on her warm skin. His eyes flicked up, met hers-

His face was so…open, somehow. No harsh scowl cut across his features. No sneer played around his thin lips. His eyes weren’t cold or cut off from the world around him.

He looked tired but at the same time more content than she had ever seen him.

“I need to see the cadets off.” He spoke quietly, brushing a wayward curl behind her ear. Her hair must be a giant mess. She didn’t brush it before bed and Severus had not been gentle with it last night, raking his hands through it, tousling the already messy curls even more.

He didn’t seem to care. Not even when his fingers got caught in a knot. His lips twitched as he shook his hand free. Harlyn blushed.

“Try to sleep some more.” He had already pushed himself off the floor when Harlyn took his hand, keeping him from turning away from her. She didn’t know why. She had no reason to, at least not one her sluggish mind could discern, all she knew was that she did not like the thought of him leaving.

Severus sighed. “You have every reason to want to talk but this is not the time, Harlyn…nor can I give you the answers you are looking for .”

“Because I am not ready-?” or because you aren’t?

She left the second part unsaid but Severus heard it all the same. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. The motion drew Harlyn’s attention in , to the point she almost didn’t notice Severus reaching for her, gripping her chin. He bent down. Sleek, still slightly damp, inky strands fell around her, concealing the sight of the dark room around them, stealing her away, trapping her into a world where only Severus existed.

Severus’ eyes were glittering black dots, two irises cut from unyielding obsidian…and yet…they were more than simply black. They were the absence of light, more than just dark. They were black holes, masses of pure destruction, so devastating, they swallowed even light but for some reason, they did not devour her.

His eyes held the words he was not the type of man to say. He would never write sultry poetry or sing hymns about his love, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts, revealed what he saw when he looked at her. No word, in no language humanity had ever created, could hope to even get close to the flattery his eyes whispered.

Just as Harlyn wondered if he was going to say something, if he even knew what he had forced her to look at him for, he closed the distance between them. His lips brushed over hers in the barest hint of physical contact. A whine crept up her throat, anticipating a cruel retreat from him but before it had the opportunity to slip off her lips, he had seized her throat and smashed his lips against her. The kiss tasted of coffee and cinnamon toothpaste, and didn’t last nearly long enough.

Severus grabbed his dress shirt and frock coat from a chair. “Finish your Charms essay on the Gouging Spell today. I don’t know when I’ll be back from the frontlines, stay here as long as you please.”

He left, but not without hesitating in the doorway as though he wanted to say something, some passing words he struggled with. He did not say anything and Harlyn did not stop him from leaving. She sunk back into the pillows, into the silken smooth sheets that smelled of Severus.

***

Harlyn did not go back to sleep. After an hour of twisting and turning, huddled under the warm blanket, she gave up and surrendered to being awake. She ran a bath and luxuriated in the hot, bubbly water for as long as she managed to sit still. Dressed in a pair of joggers and a t-shirt big enough to fit two Harlyns, she settled at her desk and started working on her essay. She had finished the bulk of it, since she had been supposed to hand it in yesterday but didn’t…perhaps Severus had forgotten that little detail. She scribbled a conclusion and half-heartedly checked her spelling before her nervous energy won over her resolve to do her work. She grabbed a croissant from the breakfast spread the elves arranged on the polished table in the living room, took her broom and climbed up on the windowsill.

She ate the buttery pastry high above Slytherin Manor as she flew in lazy circles.

Harlyn licked her fingers clean and dove into a breakneck, falling manoeuvre, just to catch herself mere inches before colliding with the treetops surrounding the estate. She zapped between trunks, using the trees as her own, personal slalom course. Squirrels chirped angrily at her and birds scattered when they saw her coming.

There was nothing Harlyn loved more than to fly. She cherished the wind battering against her face, the thrill, the rush of speed, the feeling of lightness that came with being in the air.

She loved it so much, she didn’t even care that she shared her love for flying with her traitor father. 

Harlyn slowed down until she was standing still, floating above the ground. She pulled a golden snitch from her pocket. It woke, spreading its filigree wings as it sat on her open palm and then zapped away, disappearing between the leaves of the trees. Harlyn counted to ten before she gave chase.

Over and over, Harlyn caught the snitch just to release it again, chasing it through the dark woods she would usually avoid but on her broom, she was safe from the magic resting over the ground and the wicked creatures that inhabited it.

Around noon, her empty stomach made her return to the manor. In search of food, Harlyn wandered into the parlour, broom and snitch in tow, coaxed inside by the heavenly smell of food. She didn’t care to clean herself up first. Narcissa would surely turn up her nose at her state of disarray. Harlyn chuckled at the thought.

“Are you enjoying the broom?” 

Harlyn gave a jump. She didn’t see Voldemort, lounging in an armchair by the window.

“It’s amazing.”

“You deserve only the best.”

She forced a smile. Suddenly, Harlyn felt out of place. She wished she had taken the time to get changed.

Her stomach grumbled.

Voldemort gestured towards the dishes on the coffee table, silently inviting her to eat. Harlyn leaned her broom against the sofa and stuffed the snitch into her pocket before sitting down on the ground. The house elves always served food wherever the Dark Lord stayed at any given moment. Bowls of fresh, sweet and tangy fruit, decadent canapes, rich, meaty dishes, seasonal vegetables, steaming dishes full of potatoes and piles of rice dyed yellow by saffron, huge bowls of caviar served on spoons carved from bones. 

Harlyn shovelled rice onto her plate and drowned it with an aromatic beef stew. She was always so fucking hungry lately! As if she wasn’t feeding only herself, but also sustaining some alien lifeform fused to her-

She paused, her spoon a mere inch away from her lips, frozen in suffocated panic. Could she- was she-

Voldemort chuckled, high-pitched and derisive, cutting.

“You are not pregnant.”

Harlyn grumbled something about staying out of her mind and shoved the spoon into her mouth.

“I was not in your mind, my dear.” He said. “I felt your surge of panic and drew my own conclusion. You can be rather easy to read sometimes.”

Harlyn was too embarrassed by Voldemort witnessing her silly foolishness to question his choice of words.

“So you- you know…” Harlyn didn’t meet his eyes. She focused on the food in front of her.

“I know everything that happens in your life, Harlyn.”

That was a truly unsettling thought.

“It is very difficult for a witch to fall pregnant against her will. The magic blossoming inside you protects you.”

You know Accidental Magic, now get ready for Accidental Birth Control. Harlyn snorted at the thought, but Voldemort was using his lecture voice, and she was wary of interrupting him. She shoved another spoonful of rice and stew into her mouth to shut herself up.

“I trust Severus has been very thorough in his explanations of what happens during puberty.”

Harlyn shuddered at the thought. It had been the single most embarrassing conversation she ever had. She was eleven and had just gotten her period for the first time. She hadn’t been shocked when it happened, her mother had told her all about periods, but Harlyn had not been prepared for Severus to give her a lecture in painful detail and a detached, clinical tone about how her body would change. 

He did not tell her she’d grow boobs (which she never really did anyway), no he spoke about hormonal signals and the gonads and her brain growing from that of a child to that of an adult.

Really, it had just been a much more awkward and clinical version of what Harlyn already knew from her mother.

Lily had taught her about her body from a young age, taught her the proper terms and how babies were made and how to tell good touch from bad touch- 

Had Lily been worried for her safety? Harlyn never really thought about it before…Lily did always go back to that whole bad touch spiel…reiterating it over and over and drumming into her telling Lily if anyone ever touched Harlyn in a bad way…

She had been asking Harlyn what Severus did on her birthday so many times since that day…

She wasn’t wrong to assume what she no doubt thought happened, after all, Harlyn woke up in Severus’ bed today - but did she seriously think Severus would ever touch her like that when she was a child?

Harlyn was not stupid. She knew Severus wasn’t good . He was the general of the Dark Lord’s army for a reason! He was brutal and ruthless and had no doubt done unspeakable things , but everything he did, he did to realise Voldemort’s vision for their nation, to build a better world for children like Harlyn to grow up in! He’d never -

Harlyn could not even bring herself to finish the thought.

How could her mother think so badly about the man who saved her life? The man who was the reason she got to grow up knowing her mum’s love…

Voldemort either didn’t sense her inner turmoil or deemed it irrelevant. He continued unfazed. “This is not only a vital stage for your body, Harlyn but also your magic. It is maturing too, and you, my precious girl, possess potential unlike that of other witches your age. You are extraordinary, Harlyn. You are meant for greatness. Your appetite only speaks to the power growing within you. No, you, my dear, eat however much you desire. It would be a crime to inhibit the growth of your magic in any way.”

Harlyn washed down her food with a big gulp of ice cold lemonade. She looked up, hesitantly meeting the piercing, crimson eyes of the dark wizard.

“You are not going to punish him like you are Silas?” It was a fearful inquiry, one that had been rummaging through her brain since she watched Ron force Silas onto his knees to Voldemort’s feet, since listening to his speech.

Three laws stood at the very top of his new world.

1. Killing a death eater is punishable by death.
2. To bring harm to a magical child is to commit treason against their nation.

and

1. A woman cannot consent to a man without her father’s approval.

But of course, these rules did not apply to his highest ranking followers - or whenever it pleased him.

“Do you want me to punish him?”

Harlyn shook her head.

“Do you want to have him?” He spoke as though they were talking about a shiny new toy, an object that could be bestowed upon her, rather than a living, breathing human.

Heat crept up her neck and settled on her face. Voldemort seemed to count it as an answer.

“Then what reason would I have to punish him?”

He spoke as though it was obvious, as though it was foolish of her to not have come to the same conclusion herself. As though she was wrong for not having understood how the world works but how was she supposed to? 

Her whole world had been turned upside down!

And he refused her answers!

Rage seethed beneath her skin, hot as molten lava, more cataclysmic than any natural disaster that could befall the earth. It spread as a stabbing to her scar. Her vision blurred. The snake tightened around her body-

“Now, now.” Voldemort clicked his tongue. The noise seemed to echo through her, looping over and over and then, as quickly as it all had started, it stopped. Harlyn was startled to find Voldemort directly in front of her. When did he move?

“Perhaps Severus is right, and I have been overindulgent, if you are brought to tears by being told no.” All warmth had evaporated from his voice, leaving it derisive and cutting. Harlyn shook her head. She wanted to disagree, to voice her frustration and tell him she wasn’t crying - she wasn’t! But the phantom feeling of the inky beast on her skin tightening around her still held her in its grasp. She felt disoriented and confused and yearned to appease Voldemort at the same time as she wanted to claw at his face-

Harlyn remained silent, clenching her jaw , digging her nails into the palms of her hands. Voldemort settled on the couch behind her. Spidery, pale fingers sunk into her hair, claw-like nails touched her scalp. The mocking touch made her sick but her burning desire for recognition made her lean into it all the same. She rested her temple against his knee and closed her eyes.

The snake shifted, slid over her skin in that same sickening, raspy feeling of phantom scales, of non-existent muscles constricting. She felt it over her throat and around her waist and not for the first time, she wondered what its purpose was.

Nothing the Dark Lord did, he did without a purpose in mind.

“I’m sorry, master.” Her voice sounded terribly small in the sprawling, richly-decorated room. The food she had just scorched down, felt too heavy in her stomach and she was tired. Tired of it all, tired of trying to understand, of fighting everything and everyone around her. She was tired of this rage that did not feel like it belonged to herself.

Perhaps she was wrong for still wanting answers despite repeatedly being told, she was not ready to hear them.

Voldemort and Severus were far more accomplished, far brighter and much more knowledgeable wizards than her, who was she to question their judgement?

Her scar hurt. It was a subtle, stinging, itching sensation and when her eyes found the knife on the table she briefly considered using its sharp blade to scrape the cursed bit of flesh off her skull.

Voldemort’s fingers in her hair tensed. “You do not have the right to harm your body, Harlyn.”

But you do?

She did not voice the question, though she was sure he heard it, judging by his raspy chuckle.

The door to the parlour opened. Ignatius didn’t bother to knock - perhaps that was one of the privileges that came with being a childhood friend of the Dark Lord. It was hard to believe Ignatius was just a few years older than Voldemort. Age had cut deep lines across his face, giving it a weathered look Voldemort did not have. He did not look a day older than forty.

“My lord.” He handed Voldemort a sealed letter. “Miss Harlyn.” He nodded towards her without meeting her gaze.

Shame burnt on her cheeks.

Harlyn used to cower on the stone floor between Severus and Voldemort during meetings, hunched over a scatter of papers, crayons clutched in her tiny fists as she viciously drew picture after picture, she has sat on his lap in public, and yet being seen kneeling to his feet, with his hand in her hair like an obedient dog receiving affection, made her feel sick. She couldn’t move away either. What reason did she have to interrupt his desire to show her affection? Even if it felt like acid…

And then of course, there was the worst part, the part of her that did not want to move away, the part that was so starved for affection and attention, that she endured even this taunting display of it.

Voldemort broke the seal on the letter Harlyn recognised as Severus’ signet ring and scanned the letter with his crimson eyes.

“That would be all, Ignatius.”

The head of the Selwyn family bowed and left. Voldemort set fire to the letter and tossed it at the fireplace.

“The enemy has made requests for a ceasefire to allow for humanitarian aid.” Voldemort sighed and leaned back into the cushions. He patted the spot next to him on the sofa. Harlyn’s body obeyed the silent order even before her brain could catch up with it. He had his arms leisurely draped over the back of the sofa, his eyes resting on Harlyn heavily as she scrambled to find a change of subject that would distract him from his earlier snub.

“It is a terribly confusing time, is it not?” 

Harlyn wasn’t sure whether he expected an answer or not. He did that sometimes, leaving a question open like that and no matter what course one chose from there, depending on his mood one was wrong.

“Don’t look so surprised now, I was once young too.” His lips curled, revealing the tips of his fangs. “I know you are aching for answers, Harlyn, but do know, once you get them, it cannot be taken back. You were never one to overestimate yourself - even as a child you were uniquely aware of capabilities - as yourself, are you willing to take that step into adulthood?”

Willing, not ready. His choice of words was as deliberate as always. 

Harlyn stared at her hands, at the dirt on her trousers from the failed flight manoeuvre that catapulted her into the muddy forest floor.

Was she willing?

Was she prepared to leave behind that unique freedom her age allotted her? To spend her day as she wished once she finished the work Severus assigned?

Harlyn shook her head. 

Voldemort emitted a pleased hum, and Harlyn knew she had given him the right answer. 

“M-may I ask a question, my lord?”

“Certainly.” He sounded bored.

“Severus was never married to my mother, was he?”

Voldemort chuckled. “Of course not. Now, had she possessed the same reasonability as her daughter and joined me when I gave her the chance , and had Severus still desired her as he did when he was a boy, I’d have allowed it. But of course, she preferred to sire an illegitimate child and marry a man she did not truly love. A life she came to regret.”

Harlyn frowned. “She regretted me?”

“Not you.” Voldemort stroked her cheek with his knuckle. “Though, I cannot speak of recent years. Your birth father was a childish man. He never grew up and despite urging and manipulating her into a union she did not desire, he loathed her for forcing him to settle down. He chose satisfying his own desire for recklessness and risk over the safety of his family and left his young wife and newborn alone for hours on end.”

“Do you hate her?” The way he spoke about her certainly sounded like he did.

“I have little respect for her. She made her choices and yet continuously seeks blame in everyone around her for her own misery. Perhaps even in you, though the decision that led her into Severus’ bed, she made for your protection.”

“But she didn’t need to protect me! Not from you, right? I mean- I mean you are my…my father-” Harlyn didn’t know why it was so difficult to say the word, after all, there was little she yearned for more than to hear a man say it, admit that he chose her.

“There was a time I wanted to kill you.” He said it nonchalantly. As though it was not a big deal. Harlyn’s hand twitched towards her scar, but she resisted the urge. Voldemort cupped the side of her head and brushed his thumb over the web of silver tendrils. “This scar was not born from a duelling accident, after all.”

This was the closest he had ever come to explaining what really happened that night. All Harlyn knew was that Dumbledore set her up as bait to lure Voldemort into a trap and that he had given that scar to her. Harlyn held her breath, but the Dark Lord did not elaborate on it .

“She was not wrong to seek protection for you. Those early days of the war were dark and brutal. A baby did not have a high chance of survival if tossed in the middle of it - like the rebels did to you.”

“Why did you allow her to stay with me? Why not take me in yourself? Why let a Mudblood raise me?”

Voldemort’s lipless mouth twitched. He gripped her chin between his thumb and pointer, tipping her head up. Her vision blurred. The room around her melted away, revealing instead a dark bed chamber, and there, lounging on the sprawling bed was Voldemort, and at his side, a small girl with big, round glasses and wild, black curls. They were haphazardly held out of her face with a green bow. Her matching dress was stained with tears. Harlyn’s eyes were big, brilliant green and full of tears. She was sniffling inconsolably. Her skin around the edges of the inky snake was reddened. It looked painful.

“Mummy.” She sniffled and clutched her dress in her tiny fists. “I want mummy. Mummy- ” A new wave of tears suffocated her words under the indulgent eyes of Voldemort.

The memory faded away, as quickly as it came over her.

“Because you asked for her. ” Voldemort murmured, his face suddenly closer than it had been before. His eyes blazed possessively. His lips were twisted into a cruel smile. “and my darling girl gets whatever she desires. After all, she has thoroughly earned it.”

Chapter Text

The last thing Severus had needed today, was coming home to find fucking Voldemort sitting in his chair, in his office, reading over Harlyn’s Charms essays while she fidgeted in the chair across from him. 

Kopernikus, the black pigeon that had been with Severus since he was a boy, too poor to buy an owl, sat on top of her head. The bird was the only living being Severus had ever encountered that was as grouchy as he. 

During his time at Hogwarts, it had regularly attacked other students in the Great Hall who dared get too close to him. He even loathed Lily - which, retrospectively should have been a huge warning. But for some strange, cosmically ironic reason the perpetually hateful bird adored Harlyn.

Instead of getting some peace and quiet to review troop movements and classified enemy intel over a glass of whiskey, Severus found himself surrounded by screaming children, overpriced underwhelming food and crooks cheating little children out of their pin money.

Needless to say, Harlyn was having a blast.

She loved anything chaos.

It must be in her blood.

She had not mentioned the fair once since it arrived in town two weeks ago and yet Voldemort had made it sound like she’d been dying to come here since it was first announced in the Daily Prophet. Had he missed that sparkle in her eyes as she scanned the paper in the morning? That same sparkle that lit up her eyes now as she tried to take in all of the chaos around her, soak it up through her pores and wallow in it like a pig in mud…

Had she told him? Or did he abuse the connection of their souls to find this hidden desire, decided to exploit this for one of his schemes?

He hated the thought that crossed his mind, that Harlyn might have told Voldemort, but not him. That she might be closer with the megalomaniac mass murdering arsehole than him - it was irrelevant that Severus had done nothing but push her away in recent years…he didn’t want her clinging to his coat-tails like a lost puppy and yet…and yet he could not erase the memory of how she looked at him last night from his mind. He had tried. Put a mental iron to his brain to sear it from his mind but it remained, lodged in his retina to stay forever.

Severus glared at a little boy who obviously belonged to the wandering fairground people and passed a little too close by him, no doubt eager to slip his filthy little fingers into his pockets. The boy took off running.

This was hell.

This was cruel and unusual punishment and why the fuck was Harlyn so eager to waste his gold on plushies she didn’t need and toys she was too old for that would break before the end of the night regardless.

And why the actual fuck had Voldemort insisted on Lily coming?

This was ridiculous. Were they pretending to be family now? The most dysfunctional, fucked up, ill-advised and ludicrous patchwork of a family to ever exist.

When was the last time Severus had seen Harlyn so…happy? She was running ahead with Draco and the Weasley boy, dressed in a pale green, low-cut tulle dress. Her impossible dark hair sticking out beneath a pointy hat. Kopernikus had made himself comfortable among the flowers adorning the wide brim. She was laughing , darting between the colourful booths, her seemingly inexhaustible energy keeping her from standing still or deciding where to go first.

“What are you hoping to achieve with this?” Severus drawled, trailing behind the three teenagers, dragging Lily behind, holding a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

Lily was visibly overwhelmed by the crowd, despite them keeping their distance, forming a bubble around him and Voldemort wherever they went. She hadn’t been out in public in fourteen years. Severus was not keen to parade her, but it also wasn’t worth it to fight Voldemort on it, so he’d simply ignore her.

“It won’t be so easy to shut her up.”

Voldemort acted like a king bestowing his people with the privilege of his presence and they soaked it up like the gullible idiots they were. They believed every lie he fed them, devoured them without realizing they were laced with poison and inadvertently paved the way for him to overthrow the Ministry. 

They didn’t deserve better. 

Unimpressive, untalented low lives they were.

“I don’t get why you are so reluctant to answer her questions anyway.” Severus continued, suppressing a bored yawn. “Do you fear she might turn her back on you? That she’ll side with those who seek to destroy you? I thought that’s what the snake is for.”

The pitch-black lines stretching across Harlyn’s tanned skin peaked out from beneath her dress, slithering over her back as though it were a real snake.

Voldemort emitted an amused hum. “And wouldn’t you like that, Severus? To watch Harlyn get rid of me and step into my place?”

“I have no desire to take your place.” Severus scoffed. “Nor for the sickening, snivelling attempts of your sycophants to earn your favour.”

“No.” Voldemort shot him a cruel smirk, one that revealed his fangs. A subtle reminder that Voldemort, despite his undeniable attractiveness, was no mere human. He was a ruthless monster. And Severus was no better. “You are not made for the delicate machinations of politics. You have always worn your heart on your sleeve. You prefer to trudge through the muck and feel bones shattering beneath your knuckles, to have men crumble to your feet, their blood splattering your face…”

Severus grunted and took a drag of his cigarette.

“And you hate interacting with civilians.”

He could not argue with that. He’d be shite at speaking to them. Severus could not earn a crowd's favour, adoration and love as Voldemort did. And Voldemort was far from good at leading an army. He got swept up in battle, in the stench of blood and spellfire. He got carried away, too eager to show off, to prove just how superior he was to all of them. He could not lead troops, nor empathise with them and anticipate how they’d react to small shifts within the camps, like food scarcity or slow mail. 

A soldier’s spirit was more delicate than that of a lovesick teen girl.

They needed each other as much as they might hate one another sometimes.

It was the last day the fair would be in town, and it seemed every child had moped until their parents caved. The fairground people were using the opportunity to show off all their craftsmanship. Fire-eaters presented their tamed flames. Beast wranglers bade their charges to perform tricks for the entertainment of the crowd . Small dragons, Niffler… a flock of Diricawls teleported between handlers. Mooncalf stared at children with their ugly, huge eyes, eating out of their hands. 

A huge cage with Puffskeins advertised how amazing they were as pets. Only two galleons the piece, a sign announced. Harlyn’s eyes went wide at the sight of the fluffy little lint balls.

“Over my dead body, girl.” Severus hissed and shooed her away from the cage. She already had her snowy owl, that priggish thing that refused to fly in the rain and get her feathers wet. He would not have a Puffskein in his house!

Harlyn pouted but her attention was drawn away the next second and she dragged Draco and Weasley over to a stall with crystal balls.

“You should be more careful with your words, Severus. Harlyn might take you up on them.” Voldemort chuckled. His crimson eyes fell onto Lily.

Severus’ lips curled. He gripped Lily’s chin, forced her to look into his eyes. “Try as she might…you’ll keep me nice and safe, won’t you.”

Hatred flashed through Lily’s green eyes, a blaze of emotions strong enough Severus felt it too.

“Not that Harlyn would ever turn on me.” He looked over to Voldemort, dark eyes gleaming with silent taunts. “And I don’t even need an advanced Dark Mark for that.”

“ No. ” Voldemort smirked. “Only your cock.”

If the dark wizard thought he could throw Severus off balance with that snide comment, he was wrong. Lily however , oh Lily found confirmation in it.

Severus had a feeling he did not quite manage to keep his side of the unfortunate connection that was , but an unwanted side-effect closed last night. His considerable control over his mind was usually enough to keep her fenced off from his emotions and prevented her from catching glimpses of his life but Lily had always been as useless in Occlumency as her daughter which made it more difficult, and moments of great emotional upheaval or careless inattentiveness worked against it.

Last night, he had been both.

He sensed that morning that Lily’s emotions were in turmoil and the hateful glare he was greeted with upon returning home only confirmed what he thought , though , it would appear that Lily had not been certain - until now.

Not that Severus cared.

She was nothing. Less than human in the eyes of the law and little more than vermin to him. Whatever shred of sympathy he still held for her after all the stunts she pulled to lure him back into her wretched grasp had evaporated when she birthed Potter’s spawn. In the years following, she had continuously tried to regain some slither of control over him, as she once held when they were children and Severus easier to manipulate.

She refused to accept that he held all the power and while her mere sight roused little more than disgust most days, he enjoyed putting her in her place.

Not like Harlyn…

No, fucking Harlyn has been nothing like Lily…

“I want that!” Harlyn’s voice carried over the buzz of the crowd , full of determination and that high-pitched whine she always used on him when she wanted Treacle Tart for dessert. It always worked, though it had been a while since she used it on him…

Today, Draco was her victim. She pulled on the sleeve of his Death Eater robes and pointed at the giant fawn Jackalope plushie hanging above a booth. Its antlers were adorned with pale blue, glittery flowers.

“Please, Draco! I’m so bad at archery!” 

Archery was an ancient tradition in the Malfoy family , and as such it had been part of Draco’s education since he was tall enough to hold a bow. Harlyn had never possessed the patience to hone that particular skill, something she seemed to be regretting immensely now.

Harlyn fished for a Galleon in her pocket to pay the booth owner, before even waiting for Draco’s answer. She turned around, pleading green eyes behind round glasses seeking and finding Severus in the crowd.

It was ridiculous and wasteful and utterly unnecessary. She was sixteen for fuck’s sake! The thing would be uninteresting within days and who would be carrying the blasted thing for the rest of the night? Not Harlyn. Not of her own volition anyway and there was an argument he would not be having on top of this sensory hellscape!

Voldemort offered her the gold coin, held between two spidery fingers, like a dragon relinquishing a piece of his hoard. Harlyn hesitated. Conflict flashed through her eyes as she attacked her bottom lip with her teeth. She was a smart girl. She knew the Dark Lord’s kindness came at a price and her brain was currently raking through everything he could expect of her in return for this small favour, pondering whether the Jackalope would be worth it.

“We already discussed this, my dear. Your suspicion wounds me.” Voldemort purred with a playful pout. “You already earned it.”

Something roguish flashed through her eyes. Her posture shifted. She went to grab the coin.

“You did want to kill me.” She said, though it sounded more like you owe me this much. Voldemort chuckled. 

Harlyn zapped towards the booth, weaving skilfully past children who wore the same ecstatic expression on their faces as her, and handed the booth owner the Galleon. Draco rolled his eyes and picked up the bow provided, less than thrilled. He held it as though it was covered in highly infectious sludge. Common garden gnomes in sparkly outfits with apples strapped to their heads ran through a forest scene made from plywood cutouts. Draco had to shoot the golden apples off their heads without one of the green or red ones falling.

Harlyn practically vibrated on the spot, biting her nails and muttering exceedingly unhelpful exclamations.

“Be careful!”

“Shut up. ” Draco growled after she yanked on his arm and almost made him mess up his shot. Weasley cackled in the background, the sound oddly reminiscent of Bellatrix.

“Yay!” Harlyn snatched the Jackalope from the booth owner and hugged it tightly to her chest .

“ Thank you, Draco - oh, well my pleasure, Harlyn.” Lucius’ spawn huffed, but Harlyn had already moved on.

Harlyn spent the next hours bouncing from booth to booth, stopping intermittently to admire the performers scattered all over the fairground, and gorged herself on an obscene amount of food. Fried mushrooms with garlic and herbs, campfire twist bread, candy floss, chocolate frogs (promptly after biting the head off the enchanted piece of chocolate she handed the card to Weasley - the company was no longer allowed to sell chocolate frogs with cards about Mudbloods or Blood Traitors in England), crepes with fruits and molten white chocolate, and corn on the cob smothered in butter and sprinkled with chilli powder and cheese.

“Did you receive my report?” Severus was leaning against a table, watching Harlyn climb the stairs to an obstacle course. She had handed off her hat to Draco who was holding it at arm’s length, eyeing the prickly pigeon warily. 

Harlyn grinned, exuding an aura of confidence in the face of the moving platforms, jets of flames, stretches of zero gravity and climbing elements.

This was no challenge to her and after watching several, brawny men fail at one point or another, she was visibly looking forward to humiliating them.

“It did not warrant a reply. ” Voldemort said. “There will be no negotiations of any kind.”

Severus nodded.

“And the breach in Azkaban?”

Lily’s attention snapped towards them the second the word left his lips.

“Have they finished their headcounts?”

“I sent Mulciber and Ignatius to investigate. They’ve counted four times and used thermal detection spells - we are one head short. Who knows since when...” Severus crossed his arms. “Does she know?”

“Not yet.”

Severus chuckled. “I see.” He cracked his neck and watched the men gathered around the obstacle course, the way their faces slowly dropped as Harlyn advanced through the course with not a hint of struggle. She jumped and pulled herself up on moving pillars. She’d dash through flames as if her skin was made from dragon hide, roll to catch her fall or slide across the ground like in a bad action movie.

“So you’re just buttering her up before you impose confinement on her.”

“I know our Harlyn. She’ll be cooperative this way. There is no way of telling what the Dementors will have done to his psyche.”

Severus hummed, the noise carrying less than subtle scorn. “Yet another secret.”

“She is not ready for the truth. ” Voldemort said. “You’d agree had you seen her face when I told her I wanted to kill her once. She would understand and she would step up, but she is not ready to carry that burden, and we cannot risk having her falter in front of the wrong people.”

Harlyn ran up to them, her hair even messier, face red and glasses askew. She was sucking on a sugar quill and not even attempting to conceal her impish pleasure over her, a 5 foot 1 girl in a tulle dress, winning over them, even if the price was only a sugar quill. Then again, Harlyn would probably do unspeakable things for a sugar quill.

The girl was addicted to sugar.

It was odd seeing her in a dress. She hadn't worn them since she was little. No doubt this was Voldemort planning something.

She tilted her head to the side and frowned.

“What’s that?” She asked, pointing somewhere behind them. Severus glanced over his shoulder. In a large, zoo-like cage, stood several people. Children surrounded the cage to gawk at them.

Lily slapped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes glittered treacherously.

“Muggles.” Weasley carried Harlyn’s Jackalope, holding the enormous plushie by a horn , its fluffy body hoisted over his shoulder as though it was a sack of potatoes. A rat skeleton climbed up his sleeve and disappeared beneath the collar of his robes.

“I’ve never seen a Muggle…” Harlyn was visibly torn between curiosity and unease at the scene. “They look…normal.” Disappointment hung in her voice. Had she expected them to look like trolls? Like some fabled beast that was obviously trying to imitate a human, falling just short of it, leaving them horribly distorted.

It was an odd thought that Harlyn, just like the crowd of jeering children, had never seen a Muggle before, though of course, how would she? She had never been to the colonies…

“Go ahead, my dear.” Voldemort placed his hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades, fingertips skimming the edge of her tattoo. “Have a look. See for yourself everything I have told you about them.”

She was conflicted, Severus could tell. Somehow, in some instance of cosmic irony, Harlyn grew up with more empathy than was good for her, to the point it extended to some Muggles she had never met, just because they looked like her - despite everything she had been taught since she was a toddler.

“Why don’t they just…vanish the cage?”

“They don’t have magic.” Draco rolled his eyes and held her hat out to her, including lethal black pigeon.

“I know but…” The concept was difficult for her to grasp. No magic. “How can they live like that?”

“Magic only blooms in rare souls. ” Voldemort said. “And Muggles are neither special, nor important. Our enemies like to claim I hate them, but Muggles are not even worthy of my hate…no, they are simply less in every way.”

Lily wanted to say something, interrupt the Dark Lord - which was both foolish and pointless, but she knew the consequences that would fall on her were limited.

Severus could not kill her, after all. 

Though …perhaps she still saw him as that scrawny, poor boy in need of saving she always saw him as. A pet project for her to feel like a saviour, like a saint when she was anything but. She failed to realise Severus’ darkness had taken on much more refined shapes. There were a great many things he could still do to her, even if the Dark Lord continued to insist he host her in his house. But perhaps she had stopped caring, somewhere, sometime during the past fourteen years.

But did she seriously believe Harlyn would ever listen to her, a Mudblood, over Lord Voldemort?  

Severus twisted Lily’s wrist onto her back, out of Harlyn’s sight. Lily suppressed a pained gasp.

“She is no longer yours.” Severus purred in her ear, his nose brushing the side of her head. Fire-red strands of hair caressed his skin. “Accept it, Lily. You lost her a long time ago.”

“They needed to be put in their place.” Voldemort continued, unfazed, leading Harlyn towards the cage. She clung to his lips, eager for him to explain what her soft heart perceived as needless cruelty, to take away that unease spreading through her chest - and he was good at it. He had always been. Voldemort was charming and attractive and knew how to capture the attention of the people around him, trap them into his web with honey and lies, slowly encompassing them and when they realised it, it was too late for them to ever escape again.

Oh, one should never underestimate the allure of darkness and Voldemort made it look decadent, noble.

“Muggles are driven by nothing but an all-consuming, barbaric lust for power. They create ever stronger weaponry of destruction. Grindelwald attempted to warn the magical community. They refused to listen, and what did it give them?”

“The Second World War. ” Harlyn whispered.

An eerie silence had fallen over the crowd as they listened to Voldemort, as enthralled with his melodic, gentle voice as Harlyn.

“I’ve shown you the destruction they caused. I grew up during their war, I’ve seen what they have done to our country. Tanks and bombs, weapons of mass annihilation. The nuclear bomb…I was only safe when at Hogwarts. Even as a boy, I wondered why we stood by and watched them destroy everything around them. Why we allowed their arrogance to believe they have the right to rule over a world that is far older than any of them to go by unchecked…”

“The old ways stopped serving us a long time ago.” Harlyn clenched her hands into fists. Her voice shook with rage. “So much could have been prevented…”

“I do not hate the Muggles, they are simply of…different worth, of different…use and if left to fend for themselves, they will resort to barbarianism. You would not put wild beasts together and expect them to form a sophisticated government. No, Muggles need to be reminded of their place, they need to be guided by those with the ability to see clearly, those of higher development.”

“Magic is Might.” Harlyn’s expression softened. The phrase was echoed by the crowd, a low murmur that rolled over their heads as it was repeated, carried through the night. “It lies in our responsibility to rule.”

“Indeed it is.”

Voldemort placed a few more coins in Harlyn’s hand and shooed her away from the cage. He gestured towards Weasley and Draco to follow her.

“You are monsters.” Lily hissed, voice suffocated by unshed tears and years of helplessness. “Monsters that justify their sadism and hate with supremacist ideals.”

“Now, now, that is not a nice way to talk about your daughter.” Severus chuckled, letting go of her wrist.

“You call Muggles barbaric, but you are the ones waging war on Europe!”

Voldemort seized her by the throat. Harlyn had her back turned towards them, weighing the gold coins in her hand as she looked at an array of filigree, elven-made jewellery. 

“The famous Gryffindor valour.” His purred words were as sharp as knives. Terror slipped into Lily’s eyes. “One would think after all these years you’d have learnt your place, Mudblood. But then again one can hardly expect any feats of intelligence from such a filthy creature.”

“My daughter is destined to destroy you and one day she will! She will kill you-”

Severus laughed darkly. “Your daughter is a part of the Dark Lord, as you are a part of me. To kill him would be to kill herself…but perhaps you still thirst for her life. You did put her up as bait to be slaughtered. Perhaps I should tell her why you are not allowed into my laboratory. Perhaps she would like to know how her mother slipped her poison…”

“You forget the only reason that you were even allowed to be a part of my Harlyn’s life was that she asked for you.” Voldemort tightened his grip around Lily’s throat, claw-like nails drawing blood. “You share her home by my grace! I wonder whether she’d still want her mummy around should she come to know? Have you ever considered what’ll become of you when she outgrows you?”

“Just kill me.” Lily spat. “Kill me then and be done with it!”

“You will not die.” Severus tugged a strand of her hair behind her ear, still standing at her back. “As long as you harbour a piece of my soul, you will continue to live. We should thank you for your abhorrent, misguided concept of protection though…how else would we have come to know a human Horcrux becomes as immortal as their master?”

“Oh, it was quite interesting to see Harlyn bounce back from your attempt on her life.” Voldemort glanced over at Severus. His lips curled. “And what a fitting punishment of yours to turn her into one of yours. Mother and daughter…united in their undying service to us.”

***

Draco was sucking on his finger and glared at Kopernikus. Harlyn warned him. It was his own fault he was bleeding. Kopernikus might be small and only a pigeon, but he was feisty. She petted his pitch-black feathers absentmindedly.

They had found a picnic table after they ran out of gold. Ron was playing with one of his rat skeletons, and Draco had complained about wearing the wrong kind of shoes until he made the mistake to try and steal some of Harlyn’s food - a huge portion of beef poutine she was too full to finish. Kopernikus defended her, his tiny body bursting with ferocious hatred for everyone and everything. 

Harlyn pulled her Potions knife out of her boot and placed her hand on the table, fingers splayed, stabbing the tip into the wooden surface in the gaps between her fingers.

“Don’t do that.” Draco groaned when she picked up her pace, going faster and faster, challenging her luck. “They’ll tear my head off if you cut yourself.”

“I’m bored!”

“I swear, you aren’t being entertained for five seconds and you start losing your mind.”

“That’s not true!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh!”

Harlyn adjusted the hairpin she bought, a round, metal circle with a deathhead moth at the bottom, adorned with beautiful moonstones. A pin was attached to it with a chain. The woman who sold them somehow managed to slide the pin into Harlyn’s hair, securing the ring to it - to Harlyn it had seemed like magic , and she was sure she’d not be able to do it herself. Perhaps Narcissa could show her…

“Wanna play ring toss?” Ron nodded towards the booth behind her where several house elves stood side by side while wizards and witches tried to throw big metal rings over their heads.

“Severus doesn’t want an elf in his house.” Harlyn shrugged. “And why play a game to lose on purpose?”

“Wack-a-gnome?” Draco asked.

Harlyn shrugged. In truth, most of the games seemed needlessly…cruel to Harlyn. Whacking a gnome with a beater bat? Hitting a seesaw to launch Pygmy Puffs in the air and attempt to catapult them into a bucket? Not to mention that Severus would be against a Pygmy Puff as much as he was the Puffskins…

Harlyn even sat down with an old woman who claimed to be a true seer, led by curiosity, though she had not been worth the Sickle Harlyn paid. She muttered some bullshit those scammers always say to every girl sitting down with them, about a handsome man coming her way and having many beautiful children - until she gasped and almost dropped the cup she was reading Harlyn’s tea leaves out of. 

The Grimm, she had muttered, voice high with panic, eyes wide. Harlyn had just rolled her eyes and left. Right. The omen of death. Sensational old hag.

“I’ll be right back. ” Harlyn murmured and grabbed her bowl. She needed some room to breathe. The fairground was loud and crowded and Harlyn still felt uneasy from seeing those Muggles caged up like animals to be stared at. 

She knew everything the Dark Lord said was true and that Muggles were little more than animals, but they looked…they looked human, just like her. She couldn’t help but picture herself being shoved in that cage for other people’s entertainment and the thought made her stomach turn.

She hated being stared at. Even here, surrounded by fantastical attractions she still could not escape the attention. Perhaps if the Dark Lord hadn’t come but… but Harlyn wanted him here…all of them . Her family.

Kopernikus chirped on her head and flapped his wings as if something bothered him. Harlyn looked around. The fair had been erected on an empty lot of land near a little forest. The light of the booths didn’t quite reach the forest border. It was much quieter here, with no one but herself finding their way behind the scenes.

“Hello there.”

Harlyn walked up to the large, black dog watching her from between the trees. Its eyes glowed yellow in the dark.

“Are you by any chance a Grimm?” She chuckled and knelt down, offering her hand to the dog to take a sniff. She loved dogs. All animals really.

It looked awfully thin . 

“Poor thing.” Harlyn cooed and scratched him behind the ears. “This is probably not very dog-friendly, but you can have the rest.” She put the bowl down on the ground. The dog devoured the leftover fries and pieces of slow-cooked beef slathered in gravy and cheese curds, leaving not even a drop of sauce behind.

“Good boy.” 

The dog was truly huge. Shaggy , dark fur and his emaciated appearance did make him look like she pictured an omen of death would look , but the dog was friendly, wagging its tail and trying to lick her face. Harlyn laughed and put up her arms to defend herself. She had to catch Kopernikus who suddenly decided pecking the poor dog’s eyes out was a good choice.

“Sorry about that. ” Harlyn said. “He can be so grouchy sometimes, but you don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

The dog whined. It wanted to bump its head against her shoulder but was visibly put off by the hatefully chirping pigeon.

“Anyway, I should go before…” She paused, frowning. “ before my fathe r-” Harlyn shook her head, chasing the thought away. It felt strange to call Voldemort her father and for some reason even more so because she wasn’t sure she was even allowed to. Would he let her? A part of her wanted him too but she was too fearful of rejection to bring it up with him.

“ Bye dog!”

It whined again but Harlyn didn’t stay. It didn’t follow her either. Seemingly terrified of the loud fairground.

“What are you doing here, girl?” Severus’ deep, perpetually disinterested voice rumbled through the night. He was leaning against a wooden post, arms crossed, one foot braced against the post, smoking a cigarette.

Kopernikus chirped and fluttered across the clearing to land on his master’s shoulder.

“Just…just catching a break.” Harlyn shrugged. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold despite the mild weather. There were no fires back here to keep the night’s cold at bay and Severus’ impenetrable gaze made her shiver.

“You are not supposed to go wandering about alone.”

“You let me go to Diagon Alley alone. I can fly alone. Do the shopping - why would I not be alone to go back here alone?”

It made no sense to her. Sure he was strict, and his rules were to be obeyed without question, but they always made sense and this …this contradicted too much.

“This is not open for debate.”

“Yes, sir.” 

His tone made her back down immediately. She averted her eyes.

“Th-thank you for allowing this.” Why was she so shy all of a sudden? Why couldn’t she bring herself to look at him? She all but threw herself at him last night.

“I did not have a choice in the matter.”

Of course.

Of course, he would not want to be here, not even for her - perhaps especially because it was for her? The thought hurt but the lack of gentleness, of quiet admiration it had last night tore through her self-confidence like the fangs of those dragons did their prey.

She wanted-

What did she want?

Was he right that she just couldn’t get enough? That nothing was ever enough for her?

Was it too much to ask for his…his what? His affection? Love? Somehow it sounded ridiculous, even just in her head.

Harlyn licked her lips. Her mouth felt dry. “I’m sorry I was so, uhm, demanding before…I will stop asking.”

The conversation with Voldemort left her unsure whether she still wanted the truth. 

He was right, it would not be something that could ever be taken back. Sure, it affected her and her life and not knowing was slowly driving her mad but what if the alternative was worse? What if she’d regret knowing? There must be a reason why she was chosen to lure Voldemort into a trap. He would not lust after the life of just some random baby, even if it was the product of a perverse union…The Dark Lord rarely afforded people the honour of dying at his hands…

She was no fool , she knew the scar on her forehead had to come from something huge, something monumental , she knew Dumbledore did not expect her to survive and he had been fine with it - but to know Voldemort, her master she had admired her whole life, the one last person she could hope for paternal love from, had wanted her dead? Had tried?

It was devastating.

Harlyn was devastated and nothing could distract her from the rupture his nonchalant words tore through her.

Severus pushed himself off the pole and closed the distance between them. He towered over her. He was taller than her, much taller, and Harlyn couldn’t help but remember his broad body crushing her into the mattress, her thighs straining around the girth of his hips, his hand encompassing her wrists-

Harlyn drew in a shaky breath. Heat spread over her cheeks, one mirrored deep within her, igniting a fire she was helpless to fight. She grasped fistfuls of tulle, clutching her dress on either side of her to stop herself from foolishly reaching out to Severus. He clearly didn’t want her the same way she did him, clearly didn’t want to crawl inside her chest and make a home for herself, spent every waking moment at his side, fulfil his every desire-

Harlyn wanted him with a force that knocked her off balance , that made the whole world around her tilt but while it continued life as normal, Harlyn was stuck fighting to not slide off the edge and fall into endless darkness.

Severus lifted his hand as though to cup her cheek. She couldn’t stop her body from moving, from leaning into him, urging him on, urging him to touch her by arching her back, whorishly thrusting her almost flat chest out to him as if that could possibly have any kind of convincing power. His hand hovered over her skin, so close to touching and yet separated by sheer endless cubic metres of night air.

He seemed unmoved by her wanton display, her embarrassingly obvious infatuation with him. His eyes - black holes drawing her in in in - as empty as always, shielding from her, concealing whatever was going through his brilliant mind. But he didn’t pull away either. Perhaps- perhaps if she made the first step (again) he’d lose control (again) and give her what she needed, what her insides clenched painfully at the mere thought of, but she didn’t.

Harlyn did not have any courage left and she already felt rotten for having pushed him. It got her what she wanted, and it had been life-altering , had been more than she could have ever possibly pictured - but it was terrible of her to play with his composure like that, to force his hand so shamelessly, to have behaved so entitled!

She kept taking and taking! He had done so much for her her whole life! He raised her when not even her own blood could be bothered to, when her birth father decided he’d rather rot in Azkaban than be with her - what right did she have to ask more of him?

Severus dropped his hand - long, slender fingers , accentuated veins, pale calloused skin spattered with fading potion stains.

“We are leaving.” His voice was void of any slither of emotion. He nodded towards the fairground, a clear order that left no room for discussion. Harlyn obeyed, even though her legs felt like jelly, and she was surprised she did not sway when walking.

She did not see Severus flexing his hand at his side.

Chapter Text

“Off to bed with you.” Severus shoved Lily into his bedroom without taking his eyes off Harlyn. Kopernikus fluttered off his shoulder to land in his nest on top of the wooden crown of his bed.

He grew up in a decaying, damp house in a slum near a factory that left the land and the river so polluted, it was a wonder anything managed to survive there. His mattress had been too thin to protect him from the bed springs that left him with terrible back pain to this day.

Severus didn’t care for luxury. He didn’t care about wasting the gold he worked so hard for. He didn’t need fancy, impractical robes or pretentious jewellery to prove to the world he was no longer that gaunt, neglected, filthy boy who was taught to fight for his place in this world on the streets of Spinner’s End - and later the corridors of what had been supposed to be his safe haven.

But his bedroom, his bedroom was his sanctuary, more so even than his laboratory or office.

The only disturbance of the peace and quiet he built for himself, from the world and his own past, was Lily.

He hadn’t planned on keeping her in his house after she surrendered herself to his mercy, but after two weeks Voldemort brought Harlyn back to him, branded with his mark, and declared Lily was to be a part of her life.

Harlyn didn’t move. She stood in the dark hallway, her winnings in arms, Weasley’s cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Brilliant green eyes behind ridiculous round glasses that should not be allowed to suit her so well stared at him. They seemed to glow in the dark like that of a cat.

A thousand things seemed to burn at the tip of her tongue as she shifted nervously under his attention. He did not snap at her, did not snarl whether she had not heard him or had the sugar corroded what little wit she could call her own.

He said nothing.

He held Lily’s wrist in his hand, blunt nails digging into her flesh, drawing blood, her joint twisted painfully, keeping her place. It happened out of sight from Harlyn. No matter how much it would have hurt Lily, he had never let Harlyn see this side of him, of their…arrangement.

Harlyn averted her eyes, drew away those piercing green dots, receding into the dark and stealing their sight from him.

“Good night, da-” She paused, bit her lip. “Sir.” A whispered addition that dripped with hurt.

What a ridiculous girl.

She turned on her heels and slid into her room, shutting the door quietly behind herself.

Severus slammed his door shut.

“You sick monster.” Lily hissed between clenched teeth. She lunged at him, throwing herself into the pain of her twisted wrist, her anger greater than her desire to evade damage she knew she would not receive healing for. 

Her long nails raked over his face and drew bright red streaks across his pale skin. The pain barely registered. Severus was used to worse. 

“Lying bastard! You swore you would protect her! You swore she’d be safe with you! Do you have no decency, Severus?! Have you been his lapdog for so long that you became as monstrous as he? You are nothing but vile, heinous vermin, the whole lot of you! She is sixteen! ” Tears stood in her green eyes, but the sight of them moved nothing inside Severus. Not the pain in her voice nor the desperation in her words made him feel anything but disgust at her pathetic display of foolish weakness. “And you despicable, abominable, pedophilic son of a bitch-”

Severus swirled her around. He pushed her face-first into the door without letting go of her wrist. He anchored it at her back, pushing her hand up towards the back of her neck until he was a mere inch away from dislocating her shoulder. He sunk his hand into her hair, grasped at it roughly, and yanked her head back.

“ Ephebophilic - if you want to insult me, at least use the proper terminology, though you forget that Harlyn is well over the age of consent, so neither term really applies, does it?”

“She’d - ahh - never-!”

He chuckled. “It’s pathetic how much you believe you know her.”

“You raped my daughter, you piece of shit! You-” Whatever unimaginative insults she was going to throw at him suffocated at the brush of his magic that rendered her vocal cords useless. Lily cried out, her face twisted with rage but no sound made it past her lips. She thrashed against him, tried to squirm out of his grip to attack him, but all she achieved was hurting herself further.

“Is that jealousy I detect?” Severus purred in her ear, lips brushing her skin. “It only goes to show…you are a horrible mother. It’s good Harlyn sees you as little more than a nanny…”

He let go of her. Lily crumbled to his feet, falling to her knees like a marionette whose strings were cut. Red, coppery hair hid her face. How he used to adore her hair…he had never seen hair like hers. The girls at his school were ugly little copies of the ill-conceived connections that fathered them - one could hardly speak of relationships , seeing how no adult in Spinner’s End could be arsed to raise their children, and most of the time the so-called fathers fucked off right after leaving their spunk in some woman they never cared about to begin with.

Lily had been a mythical creature. A girl so undeniably loved. Pretty and cute with her freckled face and lovely hair. Her parents bowed to her every wish. She was spoiled, though she knew how to conceal the unsavoury parts of her personality. Even at nine years old, she was a manipulative cunt.

She thought herself so irresistible that she believed he would let her treat him like shit and still grovel at her feet - oh how the tables had turned.

Severus pushed her hair aside, revealing the green eyes lurking beneath, treacherously similar to those of her daughter and yet so much less.

He should carve them out of her skull in punishment for the sin of believing she could ever measure up to his Harlyn…

“You really should have bargained for your own safety, rather than that of your daughter. You should have known when he failed to kill her, when his killing curse rebounded, that it meant something great had happened.”

It would never not be satisfying to see Lily at his feet.

It would never not be satisfying to witness that same torment she put him through flicker through her eyes. Torn between loving him and hating him. Perpetually trapped between wanting to never see him again and believing to be unable to go on living without him.

She had been a parasite.

At first, she made life easier. She gave him a place to flee to when it got too bad at home, but that was short-lived. She slowly, insistently fed on him, sucking strength and life out of him and leched over the fact she had him in the palm of his hand. 

She wasn’t so unlike him, and no matter how often she’d call him a monster, she could not flee from that truth. She enjoyed having power over another person. She got off to knowing she had power over him.

Severus had eviscerated every last person who ever had power over him, whoever made him weak .

His father. The priest. Slughorn. Dumbledore.

They were all dead.

He erased them from the memory of this world, and alongside them, the boy he used to be.

He was reborn at the hands of the Dark Lord, forged into a man through blood and death, lured into his treacherous, sickly-sweet embrace by the promise that he’d never be weak again.

But Severus had out-witted him too.

Petulant stubbornness tugged on Lily’s features as she pushed herself off the door and tore at his belt. Hate, desire, and unwillingness to admit defeat swirled in her eyes. On her, it looked nothing like it did on Harlyn. Harlyn’s stubbornness was endearing. Her fire was delicious. Her rage delectable.

Because Harlyn, unlike Lily, knew her place. Because Harlyn was aware of the line she was not to cross.

Harlyn was bound to Severus and Voldemort in undying loyalty, and all her banter, all her impertinence, all her adolescent rebellion against them were not born from a place of insubordination or arrogance - she did not believe herself morally above them and therefore inherently better than them while ignoring the fact that they all trudged through the same muck in pursuit of their ends.

She was their creation.

Her rage was their own.

Her clamour was their own.

She questioned the status quo as they had, and she pushed against the limitations of magic, unwilling to accept defeat, as they did.

Everything she was, she was because of them.

Lily drew his half-hard cock from his trousers, her eyes fixed on him, both a challenge and derision. She still believed it meant something when he found his pleasure in her. She failed to realise that she was nothing but a convenient place to unload his stress and cum. Or perhaps she simply deluded herself into believing it meant more.

What he did, did not come from a place of passion. There was nothing passionate about him fucking her. It was violence, it was humiliation, it was a fitting punishment for the woman who still lashed out at his no, his refusal to love her because he was the most convenient choice for her. The girl who had never heard the word and refused to tolerate it from the poor, good-for-nothing, awful Snape-boy. Severus was easy to control, he knew her, adored her, and after all, he owed her for her friendship.

Severus didn’t even care whether she actually loved him. Love was a feeble, useless thing, one only weak, pathetic fools like Dumbledore and Potter wasted their time on.

Severus watched Lily choke around his prick disinterested.

She was a good whore and knew how to take care of him, but Severus found it was nowhere close to as satisfying as it had been to slide into Harlyn’s throat…to have her little tongue lap eagerly at his throbbing flesh, her eyes seeking his approval and direction…

He kept picturing her in Lily’s place.

Lily wrapped her hand around the base of his cock she could not fit in her mouth. She twisted her hand as she bobbed her head, slobbering all over his cock.

That day in their fifth year, when Lily turned her back on him, it had not been because he insulted her. She lived among Muggles, and while she knew the word Mudblood had been meant as an insult, it meant little to her. It was but a convenient moment to punish Severus for shagging Mulciber - Mulciber instead of her.

And she was attempting the same now. 

She took him deeper, glared up at him, sputtered, and choked but did not stop. She squeezed his base and tilted her head to the side to lap at his balls. Pre-cum leaked from his cockhead and dribbled down her forehead.

“My my,” Severus hummed, lips curling into a snarling grin. “Someone is eager to prove she is better.”

Lily inhaled greedy gulps of air. Spit clung to her swollen lips and chin, drawing drooping arches between her face and his prick. She glared at him, silently, defeated and yet unwilling to accept it. She impaled herself on him, taking him deeper and deeper with each sputtering, squelching bob. She slobbered all over him like the filthy whore he turned her into, making a mess of herself. 

Back then, like the pathetic fool he had been, he ran to her like a lost puppy, grovelling for forgiveness.

But that was when Lily miscalculated. She showed him the cold shoulder, and instead of pulling him back in by giving him the runaround, by making him suffer not having her around - Severus met Voldemort for the first time…and Severus wrested himself from her influence.

“If only you had been less of a cunt, Lily.” He hummed, his tone taunting, and traced the curve of her jaw, straining around his girth, with his finger. He closed his hand around her throat, felt himself lodged there, squeezed, grunted- “If only you’d have known how to shut that little whore mouth of yours… If only you’d have been a little smarter…the Dark Lord offered you amnesty, I asked him to spare you…I was young and too blind to see you are nothing but a tedious, loud-mouthed fool who does not know her place. I still cared about you, even though I knew I would never love you.”

Severus snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in her throat. The back of her hand slammed into the door. 

“But instead you made the dimwitted choice to become pregnant in the middle of a war. Did Potter grow tired of you? You never could be alone. First, you forced Petunia to be around you, then me - did you decide to baby-trap Potter into staying?”

Severus knotted his hands into her hair, wrapped the red strands around his potion-stained fingers. He fucked into her with no consideration for her.

She used him to feel powerful, to feel better about herself, to feel admired and adored, and for that, he was using her now - the perfect punishment for being a conniving, insidious cunt .

“If you had been just a little smarter, you could have been my wife, not respected - no, nothing can ever erase the filth from your blood - but if you had only been less of a cunt, I would have still wanted to save you. I would have never loved you, but I would have kept you safe. But you chose to be petty. You chose to be a bitch. You chose Potter and bought into his foolish idealism. And then you chose to plead with me for his spawn’s life instead of your own!”

Severus let out a barking laugh.

“Two spoiled, wealthy little children that never saw a slither of the real world, and you seriously thought you’d win this war and do so without lowering yourself to my level. And then again thought you’d be able to save your own by offering your body to me” He rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched. Lily clung to his trousers. Tears and snot ran down her face, but she wasn’t even trying to push him off. The pathetic little whore didn’t even fight him. She never had. “As if your cunt would ever be able to make me forget what a bitch you are.”

He pulled her forward, yanked her head back, and slid further into her throat, burying himself as deep as possible within her, her nose pressed against his flesh.

He didn’t care whether she actually had feelings for Potter or not, it was of no concern to him, he didn’t care whether Harlyn had been an accident or the foolish decision two idiots came to while ignoring the world as they knew it was dying all around them.

She was a manipulative bitch and made one dumb choice after another and then came running to him, begging him to fix what she fucked up, begging him to raise Potter’s daughter but refused to accept she was no longer his - Harlyn belonged to Severus’ now. That had been her choice, and yet again she refused to take responsibility for her own choices.

“Do you really think I am not aware of everything that happens in my house?”

Lily sputtered and squirmed in his grasp. Her face turned red. Tears chased each other across her cheeks. 

“Did you really believe I would not know about your attempts to steal Harlyn from me? To turn her against me? You can tell her all you want about James Potter, it will never change the fact that she is no longer his.”

Severus pulled her off him, ignored the way she gasped for air, and dragged her over the ground by her hair towards her place in the corner of the room.

“She will always be his daughter.” Lily managed to squeeze the words out of her battered throat, though they were quiet and rendered hardly audible through her breathlessness. “His little fawn-”

Severus pushed her down, ignoring her yelp, and fastened her collar around her throat.

“Have you not looked at her? Have you not been watching her? Harlyn is far from a mellow, defenceless little fawn.”

He pressed her head down on the ground, crushing her cheek into the floor, his hand planted on the side of her head.

“And speaking of Harlyn,” He muttered into her ear, his body draped over hers, and pushed her knickers down. “she was practically begging for my cock.” He aligned himself with her. His cockhead slid in with ease, met with heat and the sticky, wet evidence of her arousal. “I did not take anything she did not gladly and enthusiastically give. I would never hurt my little Harlyn.” He bit the shell of her ear, savouring the way her cry of pain melted into a wanton moan, as he split her open on his cock.

“I took my time with her.” He went on, pounding into her savagely, taking, ripping pleasure from her body. Lily squirmed beneath him, writhing from pleasure and the punishing force of his thrust, stuck between pain and pleasure, between getting what she wanted and knowing he wasn’t truly giving it. “Oh, yes. I gave her a thorough shag, made sure her first time was not wasted. I showed her how a man should fuck the girl of his affection.”

Wizards were not prudish. The ideas of virginity and modesty were fed into wizarding culture by Muggles and their misguided religions. Their influence led to girls being punished for their sexual needs. Before, the word virginity was only used to describe blood that had never been used in a magical ritual and was therefore especially powerful.

Marriage was an economic transaction before all, to preserve family secrets, magical knowledge, and blood, so it was far from uncommon for married wizards and witches to seek love affairs outside their marriage. Often those partners joined the married couple in bed to make it easier for them to sire legitimate heirs.

“One could say, I went above and beyond on my fatherly duty to her.”

It was considered normal to have a parent present on the wedding night, the father of the bride and the mother of the groom - one to ensure his daughter would be treated kindly and properly, and the other to instruct her son on the workings of his new bride’s body. It ensured each party knew how to produce an heir so the lack of one could not be blamed on ignorance.

It was a practice that fell out of favour, but under the Dark Lord’s rule, it was making a comeback, though the couples would often only permit mothers entrance to their bedchambers.

Severus braced his hand against the ground above Lily’s head. His nose dug into her cheek. His hips worked mercilessly, pounding into her slick cunt, a taunting grind accompanying each brutal thrust, forcing helpless little mewls from her.

“She’s so tight, I swear I thought she’d pinch it off just by clenching down on me, but she took me so well...”

Lily thrashed beneath him, her body convulsing with waves of searing pleasure, seeking to escape the assault on her nerves, but there was nowhere for her to escape to, and Severus was not done with her.

He wrapped the chain anchored to the ground around his hand and yanked on it, pulling her up with him just to flip her over and settle between her twitching thighs. He pinned the chain down to the ground, shortening it to the point Lily could not lift her head without strangling herself. Severus’ hand on her waist, he forced her to arch her back to deepen his thrusts. Each one was accompanied by lewd squelching noises. Her arousal shined on the inside of her thighs and coated his prick.

Lily wrapped her hand around his wrist. Her hair lay scattered around her head like a bloody halo. Pleasure nipped at his spine, mellow, shuddering waves that spurred him on, coaxing and taunting at once.

“Sev - ahh-” Lily bit into her bottom lip. He snarled at her, a soundless show of crooked, yellow teeth. He stood at the precipice, trapped in place, unable to fall apart, to dissolve in pleasure, to succumb to the ringing of blood in his ears and the destructive force of coming undone.

She continued to make noises, breathy moans, sultry whispers of his name that only aimed to pull him back into her web, wanton, whorish cries.

Severus covered her mouth with his hand to shut her up. It did not help. He could feel her eyes on him. Those treacherous eyes that pretended to be something, some one they were not.

His thighs strained, burnt, both from pleasure and overexertion.

Severus dropped his head against her chest, pinned her hands to the ground when she tried to touch him. His breath quickened. Molten lava pounded through his veins. Her inner walls grasped him tightly as another climax washed over her, squeezing, tighter tighter tighter-

His vision blurred, and he squeezed his eyes shut, ignored the scent of her skin-

She used the same shampoo as Harlyn. Their hair almost smelled the same-

His mind raced, summoned memories, and morphed the image of the woman beneath him, all of its own volition.

He pictured Harlyn writhing beneath him, Harlyn’s sweet moans in his ear, Harlyn’s wild curls tickling his nose, the snake slithering over her skin beneath his hands, the phantom sensation of smooth scales against his palm…her fragile, small body convulsing at his hands, his hands wrapped around her throat, encompassing her thighs, her cunt clutching him, too tight, too hot- slick and welcoming-

Severus came with a low grunt, his face pressed against Lily’s collarbone, hips working aimlessly, rhythm shattering as he rutted into her, fucking his cum deep into her twitching cunt, almost mechanically, her daughter’s name on his lips.

He was gone the next second, as soon as his body obeyed his command again. The door locked behind him. Only the light of the moon falling through the arched window illuminated the bathroom. Severus’ hands were trembling, why he could not discern. He splashed his face with cold water, chasing the droplets down over his greasy hair.

He wanted that woman gone. He wanted to cut her from his life, erase her memory from the walls of this house.

He could not kill her.

Perhaps that was the true reason why he turned her into a Horcrux. The ultimate excuse why he did not rid himself of her when he loathed her closeness so much.

She was never meant to exist in his house.

When he accepted her bargain, he only kept her with him to have his fun with her. He was twenty-two and rising quickly in Voldemort’s favour, consumed by rage and hatred, the dark wizard knew how to direct it at the war effort expertly. He kept Severus’ wrath alive for as long as he could with no concern for what it would mean for Severus, no concern for how it would burn him out and leave him scarred, leave him unable to ever not be angry again.

Then she became the reason he had to abandon his first house, the first true home he had, for Harlyn’s safety. He hated Lily for that too.

Severus had fought too hard to find a place of peace, a place that was his, a place where he belonged and that no one could take from him, and she had gone and done it.

He clung to the sink, holding onto it so hard, his knuckles went white, hard enough to draw fissures into the porcelain as his magic leached from him.

Lily and Severus were bound together by years of friendship and a foolish blood oath to never part ways. Severus always doubted it had done anything. All they did was cut themselves and hold each other's hands while murmuring a stupid promise - though the magic of minors was known to be unpredictable.

No, Severus would never be able to bring himself to kill the first person who did not look at him like he was the scum of the earth.

No matter how much hatred might blossom between them, how much they might seek to destroy each other. She was in his blood, and there was no way of stripping her away - and it was the same for her.

It was a bond made of acid and flesh-eating bacteria, but a bond nonetheless.

He ought to have her thrown in Azkaban, he thought to himself as he lit a cigarette, leaving the bathroom and broken sink behind.

Throw her in Azkaban and be done with it. Have her spend the rest of eternity in a cell across from her dear husband, doomed to watch him rot slowly, to die, and ultimately his corpse decompose in front of her.

At least then, he’d have a place of peace for himself…a place where he could strip off his rage and hang it up like a coat, leave it by the door, and find some peace, some tranquillity…a place where he could ignore all that he had done, repress all that he had seen, all the screams that carved themselves into his eardrums…pretend he was still human…

The door to Harlyn’s bedroom was decorated with a plaque announcing her name in bold, block letters. Gold on a dark teal background.

He hesitated, hand hovering over the handle, a mere second of conflict, of hesitation.

Harlyn was snoring softly, passed out on top of the giant Jackalope, like a baby Opossum clinging to its mother’s back. 

Somehow, she managed to look like an angel and an utter mess at the same time.

He reached out to touch her, tuck her hair aside, brush his knuckles over her cheek, but before his skin touched hers, he stopped. Harlyn sighed in her sleep and pushed her face into the fluffy fabric of her latest treasure. 

Severus hated himself for having wanted to deny her this.

He disappeared as suddenly as he had come, leaving only the faint smell of cigarette smoke behind.

He still had work to do.

This whole irritating trip had messed up his schedule.

Severus put out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk just to light another. He poured himself a glass of whisky and unrolled the scrolls with troop movement and intel from his spies. His desk was scattered with maps, some topographical, some bearing the locations of their camps, others presumed strongholds of their enemies.

Comparing and transferring intel was tedious, slow work and required his entire focus - something that did not come easy to him tonight.

The whisky didn’t help.

It wasn’t a smart move, but it was either that or burning down the fucking house, so he took another sip.

A blue, translucent otter interrupted his patchy attention.

It bounced through his office before dissolving.

“What now…” Severus growled, but he grabbed his wand and conjured one of the unregistered portkeys he kept on hand for meetings with his spies.

He had been a spy before becoming the Dark Lord’s best soldier and rising to be his second in command and general of his armed forces. Severus knew how vital spies were in a war. He himself had slowly and carefully curated a vast network of spies that reported directly to him.

Wand drawn, Severus made his way through the dark forest, wary of his surroundings. If anyone was following them, his spy would become useless. She was too smart for such impromptu meetings unless shit had hit the fan. She was deep cover. Even just coming to England was mad, but the girl was neither dumb nor careless. She was his best.

She’d have a good reason.

(She better)

“Do not play games with me, girl.” He hissed. Out of the shadows stepped a cloaked figure. She pushed her hood down, revealing the bushy mane of long brown hair that was even more horrible than Harlyn's, even more unsightly.

It had been a year since he last saw her face-to-face. She had changed. Appearances changed quickly during adolescence. How old was she now? Seventeen?

As a Mudblood, the girl could not have hoped for a good life. She had been picked up by snatchers and a couple of Death Eaters who were trailing an operation led by the Order for a while. Dumbledore was using his disciples to smuggle Muggleborns and Muggle relatives of wizards and witches out of the country, but as the war came into its final stages, after their leader was executed, they grew desperate to save as many as they could and thus became careless.

The girl was placed in an orphanage for Half-bloods until they could decide what to do with her. Voldemort wanted her interrogated to see what she might know. Since Severus had been raising Harlyn for two years at that point, he was chosen to conduct it.

He met an obviously terrified six-year-old. What stood out was how well-spoken she was. Her vocabulary and sentence structure were far ahead of any other child her age. She had taught herself magic and proudly showed him when he prompted her to. She was mindful of authority figures and responded well to the authority he naturally exuded.

She was smart. Brilliant, some might even say.

Severus saw potential, and in the six years that followed, she proved that the chance he had given her was not wasted on her.

She studied under Barty’s instruction eagerly, soaking up every drop of knowledge tossed her way. She learnt feats of magic a child her age should not have been capable of, to the point she started teaching herself spells from her books whenever she felt Barty wasn’t teaching her enough.

She was perfect for the assignment Severus had in mind for her. He taught her combat and mind magic, taught her to resist any known method of extracting information and memories, from Veritaserum to torture.

She was eager to repay him for saving her, eager to show the Dark Lord she was better than the filthy blood running through her veins.

At twelve years old, her mission began. They planted her at the International Confederation of Wizards that had begun taking in refugees from England, close to the scattered remainders of the Order of the Phoenix.

The girl used her training and her blood status to worm her way into the inner circle of the Order. They trusted her implicitly, and the information she fed Severus was invaluable. Though they could not use every bit of intel, as it would compromise her position as a spy, the difference she had made to the war was undeniable.

“This better be important.” He hissed at her. The girl didn’t flinch. He must have been too soft on her when she was a child.

“It is.” Her voice was grave. “The request for a ceasefire. It’s a trap.”

“This is why you called me here?” He snapped. “You must realise we will not be entertaining negotiations.” He turned on his heels to stalk away, but she called him back.

“ That precisely is the trap, General!”

He stopped mid-step but did not yet turn around.

“They know you will not even deign them an answer. Shacklebolt and Moody have been appealing to the council for months, hell, years even! If you deny this request, if you decide to not entertain their negotiations, it’ll be the last bit of evidence they need to convince the ICW to bring together the forces of all their member states and launch a united attack on the Dark Lord’s stronghold.”

They would not be so foolish as to attempt killing Voldemort directly? Were they planning to attack Slytherin Manor? Voldemort would not die, he could not die, but the destruction of the compound would eviscerate morale among his soldiers and leave their borders weakened…

He glanced over his shoulder, meeting the girl’s warm brown eyes. “And you are certain of this?”

“I would not have summoned you if I weren’t.” She produced a vial with a silvery content from her cloak and presented it to him. Severus summoned it with a twitch of his wand. He weighed it in his hand, as though he’d be able to extract the information from the memory by merely looking at it.

“Very well.” He said eventually and stuffed the vial into his pocket. “Good job, Granger.”

“I’m only doing my duty, sir. Serving my country.”

“Return now, before you are missed.”

“Yes, General.” Hermione Granger bowed her head and disappeared, yanked through space by a Portkey, leaving Severus alone in the dark woods with his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Fall had officially taken over, its reign bringing lower temperatures, harsh winds, and rain.

It had been raining all day .

Harlyn was already sick of it. She sat at her desk - quill in hand, ink slowly dripping from its tip and staining the page on banshees in her book of dark creatures - staring out of her window at the ceaseless rain pattering against the glass. For the third day in a bloody row!

Severus had been leaving before lunch and only came home during the early morning hours every day. Sometimes Harlyn heard him arrive, still lying in bed, too comfortable to get up. She heard his footfalls in the hallway, and shortly after, her mother would slip downstairs to fix breakfast and go about her duties. Severus slept for a few short hours before disappearing again.

She barely got to see him, much less have that conversation he promised her. Not that she’d know what to say…

Harlyn was also avoiding being alone with her mother. During their trip to the fair, she had sensed that something was going on between her mother and Severus, and Harlyn had the sneaking suspicion that it was concerning her. She wasn’t eager to find out.

She was bursting with energy. She didn’t do well cooped up inside, but she had been told by Voldemort to not leave the house alone.

The only one who hated the rain more than her was Hedwig, who was sulking in the pink, fluffy cat bed on top of her wardrobe. She wasn’t even hunting, which made her even crankier. She needed the exercise as much as Harlyn. There were only so many workouts Harlyn could do in her room, and she was slowly growing sick of each and every one of them.

Something was going on, she could sense it, and it had nothing to do with Sirius Black somehow escaping Azkaban. No, this was bigger. And she was being kept in the dark, once again.

Harlyn slammed her book shut with an exasperated groan.

There was a knock at the door. Harlyn wasn’t fast enough, and Lily did not make the same mistake twice. She opened the door immediately after knocking and before Harlyn could jump into bed to pretend to be asleep.

“Mum-”

“A letter came for you.” She held a sealed envelope in her hands. 

“Thanks, I’ll read it in a moment. I’m busy.” Harlyn turned back to her book.

“I didn’t recognise the owl.”

Harlyn merely grunted.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Lily waited for a response, perhaps another half-arsed denial, but Harlyn merely stared at the ink-stained drawing of a Banshee. Her mother sighed. Instead of leaving, though, instead of accepting Harlyn not wanting to talk, she sat down on her daughter’s bed. Harlyn watched her mother from the corner of her eye. She was sitting right where Harlyn had been kneeling when Severus shoved his hand into her knickers.

Harlyn was fighting the blush that wanted to creep up her neck as hard as she could. To no avail.

“I know what he did to you.”

Lily’s eyes bored through the back of her head, heavy. Was it pity that dampened her voice? Barely contained judgement? Something else entirely?

“Harlyn, you can talk to me-”

“Talk about what, mum?” Harlyn threw a scathing look over her shoulder. “I am well-versed in the subject of consent thanks to you shoving it down my throat since I was a child!”

“You are still a chi-”

“No, I’m not!” Harlyn shook her head. She couldn’t help the bitter, derisive laugh that slipped from her lips at Lily’s benevolent and yet forced smile. “I’m sixteen. I’m old enough to get married. Old enough to drink and join the war. I am the Dark Lord’s ward! I can do what I want.”

Lily seemed flustered at Harlyn’s blunt words, but she didn’t care.

“You say you know what he did to me, but let’s be honest, you know nothing! You don’t know what happens outside the walls of this house, you have no idea about anything-”

“You cannot let him get away with hurting you.”

Harlyn laughed. The thought was just too ridiculous to not laugh. Severus wouldn’t hurt her. He was a prick and had the emotional intelligence of a Flubberworm, but he’d never hurt her! He hurt her feelings by being a big, dumb idiot, but the way he had looked at her while he was inside her…the way he kissed her…how he delayed his departure for the frontlines to tend to her bruises…a man who would not act like that towards a woman they did not care about.

Severus had spent the last fourteen years protecting Harlyn.

“Do not use me to get your vengeance on him, mum. These are the consequences of your actions and choices, and just because he is raping you does not mean he’s doing the same to me.”

“The way he treats other women tells you precisely what kind of man he is.”

“But you are not other women , mum.” Harlyn muttered, but either Lily didn’t hear or she chose to not hear it.

“What he does to you, he does to hurt me.”

“He is good to me! He is…” Harlyn remembered the vulnerability in his voice when he talked about having failed her. She was sure he hadn’t really been talking to her. It sounded more like he was saying his thoughts out loud, but Harlyn heard them, even if she hadn’t been capable of doing much with them at that moment. The way he praised her for taking his cock-

Harlyn had no words to describe his actions towards her. He was a confusing, vexing, irritating man. He wasn’t gentle or kind exactly…he- he was Severus Snape. He was impossible to read, and he kept his every card so close to his chest, one couldn’t even hope to catch a glimpse at them, but-

But the way he looked at her…

“He might have been a spy and good at deceiving people, but- the way he kissed me? The way he holds me? Nobody can fake that.”

Lily frowned. “He kissed you-” Her voice trailed off into a whisper. For a moment her eyes seemed to glaze over, as though she was trapped in her own thoughts. She shook her head a moment later, visibly chasing away whatever had taken hold of her.

Was it so weird that Severus kissed her? Silas had practically been begging to kiss her. What was wrong with wanting to kiss Harlyn?

“He is no longer the boy I used to know. I thought he could be trusted to keep his word, but look at what they’ve done to you. My beautiful girl-” Lily choked up, her sentence ending in a suppressed sob. Harlyn touched her fingertips to the snake’s head resting on her throat. Her mouth felt dry and fuzzy. A weight settled deep inside her, making her feel sick. Was this what Lily really thought about her? Why her expression seemed so sad whenever she looked at Harlyn?

The snake had been a part of Harlyn for as long as she could remember. It had been with her, wherever she went. Severus said it protected her when the Order tried to steal her away from the Dark Lord…It helped her during his challenge, and why else would Voldemort always tell her to not fight it when he trained her, if not because it was there to guide and protect her?

Harlyn didn’t like people staring at it, sure, but that was mostly because she didn’t like being stared at, being made to feel like a freak.

Right now, her mother made her feel like one.

Was that what made it so unbelievable that someone would want to kiss her?

Harlyn looked away, choosing to stare at the floorboards between them rather than letting her mother see the tears burning in her eyes.

“I am beautiful.” She whispered, even though the words tasted bitter on her tongue. And once again, her mother didn’t seem to hear her.

“You are too smart to let yourself be fooled by him, Harlyn.” She went on. “Why do you think he is doing this? Because he loves you? He has barely even looked at you. He has not a single kind word to say to you. All he does is criticise you. Oh, my sweet girl, I am so sorry I didn’t protect you from him-”

“Don’t!” Harlyn hissed between clenched teeth. “Don’t talk to me like I am some delicate flower that’ll wither simply from being looked at too hard. And I am not a stupid little girl who is too infatuated to know when she is being played with.”

“There is no shame in that. You are young.”

Harlyn looked up, met her mother’s eyes, glared. A glare that was worthy of someone raised by Severus Snape. “A boy is rotting in the dungeons beneath Slytherin Manor right now because he thought he could fool me, who thought he could play with me and use me to advance his own station, mother . I put him there. I am the Dark Lord’s ward, I don’t need anyone to protect me!”

“Harlyn-”

“No!” Harlyn slammed her fist down on her table. Hedwig emitted a disgruntled shriek, startled by the loud noise. “I will not continue listening to you trying to- to…what are you even attempting here? Are you trying to poison my relationship with Severus? He is the Dark Lord’s second in command, you must realise that all of Britain is looking up to him, no?”

Lily pressed her lips into a thin line, the gesture seething with scorn.

“He is the paragon to every boy and young man in this country. Would you have such harsh judgement for every single one of them too if I were to decide to fuck them? Or just Severus? Perhaps it isn’t worry at all that motivates you.” Harlyn stared at her mother, searched her face for clues, any little hint that could help her understand her, but she found nothing. Slowly, Harlyn shook her head, disbelief and numbness spreading through her.

“You aren’t worried or scared for me…are you jealous?” Harlyn couldn’t believe she was actually asking her mother that, and even less that Lily wasn’t reacting with outrage at the accusation. Wasn’t reacting at all. “Are you afraid he is going to grow tired of you now that he has me? As far as I am concerned, you are the only one to blame for that.”

“I am still your mother.”

Harlyn screwed up her nose at Lily. “Barely.”

“I will not tolerate you talking to me like that.”

“I don’t give a single fuck what you will ‘tolerate’. At the end of the day, you are just a Mudblood.”

Harlyn was too angry to care whether she’d come to regret her words later. Lily might very well be her mother, but she was overstepping her bounds. No non-magical parent could have custody over a magical child, and the only reason Lily was even permitted to be around to see her grow up was Voldemort’s mercy.

Lily was ungrateful, and from Severus, she had learnt there was nothing worse than ungratefulness.

“So, yes. I let Severus fuck me. I sucked his cock too, and I’ll do it again if he wants me to. After all, we have the Dark Lord’s blessing, and that is really all that matters to me. Perhaps it is time I stop listening to you.”

“Am I interrupting?”

Harlyn’s head swirled around.

In the doorway to her room stood Bellatrix Lestrange. Tall, devastatingly beautiful, and holding herself as though she were standing in a throne room and the whole wide world were nothing but her court, bound to obey her every whim.

Her dark eyes scanned Harlyn’s room with meagre interest until settling on Lily, nostrils flaring with disgust.

“Obviously.” Harlyn muttered as soon as she recovered from the surprise of her sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”

The thick, shining hair framing her pretty face in a dark cloud suited her. She made the messy curls look perfect. 

Unlike Harlyn. 

Bellatrix owned every room she stepped into. She commanded attention and respect and fear. She could be witheringly diplomatic if it suited her, charm whoever she chose as her target with words as sweet as honey, the most delectable poetry, purred words of sultry that concealed the dagger she poised against their chest.

“I sent a letter.” She said, her voice bored.

Harlyn’s eyes snapped to the letter that was still in Lily’s hands.

“So what? You send a letter, and a mere ten minutes later you show up?” Harlyn was agitated. She didn’t like having someone sneak up on her, in her own home too, by someone Severus didn’t trust.

He said Bellatrix was too volatile, too insane, too easily influenced by her feeble desires. She could be the perfect soldier, an invaluable weapon commanded by the will of the Dark Lord, but she could also go rogue from one moment to the other and slaughter everyone that got in her way to sate her bloodlust.

But perhaps Severus mistrusted her because she was a natural Occlumens, and therefore impossible for him to read.

The corner of Bellatrix’ mouth twitched, eyes gleaming viciously.

“My, my. You are as easily vexed as Snape.”

Crossing her arms, Harlyn leaned back in her chair, attempting to look as untouchable as Snape and probably failing. “He isn’t here.”

“You think I’d step foot in this place if he were?”

Harlyn summoned the letter with a twitch of her wand. She broke the seal careless - it bore the Lestrange raven - and skimmed the swirly writing. In the meantime, Bellatrix observed her room more closely, brushing her fingertips over the spines of Harlyn’s books and picking up some Quidditch memorabilia she had collected over the years. She concealed her curiosity skilfully with feigned disinterest and boredom, though Harlyn had spent enough time with the Dark Lord to know she had learnt this from him. Bellatrix was the opposite of disinterested. She was cataloguing everything in Harlyn’s room, from the pictures covering up her hated wallpaper, to the way Harlyn chose to organise her books.

“I’m going to stay with you? Why?” 

Bellatrix shrugged. “All I know is that Snape is busy, and with my cousin on the loose, the Dark Lord wants you with me for… safekeeping.”

“I’m not some pet.” Harlyn hissed.

“No? You do behave like a rabid weasel sometimes, though.” Bellatrix let a snow globe with a tiny flying broom that Draco got her for Yule one year drop back down on the shelf and turned towards Harlyn, wiping her hands on her black dress. A silver bird skull pendant rested against her chest. Harlyn wondered whether it was supposed to represent a raven, and if yes, what that said about her marriage to Rodolphus… 

“No doubt that’s why you get along so well with Ronald.” She giggled, a mixture of mischievous glee and a mad crackle.

Harlyn stuck out her chin. “And why he gets along so well with you.”

Bellatrix’ cackle grew louder.

“Touché. Now, gather your things, little brat. I can already feel my skin itching. Must be the vermin.” She glanced at Lily. “I will wait downstairs for you.”

Harlyn felt no inclination to defend her mother.

***

The Lestrange estate was gorgeous. A stately, old English manor from the outside, surrounded by a well-maintained garden that would impress any guest arriving at the estate, but upon closer inspection, it became clear that neither of the Lestrange brothers nor Bellatrix particularly cared about it.

The gardens at Malfoy Manor were meticulously designed and tended to by Narcissa personally, who had a whole staff of gardeners at her disposal she chased around to ensure everything was just perfect . There were different sections for different times of the year, areas to sit, areas to gather fresh produce and herbs, and areas to watch birds or the albino peacocks strutting around. Bees swarmed around, collecting nectar busily and bringing it back to their hives.

The honey at Malfoy Manor was so good that even Severus would not decline a jar of it whenever Narcissa invited them for dinner.

The Lestrange’s garden was stunning, all flourishing roses and neatly trimmed hedges, polished benches, simply beautiful, but it lacked something, something that Narcissa poured into her garden every second that she worked on its splendour.

Still, it was infinitely prettier than their garden back home.

Severus had planted a whole apothecary's worth of plants and fungi he used for a wide array of potions, but they couldn’t keep up with a traditional garden.

Stepping inside was like going back in time, like stepping foot into an 18th-century château somewhere in the heart of France.

The walls were decorated so richly with gold moulding, the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceilings made every room glitter and gleam.

Rich dark blues, gentle teals, and noble maroons accented the gold, each room having a different colour scheme.

Tall, arched windows allowed sunlight to flood the rooms, while the hallways were panelled with dark wood, every available inch lined with imposing portraits of long-dead Lestranges.

Every step one took through these esteemed halls was watched closely, observed, committed to oil-painted memory, and probably related to the head of the family.

Whenever Harlyn visited Ron, she was happy about Severus not having put up portraits from Prince Manor in their home. 

It was creepy as fuck.

Bellatrix had shown Harlyn to a guest room close to Ron and Ginny’s rooms before leaving her alone. The youngest of the Weasley children had returned to Hogwarts a few days ago when the new term started, which Harlyn was not sad about. She was a bit…clingy. She was nice, but too much. Ron called her obsessed with Harlyn, and that just made her all the more uncomfortable.

There was a portrait of a Thestral herd grazing in a dark forest that hung on the wall opposite the rococo bed with a white gold frame. It looked like some princess might have slept in it centuries ago…

Ron wasn’t home, according to Bellatrix, and neither were either of the Lestrange brothers. The way she said it, sounded like the only reason she was here at all was Harlyn, though Harlyn didn’t detect any grudge in her voice. The last thing anyone should take lightly was pissing off Bellatrix fucking Lestrange.

Harlyn slumped down on the bed, bouncing lightly on the soft mattress, and rubbed her face. She wondered how much of the conversation with her mother Bellatrix had overheard and whether Harlyn cared about it…

She stayed in her room for several hours, looking through the books on the shelves, investigating the bathroom cupboards, browsing one of the novels she packed disinterestedly. She didn’t feel like reading or doing much of anything, really. She hadn’t been doing anything at home either, and it was still raining.

Not that she packed her broom.

Eventually, Harlyn left and sauntered through the hallways, but she quickly grew uneasy from the judgemental stares and hushed whispers being exchanged about her appearance, her clothes, bad posture, and questionable blood status. Harlyn huffed and fled into the closest room, just to avoid a particularly bold old fucker.

“Ah, la petite Madame Royale.” Rodolphus snapped the book in his hand shut. He sat in a throne-like chair by a fire, his legs casually crossed, and grinned at Harlyn.

Whatever they fed Ron that made him grow into a brawny giant, he was clearly getting it from Rodolphus. The younger of the Lestrange brothers was the quieter of the two. The few times Harlyn interacted with him or when Voldemort made him duel her during one of their training sessions, he stayed calm, barely fazed by whatever was thrown his way. He never raised his voice, never lost his composure. He was calculated, highly intelligent, and strategic.

The polar opposite of his wife.

Rabastan was more intimidating of the two, though most of that came from the knowledge that he went to school with the Dark Lord. It gave him this air of inviolability. He was also more likely to snap, to lose his shit from one second to another. He was the Dark Lord's executioner and torturer.

“Is your room to your liking?”

“Uh-”

He frowned. “Non?”

“It’s great, stunning- too much.”

Rodolphus chuckled. He gestured towards the chair across from him. Harlyn sat down. She visited the Lestranges often, but she’d spend most of her time in Ron’s room or down in the cellar. She never really interacted with his foster parents. 

“My ancestors built the manor when they immigrated to England in the late 18th century.” Rodolphus bid the teapot on a small time at his side to fill a cup, which he handed her. “Though my family never abandoned their roots.”

“It’s important to know where one comes from.” Harlyn murmured into her cup. She was surprised to taste floral notes. She would have expected to prefer a strong, black tea, though perhaps she was wrong to assume that, given the decadent taste his family clearly had, judging by all the gold and crystal gleaming at her.

“Indeed. Though the French branch of my family faded, the consequence of a rather unstable, distant cousin. Only my brother and I remain.”

“And yet you don’t have any children yourself.” Harlyn didn’t mean for her words to sound quite so mean, but Rodolphus’ smile didn’t waver.

“Ronald and Ginevra are my children…You seem surprised.”

“I- no…Ron told me you were considering giving him your name.”

“Oh, I will. As soon as he has found a suitable wife capable of producing a male heir.”

Harlyn wondered how it would feel to be claimed like that. To be spoken about with such fondness.

“Severus gave you his name.”

“Only because he would not have a child with my father’s name living under his roof.” Harlyn blinked tears away before they had the chance to show in her eyes and quickly took a sip of tea. “He is not my father.”

“No.” Rodolphus said, an unreadable smile curling his lips. “No, not he. But the Dark Lord could hardly give you his name.” 

“What is the Dark Lord’s name?” Harlyn realised her impertinence the second the words had left her lips. She knew Voldemort despised his name - a common Muggle name - but Harlyn was overcome with curiosity as she had no idea where his magical roots actually lay.

Rodolphus rose in an elegant, smooth motion and stepped through a door behind Harlyn. She set her teacup down and hurried to follow him.

“I shouldn’t have asked-” She paused, staring wide-eyed at the huge tapestry covering the entire wall in the sprawling office. The room was ridiculously big to house only a solid-wood desk, but had it been any smaller, the tapestry would not fit.

“The Dark Lord is a Gaunt on his mother’s side.” Rodolphus brushed his fingers over the name woven in gold thread. “A once great family that fell into disgrace, their predilection for splendour and little sensibility when it came to spending emptied their vaults faster than they were filling up. As descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and with the great pride they took in it, they considered it a shame if a child born into their ranks did not possess the skill of their ancestor.”

“Parseltongue? What would happen if a child wasn’t a Parselmouth?”

“Oh, they killed them.” Rodolphus said it so casually. So matter-of-factly. Harlyn was horrified. “Of course that was not a sustainable practice, especially since they did not want their line to end, so they instead opted to only marry their cousins, creating a rather…circular family tree. No, that is not a name he would give his chosen daughter.”

Harlyn tried not to blush.

“You are, of course, a descendant of the Peverells, just as the Dark Lord.” Rodolphus moved to another part of the tapestry, pointing out the family. “Ignotus Peverell, the youngest of the three brothers, rumoured to have possessed the true Cloak of Invisibility.”

“Cloak of Invisibility—do you mean like in the tale of the three brothers?”

“You are familiar then?”

“Cissy often read it to me and Draco when we were little.”

Rodolphus chuckled. “Yes, the Black sisters always shared a particular fondness for that tale. Three, uniquely gifted, powerful wizards - three sisters from a strong bloodline, eager for power… I believe Bella was most fond of the Elderwand.”

“It’s real then? The whole tale? Death, and the three artefacts…”

“For many years, it was just a tale. Some believed it was true, and some even searched for the items. The Dark Lord would be able to tell you more than me, though.” He turned back towards the tapestry. “The Gaunts were also descendants of one of the Peverell brothers. The second born, Cadmus.”

“The resurrection stone!” Harlyn’s eyes lit up. As children, she and Draco would often argue about which artefact was the best, staying up instead of sleeping and fighting in hushed tones to not be caught by Narcissa. He favoured the Elderwand as well (though Harlyn was sure his opinion had changed over the years), and Harlyn would argue the stone was the best.

“It is likely your special talent,” Rodolphus gave Harlyn a pointed smirk. “Comes from that very connection. All pure families are connected. Ronald and his sister-” He pointed them out on the tapestry. “Are in fact related to me, as you can see.” He followed the branching, convoluted lines back to his own name. “We share blood, but most importantly, I raised them. They are mine, and they will continue my family’s legacy.”

“But Ginny can’t pass your name on?”

“Of course she can. She’ll marry some third-born son from a less important family, a Beaufort or a MacDougal, and he’ll be more than honoured to have his children carry my family’s name.”

Rodolphus pulled a silver pocket watch from his robes and checked the time. He sighed.

“Alas, we will have to continue this conversation at another point. I must depart now.”

“Where to?” Harlyn aimed for an innocent tone of voice, though the amused gleam in Rodolphus’ eyes told her she failed.

“You’ll have to be slyer than that to get me to reveal something I shouldn’t.” He stowed his pocket watch away and folded his hands behind his back. “As it happens, the location is not the part I am forbidden from speaking to you about. I am expected at Slytherin Manor.”

Harlyn suppressed a groan. “I know that much.” She muttered.

“Ah, but we were not at Slytherin Manor earlier.” Mischief played around his eyes. Harlyn’s mind raced.

“The ministry?” She said a heartbeat later. That was the only other logical possibility. The frontlines did not make sense, as they weren’t a suitable place to discuss whatever secrecy they were keeping from her, and Severus would not be coming home in that case anyway. He’d stay at the frontlines, so all that was left was the ministry.

“But why…”

Rodolphus clicked his tongue, a pitying noise.

“Why am I not staying at Slytherin Manor? Usually, when Severus is indisposed, I am at Slytherin Manor.”

“That is true. But the twins are staying there for the moment, and the Dark Lord does not trust you to not…persuade them into helping you eavesdrop.”

Harlyn crossed her arms in front of her chest. “As if Fred and George ever need persuasion to break the rules.”

“Yes - I suppose it was not the best choice to place them with Thorfinne Rowle and his wife…well. I bid you adieu, Madame Royale.” He made a mocking bowing motion before heading towards the fireplace. He gathered a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the flames that tinged green immediately. The next moment, he was gone.

Harlyn huffed.

She was absolutely certain now that whatever was so important concerned her. Why else the secrecy? Why else put her where she could be watched? Where someone could make sure she wouldn't go snooping around?

Harlyn didn't like having people talk about her behind her back and not even knowing what they were saying.

She turned back towards the tapestry. She traced the gilded lines going away from Ignotus Peverell, weaving across the many family connections until she found herself, there, towards the bottom. A line pointed away from James Potter's name, connected to an empty space. Her mother's name had no place on this tapestry, but Harlyn did. There she was. Her name, gold just like the others, marked with a delicate, blue iris - just like all the girls...

Harlyn spent a long time in front of the tapestry. She knew the basics of genealogy, Narcissa taught her about the most important families, made her memorise their crests and mottos, and told her about their most famous members. And yet, Harlyn was eager to seize this opportunity to find out more about how she fit into this whole, intricate web.

She found Severus too, his mother's name - Eileen Prince - connected to a blank space too, just like Harlyn's father. A part of her mourned that her name did not appear underneath his, but another part...an increasingly difficult to ignore part, pictured her own name next to his.

Chapter Text

“Hand me the soap.” Ron nodded towards a bottle on a counter without even looking up. It wasn’t a request either. While working, he was entirely consumed by the specimen on his table, to the point it was his sole focus, to the point that the word please evaporated from his vocabulary.

“This is so disgusting.” Harlyn huffed as she jumped off the counter to fetch the bottle.

“Tis just dead bodies.”

“Bugs, Ron! A shit ton of freaking bugs!” She gestured towards the countless bins crowding every available shelf place. The clear plastic revealed the million bugs swarming around inside them, devouring every bit of soft tissue on the specimens. Harlyn still didn’t want to know where the fuck he got either from.

Ron shrugged. “The easiest way to clean bones without damaging them.”

“What do we even have magic for?” Her tone was scathing, though Ron knew there was no true venom behind her words. She flopped the bottle down next to him. It was dish soap. The only not disgusting thing in his entire workshop, atelier as he called it. Harlyn pulled the collar of her jumper over her nose.

The stench of death and peroxide hung in the air.

He was never this concentrated. His passion and dedication to his freaky as fuck projects almost made her jealous. Harlyn didn’t have a hobby like this she could focus on on rainy days or when she was grounded (again).

Harlyn was too easily frustrated and too impatient for crafts of any kind. She had a few colouring books she liked, but those for adults were far too fucking tedious, and the cute ones with big spaces that were done quickly, and she loved, she was too embarrassed to do when Severus was home.

It was for kids, he’d say, no doubt.

She tried making a dollhouse with Narcissa - she worked on a true-to-scale replica of Malfoy Manor - but she just ended up glueing her fingers to everything whilst simultaneously somehow managing to not make the things that were supposed to stick together actually stick.

She sucked at archery too.

She was decently good at brewing, and she enjoyed it! But watching Severus brew, Ron work, Draco with his bow, Narcissa in her garden or working at the dollhouse - Harlyn just didn’t have that passion. That focus where time and hunger just faded away and the whole world was pushed into the background, rendered unimportant for the time she was hunched over a cauldron.

So often lately, Harlyn found she had no idea who she was. Did she like potions because she liked them, or because they were Severus’ passion and she wanted him to love her? Did she actually enjoy duelling, or was that the part of her that wanted to please Voldemort? Was flying her passion or just something handed to her by her treacherous father when she was still in the cradle?

Had Harlyn never asked Severus for different clothes because she was satisfied with what she had, or was she afraid of displeasing him?

Who was she?

And why did she struggle to find her place when Ron seemed so utterly content among the Lestranges? He had been with them for thirteen years, a year less than Harlyn had lived with Severus, and yet he was utterly at home here. At dinner, he bantered with Rodolphus, he asked Bellatrix for advice, he discussed his future with them - even Rabastan was nothing but warm and familial with him!

Why couldn’t Harlyn have that?!

Over the past year, Ron had found his role in this world and settled into the expectations resting on his shoulders. And Harlyn hadn’t even noticed until coming to stay with them…

Ron added a generous splash of soap into the bucket of water on the table in front of him and got to scrubbing the tiny bones of a dead rat with a toothbrush.

“Remind me to never forget my toothbrush here.” Harlyn shuddered.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He pointed at her with a rat femur. “The general’s slime jars are so much worse!”

Harlyn cringed. “Don’t call him that. Ew, since when is he the general?”

Ron lifted his left arm over his head, high enough for Harlyn to see the jet-black mark against his underarm.

“Yeah, I know- but…it’s weird.”

“Who am I to question the chain of command?” Ron looked up, meeting Harlyn’s eyes over the vat of bubbling, foaming hydrogen peroxide. “But I agree. It’s weird.”

Harlyn leaned against the table, her arms crossed atop it, bent over the tabletop to rest her head on her arms. She watched Ron scrub at the fragile bones before tossing them into the peroxide. 

Harlyn had been only mildly successful at not thinking about Severus.

She was mostly alone, and while the manor was bigger than her own home, it was no less boring to be here. More so perhaps, since this new environment also brought feelings of not belonging and intruding on another family’s life…one that was so different from her own, and then she’d think about Severus again.

She was thinking about him now too. Ron summoned him into the poisoned air of his atelier, speaking him into reality by simply mentioning him, and he, like the bugs on the shelves, ate his way through her soft tissue, worming his way into her brain and heart.

Harlyn blew a curl out of her face, just for said curl to land right back where it was before.

“Ron?”

“Mh?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Haven’t you already?”

Harlyn threw a rag at him that Ron dodged without even looking up from his bone-washing station.

“How can I tell if…if a guy likes me?”

Ron paused so abruptly that Harlyn thought for a moment he had been hit with a stunner. “Ask him.”

“Be serious!” Harlyn groaned and dropped her head against her arms, hiding the fierce blush taking over her face. “This is important to me.”

“I am serious. It’s girls who play stupid fucking, complicated mind games. Guys aren’t that deep.”

“I can’t ask him.” Her voice was muffled against her arms.

“Why not?”

“That’s ridiculous, Ron! Why can’t he just show me he likes me? Asking him- that’s so unromantic.” Harlyn cringed at the mere thought of going to Severus and showing such vulnerability, though he’d no doubt see it as weakness, and if he had liked her before, he wouldn’t anymore after.

“See? Stupid mind games.” Ron huffed. “Blokes aren’t like in those books you read.”

“I don’t read those books.”

“Uh-hu, and my name is actually Rhonda, and the dick between my legs is a fake.”

“I don’t!” Harlyn hissed, glaring at Ron over the edge of her arms.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Look, if the bloke likes you, he is already showing you. You probably expect some grand gesture or romantic bullshit - like in those books-”

Harlyn’s glare intensified.

“- or shy little hints, but that’s not how boys think. Boys are too dumb for that.”

“I don’t know, Ron, that sounds pretty dumb and complicated to me. Why can’t he just tell me?”

Ron laughed. It only enraged Harlyn further. She shouldn’t have asked him, but Draco seemed like an equally dumb choice.

“For the same reason you don’t, I reckon. Have you considered that? Maybe you both are fucking idiots. Maybe you both think the other doesn’t feel the same way. Who are we talking about anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Her answer came too quickly. Ron noticed too. He looked up from the spine in his hands, one eyebrow raised in that all-too-familiar way, as if it alone was saying, who do you think you’re kidding.

“Well…have you at least had some kind of interaction with him? Or are we talking about a Silas situation here? Are you perhaps expecting telepathy- don’t you dare throw that.”

Harlyn put the glass with some unlabelled chemical back down. “It’s a fair question! You don’t exactly have a flourishing social life!”

“Prat.”

“Bitch.”

“Tosser.”

“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

Harlyn bit her bottom lip. She pushed herself off the table, turning her back on Ron, leaning against the edge of the table.

“I had sex with him.” She crossed her arms tightly in front of her. “Twice…three times- two and a half?”

“And a half? How the fuck does that work? Did he only stick half his cock-”

“Ron!” Harlyn swirled around, sending curls flying everywhere. Ron’s ears were as red as her cheeks.

“You started about sex!” His voice was higher than usual.

Silence followed. One seemingly endless, thick, slow moment of silence in which Harlyn and Ron looked in opposite directions.

“So-” Ron started, just to immediately stop again to take a deep breath. “Do I need to hunt that fucker down and slit his throat?”

That was an amusing thought. Though, Ron would not survive the attempt. He’d attempt it regardless if she asked him to. He’d die defending her honour, defending her.

Harlyn shook her head. “I don’t think- I just-” Her voice failed her. She inhaled a shuddering breath, eyes dropping to the floor, but it didn’t help in escaping from Ron’s gaze on her. “I want commitment from him, but I don’t want to lose him.”

Ron gave her a sad smile. “If he won’t commit to you, he was never yours to begin with.”

“There is someone- in his…life. Someone he’s- he’s intimate with-” It was a battle to force the words out into the open. They fought her and when she won over them, they left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Oh, Harlyn…” How could two words carry such rebuke?

“He isn’t married!” Harlyn felt the need to defend herself, the same way she’d been defending her actions towards herself ever since she didn’t throw Severus out of her bed. She hated it. She didn’t do anything wrong!

Did she?

“And he doesn’t love her! At least- I think he doesn’t…they aren’t even in a relationship.”

“That is one big, fat mess you got yourself into, Harlyn.”

She groaned and hid her face in her hands, struggling to not cry. Ron dropped the toothbrush and spine in the bucket, dried his hands on the rag she threw at him, and rounded the table to pull her against his chest, hugging her tightly. Harlyn tried not to sob against his throat.

What if her mother was right? What if Severus only fucked her to hurt Lily?

All those awful things he said about her on her birthday…about how she shouldn’t compare herself to girls like Daphne…How cruelly he punished her for the piercing she got…

Getting his money’s worth.

What if he was still just making her repay him? Made her work off some invisible debt he placed on her for all the years he had to take care of her?

Or perhaps he was teaching her a lesson on how dangerous teenage infatuation was?

What if Harlyn had become one of those idiotic girls that gave up everything for a boy who never had good intentions for them anyway?

How Harlyn loathed that trope.

She had always believed herself to be smarter than that…

“Look, Harlyn.” Ron let her go when she began to squirm free from his embrace. He conjured a handkerchief and gave it to her. Apparently, she hadn’t been entirely successful in her battle against the tears. “I’m not- I’m not the best person to give advice here, but…I think you should confront him. If he cares about you, he will want to know how you are feeling and how much he is hurting you. And if it is commitment that you want - and you aren’t exactly the type of girl who’d be fine with casual fucking, and you’re far too fucking good for it too - and he won’t give you that, you should stop sleeping with him. There will be better blokes out there who will actually treat you right.”

The thought of losing Severus was torture, but the thought of going on like before…

Harlyn would go mad. The last weeks had already turned her into a nervous wreck.

“Thank you, Ron.”

“Of course. And that throat-slitting is a standing offer, yeah? But, Harlyn? Please don’t ever ask me for sex-advice, yes? My heart will not be able to take that! It’ll simply stop. Vanish within my chest!”

“Idiot.” Harlyn punched his shoulder. Ron winced but pretended it didn’t hurt.

She made room for Ron when he cleared the table. This was the part why Harlyn visited his freaky atelier and endured the stench and disgustingness of the bugs.

Ron cut his hand with a knife. Muttering an incantation in old High German, he began painting a runic circle with his blood on the table with great care. He opened a wooden box lined with velvet. Inside was an already cleaned and bleached set of bones. Some small rodent with a curved spine. A chinchilla perhaps?

According to Ron, rodents are easier to revive. Cleaning their skeletons of soft tissue made them more stable and gave his magic something stable to hold on to. With corpses, it was perpetually difficult to tell whether magic adhered to the flesh or the underlying bones. Flesh rotted. It was almost impossible to prevent, it could only be slowed down, but eventually, the process of decomposition wore the spellwork down.

Magic sizzled in the air, making the fine hairs on Harlyn’s arms stand up straight. Electric charges spun between the runes and the bones, tiny, purple lightning bolts.

Ron’s voice swelled, the well-practiced words filling the room, commanding his magic, tearing through the veil separating the living from the dead, subjugating the very principles of their world. A shiver ran through the bones. The electric charges weaved through them, connecting them where no cartilage, tendons, and flesh remained to keep them together, replacing them altogether with Ron’s magic. The skeleton put itself back together in front of Harlyn’s eyes, bone by bone snapping into place as though Ron cast a simple Reparo on them.

As disgusting as Harlyn found every other step of Ron’s process, this part she’d never tire of witnessing.

It was beautiful. It was a stunning display of power most young adults their age would be fiercely jealous of. Harlyn was too. She knew it was silly. She knew she was in no way inferior to Ron - apart from the fact that he was allowed to know things she was being actively kept from.

Harlyn often forgot that it was Voldemort who taught Bellatrix the Dark Arts, and therefore - in a way - Ron too had spent his life learning from Voldemort, just like Harlyn.

“You are running late.” Bellatrix entered the modest room in the cellar of the Manor without knocking or announcing herself otherwise. Much like she had done a few days ago when she fetched Harlyn. “Your father is about to leave without you.”

A final thrill made the skeleton oscillate, then it shook itself - just like the creature would have when it was still alive. It tilted its small skull up and looked at Ron and Harlyn through empty sockets.

It was rather cute.

Sweat clung to Ron’s forehead. He hastily wiped it away and gathered the creature into his hands.

“Marvellous.” Bellatrix smiled graciously at Ron, that kind of smile that existed only on a mother’s lips, and only for her child. It looked frighteningly similar to Narcissa whenever she smiled at Draco that way. The familial similarities between the sisters were rare, undeniable, but rare - to the point that Harlyn sometimes forgot they were sisters.

“Well done, son."

Ron locked his latest creature into one of the cages lining the wall behind them.

Bellatrix intercepted Rhin before he could slip past her. She trapped him in a hug. He was taller than her, but still, Bellatrix’ presence remained as powerful, as grand as ever. Nothing could put a damper on who she was, nothing could reduce the strength she exuded - not even the Dark Lord.

“I will see you tonight, son.” 

“You act like I am going off to war, mother.” He replied in exasperation, but he reciprocated her hug all the same.

Ron mockingly bowed in Harlyn’s direction and disappeared down the dark hallway.

Bellatrix turned towards Harlyn.

She couldn’t help but wonder whether the older witch eavesdropped on her conversation with Ron just as she had likely done when Harlyn fought with her mother.

“Come.” Bellatrix held out her hand to Harlyn. “The men won’t be home for dinner tonight, let us have some fun…just we girls.”

So much possibility for terror in a single sentence.

Harelyn accepted her offered hand regardless. She was bored enough to even let Bellatrix Lestrange rope her into her manic idea of fun. 

She half-expected to find a tied-up man in her room when Bellatrix opened the door, a live test subject for Harlyn to practice her Unforgivables on or something equally gruesome.

There was no man. 

There were, however, clothes. Lots and lots of clothes draped over every available piece of furniture, covering Harlyn’s bed - leaving only the vanity, Harlyn had not touched once since her arrival, empty - this seemed much more gruesome.

She would have preferred the torture lessons.

“My sisters and I used to get all dolled up when my parents were away on business.” She said and picked up a black, silk dress from the bed. “They were away often. Neither one of them fancied being parents, leaving most of their duties to my eldest sister.”

Andromeda. The second Black to have betrayed the values of her family, leaving their name stained.

“We’d pretend to be hosting grand balls…we’d dance with each other, fantasising about the chivalrous men we’d meet and fall in love with once we were older…”

“Is Rodolphus how you pictured he’d be?” Harlyn wanted to keep the subject of their conversation off herself for as long as possible, especially since Bellatrix likely heard everything.

Bellatrix hummed. “He is the only man I could ever see myself marry. My parents disapproved. My sisters believed he was too old for me. But I didn’t care. The whole formal procedure bored me, so I just went up to him during a gala and declared we would marry.” She chuckled to herself, visibly reminiscing about that night. “It was a huge scandal, but I didn’t give a shit. I wanted him, so I got him.”

Do you want to have him?, Voldemort’s voice echoed through her mind, leaving her wondering whether Bellatrix and Harlyn were more similar than she would have thought possible, or whether, perhaps, they both had simply been taught at Voldemort’s hand.

Harlyn felt like walking into another challenge.

She knew something was up with this whole arrangement the second Bellatrix showed up at her home out of the blue! For four days, Harlyn had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and now, walking into her bedroom, it would appear it finally had.

Though to what end, Harlyn had no idea.

“Rodolphus did not get a choice in the matter?” Harlyn asked, pretending to be looking at some skirts draped over the dresser by the door, pretending as though she was unaware of the impending danger looming around her.

“Rodolphus and I were in love…it was only my parents putting up a fight. They thought I could do better than marry a secondborn son.” 

Harlyn was steered towards the vanity and pushed down on the chair. Immediately, Bellatrix began picking at Harlyn’s hair with a bored expression.

“Has nobody ever shown you how to do your hair?”

Harlyn blushed. She couldn’t fight it. Her hair was a sore subject. “Cissy sometimes does my hair, but I don’t know what she does…”

Bellatrix merely huffed. “What do you do?”

“Huh?”

“With your hair?” Bellatrix snapped. “What do you do with your bloody hair! It looks like a damn bird’s nest.”

“I- I wash it, dry it, brush it?”

“And how do you wash it?”

“Shampoo…a little conditioner-?”

“That’s not enough.” Finally, Bellatrix stopped poking about Harlyn’s hair. She used a spell to dampen it, causing the floof to shrink significantly. “Does your Mudblood care so little about her so-called daughter she doesn’t even realise her hair is different from her own? A fucking disgrace.”

Gritting her teeth, Harlyn considered whether it was worth it to enter this petty fight with Bellatrix. 

She didn’t even care about the older witches' opinion!

Why should she? (Did she?)

Bellatrix proceeded to explain - surprisingly thorough - what Harlyn should be doing. No brushing dry hair, using two types of conditioner, one to wash out and one to leave in, curl creams, defining curls…Harlyn could barely keep up, her mind still reeling from the sudden changes in her behaviour.

“Your curl pattern is all over the place.” She huffed while twirling a strand of Harlyn’s hair around the handle of a brush. Once she released it, it fell in a perfect, tight coil. Harlyn was astonished. This was more magical than any feat of magic she had ever witnessed. 

“Hair like ours, Harlyn, it needs to be embraced. It’s as wild as we are. It does not like to be contained and controlled. It’s special…or do you have so little respect for yourself that you don’t care? Have you no pride, girl?”

Harlyn glared at the reflection of the witch behind her. Bellatrix gives her a shake. Harlyn slaps her hands away, swirls around, wand drawn, pointed at Bellatrix’ throat.

“It is you who has no respect.”

“Why should I respect a girl who doesn’t even respect herself?”

“I am the Dark Lord’s ward!”

“Yeah? Are you? The way you treat yourself, one could mistake you for a common street urchin. Must be your mother’s stink rubbing off on you.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Defending a Mudblood, my, my - and you claim you’re something special. You call yourself the Dark Lord’s ward with such pride, but you choose to run around like Snape’s little clone. From your clothes to the fact you can’t even take care of your fucking hair. You even have his temper.”

Was this it? Was Bellatrix meant to try and provoke Harlyn? To what end? How could this possibly benefit Voldemort?

“He’s so self-obsessed, I’m not even surprised he fucked his carbon copy. Though…it is surprising he’d fuck you now after he refused your hand when the Dark Lord offered it to him.”

Her words were like ice water being dumped over Harlyn’s head.

She clenched her fists at her side, harder and harder, until her nails tore into her flesh, punched halfmoon indents into the handle of her wand. Bellatrix was lying! She was lying- she had to be-

Bellatrix’ lips curled into a jeering smile. “Now, why you would want to take your mother’s sloppy seconds, I don’t understand, it certainly isn’t the looks. Perhaps you are so insecure, you don’t even think you are good enough to aim higher…”

Harlyn wanted to disagree, scream and shout, and raise fucking hell, but she couldn’t really disagree, could she? She was pathetically insecure. Perhaps she was going after Severus because he was familiar, he was safe. With Silas, there had been so many uncertainties, so many risks she didn’t want to open herself up to…

The snake shifted on her skin, the familiar drag of phantom scales slithered over her abdomen, curling around her ever so slowly.

“I suppose it is true what they say about insecure girls, they’ll take whatever they can get.”

The snake hissed, the noise reverberating deep inside her.

Bellatrix got closer, her face so close to hers, she could feel her breath against her skin, her lips almost touching Harlyn’s cheek. “There is nothing more disgraceful than insecurity in a powerful girl. Are you a disgrace to the Dark Lord, Harlyn?”

I can’t tell if it’s moronism or arrogance that feeds your acts of insecurities… or if I failed you.

“You better watch your tongue.” Harlyn hissed, her voice oddly distorted, as though her tongue got confused between English and Parseltongue. She met Bellatrix' gaze, fire burning in her own eyes. The snake coiled around her, winding up up up until Harlyn felt it settle over her throat, the head sliding up over her jaw slowly. “I am the Dark Lord’s ward!”

“You keep saying that like it’s got any meaning.” Bellatrix' grin slipped into mania. “Every child of Dumbledore’s army of traitors became a ward of a state. The Dark Lord is the state. You are but one among a hundred.”

Harlyn fought the urge to shake her head. She did not want to give Bellatrix any ammunition against her. This was a challenge, and even though she had no idea what the rules were - Harlyn would not lose it!

“Why anyone would think you are special is beyond me. You are nothing but some ordinary, common girl with filthy blood in her veins and a nasty temper. It’s obvious why you’d never be trusted with any assignment or campaign.”

It became, suddenly and exceedingly, clear why it was Bellatrix challenging her. Severus never missed an opportunity to warn Harlyn of her volatile nature. She was so high in the Dark Lord’s favour, she could practically do as she pleased. He might punish her, but he would not kill her - and Bellatrix did not fear punishment. She enjoyed it.

Inside England, inside the Dark Lord’s organisation, she was the only real threat to Harlyn. One moment, she could be as sweet as Narcissa, and the next she’d be hunched over your broken body, cutting your throat, cackling like the maniac she was.

had any other servant of his talked to Harlyn like this, she‘d known right away there was no dangerous, she‘d known it was a challenge and would have ignored it. With Bellatrix, it did‘t matter whether this was just another challenge. Bellatrix might just decide to tear Harlyn‘s throat out with her teeth for the fun of it.

But Harlyn was no ordinary, common girl - and Harlyn understood the lesson Lord Voldemort was too dramatic to impart on her like a normal father would.

She slipped her foot behind Bellatrix’ leg and pulled it forward, throwing the older witch off balance. Drawing her potion knife, Harlyn pounced at her, slamming her into the sinfully expensive parquet. Harlyn dug her knife into her throat, enough to damage the skin and draw blood. Snakes emerged out of the wood, their slim bodies wearing the same intricate pattern as the flooring, and wrapped around Bellatrix, trapping her beneath Harlyn.

Harlyn caught her off guard.

Bellatrix looked as surprised as Harlyn felt.

“Severus Snape is the Dark Lord’s second-in-command - you are just his mistress. Who the fuck are you to insult him? How are you to suggest he is an ill choice for me? I am the Dark Lord’s daughter! One day I will be taking my rightful place at his side while you will still only be warming his bed! How dare you disrespect your master’s daughter? I should kill you for your impertinence!”

“No Death Eater is allowed to kill another Death Eater.” Bellatrix' grin bore her teeth to Harlyn. Her eyes, torn wide open, seemed to throw sparks from the sheer amount of mania gleaming in them.

“I am no mere Death Eater.” Harlyn hissed. The snake flicked its tongue over her cheek. Her scar burnt, the pain so intense it seemed to split her skull in two. Her vision blurred. A strange feeling spread through her chest, pride that wasn’t her own, like praise that was being poured directly into her chest by Voldemort.

Harlyn gasped. She stumbled backwards, fell to her knees-

“What was the purpose of this?” She hissed, demanded an answer from Bellatrix. The snake receded, melted away in wake of the alien sensation Harlyn struggled to process.

“The Dark Lord wants to know if you can hold your own.”

“This is ridiculous.” Harlyn raked her hands through her hair. “Are you all incapable of fucking basic communication?” The second half, she muttered to herself more than she was addressing Bellatrix.

“Words hold no meaning if they lack action.” Her voice was back to normal. As though the mania evaporated, vanished into thin air. “It is time you stop acting like you think everyone expects you to. The world lies at your feet, Harlyn, but instead of grasping the power offered to you, the power that is your birthright - you claimed the right to it in battle the same night the Dark Lord gave you that scar - you run scared like a weak little fawn!”

“He said I am not ready-”

“No, he asked if you were willing. Did he not tell you he’d give you whatever answer you seek?”

Harlyn shook her head.

Bellatrix’ lips curled. “He didn’t?” She was mocking her again.

My darling girl gets whatever she desires.

“He is waiting for you to grow the fuck up. Lord Voldemort did not ask to be part of the fucking conversation - he slaughtered whoever tried to keep him away. He eliminated everyone who opposed him. He took what he wanted. And yet his daughter - insecure, frightened little Harlyn - waits around, raging and seething, and yet she waits for an invitation.”
The last word was barely more than a scoff.

“She whines about boy troubles and listens to her filthy Mudblood mother. How much longer are you going to tie yourself to your mother’s apron strings? Until you’re strangled with them? You are a gorgeous little thing, Harlyn. You are the most powerful girl in this world. Entire armies fight for you. To avenge you. It’s time to come into your own!”

Bellatrix got up off the ground, brushing dust from her dress, exuding all the arrogance of a true Black.

“The Dark Lord is holding council - and there is an empty place, just as there has been since the day he commanded you to die and you refused. The day you became his equal.”

“I was not invited- Rodolphus said I am not allowed-”

“He said he is not allowed to tell you anything, foolish girl! There are no rules for you in this world. Rulers do not wait for invitations to the council they hold.” Bellatrix gestured towards the clothes scattered about. “Get dressed. How do you expect people to follow you? How are they supposed to know who you are when you don’t even know yourself? It is time to show your subjects the real you.”

Bellatrix had already reached the door when she stopped. “And to show Snape. If you desire him so much, let him see what he is about to lose if he can’t get his head out of his arse.”

***

The door to the Dark Lord’s council room flew open.

Silence fell over the room, encompassing seasoned, battle-hardened, vicious dark wizards as they stared at the girl who dared interrupt them. A boy, not much older than Harlyn, had tried to stop her from entering, insisting he had orders to not let anyone disturb the Dark Lord and his inner circle.

Now, he lay on the ground behind her, bleeding, eyes wide with panic, flicking rapidly from her to Voldemort and back. Bellatrix cackled behind her.

Nagini lifted her head from the cushion she was resting on by the fire, fat, fed, and content. She flicked her tongue at Harlyn, hissing a greeting.

Many words of the serpent language did not have an equivalent in English and vice versa, this one, Harlyn thought, was best described as the one bound to me. As a child, she had thought she understood it wrong, but she was too wary of Voldemort to ask him. Now that she was older, those doubts were gone.

Bellatrix passed through the room quickly, her heels clicking against the marble, and fell to her knees at Voldemort’s side. She whispered to him, her words hidden from Harlyn by the distance, but she didn’t need to hear her. Voldemort’s eyes never left Harlyn. He wore that same expression he always wore when she bested one of his challenges.

Severus’ gaze was liquid heat, being poured down her throat where it settled in her stomach. His onyx eyes roamed over her body, greedy, hungry, then - like twin daggers - they stabbed into the boy who was probably close enough to steal a peek under the high-waisted, short black skirt she had picked out from Bellatrix’ display. Possessiveness flared in those dark depths.

Harlyn did not choose it, the black top with its low sweetheart neckline and mesh overlay, thigh highs, or heeled boots to elicit any reaction from it. She wasn’t here to gain his attention - there was time for that later, another time.

She liked how these clothes looked on her. She liked the way the snake’s tail wrapped around her thighs, visible on the slither of skin showing between the hem of her skirt and the top of her socks. Harlyn felt badass, hot - and confident. She felt like herself, not like some empty canvas ready to take on whatever colours the people around her wanted her to wear. 

Her lips were painted a dark red, and her eyes shone bright from behind her glasses, surrounded by heavy, smudged black eyeshadow. Her curls fell in more or less tight coils over her shoulder. Still an utter mess, but one she didn’t try to hide as usual, instead trying to embrace them…

Across from Voldemort, on the other side of the long table, an empty chair sat waiting. The only empty chair.

Harlyn stepped forward. Her hand settled on the backrest of the throne-like chair.

“I hope you did not start the meeting without me, father. How rude.”

His crooked grin was accompanied by a flash of fangs. Satisfaction burnt in his blazing, crimson eyes.

“We’ll reconvene in five. Rodolphus, I expect you’ll be ready by then to give my daughter-”

A warm shiver chased down Harlyn’s spine.

He had never said it.

Never confirmed it.

Never acknowledge her so openly, bluntly, undeniably.

His daughter.

Not by blood, but tied together by destiny, a bond that far exceeds any traditional familial connections.

Lord Voldemort had chosen her.

Her father tossed her aside, put her up like a lamb for slaughter - and Voldemort caught her. He saved her, took her in, chose her.

The room cleared out quickly. Ignatius was the first to stand, being the one seated directly to Harlyn’s left. Years of battle had left more than one scar on his face. Grey streaked through his long, light brown hair. Menacing green eyes met her own. He had always been one of the Dark Lord’s most terrifying servants.

Ignatius bowed to Harlyn before passing her, relinquishing the room to her and her father. The others followed. One by one, Abraxas, Lucius, Dolohov, Mulciber, Rabastan, Rowle - and more, each bowing, each acknowledging her and the role she just stepped into, and with each of them, the weight on her shoulders grew. 

But Harlyn did not falter under it. She did not shrink. Not anymore.

Never again.

Bellatrix was the last to leave, and then, only Voldemort, Severus and she remained.

“That was a foul scheme.” Harlyn said once the inner circle was out of earshot. There was no venom in her words, no judgement.

She sounded perfectly neutral.

“You will encounter far worse going forward. My enemies are your enemies - and they will soon learn that the girl they think you are died fourteen years ago when I aimed my wand at your crib.”

Severus stood abruptly, and with such force, he sent his chair flying. It toppled over and hit the ground hard.

Harlyn didn’t flinch.

One, two, three long strides, and he was towering above her, clutching her wrist in his hand, blunt nails digging into flesh.

Voldemort watched, a smug expression on his not-quite-human face.

Harlyn was trapped against the chair. Her shoulder dug into the unrelenting wood. She was taller, thanks to her shoes. Getting up on her tiptoes, she was almost as tall as he. Her lips brushed his, ever so slightly, a barely there point of contact-

“Yes?” She murmured, aiming for a sultry tone, though it came out rather breathless. “Did you want to say something…daddy?”

She was yanked away, the sudden force enough to knock the air from her lungs, and Severus dragged her away. Her wrist was locked in his vice-like grip.

She was being swallowed alive by an inferno - and Harlyn had never felt more alive.

Severus kicked a door open and shoved her inside. He smashed his face against hers, stealing her breath before she even had the chance to bring air back into her lungs.

Sloppy, starving kisses, lashing tongues, clicking teeth - Harlyn fell into Severus. She melted into his grasp, possessive arms wrapped around her tightly, hands wandering, roaming across her, slipping under her skirt-

Harlyn made a breathy noise against his lips. Her hands slipped off his shoulders, found his belt.

Severus’ grasping and prodding at her flesh made her stumble, the violence of his greedy groping knocking her off balance, but his arms prevented her from falling, so she just swayed in his arms, surrendering to him.

He palmed at her arse, spread her cheeks, groped at the wet heat between her thighs. He pushed her backwards and she collided with the wall. Harlyn managed to free his erection. He throbbed in her hand, rolled his hips into her touch, sullied her hands with pre-cum.

Back arched, Harlyn chased his lips, hand working his cock feverishly, pumping his length in a twisting motion.

Hunched over her like a beast from a fairytale, Severus sucked on her bruised lip, tasting the blood where he had bitten her, fingers pushing her knickers aside, breaching her roughly.

“Tell me that you want me.” Harlyn muttered, forcing the words out quickly between two kisses before Severus’ hunger could silence her.

He merely growled. Her knickers fell to the ground. She was pulled up, pinned to the wall like a ragdoll, and instinctively, as though she had never done anything else, Harlyn wrapped her legs around Severus. His cock was flush with her cunt. He rolled his hips, dragging his cock through her wet folds. He latched onto her neck, a throaty noise of passion on his lips and sucked her skin between his lips.

“Are you so dense, you cannot tell?” He intertwined his fingers with her own, pinning her left hand to the wall.

“Yes.” Harlyn gasped and used her free hand to hold onto him by coiling it around his neck and anchoring it in his silky, black hair. “I’m an oblivious idiot.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“Please, daddy-” Harlyn twisted her head away from him so he could distract her with another brain-melting kiss.

Severus gripped her chin. His pupils were blown, making his eyes appear much darker than they already were. He was breathing heavily, each breath causing his chest to rise and fall noticeably.

“I am mad for you, girl.” He hissed, and it sounded both like an insult and a prayer at once.

“Thank you.” Harlyn couldn’t help the stupid smile settling on her face. She nudged Severus’ cheek with her nose and pressed a feather-light kiss to his jaw. She could feel his muscles tensing beneath her lips.

He shook his head, a barely there motion. “Ridiculous girl.”

Severus dropped his head, resting his forehead against her cheek, and grasped his cock to align himself with her entrance. Immediately, Harlyn could tell that this wasn’t going to work. The pain was different. Instead of the delicious stretch she had come to expect, it was a horrible sting that made her squirm in Severus’ arms, her body seeking to escape the assault.

“Relax.” His rumbling, deep voice in her ear helped calm her down, but as soon as he moved, Harlyn pressed her face against his neck to suppress a yelp. Seriously? For days she had been thinking about nothing but his cock, and now her stupid fucking body was cockblocking her? Literally!

“Shh…” Severus’ tongue flicked over the pulse point on her neck. It didn’t help.

“It hurts.”

“You’re too tense.”

“Not true-” A gasp interrupted her.

“Is daddy’s cock too big for you?”

Was this his solution? Whispering filth into her ear?

“Is your pretty cunt too small to fit me, baby girl?”

He pulled her closer, peeling her away from the wall, and set her down on a table behind them Harlyn hadn’t noticed before. She had no idea where Severus had taken her, and she didn’t care, she just wanted this, wanted him!

Severus conjured a vase into a pillow and shoved it under her lower back. Her body still did not budge. Harlyn let out a frustrated growl.

“I’m sorry.” Heat spread over her cheeks as she became aware Severus was standing between her spread legs, staring at her exposed cunt.

His mouth twitched into a dark grin.

“Sorry that my cock is too big for you?” He sounded far too fucking proud for her taste.

“Stop that!” Harlyn tried to kick him, but he caught her foot before it made contact with him. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her knee. Long, slender fingers caressed the coarse wool of her thigh highs.

“I’ll make it fit.” His voice sounded sinful. He ran his hand up her leg, skimming the bare flesh above her socks. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. Harlyn suppressed a moan. “Your body simply knows your worth, baby girl.”

He ran his lips over her heated flesh. His tongue darted out between them, lapping at skin. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“It demands to be worshipped. Spoilt little brat you are.”

Harlyn’s hands found their way into his hair all on their own.

“And I can’t disagree. I’ve been dying to find out what you taste like, Harlyn.”

Before she had time to process his words, he had buried his face between her thighs. Harlyn gasped, tightening her grip on his hair, pulling-

Severus’ tongue lashed over her twitching folds, making her instantly squirm, hips bucking. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, keeping her spread for him and pinned to the table, the cushion under her lower back keeping her pelvis angled upwards.

She was lying on her back, on a table, skirt flipped up and she was being devoured by Severus Snape, Voldemort’s second-in-command, the General of his armed forces. He was groaning against her cunt as though she was the most delectable feast he ever tasted. His tongue worked her folds expertly, applying just enough pressure in the right places. He toyed with her entrance, circling it with his tongue, pretending to dip inside her, just to direct his attention away, to less sensitive areas. He teased her clit, applying light licks to it that brought her just enough friction to drive her mad with lust but ultimately leave her wanting.

He was cruel and so fucking good.

Soon tears clung to Harlyn’s lashes. Distantly, she was aware the five minutes given to his servants by the Dark Lord were long over, but they were no servants.

Harlyn keened and rolled her hips, urging Severus on, but he seemed to enjoy her torment. 

He fucked her with his tongue. Each quick thrust ended with him stabbing the tip of his tongue into her flesh, right where the hidden parts of her clit lay. His nose, his fantastic, mystical, big nose pressed into her clit, applying delicious pressure to the aching little nub.

Harlyn was covered in sweat. She was a squirming, moaning, keening mess. A boneless puddle of searing pleasure.

Severus’ hands wandered, slipped under her top, and pushed it up until her breasts lay bare. He cupped them, filling his hands with them, groaned into her cunt-

She braced the palm of her hand against the table. Her back arched, pressing the back of her head against the hardwood. Her thighs locked around Severus, crossing at his neck, the fat heels of her boots digging into his shoulder blades.

She came hard, gushing liquid arousal all over Severus’ chin and the smooth surface of the table, a sobbing cry on her lips, tears rolling down her cheek.

It seemed to go on forever. His tongue and nose kept her floating, suspended in the raging waves of pleasure, coaxing always one more shudder from her, one more moan, one more twitch. Every muscle in her body was strung to breaking point, hard and unmoving, neurones over-firing, every nerve in her body overstimulated.

Severus looked up to watch her. Her legs were falling open, the edge of her heels helplessly braced against the table, inner thighs wet, her whole body shuddering intermittently, cunt twitching, eyes only half-open.

“My gorgeous little Harlyn.” He hummed and wiped his chin on his sleeve. “You taste better than I could have ever imagined. He climbed onto the table to kneel between her thighs. He was stroking his cock.

“Relax for me, baby girl.” He muttered against her lips before sealing them with his own. She gasped into the kiss, and clung to the back of his robes. Severus cast a lubrication spell and slowly nudged inside her. Lube and her own arousal ran down her thighs and dripped onto the table. She could hear the lewd squelch of her entering him. The stretch was overwhelming, causing her to whimper and moan, but he slid inside her, slowly, but her body had given up its protest. Severus' nose fucked any resistance right out of her.

Harlyn could taste herself on his tongue. It was strange, and yet, the sheer filthiness of it made her want him all the more. Her inner walls twitched around him, coaxing a throaty groan from Severus.

“Your cunt is so fucking perfect - ahh - Harlyn…”

Severus mouthed at her throat, at her breasts. He held her waist, pinned it to the table with his body’s weight. His hands were big enough to encompass her almost entirely. Her breasts and legs bounced helplessly when he started pounding into her, taking her how he had wanted to all along, causing her heels to knock into the precious wood.

They didn’t care.

He alternated his pace, switching from violent, sharp thrusts that made her cry out his name - to long, savouring ones that left her whimpering and begging for more.

He seemed to relish every single reaction he got from her.

Severs pulled her to the very edge of the table. The pillow falls on the ground at his feet. He pins her knees onto the table, effectively folding her in half. His pelvis battered into her arse, filling the room with the smacking noise of skin hitting skin.

Harlyn was overwhelmed with the pleasure he fucked into her. She clutched the front of his robes in her hand to keep him close, pushed against his chest to make him ease up, which only resulted in the opposite (and tortuous, incredible pleasure), she kneaded her own breasts, bit her fist, sucked on his fingers-

“Told you I’d make it fit.” His voice was breathless. He braced his hands against the table on either side of her head. Her legs dropped, muscles burning. Sweat had stuck his hair to his forehead. His lips were twisted into a snarl, though it lacked its venom.

“Merlin-” He dropped his head against the crown of her head and wrapped his arms around her, trapping her in a suffocating embrace as his cock speared her open, tore her apart on every delicious thrust. “You are so fucking tight- so fucking good- ahh - you’re right, baby girl. It shouldn’t fit but - ahh - you’re such a good girl…you take daddy anyway- you take daddy’s cock in your tiny little cunt- let me fuck you like a rabid beast- you have no idea how good you feel- How much I’ve needed this…”

Harlyn could speak. Her brain had been fried, destroyed by the head of their intertwined body, and the filth he spewed only overworked her poor little head further. He wouldn’t have been able to hear her anyway, not over the blood pounding in his ear and with her face pressed into the rough wool of his frock coat.

“You are mine.” He growled then suddenly, and bit into her throat, as though to mark her. Perhaps he really had become a rabid beast. Had her cunt turned him into a madman? “My perfect little Harlyn. My perfect girl- Only mine mine mine!” He stared down at her, madness flashing in his black eyes, a snarl on his lips. Harlyn’s much smaller body was pinned beneath his broad form, with no way to escape. Not that she’d ever want to. 

“Yours.” She echoed, tears of bliss clouding her vision. Her lips were sore, bruised and bitten bloody. The bruises on her throat and covering her breasts were pulsing. “However way you want me. Daddy - nghh - please- I love you- I love you - ahh -”

Harlyn convulsed under the force of her orgasm. For several seconds she forgot how to breathe while the pleasure Severus’ cock pounded into her tight, wet cunt drowned her every nerve. She went rigid under him, which did not stop him from using her body for his own pleasure. He groaned and praised her cunt for clutching him so tightly. Her entire lower half was twitching. Stars exploded, swallowing everything around, wreaking havoc on her, tearing her apart, and putting her back together at once.

Severus praised her, praised her cunt and how pretty she looked coming for him, praised her for squirting all over his cock. 

Harlyn slumped. That second orgasm had swallowed up all her energy and left her a boneless, pulsing, happy mess.

Severus dragged her off the table and made her kneel to his feet. He pumped his cock violently, and came on her face, cum spattering across her glasses and on her outstretched tongue. He pulled her to his feet and kissed her, deep and passionate, without caring for the cum still coating her tongue. She fell into his arms, trusted him to keep her upright because she knew she could not trust her legs to carry her weight after that.

Would it always be so intense?

She couldn’t fathom how anyone was doing anything but fucking. She’d gladly allow Severus to permanently tie her to his bed and fuck him until they both died of exhaustion.

He helped her fix her clothes, and even put her knickers back on. After admiring his work one last time, he vanished the mess he made on her face.

At the door, he turned around, raised a brow at Harlyn who was still sitting on the edge of the table.

“Was I too hard on you?” He looked so fucking smug.

“Severus?” 

His smugness turned into a frown.

Harlyn shrugged apologetically. “I can hardly keep calling you dad.” She couldn’t read the emotions flashing through his eyes.

“Bellatrix said you refused my hand in marriage…is that true?” This wasn‘t the time to bring it up, but Severus seemed to be little more accessible whenever they had fucked…just a little more vulnerable and open. Perhaps it was wrong of her to abuse this, but it was the only thing Bellatrix said that Harlyn could not disprove for herself. And she did not trust Voldemort to give her the truth.

“What the fuck were you doing with Bellatrix?”

Now Harlyn was frowning. “The Dark Lord ordered me to stay with her? I’ve been at Lestrange Manor almost all week- you didn’t know?”

“Evidently not.” He slammed the door shut and ran his hands through his hair.

“So it’s true? You say you want me, you fuck me like-” She gestured towards the messy table. “That. I am yours, and I always will be but- if you cannot be mine, perhaps I should find someone-”

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence, Harlyn!” Severus bellowed. His eyes gleamed dangerously. “You are mine! I am the only one who will ever use that perfect little cunt between your thighs.”

Harlyn's expression slipped, frozen over like a lake in winter. “If that is all I am to you, then I will sure as fuck not let you touch me ever again. Consider this a goodbye fuck.”

Severus blocked the door with his body.

“We both know you will fail miserably at trying to keep that up.”

“I love you!” Harlyn didn’t mean to shout, but it was difficult to rein her emotions back in after he just utterly demolished her on that table. “I love you! I love you so much-”

“I know.” Severus trapped her against the door. He tucked a curl behind her ear, the gesture so fucking tender, it left her mind reeling. “Of course you do…”

“That is usually your cue to say the same.”

“You were two years old when Voldemort offered you to me as a bride.”

That was not the response Harlyn had expected.

“I’ve had you for only three days. It was two weeks after your mother appeared on my threshold with you in her arms. I was holding you, swaddled in your pink blanket…you were holding onto your little octopus while sleeping. The Dark Lord said you and your mother were my reward, my price for my tireless service. You were two years old and sleeping in my arms, and I was told I could make you my bride. I declined because the thought of spending the next thirteen years raising you with that one goal in mind, looking at you every day and knowing that one day you’d warm my bed and bear my children - it disgusted me! That, by some irony of the universe, you ended up in my bed regardless is different. I did not groom you into it. I did not spend your whole childhood preparing you to one day satisfy my needs. That line is what separates us from them!”

Severus dropped his forehead against hers. He had his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“You were two years old, sleeping in my arms, trusting me to keep you safe. I was seven when an old Muggle priest abused that same trust I had felt towards him.”

“What happened to him?” Harlyn was fighting tears and burning, godly wrath at the same time.

“Dead. I slaughtered him with the Dark Lord like the animal he was. Do not make claims about things you know nothing about, Harlyn!”

He took a step back, and after regaining his composure, gestured towards the door. Harlyn stepped aside, unblocking it.

“Go ahead…I’ll be there in a moment.” She whispered, throat sore from screaming his name and grief. Severus sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a rather curt fine.

He left, but not without kissing her forehead.

Harlyn needed several minutes to gather herself.

That had backfired epically.

She had meant to address Bellatrix’ claim before sleeping with Severus, but she got swept up in the moment…in him…

“Pull yourself together.” She hissed at herself and left the room.

“There she is!” Fred Weasley came up on her left to put his arm around her shoulder, followed by George, doing the same on her right. Both of them were as tall as Ron, towering over her even with her heels.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” She asked, brow raised.

“We heard you were visiting.” George said.

“And it’s been so long since we’ve seen you!” Fred continued.

“I don’t have time for you now.”

“No-” Dramatic as ever, Fred threw himself to his knees, landing right in her path and preventing her from walking away. “Don’t- please Harriet, don’t turn your back on us poor souls.”

Harlyn frowned. “That’s not my name…”

“Oh, mystical saviour-” George followed his brother to the ground. Both were grinning, with mischief gleaming in their identical eyes.

The snake's grip around her thigh tightened. It wrapped around her waist, gliding up her body in a corkscrew motion.

“Don’t forsake us, Harrie Potter!”

Too tight- it never felt so tight-

Why would the snake do this? Why would it be attacking her?! Voldemort gave it to her! It was- it was-

Was this what it was for? Had she gone too far? Had she crossed a line that he was now killing her for?

Had she misunderstood-

Had she…had she lost?

“Free us of the tyranny of he-who-must-not-be-named.” Fred held the back of his hand against his forehead and seemed to imitate an overly dramatic death scene from one of those ancient plays Severus had copies of in his library.

“Our chosen one!” George grabbed her hand. “Saviour of the wizarding world-”

The boys laughed, obviously thoroughly enjoying the humour in their little display that Harlyn didn’t get, had no basis for understanding- what the fuck were they talking about?

They didn’t notice the snake reaching her throat, nor how she clawed at her flesh, wheezing for air, black dots closing in at the edge of her vision.

“Hush, my little fawn.” A man Harlyn did not recognise was smiling down at her through big, round glasses. “My little Harrie.” Behind him, people had gathered at a table in an underground kitchen. One of them had a white beard so long, he stuck the end into his belt. He smiled at Harlyn over his half-moon spectacles before turning back to the group. They were arguing, but the man with the glasses only had eyes for her. 

“Our saviour.” He cooed. “A grand destiny awaits you…adventure and daring battles…You will save us all.”

Harlyn couldn’t breathe. She felt her bones being crushed inside her body. Felt scales cutting through her flesh. Fred and George’s panic voices kept fading in and out as she slipped in and out of consciousness.

“Step aside.” 

Magic - cold, dark, dangerous, devastating magic - tore through the air. Harlyn was crying. Not even squishing her octopus in her tiny hands helped soothe her. Her mother screamed. Her father wasn’t making any noises at all anymore. Masked figures had struck him down and dragged him from the house.

A man stepped into her room. Harlyn couldn’t see her mother. She cried. She was scared.

The man kicked one of her toys aside and raised his wand.

“Harriet Potter.” Crimson eyes blazed under the hood, focused on her. A green light flashed at the tip of his wand. 

“So young…” He hummed, not an ounce of regret in his voice. “But only I can live forever.”

She was swallowed by green.

Odd…dying felt so familiar…

Chapter Text

“I can hardly keep calling you dad.”

Harlyn said it with a shrug, as if it was a minor detail, a small meaningless thing, but her face revealed the vat of agony she threw herself into to bring them into the world.

She looked so sad.

Ironically, she looked just as she had that one unbearable summer when she was five, when the heat made all his cooling charms fail, and they were both miserable. She was always either too hot or too cold, never in between. He took her on a walk in the forest in hopes it would be cooler there and she’d be less cranky. On the way there, she spotted a man selling ice cream. Of course, not three steps into the forest, she stumbled and dropped her ice cream cone.

To a five-year-old, losing an ice cream on the hottest day of the year was the end of the world.

She hadn’t screamed or wailed - those tantrums were reserved for when she feared to be losing control, when she was confused and overwhelmed and she felt like she was falling with no one to catch her.

She had stared at the ice cream on the ground, her little hands clenched to fists, jaw tense…And then she had looked up at him, so much sadness in those big, green eyes, as though he possessed the power to command the world to fix all that lay was broken to her feet.

As though she couldn’t fathom there was something not in his power. When she was five, it was a simple fix. She got a new ice cream, even though everything inside him was reeling and his father's words poisoned his mind. He didn't tell her it was her fault, that she had to deal with her own clumsiness. He didn't curse her out. He got her a new one and told her to be more careful.

This, he couldn’t. He couldn’t fix this.

But the worst part was…that he shared her pain. He was never her father, but he was. He protected her, he guided her, he made her the girl she was today, and while his father had never done any of those for him - was that not what they were supposed to?

They were both selfish, both wanting more than they could have, never getting enough.

He wanted her as a daughter and in ways a father should never want his child.

And she wanted the same.

“Bellatrix said you refused my hand in marriage…is that true?”

“What the fuck were you doing with Bellatrix?”

It was easy to exchange pain he did not want, for rage he was all too familiar with. He didn’t want Bellatrix meddling in Harlyn’s life! How many times had he warned the foolish girl? How many times had he told Voldemort to keep his insane mistress away from her?

And how could this bloody mess of a girl not see what she was doing to him? How many assurances was she expecting?

She was so fucking tedious!

And yet he kept going back to her.

He kept getting sucked in by those fucking eyes.

She was screaming and wailing now. She still clung to him, those eyes of hers searching his face, pleading with him, refusing to let go while the ground beneath her feet vanished, revealing a never-ending abyss.

“I love you!” She shouted and screamed, pounding her fist against his chest when he refused to move an inch. He bore her rage. He always had. Whether it was nightmares she couldn’t remember anymore when she woke up or accidental magic laying waste over his house. He stood in front of her, trapping her between his chest and the door, and he let her fall apart. The gaslamps on the walls flickered, and the windows vibrated with the force of her magic lashing out around her.

The snake’s tongue twitched agitatedly. It had been agitated and restless for weeks. It wasn’t usually this active. At first, he thought it was just another one of Voldemort's fucking schemes, but now, seeing her eyes flash red and feeling her magic prickle on his neck, he wasn’t so sure anymore…

“I love you! I love you so much-” Her voice broke into a sob.

Severus tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know.”

“That is usually your cue to say the same.”

He didn’t.

He had never said those words. To anyone. Not his mother, not Mulciber, not even Sienna. Nobody ever said them to him either. Not even Lily in her manic jealousy.

Why should Harlyn be different? Why should she have a right to them? How could she demand them of him? Did she not see how much she was already tearing him apart-

Why did he want to give them to her regardless? Regardless of the destruction it would bring down on him, regardless of those words holding no meaning to him…

And so he told her the only thing he could. He tore his heart out and regurgitated razor blades to soothe her pain, leaving himself utterly dismembered at her feet.

Severus dropped his forehead against hers.

The weight of the past was too heavy, too overwhelming . It gave him whiplash to have to conjure those memories after the devastating pleasure he just found in her.

“You were two years old, sleeping in my arms, trusting me to keep you safe. I was seven when an old Muggle priest abused that same trust I had felt towards him.”

And once spoken into reality, it was impossible to keep them from worming their way through his defences. The corrupted pleasure. Cheap wine on his lips. The pain. The betrayal. The priest’s ring digging into his shoulder. The way his cries were thrown back at him by the stone walls of the spacious church.

“What happened to him?” Her voice carried the pain he had not allowed himself to feel, ever - and a rage he could not find the strength to endure.

“Dead.” His vocal cords had turned to sandpaper, scraping against the inside of his throat when he tried to speak. “I slaughtered him with the Dark Lord like the animal he was. Do not make claims about things you know nothing about, Harlyn!”

There had been so much blood. Blood everywhere. Sticking to his skin, glueing his wand into his hand, covering the floor, the walls, the altar. Some had even hit Voldemort. He watched as Severus used his spell, his creation, on the subject he created it for.

By the time Severus set fire to the church, nothing but a bloody pulp had been left of the man who stole his innocence, who broke him and paved the way for Voldemort to mould him into something new, a creature so wicked and twisted, the world had not been ready for it.

Severus pressed his lips to her forehead, less to soothe her than to soothe himself. He used her, shamelessly, used the feeling of her smooth skin, the warmth of her, the scent of her hair, to erase what she had summoned to the surface before fleeing the poisoned, quickly thickening air of the sitting room.

“Have I not told you to keep her away from Harlyn?” Severus hissed as soon as he had returned to his seat at Voldemort’s side.

“It worked out nicely, did it not?” Voldemort seemed utterly bored by Severus’ anger, which just pissed him off further.

Severus’ knuckles went white around his glass. He took a sip, but the burn of the liquor in his throat did not calm him, so he fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with a snap of his fingers.

“ You insisted I am too soft on her.”

“And you are twisting the words in my mouth.” He took another drag of his cigarette. Where the fuck was Harlyn?

“She needed the push.”

“She needs you to stop playing your fucked-up games with her.”

“She can take it.”

“Something is wrong. I can’t tell you what, but she is…something isn’t right. When was the last time you reviewed the enchantment?”

He missed it for too long.

He was too distant, too withdrawn from her and caught up in his own mess that he didn’t notice. He blamed her moodiness on her age and her emotional outbursts at hormones, but neither of those things could explain the snake…

“Do not forget your place, Severus.”

“It is right next to you, doing the parts you cannot - now answer me!”

“All is in order.”

“She is in the phase of her life where her magic transforms the most - what has been in order yesterday might not be today.”

Voldemort stood abruptly.

A mere heartbeat later, Fred Weasley ran into the council room. He was pale, paler than usual, and almost slipped on the marble from not slowing down before taking the corner.

Everything inside Severus froze. Glass shattered on the floor. He couldn’t tell which one of them reached Harlyn first. Everything was a blur…

“She isn’t breathing- oh fuck- my lord- I don’t know what happened. You have to believe me.” George made utterly no sense.

Harlyn lay on the ground, unmoving. Bruises lined the edges of the snake’s inky body. Scratches lit up her throat blood red.

“What did you do?” Severus’ voice was low, quiet, barely more than a whisper. The temperature around him dropped drastically. Ice scrunched beneath the soles of his boots. He grabbed George by his collar and threw him against the wall. Distantly, Severus registered Voldemort digging the tip of his wand into Fred’s Mark, felt the burn mirrored in his own, and he knew Barty had been summoned.

Severus tore into the boy’s mind. Those two fools had gone too far one too many times for Severus to believe they didn’t cause this. They were notorious for having nothing but mischief in their blasted minds. They snuck their dosed candy into the barracks of a graduating class of cadets the day before a ceremony. Their fireworks had taken off the hands of anyone not taking the utmost care.

He knew they were responsible for this.

Severus didn’t care whether he would end up shredding the boy’s mind to pieces. He wasn’t careful - they did not deserve his care!

“Bloody fools!” Severus slammed George against the wall. He drew his wand in one smooth motion. The curse was already on the tip of his tongue, had been there, laying in wait, lusting for blood, for divine punishment, since the second he saw Harlyn on the floor.

Sectumsempra.

George’s scream tore through the otherwise deathly silent corridor. Blood painted the wall red, splattered across his face, and ran down his wand hand. He tossed George aside, blood pouring from a gaping hole at the side of his head. Severus stomped on the useless piece of cartilage lying on the ground, ensuring no magic would be able to mend the damage he just did.

The twins never could listen, so what use did they have for an ear?

“Report.” Voldemort’s voice was clipped. Severus had never heard him speak like that before. Severus shared the memory with him. If at all possible, his eyes blazed brighter, turning into an inferno. They oozed crimson light that lit up his hollow cheeks and reflected off his bared fangs. What little humanity was left to his features seemed to disappear in that moment.

“We didn’t mean to- General, Master- please, mercy- ” Fred whimpered. He was kneeling at the Dark Lord’s side, his Dark Mark still exposed, and stared at Harlyn’s motionless body.

The youngest Weasley boy pushed past the inner circle. His eyes darted from his brothers to the girl who was the centre of his universe, the sun his world revolved around - and just as he had always meant to, he jumped to protect Harlyn.

“What did you do?!” He hissed, sending droplets of spit flying, but before his brother could answer, his fist had made contact with Fred’s face, breaking his nose in a single strike. He would have continued, continued until he drove a bone fragment into Fred’s brain, but he was pulled off the unconscious boy by his foster family. It took both Rodolphus and Rabastan to hold him back.

“You don’t fucking deserve mercy!” 

Severus knelt down at Harlyn’s side, opposite Voldemort. He was tracing the tip of the Elderwand over the snake, but the lack of answers he got back was evident on his face. He hissed, words Severus couldn’t understand, and the snake answered. Voldemort frowned.

“What the fuck is it?” Severus snapped.

“What do you think?” Voldemort’s manic sneer was derisive, razor-sharp and laced with venom. And something none of them, not even those closest to him, ever got to see. “She is dead.”

Severus scoffed. “That much is fucking obvious. Why is she dead? As dim-witted as the twins are-”

Severus was cut off by the arrival of Barty. Harlyn was brought to her room for his assessment. It would take some time before she’d wake up, they knew that much, but they had no idea the effects dying could have on her. During her first two deaths, she had been a small child, too small to tell them what she had experienced or how she felt. They only had Barty’s test to tell them her brain hadn’t suffered any damage.

There was nothing Severus hated more than this. Pacing the sitting room in their apartment, waiting for another man to tell him what was going on with his Harlyn, utterly useless, utterly out of his depths.

If only he had stayed with her. He knew something wasn’t right, and yet, he had left her, all on her own. An easy target for the ginger good-for-nothings! Even easier after Bellatrix already messed with her today.

“How could that happen?”

Voldemort remained silent. He was in front of Harlyn’s closed bedroom door, blankly staring at the wood. Something in Severus snapped at the sight of his pensive expression. It was too similar to the expression Dumbledore always wore for comfort. He grabbed the dark wizard by the front of his robes. Severus’ face twisted into a feral snarl. He was seconds away from ripping somebody’s head off.

“ HOW?!”

“She is getting stronger than we thought she was, and faster than we could have anticipated. Every witch or wizard with significant magical potential reaches a moment where their magic has developed quicker than their body can accommodate.”

“And that killed her?” Severus scoffed. Severus remembered that time. Over a period of six months, life was hell. He was nineteen, and every day he woke up, his skin felt as though it were doused in gasoline and set aflame. Being near Voldemort had been unbearable. He could feel the older wizard’s magic, the aura surrounding him, and Severus’ own magic lashed out, burst out of him and wreaked destruction over everything around him. He was too dangerous for anyone but Voldemort to be around him. And there was nothing anyone could do. Severus had to endure it. Six months in an empty room covered in runes, lying on the hard floor and staring up at the ceiling, counting the seconds until the magic in his veins would finally stop feeling like acid.

It hadn’t killed him.

“No, but it wore down the protective layers I wove around her memories.”

“But that spellwork never worked! All her nightmares-”

“That she cannot remember. Her memories attempt to worm their way through and end up in her dreams - no doubt Dumbledore’s doing. The snake senses danger, and Harlyn wakes, thinking she had a nightmare. She doesn’t remember them - that is my spellwork doing what it is supposed to do.”

“Why did hearing her old name trigger this?” Severus let go of the man, though the thought of bashing his skull in still sounded tempting.

“It wasn’t the name.” Voldemort smoothed down his robes. It pissed Severus off that he didn’t give him any reaction. Had they been fighting about anything else, this would have already ended with them being at each other’s throats in the forest, duelling until their rage receded.

But while seeing Harlyn like that was the fuel being poured liberally into the fire that was his wrath, it had taken the wind out of Voldemort’s sails.

He was eerily quiet and calm.

It was disconcerting.

Severus preferred the taste of blood on his tongue, the electricity of spellfire crackling through the air - taking out his wrath on Voldemort without holding back.

His being this disconnected forced Severus to deal with his rage in other ways, and he didn’t know how. All he knew was blood and death.

“They called her Saviour and Chosen One. Somehow those titles must have given the memories simmering just below the surface enough power to break forward. The snake didn’t know how to react. I created it to serve as protection from threats first and foremost, but the threat was Harlyn’s own mind, so it attacked.”

“She was killed by her own fucking mark?”

Finally, Severus got some reaction from Voldemort that made sense. Dark shadows fell from his robes and gathered around his feet like poisoned smoke, discolouring the floor beneath his feet in its wake. Crimson pinpoints born of fury bore into Severus’ skull.

Their wands were drawn the next second. A flowerpot behind Severus, less than an inch to the left of his head, burst into a thousand pieces. Severus’ Sectumsempra missed Voldemort as well, tearing a decorative pillow to shreds instead.

Barty opened the bedroom door. A spell collided with the wall to his right, leaving a charred, black hole not far from his chest.

Like two squabbling children caught by their mother, they stopped immediately, lowering their wands.

Barty was perhaps one of the only people who explicitly knew Severus and Voldemort had joined forces. Others, the less imbecilic of the inner circle, sensed it, but Barty had been told. He also knew what Harlyn was. He was one of Voldemort’s most loyal, and as a trained healer, he had been responsible for Harlyn’s medical care almost her entire life.

He knew Harlyn housed a fragment of Voldemort’s soul, but he didn’t know about the Horcruxes. If he figured it out on his own, which Severus expected given his brilliant intellect, his loyalty to them has kept him quiet over the years. As far as he officially knew, it was an accident caused by Dumbledore’s trap failing. It was meant to kill Voldemort, but he was too powerful, and instead, it tore a piece of his soul off. It clung to the only living being in the room to save itself - Harlyn. It all happened so quickly that she survived the Killing Curse, yanked back into life the second her heart stopped by Voldemort’s soul wrapping around her own and anchoring it to her body.

“There is no damage.” He said, graciously ignoring the childish, severely unbecoming for the two heads of state, behaviour he just stepped into. “She is breathing again, though she has not woken up yet. It is as though something is holding her back.”

“The memories.” Voldemort and Severus muttered to themselves in unison, just to glare at each other.

“We should have answered her questions.” It was an accusation towards Voldemort, one Severus didn’t care to conceal.

“And this situation tells us that we were right not to! She cannot handle it at the moment.”

“I must agree with the Dark Lord, Severus.”

If looks could kill, Barty would have collapsed on the ground the second Severus’ attention snapped towards him.

“In part at least. I believe…had you explained the whole truth to her, we would have been here sooner. In a way, it was unavoidable.”

“She is fucking immortal, and it was unavoidable that she died?” It sounded so fucking ridiculous, Severus felt compelled to say it out loud.

“Her body houses incredible magical potential - and she is the vessel for the Dark Lord’s soul. That is a strain the body of a teenage witch is not equipped to handle! And with her training-”

“So it’s my fault?!” Severus’ grip tightened around his wand. He felt his magic thrumming through the dark wood beneath his fingertips. “I’m too hard on her, is that what you’re saying?”

“I am saying that she is at a very delicate point, developmentally speaking. Excessive training strengthens her magic, but she needs time to physically and mentally catch up. And from what I hear…” Barty paused. His eyes twitched to Severus’ wand.

“Speak freely.” Voldemort’s hand settled on Severus’ shoulder. He wanted to slap it away and claw at the psychopath’s throat.

He hated how his anger deflated at the touch.

“I’ve been supervising Draco’s apprenticeship, as my Lord asked me to, and he mentioned that, apparently, Harlyn has been…troubled as of late.”

A lump formed in Severus’ throat.

That was his fault.

“She is growing up, and this phase of life is difficult enough to deal with if one isn’t a daughter of not one but two heads of state…she is confused and becoming more independent from her mother. That is to say, she is a perfectly normal teenager, dealing with perfectly normal issues for her age, self-consciousness, not knowing who she is, where her place in this world is…dealing with being lovesick for the first time. But in combination with everything else, it is too much.”

“And what do you suggest to fix it?” Voldemort said, though it sounded more like a thinly-veiled you better fix this.

“First she needs to recover. The last time she died, she was too young to communicate with us what she might or might not have seen or remembered. Now she is old enough to understand what happened, though I doubt she’ll be able to process it on her own. We still don’t know if it leaves her with damage - I can’t detect anything, but my diagnostic spells aren’t exactly made for situations such as these. She might be traumatised. She might not remember anything at all. The bond tying her and the Dark Lord’s life together might weaken with every death. There are too many unknowns.”

“She will remain under supervision at all times.” Voldemort said. 

Barty visibly braced himself for Severus’ reaction before opening his mouth again. “We must let this run its course.”

“Have you lost your bloody mind?”

“Sleep, and even a coma, is the body’s natural reaction to things the brain cannot process. She died, Severus. And she knows she did. She felt it. She is old enough to understand now. Her brain needs time and rest to protect her.”

It was his job to protect her!

Barty knew him well enough to understand that telling Severus there was nothing he could do to take control of a situation was the worst thing anyone could tell him. He knew Severus didn’t handle losing control well. Or standing off to the side.

“All you can do is be there for her.”

He said it regardless.

Because they were friends. Because he’d always be truthful with him. Because Severus had to hear it, clearly, bluntly, with no loopholes for him to escape through. Because Barty was loyal to them, to the Dark Lord and Severus alike, like no other perhaps, but that would never stop him from being blunt with them.

It was the precise reason why Severus trusted him.

Right now, he hated him.

“I want guards outside her door.” Voldemort said. “Fetch Draco and Ron, Barty. Tell them one of them is to be with her at all times. With her, Barty. She is not to be left alone under any circumstances. I want to be informed of any and all changes in her condition.”

“Yes, my lord.” Barty bowed and left. He knew better than to try and fight the storm raging in Severus’ chest.

Voldemort had already turned to leave. “Severus.” His name sounded sharp coming from his lipless mouth, as though they had been carved directly from his fangs. It was an order. “Matters of politics do not wait. Our enemies are just waiting for a moment of weakness.”

“Fucking bastard.” His voice was hardly above a whisper, acid, laced with righteous hatred and unquenchable rage. “Your blasted mark killed her.”

“No.” Spidery fingers captured Severus’ chin and forced his head up, forced him to endure those wretched, crimson eyes on his skin. “Our enemies attempted to assassinate our sweet Harlyn.”

“And you claim to care for her.”

Voldemort’s gaze slipped off him towards the room behind Severus, towards Harlyn lying in her bed, eyes closed, broken curls scattered around her head like the halo of a corrupted, fallen angel.

Severus couldn’t look. Couldn’t turn around and face his failure.

Voldemort bent down to him. Dark, long hair fell onto Severus’ shoulders, making him shudder. He hated that Voldemort was taller than him. Hated more that Voldemort knew how much it unsettled him.

“I gave her to you, didn’t I?” He murmured softly.

Severus didn’t like the expression in his eyes, didn’t like the tenderness and pain on his distorted face. It didn’t fit. It didn’t belong there. It was wrong-

“So that she may grow up around someone who possesses the capability to love. I forfeited being her father for fourteen years so that she would not have a lonely childhood. You are one bitter, angry, prickly piece of shit, Severus - you have a heart big enough to love her for the both of us.”

Severus scoffed.

Claw-like nails dug into his skin.

“I used to think it was your worst quality.”

“Used to?”

“I was beginning to reconsider my assessment - until this pathetic display of emotionality.” Voldemort let go of him. The pain of his touch lingered, grounding Severus in the moment.

“Fine.” Severus rubbed the back of his hand over his nose and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. Dried blood flaked off his skin. “Fine.” Another cigarette between his lips, lit with a snap of his fingers, he followed Voldemort back to the council room.

***

Harlyn groaned in her sleep. Ron was out of his chair immediately. He knelt next to her bed, eyes fixed on her constricted face, but nothing happened. She didn’t move. Even her chest barely rose and sank with her breaths.

The Dark Lord said it was an attack from their enemies. Ron knew there was more he wasn’t telling them, but it was not his place to question the Dark Lord. All he truly cared about anyway was seeing Harlyn recover. He said she would, so she would.

He adjusted the small octopus plush on her bedside table that tipped over in his haste.

A household was sent to fetch some of Harlyn’s belongings since she would be here until she had recovered, and nobody knew how long that would take. Mr. Tentacles was among the things Dobby brought back. When Harlyn was little, she wouldn’t go anywhere without the pouty cephalopod. Dobby had been with the Malfoys since as long as Ron could remember. The overly enthusiastic elf must have remembered. Ron had never felt anything akin to sympathy towards an elf before.

Ron’s knee hurt where he bumped it into the bedside table, but he didn’t care. He returned to his place by the window, continuing his watch.

Dawn was creeping up on the stronghold in the distance.

A rat skeleton squirmed out of his sleeve and settled on his lap. Absentmindedly, he stroked the bones. They thrummed with magic beneath his fingertips.

The door opened. Ron caught a glimpse of Draco before a cloud of dark fabric slid into the room.

Severus.

He didn’t deign Ron a single look. Ron didn’t pay him much attention either.

Harlyn could be so fucking exasperating, but what he wouldn’t give to have her sitting upright in her bed, throwing silly insults at him and complaining about him bringing one of his creatures into her bedroom.

Severus brushed a wayward, frizzy curl out of Harlyn’s face. Harlyn shifted. His knuckles came to rest on her temple.

It was odd to see Severus Snape of all people act gentle towards anyone, even Harlyn - perhaps especially Harlyn, Ron thought but he knew better than to speak if not spoken to. And after his older brother already lost an ear to him (not that Ron felt particularly sympathetic towards either one of the twins right now) he was sure his rage would shift onto another Weasley if provoked.

He discarded his cloak on top of her dresser and made quick work of the row of buttons down the middle of his frockcoat. He slipped out of his shoes and under the covers of Harlyn’s bed.

Ron watched from the corner of his eye, eager to not be caught spying.

Harlyn groaned. The sheets rustled as she nestled closer to Severus.

“Daddy-” Her voice was hoarse and her whisper so fragile, another wave of anger rose up in Ron’s throat.

“Shh…” Severus hushed her, stroking her hair, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Harlyn peeled her eyes open with great effort. Her gaze was glassy and seemed to slip right through Severus. He pressed his lips to hers, cradling the side of her face with one hand while the other disappeared in the voluminous mess of dark curls. Harlyn’s fingers tensed against his chest, clutching at the front of his dress shirt.

Dark eyes met Ron over Harlyn’s head. Ron suppressed a curse. He stared. And he was caught. Fuck.

“Do you have something to say, Weasley?” His voice was a low growl that made Ron shudder and chased a wave of goosebumps down his arms.

He shook his head.

“No.” He croaked, suddenly remembering how to speak.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t need to be told twice. He fled, running straight into Draco. The Malfoy cursed and shoved Ron off him.

“Dude-” Ron pulled Draco aside, away from the prying eyes of Yaxley guarding Harlyn’s door.

“Why aren’t you with Harlyn?”

“I was thrown out.”

Yaxley seemed a bit too curious for Ron’s taste. He pulled Draco out into the hallway.

“I’m freaking out.”

“I’m worried about Harlyn too, but Crouch says-”

“Not about that!” His voice was higher than usual. It rang in his ears, and he cringed. “Harlyn said something to me today- she- she wanted advice - and honestly, what the fuck was she even thinking coming to me? - and urgh.”

“You don’t make any sense, mate.”

“Snape and Harlyn are fucking!”

Draco blinked at him. Once, twice. He bore great resemblance to a toad in that moment. Then he put his palm over Ron’s forehead. Ron slapped his hand away.

“I don’t have a fever!”

“Did my aunt’s mania jump over to you?”

“Haha!” Ron scoffed. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing on the spot. “She told me she was fucking this guy but wouldn’t say who and didn’t give me any details, but she was so - you should have seen her, mate, she looked like shit.”

“What makes you think it’s Uncle Sev? “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

“ They kissed.”

Draco blinked again.

Ron slapped him.

Draco slapped him back.

He needed that.

“Pull yourself together.”

“Yes- right…yeah- I am going insane.”

“He- he took off that- that coat thing-”

“-frockcoat.”

“What do I care what it’s called?” He sounded hysterical, even to his own ears. “He got in bed with her, and then they kissed, and she called him daddy and I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

“Nothing!” Now Draco sounded hysterical too. “It’s none of our concern.”

“We are meant to protect her, Draco! That is our sole duty, and now she was attacked by our enemies, and you really believe we can afford another mistake?”

“This wasn’t our fault! Who would have thought- how could we have anticipated they’d get to her here?”

“Do you think they will care? We have to protect her, and Snape is her- her…I don’t fucking know what he is, but he raised her, right? And- and he’s fucking her mother! We have to tell the Dark Lord, don’t we?”

The young Death Eater exchanged a look. There was a pregnant pause.

“Not me!” “Not me!” They shouted at the same time, then glared at each other.

The rat skeleton clinging to Ron’s arm chirped. Ron and Draco swirled around, bowed-

Voldemort wore an amused expression on his not-quite-human face.

“You are dismissed, boys. We will watch over her for now. Get some rest. You will be called upon again.”

“Yes, master.” “Thank you, master.” Ron and Draco slipped past the Dark Lord and bolted. Neither one of them wanted to be present for that fallout, not realising it wouldn’t come.

*

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... “

James rocked a happily babbling, dark-haired baby in his arms. A man with the most shockingly blue eyes smiled at her over the rim of his half-moon spectacles as he spoke.

“and the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal, but they will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…”

“It doesn’t mean it’s Harriet.” Lily crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Of course it’s Harrie.” James interrupted her. “Look at our little girl. She’s got power running through her vein, haven’t you?” He cooed and swirled Harlyn through the hair. She lost her octopus and started crying. James didn’t notice. “Our daughter, vanquisher of Dark Lords.”

“This is no game, James!” Lily shouted. He tore Harlyn out of his arms and summoned the plush octopus to hand it to Harlyn. “She is a child. And we don’t even know this…this prophecy,” She scoffed. ”Is about her.”

“It could be the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom.” Dumbledore said. “It is whichever child Lord Voldemort decides it is.”

“And how do you know he decided it is us?”

“Snivellus. It’s him, isn’t it? That git still wants to see me dead.” James had taken a seat at the kitchen table, playing with his wand. “I should take the cloak and slit his throat. Be done with it.”

“The cloak is with Dumbledore, and for good reason!” Lily put Harlyn down in a playpen. Her attention was instantly caught by the little mirror hanging from the wooden bars. She cooed and grabbled at it with her tiny hands, laughing at her own, slightly blurred reflection.

There was no scar on her forehead.

“Because you couldn’t stop sneaking out with it in the middle of the night without telling me! I’ve been looking after Harriet all on my own, James.”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“Actually, you didn’t. What you have done is bitch and moan about missing going out for drinks for Sirius!”

James rolled his eyes. “You meet Marlene every week.”

“Yeah. She comes here, and I still take care of Harriet when she is here. You don’t even hear her crying when you’re with your buddies.”

“Let us not fight in front of the headmaster.”

“This is the first time you don’t want to fight.” Lily scoffed. “I say, let us not pretend we are seriously considering this. This is our daughter’s life we are talking about!”

James remained silent.

“We aren’t!”

He gave a shrug. “You heard the prophecy. She’d be fine.”

Lily made a disbelieving, suffocated noise somewhere in the back of her throat. “You cannot possibly be- You want to- our daughter is not a sacrificial lamb, James!”

James slammed his fist down on the table, tipping over a vase with Harlyn’s handprint painted across it. It rolled off the tabletop and burst on the ground. Harlyn was startled by her father’s anger and started crying. Lily didn’t move to pick her up.

“Somebody has to fight that psychopath!” James hissed. “Why not her? She is destined for it!”

“You are mad.” Lily whispered.

“We are at war. We do not have the luxury to be squeamish.” He wouldn’t even look at his wife while speaking. Harlyn was still crying.

“I agree with your husband, as much as it pains me.”

“All I want for her is to be safe.”

“Nobody in the world will be safe until Voldemort is dead.”

“Lily.” Dumbledore wore a sad smile on his old, tired face. “If the plan works, then this war will be over.”

Lily glanced over her shoulder at her crying daughter.

“Fine.”

*

“Harriet Potter.” Crimson eyes blazed under the hood, focused on her. A green light flashed at the tip of his wand. 

“So young…” He hummed, not an ounce of regret in his voice. “But only I can live forever.”

She was swallowed by green.

*

“There you are, little fawn.” Sirius Black whispered, wearing a wide smile. His black hair fell in casual curls over his shoulders. A tattoo peeked out from under the neckline of his shirt. 

Another man reached a scarred hand out to her.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere, Harrie.”

*

“Mummy will protect you, Harlyn.” Lily forced the words out between two sobs. She held a cup of hot chocolate to Harlyn’s lips. It smelt odd, and she had seen Lily empty a vial into the cup. Harlyn didn’t want to drink that. She cried. Her octopus fell out of her hands, too weak to hold on to it.

*

Harlyn stumbled over a root sticking out of the ground. Severus was there immediately to catch her. He took her hand after lifting her over the obstacle that was too much for her short legs.

“Careful.” He brushed the hair out of her face before continuing down the narrow path.

“Birdy!” Harlyn pointed up at the treetops above them.

“That’s a Goldfinch.” Severus said without even looking up. He was scanning the undergrowth with his eyes. He was searching for a rare kind of moss that was notoriously difficult to find, so he didn’t mind the snail speed of the stumbling three-year-old at his side.

The bird chirped as though to answer Harlyn’s enthusiasm. “Ha-lyn can sing too, birdy. Lalala…” Harlyn continued to hum while skipping along. Severus was powerless against the smile forming on his lips.

They stopped near a small stream. Harlyn was fascinated by the little baby frogs migrating towards the body of water. She squealed and giggled at the tiny hopping creatures and followed them while Severus harvested moss, until - splash.

Severus swirled around. Harlyn was sitting in the stream, water soaking through her dress and running over her legs. She looked up to Severus, eyes wide, glasses covered in water droplets, bottom lip quivering.

“Oops.” Severus said, lips curling. Harlyn burst out laughing. She slapped the surface of the water with the palms of her hands, delighted at the way water splashed everywhere. For a while. He sat on the ground, leaning against a tree, and just watched her play.

She grew tired eventually and waddled towards him, slumping down against his chest. He didn’t even care that she was soaking his clothes.

“Ha-lyn loves Sev’rus.” She yawned and twisted her little fists into the fabric of his robes, nuzzling her face against his chest. He splayed his hand over her back.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, hiding his smile against her curls.

*

Voldemort was talking. Harlyn wasn’t listening anymore. Ron and Draco were playing outside. They were chasing each other, using anything and everything in their surroundings they could find to climb on, both attempting to not touch the grass while shoving the other one down.

“Harlyn.” Voldemort’s voice pulled her away from her thoughts. She tore her eyes off the window. “Have you been listening?”

Harlyn shook her head. She knew it was impossible to lie to the Dark Lord. She shoved the thick, leather-bound tome away and crossed her arms on the table, resting her chin against it.

“It’s boring.”

Voldemort chuckled. “It is our history.”

Her eyes slipped back to the playing boys. The Goblin Rebellion of 1752 was much less important to a seven-year-old than playing.

“But we won.” Harlyn huffed, blowing a curl out of her hair just for it to land in the exact same spot it had been before. “You won. The Goblins do as they are told.”

“It is far more complicated than that.”

Harlyn groaned.

“It is important to know where we come from, Harlyn.”

“But I’m not a Goblin!”

“No.” Voldemort chuckled. He closed the tome Harlyn shoved away. “No, you are a brilliant little witch.”

“Is that why I have to study? All the time…just study study study.” Harlyn grimaced and stuck her tongue out to the book she saw as the enemy, as if she’d never have to study to begin with if it weren’t for that book. “Then I don’t want to be smart.”

“I’m afraid that is not in your power to decide.”

“Then you do!” Harlyn looked up. Mischief gleamed in her eyes. “Barty and Lucius say you are the most powerful and smartest wizard ever! And you are the ruler, so you can decide!”

“I will not.”

Harlyn scowled.

“But I will decide that you have studied enough for today. Go outside and play with your friends.”

The little girl’s face lit up instantly. She jumped off her chair. “Thank you!” Instead of bowing as she usually would, she hugged him, squishing her face into the fine fabric of his robes. For a moment, Voldemort was too surprised to do anything, and then he was too confused to know what to do.

“Can we have ice cream? Dad says I can’t have ice cream before dinner.” She looked up at him through big, pleading eyes. “Please?” 

Voldemort’s lips curled. “You’re a cheeky little thing, aren’t you?”

“Dad says I’m a troublemaker and a spawn of Satan, I don’t know what that means, but I can tell he’s grinning when he says it.”

“Severus and grinning, huh?”

“Yeah, with his eyes! He looks all grumpy, but his eyes are grinning.” She imitated Severus’ scowl with surprising accuracy for a seven-year-old, giggled to herself and ran out of the council room before Voldemort could change his mind. He glanced over his shoulder a while later and saw Harlyn joining Ron and Draco, holding three ice cream bars in her arms that she gave them, grinning like a little devil. Spawn of Satan indeed. His little spawn.

*

Harlyn woke up with a scream. It tore through her battered throat. She thrashed and screamed. Her skull was split open by the pain pounding through her scar. She felt darkness closing in on her despite the too-bright chandelier shining down on her and making her eyes burn. She was shivering and freezing, and everything felt wrong. She smelt death and decay. Tasted rot on her tongue.

“It’s okay, Harlyn.” Severus shifted more of his weight onto her, crushing her to the mattress beneath her. He was holding her wrist in his hand, pinning them to her belly to stop her from clawing at her own skin. Tears poured over her cheek ceaselessly.

“You’re safe, baby girl. We’ve got you.”

“Get it off!” Harlyn screamed. She tried to kick Severus, but she couldn’t reach him, and the few blows she did land, did not hurt him. She screamed at the top of her lungs and thrashed, trying everything she could think of, using every limited ounce of strength in her body to get Severus off.

“Get it off me! Get it off!” She managed to free a hand and clawed at the snake sprawled over her throat until her skin was red, until blood covered her fingertips. “Off! No! It’ll- It will- please- take it off- get it off me!”

Nothing Severus or Voldemort said or did calmed her down. Eventually, they exchanged a look and gave up. They let go of her, hoping that if they could not calm her, perhaps she would calm herself if given some space. There were no guidelines for this. They were moving through entirely new territory. There had never been a human Horcrux before. They had no idea how the immortality it granted her even worked. Just that she didn’t stay dead when killed.

Harlyn fled. She slipped off the bed, scrambling away from them, plunged to the ground and crawled under her desk, where she dragged her knees to her chest. She swayed back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…a self-soothing motion that looked more like mania on her. Harlyn buried her face against her knees and sobbed quietly.

“Everything will be alright, Harlyn.” Severus aimed for a soothing tone, though his own distraughtness melted into his voice. “We are here…it’s alright now. You’re safe.”

“What have you done to me?!” Her eyes blazed red. The snake on her throat tore its maw open, baring venom-dripping teeth at him. Her glasses were fogged up from her tears, but it could not hide the fear and agony in her eyes from him. “What have you turned me into-”

“We will explain, but you need to calm down-”

“NO!” Her voice was thrumming with magic. The chandelier swayed dangerously. The water glass on her bedside table cracked. “I was dead-”

Severus cursed under his breath.

He had hoped she wouldn’t remember, that she’d be unaware…

“Why am I not dead- I should be dead- you killed me- mum-” Harlyn tore at her own hair and swayed harder, faster. It was disturbing to see her like this…

“Come here.” He said softly and opened his arms, kneeling on the ground. “Come here, baby girl. I know you’re confused. It’s okay. You know you can trust me.” He summoned the little purple, frowning octopus from her bedside table. It had spent the past three years on a shelf in her room, but if she had ever truly needed it, it was now.

Something familiar. Something constant. He couldn’t bear to throw it out when she came to live with him, even though it might very well have come from James Potter.

Slowly, skittish like a fearful wild animal, Harlyn crawled out from under the desk. Severus remained still, not moving an inch, not even breathing in fear of scaring her.

Harlyn reached out for the octopus and then…inched closer to him, hesitated and eventually collapsed into his arms.

She wasn’t sobbing or wailing anymore, not screaming or shouting.

Those tantrums were reserved for when she feared to be losing control, when she felt like she was falling with no one to catch her.

She was silent. 

Harlyn was always silent in the face of her world crumbling around her, when she thought no word known to the human mind could still change anything, when everything was broken and grey and hopeless. And just like she had when she was five, she looked up at him and Voldemort, begging them to fix what was breaking inside her, and all they could do was hold her tight.

If anyone had ever told Severus that he would one day be kneeling on the ground of a girl’s bedroom and hugging said girl with Voldemort - 

Honestly, he had no idea what he would have done. It was so outlandish, even now that it was happening.

Severus pressed his lips to the crown of her head, closed his eyes…and for the first time in twenty-nine years, he prayed. For what, he couldn’t tell. Guidance? Strength? Comfort? It all sounded so incredibly stupid to him, but at that moment, he would have done anything to take Harlyn’s pain.

Chapter Text

The lift arrived with a quiet ding, and the grills slid to the side, a metallic rattle that echoed through the dark hallways. Black, shiny tiles lined the walls, floor and ceiling. The only sources of light were flickering torches, exuding an eerie, blue-white light.

Severus didn’t linger.

He hated the Department of Mysteries. The windowless underground room made him feel claustrophobic. It raised his hackles, and he expected some nasty, godforsaken creature to ambush him at every turn.

Even now, that he was leading the country, he did not know about everything that was studied down here.

Severus followed the trail of blood coating the floor and walls in speckled layers of glistening crimson. He encountered unconscious Unspeakables here and there, ordering the men he took with him to get them out of there. They were alive. It was a good sign, or…he hoped it was.

He stepped into the entrance chamber, a circular room designed to confuse unauthorised personnel and trap them until Aurors could be dispatched.

He was not unauthorised personnel.

He followed the blood.

He found another unconscious Unspeakable at the entrance to the Hall of Prophecies and one halfway through it, leaning against shelf 97. Bloody fingerprints had replaced the glass orb that contained the prophecy about Voldemort and Harlyn.

So she had a purpose…her line of action wasn’t arbitrary. She wasn’t killing. She was volatile, yes, and ruthless, but she was herself - why else would she not kill the Unspeakables who stepped in her way? Why go after the prophecy that dictated her life?

Droplets of blood painted a path out of the Hall of Prophecy, through the time room to-

The Death Chamber.

Of course.

It made sense in some sick, twisted, horrible way.

Down in the pit, upon a dais, stood the stone archway. The tattered cloth hanging over it swayed ever so softly, as though moved by a breeze, but the cold room was still.

Harlyn sat on the dais, in front of the veil, still as a statue. Crimson splotches sullied the white nightgown she wore. Her hair had returned to the same mess it always was after three days of sleep.

Slowly, Severus descended the stairs leading down into the pit. He gestured for the remaining Death Eater accompanying him to stand back, sending them away to guard the room.

Harlyn held the glass orb in her hand, absentmindedly rubbing her thumb over the smooth surface.

His boots against the stone steps were the only sound in the room.

“You said the prophecy was a ploy from Dumbledore.” Harlyn’s voice was rough and quiet, as though it required great effort from her to even speak in the first place. She lifted the orb over her shoulder. “But here it is.”

“I don’t believe in prophecies.”

“But it is here.” She hissed.

“Yes. It was made by a seer. I overheard it being made to Dumbledore when I was a young man, serving as Voldemort’s spy.”

He didn’t care to pretend anymore, didn’t care to leave Harlyn in the belief he was just another loyal servant to Voldemort.

Harlyn got to her feet, but she didn’t turn around, didn’t look at him.

Severus was consumed by worry, but he could not place that burden on her. He was furious too! Two seconds, for two bloody seconds they took their eyes off her, and the blasted girl slipped out of her window and disappeared off the face of the earth.

“And you told him. You told Voldemort, and he killed me.”

“You didn’t die-”

“Because I’m a Horcrux.” Her voice was frosty, cutting, the most devastatingly destructive thing he ever heard.

Severus wasn’t sure how much of their explanation she actually understood or even heard. They had wanted her to rest first, recover, but whenever they changed the subject away from it, she’d start screaming again and scratching her skin wherever the snake sat.

She was in no position to process what they told her, but at least she stopped mangling her own flesh.

“A piece of his soul lives inside you.” He spoke softly, quietly, a hopefully soothing tone that would not make her feel like an animal being cornered. He didn’t get closer either. He stayed at the edge of the stairs, giving her space. “It protected your soul from the killing curse and bound it to your body. You cannot die. Your heart might stop, but his soul will prevent yours from moving on, so you will always end up being pulled back into life.”

Harlyn shook her head, violently. A vortex of black curls flew around her head. “Don’t- no-” She sunk her hand into her hair, tearing at the curls. Severus made a step forward, without thinking, urged by his aching heart to make her stop hurting herself but that was a mistake. Harlyn screamed, a sound so heartwrenching, so full of agony, the stone benches around them burst into a thousand pieces, letting splintered rocks and dust fall down upon them. She threw the prophecy. It shattered on impact with the wall. White smoke dripped to the ground. A faint image of Trelawney lingered for a second before the words she once uttered were lost to the world forever.

“I don’t- let me- let me die-” She muttered, repeating the words over and over, slowly sinking to her knees, pulling out her own her, rocking-

Severus abandoned all caution. Fuck it. Fuck the safety of the people above them. Fuck the integrity of his body. Fuck everything. His girl was suffering.

“I feel like my skin is burning.” She sobbed into her hands. “Everything is burning- it hurts- What’s happening to me? Why are you doing this to me- please just make it stop.”

Harlyn lunged at him, from one second to the next, she wasn’t cowering on the ground anymore but above him, the force of her attack enough to knock him over. She straddled his body and plunged her hands into his pockets, frantically searching for his wands - he did not bring it. She settled for his knife, dragging it out of the hidden pocket inside his frock coat. Severus cursed, but it was too late. He tried to wrestle it out of her hands, but a shockwave of her magic burst from her and pinned him to the ground.

“Let me die- just let me die.” She had a frantic expression in her eyes that scared Severus. He couldn’t move. He pushed against her magic, but her erratic state and the disparity between her magical growth and physical growth made it all the harder to fight. She couldn’t properly control it and ended up letting it take too much from her.

“I know it hurts.”

“You know nothing!” Harlyn screamed. Another row of benches was torn to bits.

“I do. You heard Barty, your magic is developing too quickly for your body to keep up. I’ve been there, Voldemort has been there. We know how you feel, and it’ll pass. This has nothing to do with the-”

“Me being a freak?” She stalked towards him, knife in hand. Her eyes blazed red. She looked like a creature born from a horror movie, covered in blood, black, wild hair and an agonised craze on her pretty face.

“It has nothing to do with the fragment of his soul inside you.” He said calmly. “What you are feeling-”

Harlyn collapsed on the ground. Still holding the knife, she buried her face in her arms, body hunched over, curled up on the floor. The magic keeping him down fell away, dissipated like water from a receding wave. He sat up.

“Fuck, I- I have no idea what you are feeling, Harlyn. It must have been terrifying…” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had smoked his last fag and hadn’t gotten around to refilling his stock yet with Harlyn awake but unresponsive after her meltdown.

“I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t- what if this isn’t real? What if- what if all this is just- what if I have been his prisoner all these years, my memories aren’t real, and I’ve been in the dungeon all along and he’s torturing me-”

“No. No, Harlyn, that isn’t true, and you know it.”

“I saw a girl-” Harlyn lifted her head off the ground, looking up at him with her tear-soaked face. “A little girl in chains…that is me- it’s me and I’m- I’m-”

Severus shook his head. He closed the distance between them and pulled Harlyn into him, even when she wanted to thrash and protest. He cradled her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “That isn’t you.”

“You know her-” Her eyes widened.

“I saw her too, yes.” Severus pulled his necklace out from under his shirt, showing Harlyn the Celtic knot. She reached out for it with trembling hands, holding it ever so gently, venerating almost. “When I made this.”

“You have- you are-”

Severus undid the clasp at the back of his neck and closed Harlyn’s fist around the silver pendant. “Yes.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as tight as he dared to. “I have them too. The Dark Lord shared the secret of their creation with me after I saved him.”

“Saved him from what?” Harlyn’s voice was muffled against his robes. Severus rested his cheek against the crown of her head.

“You’ve heard the prophecy. Dumbledore - I can’t say if he truly believed in it or not, but he saw a chance in it. He knew I was spying on him, and he knew I had heard half the prophecy. He let me escape, let me report to the Dark Lord. He thought it was about you, just like Dumbledore. He expected Voldemort to go after you, so he set a trap, using you as bait.”

Carefully, Severus slipped the knife out of her grasp. She relinquished it.

“Voldemort meant to kill you, yes…Dumbledore’s trap worked, but he had already created Horcruxes. He could not be killed, but his mortal body could be destroyed. Dumbledore’s magic tore him apart, and in the process, a piece of his soul chipped off and clung to you to save itself. His soul was still vulnerable from his last Horcrux.”

“How do I know then, I am not that girl?” Harlyn cried out. “I am his Horcrux- nothing more- I thought- I thought I finally have a family but it was all a LIE!”

A chunk of the dais was blown off and reduced to crumbling pieces, turned to sand beneath the might of her magic.

“ You aren’t my father. He isn’t- Mum hates me, and I hate her- Ron and Draco - it’s all a lie. They are protecting Voldemort’s soul and nothing more!” Her words were barely audible between wailing sobs. “All lies, lies- this isn’t real- nothing is real-”

Severus caught her chin between his fingers. She made no real effort to fight him off. Her gaze seemed to slip right through him.

How much longer would her confusion last? The tests consistently show no damage to her brain, but why did her confusion not subside?

“Harlyn.” A jerk went through her at the sound of her name off his lips. Her eyes widened. She stilled in his grasp. He kissed her. He had no idea what came over him - this was the absolutely worst moment for him to fall victim to his base instincts. She tasted of salt, spent magic and something else, something he could not ascertain.

“Trust me.” He muttered against her lips. Harlyn inhaled a shaky breath. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, so he could feel her lashes against his skin when her eyes flicked back and forth between his lips and his face. “I am not your father, but you have always been able to trust me, so trust me now. Do you believe the Dark Lord would be able to fabricate this? The way you feel? Love? Remember our studies…no magic in the world can replicate the true feeling of love. Not even Amortensia, which is believed to be the strongest love potion. Do you remember what I told you?”

“It- it evokes a…” Harlyn closed her eyes, raking through her brain for the information she knew - she knew that she knew this. Severus could read it all on her face. “A strong obsession…”

“Good girl.” Severus nuzzled her face with his own. His nose rubbed ever so softly over her cheek. He could feel her shudder in his arms. “And do you really believe that if all this is a means to torture you, he would have let you learn so much about magic?”

She wanted to believe him. She so desperately wanted to believe him.

Almost tentatively, she leaned forward and found his lips. She kissed him, moving her lips against him slowly. She ran the tip of her tongue shyly over his bottom lip. She savoured the contact, stretching the moment out, experiencing as much of it as humanly possible before she had to pull back to catch her breath.

He wrapped his cloak around her and gathered the girl into his arms, this fragile, tiny girl that somehow held such strength in her…

Severus carried Harlyn out of the destroyed chamber of death, down the hallway where not a single drop of blood remained, to the lifts. Mulciber shot Severus an equally inquisitive and worried look that he ignored.

The atrium was filled to the brim with people. He should have brought her up to the office of the minister to get her home through that fireplace, but it was too late now. They had been seen.

Healers in pale green robes tended to the most severe injuries, stabilising them for the transport to St. Mungo’s.

This was- less than ideal. Severus did his best to not snap at anyone. He just wanted to get Harlyn out of here, away from the prying eyes and questions. He was actually relieved to see Voldemort cut through the crowd.

He turned to address the room. His sickly-sweet voice delivered words of reassurance, of grief about the attack his daughter suffered at the hands of their enemy. He asked to give her space and time to recover, promised they would strike back tenfold and find whoever was responsible for this act of cowardice. That she would be avenged.

He found the right words, instantly. He moved the hearts of the people, even though Severus was pretty sure his own chest was just an empty cavern.

Although…the way he glanced over his shoulder at the trembling girl in Severus’ arms…could a monster change? Was the power the Dark Lord knows not, whatever Harlyn had done to them that inspired such a wrecking sense of protectiveness in them? She came into their lives as a tiny thing, a mess of thin, dark curls and green eyes so bright, they seemed to glow, and with her, she brought chaos and destruction, nothing but mischief in her little head that stole his every last nerve sometimes but also such undeniable adorableness, such innocent joy.

At five she was weaving flower crowns for them, insisting they put them on.

At seven, she hosted tea at Slytherin Manor in the grand parlour, kneeling between Death Eaters on the floor, serving one of the most expensive tea varieties to her plushies as they discussed bloody raids and campaigns…

At ten she learnt to ride the unicorns the Malfoy family had been breeding for centuries. She had looked every bit the princess she was, outshining even the magnificent, regal creatures.

The crowd parted to let them through, and they disapparated together.

***

Harlyn’s eyes were empty. She stared at a point somewhere across from her, but he was sure she saw right through it. He wanted to understand what was going on inside her, what she was thinking, feeling, to perhaps be able to find the right words, though…what words would ever be able to explain away her experience?

He had taken off his frock coat and rolled his sleeves up. He ran a bath for her as soon as they returned, both to get the blood and grime off her skin and to perhaps help soothe the pain her magic was causing her. Severus remembered how he had wanted to never again leave the bathtub. Cool water was the only reprieve from the burn in his veins.

He held her, one arm snaked around her back, hand resting on her waist while he washed the blood off her neck with a washcloth. She slipped down beneath the water, and at first, Severus didn’t think anything of it. She used to play mermaid in the tub when she was younger, trying to hold her breath for as long as she could and setting the whole bathroom underwater in the process. It was only when she didn’t come back up, gasping for air, that she stuck his hands in the tub to pull her up.

Begging them to take her life, stealing his knife, curling up in the tub…it was as if Harlyn was seeking out death. He shouldn’t be surprised, he supposed.

How could a human brain process that they were dead and then not anymore?

From how she acted and the bits and pieces he gathered from her less-than-coherent muttering, she remembered everything. Everything inside her must scream that they shouldn’t be here, that her heart shouldn’t be pumping blood through her veins, that her lungs shouldn’t be filling with air, that her skin shouldn’t be warm.

Absentmindedly, Harlyn fingered at the Cloak of Invincibility. It lay draped over a stool, making half of it and the towels underneath it disappear. It was an idea, something worth trying. Severus was still not convinced the Peverell artefacts were actually made by Death’s hands, but then again, he didn’t believe Death would be an entity until he created his first Horcrux and saw the little girl in chains.

Perhaps being close to something death had created would help Harlyn, help her feel close to the realm she was a brief guest of and, by all laws of the universe, should not have been able to leave.

He ran the washcloth over her hands, spending special attention on them to remove every bit of crusted blood from under her nails and the many grooves and wrinkles around her knuckles. Her hand clung limply to the rim of the tub.

“Did I kill them?” Her voice was so terribly small, so quiet.

“No.” Severus rubbed his thumb over her waist soothingly. “They will recover, as will you.” He didn't know that and he wouldn't have told her anything else if he had.

“I didn’t want to hurt them- I wanted to make them let me pass- I couldn’t control-”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.

“They didn’t deserve- I’d never- never someone who didn’t deserve-” Hiccuping sobs cut her off, and she buried her face against the crook of his arms. The water dripping from her hair soaked through his sleeve in seconds, but he didn’t care.

“I know.” He repeated, uselessly, helplessly. “I know, baby girl.” He dropped his face against the crown of her head.

“Let’s get you in your bed.” He muttered into the dense curls. “Get you something to eat.” Severus pulled back, ready to fetch a towel when Harlyn’s hand closed around his wrist. He sat back down, looking down at her inquisitively.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” She whispered, voice rough and husky, and before Severus had the chance to categorise this new sound of hers, to sort and dissect it and save it to memory forever, he was drowning in the green of her eyes, so green, more green than he’d ever seen, so ridiculously bright they seem to glow just like the Dark Lord’s.

Harlyn’s trembling fingers dug into his neck as she pulled him into her to press her lips to his in a hungry, desperate kiss. His dress shirt was already ruined, and he couldn’t have cared less. He gave up on holding back his desire or need for her delicate, perfect little body. His cock had been straining against his trousers for far too fucking long.

She looked magnificent, sprawled out effortlessly artistical in the clawfoot bathtub. Creamy, tanned skin, although paler than usual, offset with the crude, harsh lines of the snake. It had settled on wrapping its tails around her thigh and curling its body up around her waist, its head resting between her breasts.

As much as he hated it right now for what had happened to Harlyn, it was not the snake that was to blame. The elaborate Dark Mark had only tried to protect Harlyn, however misguided it was. It was inevitable that Harlyn would get hurt. They could try as they might to shield her, but eventually, something would have happened to her regardless.

It looked good on her.

Powerful. Alluring. If she were a piece of art, just a girl immortalised in oil on canvas, she'd be named Corruption of Innocence , no doubt about that. Both innocence and her losing it at their hands looked deliciously sinful on her.

Harlyn's legs stretched on and on underneath the water, taut and defined from years of training. Her body bore the evidence of her growth. Her plump arse, her shapely hips…her breasts were no more than a gentle handful, but it suited her…fuck how it suited her…water droplets rolled down her chest, chased over the subtle slope of her breasts, past hardened, pink nipples – picture-perfect little nubs that Severus attacked feverishly, closing his lips around them, sucking, teasing, biting, drowning in the taste of her skin, mixed with the rosemary oil he added to the bath, and the feeling of her nail scraping over his scalp.

Her moans were breathy little things in his ear, unbearably sultry in their sweet innocence. His arm wrapped around her back, he drew her closer, traced open-mouthed kisses over her sternum, her ribs, bit and sucked on every stretch of skin he could reach, peppering her skin with his marks.

Severus stroked her leg, from her ankle up to her knee, up and down until she was squirming, water sloshing over the rim and covering the tiles on the ground. Her legs parted all on their own for him, and he hoisted one over the edge of the tub. He spread his hand over her knee, encompassing it entirely with his large palm. His lips found hers, licking a path up over her neck and jaw until he could once again suck her tongue into his mouth. Harlyn rolled her hips against the water, desperately seeking friction. Severus ran his hand down the inside of her thigh and cupped her aching sex. She gasped into the kiss, a shudder rushing through her.

She was already wet. Wet and needy, and finally he got a response from her. She was squirming and whining and moaning, and he could take his eyes off her without fearing her aliveness had only been in his head. A wicked, cruel lie his mind told him because reality would be too much to bear.

But she was alive. She was alive and warm, a heartbeat pounding in her chest, the muscles in her thighs tightening under his teasing strokes, her clit swollen and slick beneath the pads of his fingers.

“Harlyn.”

Her name on his lips wrenched a needy whine from her lips that Severus claimed for himself instantly, sealing it between their lips and stealing it away before it was forever lost to the sound of sloshing water.

She was relaxed and pliable. He didn’t encounter much resistance when he pushed his fingers inside her and stretched her tight little cunt gently.

How was it possible to be so tight? To be so fragile in his arms. One could think he hadn’t fed her enough, but Harlyn regularly wolfed down three servings and had the gall to act all pouty when there was no dessert.

Harlyn crossed her arms at the back of his neck. She pulled on him, though he was stronger, and she just ended up pulling herself up on him, pressing her wet tits to the front of his dress shirt.

Like a siren lulling him in with her voice and then trying to drown him, no matter how small the body of water at her feet.

“Fuck that.” He growled and plucked the girl from the water. It poured down her body, splashing and sloshing, going everywhere, soaking him thoroughly. He even earned a small giggle from Harlyn. It was almost lost to the sound of the water, but she had her face pressed into his hair, her lips right by his ear…

Severus threw the girl down on her bed. She bounced on the mattress, legs bent, arms crossed at her chest, as though to hide from him. He made quick work peeling the drenched layers of fabric off his damp skin and quickly joined her on the bed.

His hands mapped her body eagerly, stroking and pinching, kneading and squeezing. Harlyn’s fingers found her clit. He encouraged her, muttering filth as he watched those perfect, delicate fingers batter her clit with short, quick, punishing circles.

“That’s it, baby girl.” He growled, ignoring the thrill shooting through his spine at the sinful sight. “Are you getting yourself ready for daddy? Making your little cunt go all wet so you can take his prick?” He captured her splendid tits in his hands and pressed open-mouthed kisses to them, alternating between both of them.

Harlyn hooked her feet behind his thighs and pushed against his shoulders. He let her claim control, rolled onto his back willingly and watched her mount him, watched her align his fat, purple cockhead with her throbbing little hole and rub her clit as she slowly rocked forward, working his cock inside her, hard inch after hard inch. Rock after rock, he slid inside her, speared her open, left her tight channel gaping from the sheer girth of him compared to her.

Severus had never chosen a bedmate based on their size or height (though he never fucked someone taller than him - feeling an ornate ring digging into his shoulder at the mere thought) and he couldn’t help but bemoan what he had been missing. It was fucking glorious to have that tiny thing bounce in his lap. Her thighs strained around the width of his body. She had angled her legs and hooked her feet around his thighs, using them to push down on his thighs and push her body up. Her hands seemed to be lost against his stomach, the filed tips of her fingernails disappearing in the trail of dark hair spreading down from his belly button. Her wrists met, making her arms push her tits together. They bounced in sync with her sloppy, uncoordinated rhythm.

Severus settled an arm at the back of his head, propping himself up to have a better view of his cock splitting her open, of her arousal running down his shaft and sullying both their thighs.

He played with a damp strand of hair that curled on her chest. Harlyn squeezed her eyes shut at the sight for some reason and threw her head back, stealing the lock from his fingers.

The last time she rode him, Severus had been in control. He had held onto her and used her delectable body like a fucktoy, pushing and shoving at her until he came inside her. This time, he let her explore. He watched her play with different rhythms and motions, her forehead curled adorably, concentrating on this new skill as though he had given her an especially tricky problem to work through.

Green eyes sought him out - not empty exactly, but not quite as lively as they should be - begging silently for guidance, for praise, and Severus was more than happy to give it.

He ran his hands over her thighs, felt her muscles strain and twitch under his touch and secretly savoured the knowledge of how much he affected her.

She was an utter mess for him.

(And he for her)

“You feel perfect, baby girl.” He murmured and gently scratched his nails down her thigh, enough to leave streaks, but not so hard they’d stay longer than a few minutes. “So fucking tight…mhh, my perfect girl. There you go- just like that…do you like riding daddy? Do you like impaling yourself on daddy’s cock like a good little slut?”

Harlyn whimpered - whether, at his words or the fact he thrust up into her lazily, he couldn’t tell.

“Uh- fuck- your cunt drives daddy mad, baby girl- it’s almost sad…because - ahh - if your cunt already strangles daddy’s cock, your delicious little arse is going to make his heart stop.”

She squeaked at that, a sound somewhere between surprise, scandal and need.

Severus sat up. He pulled her flush with his chest, cherishing the feeling of her hardened nipple digging into his flesh, of her frantically beating heart. He spread her cheeks, curling his fingers against the luscious globes of flesh and rocked her into him. He stayed inside her, never pulling her back enough for his cock to slip out more than a few inches before brutally pulling her back in, slamming home in her cunt, cockhead kissing her cervix. He dipped his hand between her thighs and gathered her slick onto his finger. She made that same squeaking noise as before when he pressed the pad of his finger against her puckered hole. He massaged the sensitive bid of flesh, rubbing her own juices into her skin. She came undone before he even pushed inside her. A broken cry, sobbing whines and wanton moans, all melting together into a symphony of pleasure Severus would have liked to record so he could hear it again and again and again. He’d need to isolate the memory, seal it into a vial and replace the currently empty space around his neck with it.

Severus pressed sloppy kisses to her neck and sternum, rubbed his nose over her feverish skin, nuzzled the pendant currently resting against the hollow of her neck. His pendant that she had not let go of once since he let her have it at the Ministry... His Horcrux. His soul.

Soon, Severus couldn’t decipher who was riding who. It was truly filthy. Squelching noises and huffy pants filled the darkened room. The bed creaked and ached beneath them. The headboard slammed into the wall intermittently. He was fucking into her, and Harlyn was meeting his thrusts, grinding her clit against him, smearing her slick all over his skin and pubic hair.

“My perfect girl.” He muttered before claiming her lips in a searing kiss that burnt bright enough to melt at least a couple of neurones. He pressed the pad of his finger against her hole, a gentle pressure, an unrelenting push. Harlyn clung helplessly to his shoulder, fingernails breaking skin. Blood rushed to the surface to close them back up. Neither of them cared.

“Is this alright, baby?” He nuzzled her cheek with his nose, eyes squeezed shut to regulate his breathing and battle his climax back down. He didn’t want it yet, he didn’t want this to end.

“I-”

He caught her chin, cradling the side of her face, his thumb pressed to her bottom lip. It was bruised and chapped, red from kissing. “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head.

“No? Do you want daddy’s finger in your arse? Do you want me to finger your arse while I fuck your cunt? Stretch both your slutty holes?”

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her cunt clenched around him. A shudder shook her body.

“Harlyn-” Her name was all rough edges and animalistic need from his lips. She tore her eyes open, stared at him, lips slightly parted.

“Yes- Sev…fuck- yes!” She rested her forehead against his cheek, panting, her breath dancing over his collarbone.

“Do you want my cock there? Harlyn? Do you want me to shove you face down into the sheets and mount you like a mare ready to be bred?”

Ever so softly, Harlyn cupped his face with her trembling hands, only her fingertips meeting his skin, a touch so fleeting and yet so fucking intimate he almost came right then.

“Not tonight.” She whispered. Her eyes lingered, sweeping over the harsh features of his face. It’d been years since he shed the conviction that he was undesirable. He knew his imposing presence and unconventional, coarse appearance had a certain effect on people. He and Mulciber used to shag almost every night back in their seventh year, and Severus, believing nobody would want to be with him unless he brought something compelling to the table, learnt how to please men and women alike so they’d never be able to forget a night with him.

Sienna, the auspicious young healer who had specialised in women’s health early on in her career, was his sub for a couple of blissful years until their chosen paths made their relationship impossible to continue. He was an aspiring young Death Eater, and she joined the International Healer’s Relief Organisation , an NGO that sent healers and nurses to areas of conflict.

Severus viciously cut her out of his life when she broke the news to him, and therefore making it unmistakably clear she was not going to take the mark as he had wanted her to. Healers were invaluable in a war. Voldemort would have rewarded him richly for recruiting her, and Severus had wanted nothing more back then than to prove himself to the dark wizard and gain his favour. A pathetic need for fatherly affection he never could quite shake, no matter what he did to distance himself from such feelings.

He hadn’t missed Sienna a single day since.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Harlyn pouted, not playful per se but not outright sullen either.

“Like what?” He swiped a damp curl behind her ear.

“Like I’m going to kick the bucket any second now.”

“I’m not looking at you like that.”

Harlyn raised a brow at him. He raised one in reply. The battle of eyebrows.

(She was getting rather good at imitating his sneer, though he would never tell her that.)

“You’re so dramatic, daddy.” She cooed and nuzzled the side of his throat, burying her face against his shoulder. “I’ll just get back up again anyway.”

That was almost a joke.

Gallows humour but a joke nonetheless.

He was eighty percent sure... seventy-three percent.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or not. He ended up awkwardly exhaling a burst of air. Harlyn chuckled. Not as enthusiastic as usual, but it was loads better than the apathetic state she used to be in, no?

He flipped her over with a growl and buried her nimble body beneath his own broad frame. He let her feel his weight and the muscles stretching across his ribcage. He grabbed her knees and bent her in half, pounding into her with no restraint. She was writhing within seconds, and mere moments later, she was falling apart on his cock. He followed not long after, spilling his seed deep inside her, savouring the look on her face, a mixture of dulling pleasure and tired satisfaction.

He rolled off her with a suppressed grunt and pulled the girl into his arms and under the blanket. She was so fucking light, it took no effort at all to manhandle her. He dozed off almost as soon as she settled against him.

***

Harlyn didn’t fall asleep. She watched Severus and envied him for the peace conquering his expression. She watched him sleep, watched his chest rise and fall gently and evenly.

She didn’t want to sleep.

She couldn’t sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the little girl, saw the chains weighing her down, saw the suffering on her face. Or she saw her father. Not Severus or the Dark Lord - she saw Potter. She saw his unruly hair that was so much like her own. Saw his glasses that looked like her own. Saw his crooked grin that was almost identical to her own whenever she had nothing but mischief in her head.

She wanted to expel him from her mind permanently, forget she ever knew him, scorch his DNA out of her every last cell.

Every breath ached in her lungs. Every beat of her heart tore a gash into her chest. Her blood was liquid lava rushing through her veins and cooking her from the inside. Her scar split her forehead open. Her brain throbbed and throbbed and throbbed .

She was overwhelmed and exhausted, and if she could erase her wizarding heritage, right now she would do it if it would only end this suffering.

She felt everything and nothing at all at the same time.

She felt empty. Numb in a way she never had.

She wasn’t sad or angry. Confused, yes, but apart from that…just empty.

She never knew the absence of something could be so horrible to endure.

Harlyn slipped out from under the blanket. Severus tightened his grasp on her, but it was easy to replace herself by shoving a toadstool sprite plushie against his chest to take her place.

She knelt on the ground and searched his discarded frock coat until she found his knife. They had taken her own, alongside her wand, but Severus had been distracted. Again.

Her floor was cleared quickly. She shoved a rug aside and moved a few carelessly tossed-aside shoes out of the way.

The knife slid through her skin with ease. It was so sharp, she almost didn’t even feel it. She dropped the knife and pressed her fingertips to the bleeding cut, gathering her own blood to paint on the ground. She copied the runes she saw Ron draw a hundred times as best as she could.

The Invisibility Cloak pressed to her bare chest, she curled up in the middle of the runic circle and squeezed her eyes shut.

She didn’t know the words he used, nor would she have been able to pronounce the Old High German he used to formulate his ritual, but perhaps…perhaps it would suffice…perhaps it would be enough that she’d feel alive again, feel anything. Anything but this emptiness and pain.

She didn’t know how much time passed, how long she lay on the cold floor, bathing in the silvery light of the moon. The bed ached, sheets rustled. Severus sighed. Harlyn was ready to fight tooth and nail with him - she would not be getting up until it worked . He didn’t try to pry her away from the ground. He cast a cushioning charm on the ground beneath her - Harlyn could feel herself sink into the wood - and dragged the blanket and pillows from her bed over to where she lay. He settled behind her, covered her first with the Cloak, then gently placed her head on a pillow before finally spreading the blanket over both of them. He held her tight, wrapped up in his warmth and scent, stroked her hair and intermittently peppered kisses onto her shoulder.

It didn’t help.

It didn’t strip her of her numbness, nor did it soothe the agony her magic inflicted on her, but…perhaps his presence made it all a little more bearable.

Chapter Text

The girl didn’t notice him standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She perched cross-legged on her desk, rubbing absentmindedly at the runes painted onto her wrists. The sun played around her, illuminating her like a precious sculpture on display at a museum.

A small shudder went through her, and she swirled her head around, spotting him. Her eyes narrowed, an accusatory expression that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Walk with me.” Voldemort said. Harlyn slipped off the desk and followed him out of the manor. They walked in silence. She didn’t even complain when he led her into the forest she so despised.

She looked healthier. Some colour had returned to her face in the week since the incident at the Ministry. Her eyes were less empty, and last night she had attended their monthly private dinners. He attended her mark, tweaking the enchantments and weaving a few new orders into the spellwork that would, among other things, prevent the mark from ever turning on its mistress again. Her magic was settling. She was still plagued by memories resurfacing, but she did not speak of it. He knew it happened regardless. On some nights, he lowered his mental guards and stole a glimpse of her dreams. Insipid fragments of her dull birth parents and their rebel friends. Pettigrew appeared in one of them, but Harlyn had never met the man in the years after and only remembered him as her father’s friend. Voldemort idly wondered what she would do if she were to meet him now. The thought amused him. He played with the idea for a while, picturing the one who betrayed her writhing and convulsing under the power of her wrath. Or perhaps - and he couldn’t tell if that thought excited him more than the other - she wouldn’t be angry at all. Perhaps, she’d recognise his cowardly betrayal of her as what brought her into his arms, that uplifted her and paved the way for the grandiose future she was walking towards.

“I dreamt of you last night.” Harlyn said eventually, without looking up at him. She ran her fingertips over the bark of the trees and the leaves of the shrubs as they followed the trail wild animals and beasts had carved into the woods.

“Did you now?” Voldemort had been preoccupied last night.

The girl nodded. “You and Severus took me to get my wand.”

“Ah.” His lips curled. He remembered that day well. Little Harlyn, wild hair contained in Dutch braids, practically vibrating with excitement, holding Severus’ hand. She grabbed hold of his sleeve when Ollivanders began talking to her, asking about her wandarm, and mulling over what wand wood and core would be best suited for her based on the wands of her parents.

“Father, why did-” Harlyn bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the ground in front of her feet. “Am I- am I allowed to call you that, my lord?”

“You may call me whatever you like.”

She looked up, flushed with surprise and fear of reproach. A mischievous expression flashed through her eyes, there and gone within the blink of an eye as she considered taking his words literally.

“Ollivander acted weird when he gave me my wand, didn’t he? Why?”

“Because Ollivander sold me my first wand.”

Dark creatures lurked in the woods, but they dared not get close to Voldemort. Bird vacated the area with panicked chirps, rushing to get to safety while two squirrels fought on a branch above them.

Harlyn slipped her fingers into the sleeve of his robes and dragged his wand free. She thought she was slick about it, and any other wizard would have probably not noticed - Severus was a skilled pickpocket after all, a skill honed by poverty and hunger, much like Voldemort had learnt it.

She rolled the wand in her fingers, staring at the grooves and outcroppings of nodules running down its length. She ran the nail of her thumb over the rune-inscribed bone inlay just above the handle.

“Ollivander didn’t make this.”

“No.” Of course, his precious Horcrux would notice this wand was not made by a mortal man’s hands. “My first wand was rather…ordinary. Yew, 13½" long with a phoenix feather core.”

“Phoenix?” Harlyn’s head snapped up, the most powerful wand in existence in her hand all but forgotten. “Like mine?”

“ Exactly like yours, my dear.” A grin tore at his lipless mouth. “In fact, the phoenix who gave a feather for my wand, gave a second one.”

Hope gleamed brightly in her eyes, dimmed only by the fear of being wrong, that she might be misinterpreting his words, that he might be playing with her.

“Is it-?”

“Our wands are brothers.”

Harlyn was quiet for a while after that. She plucked a funnel-shaped flower off a bush and stroked the velvety petals before tucking it behind her ear. He could feel her inner turmoil. It was a constant buzz at the back of his head since she woke up from dying almost two weeks ago.

People didn’t make sense to Voldemort.

Their petty, useless worries and senseless squabbles had only ever annoyed him, even as a child. He was called cold and apathetic until he learnt how to use their inane social rules against them. He became the charming, polite Tom Riddle who was beloved by his professors and the student body alike. He played their game and beat them all at it. He didn’t understand their feelings or care for them, but he learnt how to exploit their infatuation, their admiration and envy to his own advantage. There were few people he met who would not let him play them like a fiddle. Dumbledore was one of them. He denied Voldemort the praise and recognition he was owed for his exemplary grades and behaviour. He would not let Voldemort teach at Hogwarts. He opposed him at every turn, and Voldemort killed him for it. He had him publicly executed so he’d see the people he fought so hard to protect turn on him. See their hatred for him and their joy at his suffering. It was a spectacle that lasted days.

His father met a far less grand end. He was the same as Harlyn now when he finally figured out the mystery of his heritage and was promptly disappointed, first by his mad uncle and then by his father, who had no magical blood to speak of and would not even accept Voldemort as his son. He had to die. Of course, he had to, and Voldemort did not doubt that Harlyn could be led to do the same if he were to fail meeting her standard.

The second person who refused to bow to Voldemort’s every demand had been Severus.

Strong-willed, unbreakable scum of the earth Severus. The ragged-looking boy Voldemort met when Abraxas introduced them, smugly showing off the talent he had discovered and swiftly made himself patron of, was only fifteen but already bursting with potential.

His skill for potions and spell crafting was impressive at any age, but especially in such young years. He came from a broken home, from poverty and the cruel dispraise of the people surrounding him.

He was a bitter, angry boy, but his mind sharp. He played along with Voldemort’s demand, swiftly rising in his favour - partially led by the similarities between them Voldemort could not manage to ignore - always waiting for his opportunity, waiting for the right time to sink his claws into Voldemort. When Severus had a feeling something was wrong, when he found his weakened form in the girl’s childhood bedroom and saved his mortal body from falling to dust, he used the chance he knew he would never get again. 

Severus had always yearned for more, for more power, more influence, more knowledge - to shed every last bit of him that could be mistaken for the weak little boy he once was, at the mercy of the tormentors in his life.

Voldemort was almost proud of his audacity.

He proved himself worthy of what he demanded of Voldemort in that moment, and Voldemort had never regretted not killing him for his impudence.

Severs was capable and suited perfectly for the position he slid into. Voldemort was not too proud to admit he would not be where he was now without the grim Potions master, though of course, he’d never say it out loud.

Harlyn was so much like them.

Many of her mannerisms were as though stolen directly from Severus. Plucked from him like she plucked the wand she was still holding from his holster. She shared their cunning, their pride, their intelligence - even though she had the endearing tendency to be utterly dense sometimes. As though her brain too needed glasses at times, and without them, she could not see what was right in front of her.

She had Voldemort’s finesse when it came to spellcasting and Severus’ savage nature that bled into her attacks. Voldemort would never lower himself to fight like a Muggle, but Harlyn made it look like divine punishment.

And yet, Harlyn was different, entirely.

She possessed a gentleness that neither his nor Severus’ life had permitted them to retain. She was made of light and kindness and mercy. As beautiful as the virgin goddesses he’d read about in the books he stole. They were his reprieve from the dreary orphanage, and here, years later, he had found one and made her his.

His Harlyn, his precious little Horcrux, the greatest treasure he ever got his fingers on, and like the yo-yo, the silver thimble and tarnished mouth organ he kept in a cardboard box on the top shelf of his wardrobe, he kept her safe and sound. He grew much more refined since then, and his means had drastically changed too, so his most precious of all treasures grew up wanting for nothing, surrounded in his manor by the luxury she deserved. He parted with her to give her the carefree, perfect childhood he never had, and that might have been the first and only selfless act he ever performed.

Harlyn lazily flicked the Elder wand at a tree, blasting a chunk of bark off it. A smirk tugged on her lips as a small shudder coursed through her at the power thrumming beneath her fingertips.

Voldemort was not surprised the wand heeded her command. She was a piece of him after all, and the wand’s only loyalty was to strength, which she had an abundance of, even with the runes at her wrists keeping her magic in check.

“There will be a gala at Slytherin Manor tonight.”

“I heard. You’ve been planning it for weeks.”

“I would like for you to attend.”

Harlyn looked up at his word, squinting her eyes at him.

“I am certain our people would be overjoyed to see you have recovered from the gruesome attack you suffered.”

“You never miss a chance to use a situation to your advantage, do you?” Her voice had become cold and distant.

“Perception is an important thing, my dear Harlyn.” He said softly. “If our people believe us weak, it will in turn make them weak.”

“So you tell them the Order managed to attack me?” She scoffed.

“So I tell them the Order tried to kill you but couldn’t. I tell them you were injured and then show them a proud young woman, standing tall, unscathed.”

“Let me guess, there were some last-minute invitations that went out to high-ranking soldiers, some major generals, a couple colonels, and a handful of lieutenants? So they can tell at the frontlines stories of my courage and beauty?” Harlyn scoffed again. A scowl had appeared on her face, deepening with every word she spoke. “Gee, and I thought you cared.”

Voldemort caught her wrist, claw-like nails poised dangerously against her pulse point, and pulled her back. Harlyn blinked up at him in surprise. 

“Do I care?” He hissed, eyes blazing. “I give you a lot of leeway, but do not dare to make such truculent insinuations again, girl.”

“Yes, my lord.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. 

Voldemort was hyper-aware of her pain, of her every emotion, and it irked him.

Their unique connection had made Harlyn the only person he ever truly understood.

It was far easier to keep his own emotions and thoughts shrouded from her than to lock her experiences out, and the girl was a lost cause when it came to Occlumency, according to Severus.

He knew when she was happy or sad, and he knew what caused it. He knew she was lost, staggering around this new reality of her life she could not yet make sense of. He knew she wanted Severus, all of him, to herself. He knew exactly which actions of the Potions Master caused her what pain. He knew exactly why she loved flying even though she couldn’t put it into words.

All her emotions had the nasty tendency to sneak up on him and overwhelm him when he least expected it. She, unwittingly, conditioned him to care. She carved herself into his chest and made herself a home where a normal person held their heart in their chest. Harlyn had become his heart.

“I trusted Bellatrix had instilled some sense into you but, alas it seems I will have to punish her after all.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pain.

A subtle sting that nudged into his chest. A phantom sensation that did not belong to him.

“A lesson’s value is greatly improved if the pupil finds their way to its conclusion on their own.” He hummed.

“Playing your games is not a lesson.”

He inclined his head, silently conceding the point she had made. “What is it you would have preferred to hear from my lips, my dear? That you are mine? Have my actions not made that perfectly clear? That you are a beautiful young woman? I confess, Severus was allowed to take his valuing humility a little too far if you cannot see that for yourself.”

Harlyn muttered something about communication and the people in her life being utterly incapable of it. She watched a bee flutter from flower to flower, unable to make a decision as to which was the best to collect nectar from.

“Do you love me?” She didn’t meet his gaze. She stared firmly at the bee, every muscle in her body taut, as though she was preparing to run from him.

“Love is a fool’s errand, Harlyn.” He said, giving her a type of honesty not many people were afforded from him. “Dumbledore believed love powerful enough to defeat me. And see what it got him.”

Harlyn snorted, a sound of rare cruelty from her lips. “That’s not what I mean.” She rolled her eyes and jabbed his wand at him. Within seconds she had jumped up to catch a branch over her head and climbed up the tree it belonged to with the hyperactive speed and gracefulness of a chipmunk. She disappeared among the leaves for a moment before tumbling back into sight as she let herself fall backwards off the branch, her legs hooked around it.

“You know what I mean.” She said, picking up their conversation where she left it off as if nothing happened to interrupt them. Voldemort smirked at the upside-down girl as he leaned back against a tree and crossed his arms.

“I never had a father, Harlyn.”

“Neither do I, but I love you. And Severus.” She crossed her arms too, mirroring him, and stuck out her chin challengingly. “Why did you take me in? Because I’m your Horcrux?”

“Yes.”

She scrunched up her face, just like she used to do as a child when told no. He could feel that she appreciated his honesty, no matter how much she disliked his words.

“My Death Eaters were scouring the country for you while I was recovering.”

“Because I fucked you up.” She grinned.

He clicked his tongue in a wordless chide.

“I was recovering from Dumbledore’s attempt on my life, insufferable chit of a girl!”

Harlyn’s face was slowly turning red from the blood rushing to her head. She didn’t seem to care.

“But your mother surrendered you on her own.”

“James had been arrested, right? When you found me? Dumbledore was still around, though…I wonder if she thought the war was already lost. I remembered, you know? How mum brought me to Severus. She said, they are fighting like dogs over her. They are fighting like dogs and will tear her to pieces, I’ll do anything, anything if you protect her. You reckon she was honest?”

“In experience, people that are at their wit’s end are often the most honest.”