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Chapter Text

“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…”

Voldemort mused aloud to himself as he paced back and forth, mulling over the words of the prophecy.

Severus stood before him, back straight, with his head lowered respectfully. Despite his outward stillness, internally, he was brimming with excitement, his pulse quickening with pride at having delivered such crucial information to his master. Once he'd realised the significance of what he had overheard at the Hog’s Head inn, he had rushed to report to Voldemort at once.

“Unfortunately, that was all I managed to overhear,” Severus said. “There may have been more to it, but at that moment, the bartender came upon me listening at the door and made me leave.”

“Do try to be more subtle in the future,” Voldemort said. “But no matter, no matter… Excellent work. Severus. What you have brought to me is already most useful.”

The warm approval in Voldemort's voice sent a thrill of satisfaction through Severus. He watched as Voldemort continued to pace the room again, deep in thought.

"Born as the seventh month dies," Voldemort murmured, his voice soft and contemplative. "Parents who have thrice defied me… that can only refer to the Potters, or the Longbottoms.”

Severus’ heart skipped a beat.

“Not the Potters,” he said quickly.

Voldemort turned to look at him, his gaze going sharp. “Not the Potters?”

“Their son was born on the first of August,” Severus said. “The prophecy cannot refer to him.”

“I see,” Voldemort said. His scarlet eyes gleamed. “That narrows it down to the Longbottoms, then. Well done, Severus. If I act swiftly, my victory will be assured. And you, my faithful servant, shall be well rewarded… you shall know the full measure of your Lord’s favour.”

Severus’ cheeks went pink with pleasure. “I am honoured, my Lord.”

TWO YEARS LATER

“Announcing James, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, and Harry Evans!”

There was a brief break in the general flow of conversation amidst the gala attendees as James crossed the threshold of the ballroom, holding Harry, his little toddler, by the hand. Several heads turned, gazes flicking towards them.

Harry was entirely oblivious to the attention. Instead, he was staring up at the arching ceiling above, enthralled.

“Papa! Papa, look! Fairy lights! Fairy lights!!”

A whole flock of captured Scottish Highland fairies, enchanted to glow gold and emit a soft dusting of silver flakes with each flap of their tiny wings, flittered above the gathered elite of wizarding Britain as they mingled. One of them swooped down to investigate the new arrivals. It came to land on the tip of Harry’s finger as he pointed a chubby hand up.

James’ smile, which had been artificially, painfully polite as their arrival was announced, warmed into a genuine grin as he saw Harry’s eyes widening with delight. Harry made a grab for the fairy, but it was much too quick, easily darting out of his reach before it could get crushed.

More fairies swooped down around him. Harry squealed with laughter, hopping from foot to foot as they swirled about in a little storm of gold and silver. He clapped his hands in glee each time one darted close enough that he could almost grab it, his delighted giggles ringing out above the background hum as conversation resumed among the others.

“What an adorable boy,” came a pleasant, polished voice from James’ left.

James turned. It was Narcissa Malfoy, dressed in an elegant, pale blue robe of watered silk with silver embroidery, looking perfectly composed with not a hair out of place. Lucius stood a half-step behind her.

“Narcissa,” James said. “And Lucius. What a pleasure. My congratulations on your cousin’s engagement.”

Tonight’s gala was to celebrate Regulus Black’s engagement to Dara Greengrass. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had spared no expense to celebrate this - the union of two noble Pureblood houses. The ballroom was opulent in its grandiosity, its marble floors polished to a mirror’s shine, the glittering chandeliers overhead casting a warm golden glow over the guests beneath, Pureblood witches and wizards dressed in their finest robes. And at the centre of the room, Voldemort himself stood at ease, conversing with the Blacks and the Greengrasses.

James quickly looked away, focusing his attention on Narcissa instead.

Narcissa beamed at him. "Thank you! It’s lovely to see you at last, James - it’s been so long since we last met. And young Harry as well!” Narcissa looked down and said, “Look, darling, Harry’s come over to play. Draco, would you like to see the fairy lights too?”

A blond-haired little boy peeked out shyly from behind Narcissa’s legs. That had to be Draco Malfoy.

Momentarily distracted from the fairy lights by the arrival of a fellow toddler, Harry came over to investigate. He held his hand out solemnly towards Draco for a handshake. Draco froze, then, blushing, ducked behind his mother again to hide.

James had to laugh. He waved his wand, summoning down more fairies around the children. “Go on, you can play. They won’t bite,” he said.

Enticed at last by the dancing fairy lights, Draco peeked his head out again, eyes wide, before breaking into a sudden grin as he darted forward. Moments later, he was running excitedly in little circles beside Harry, the two toddlers giggling as the fairies swooped and spun around them.

Narcissa smiled down at them fondly. "You're very good at handling the children, James,” she complimented.

Lucius' smile sharpened. "Indeed. Speaking of which, with Regulus finally settling down, one wonders when it will be your turn to announce your own engagement. Young, eligible and marvellous with children - all the witches must be forming a queue at your door.”

James took a deep breath, forcibly reining in his temper. Openly quarrelling here with Lucius would achieve nothing but his own humiliation. Worse, he might draw Voldemort’s attention.

“I have no intention of getting engaged again,” James retorted, his voice level and cold. “Given that I am already quite happily married.”

Rodolphus Lestrange, standing nearby within earshot, gave a bark of incredulous laughter. "Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Potter. The law is extremely clear on the matter. Surely you don't mean to count - "

"I mean exactly what I said," James said, his voice turning even colder. Fuck the law.

The Blood Law.

Two years ago, following Voldemort’s victory and Dumbledore’s defeat, the new regime which swept into power had implemented that law which changed their world. Under the Blood Law, all Muggleborns - Mudbloods, as the law itself named them - were stripped of every legal right. Mudbloods could no longer hold jobs, own property, open Gringotts’ accounts, or be educated at Hogwarts. All marriages between magical people and Muggles or Mudbloods were annulled. It was why Harry was legally Harry Evans instead of Harry Potter. In the eyes of the law, he was the illegitimate bastard of James Potter and a Mudblood, recognised only under his Mudblood mother’s surname and not permitted to bear the Potter surname, and denied all claim to the Potter estates and vaults.

Mudbloods now had the same standing under the law as Muggles - which was to say, none at all. All the previous laws protecting them had been struck from the books. The laws forbidding Muggle-baiting and the misuse of Muggle artefacts had been abolished. The Statute of Secrecy still remained, but within its bounds, witches and wizards now had free rein to treat Muggles and Mudbloods however they pleased, up to and including the use of Unforgivables. Any resistance from Mudbloods, any injury caused to a witch or wizard, justified immediate execution.

It was why Lily was not here tonight. Attending a Pureblood gala as a known Mudblood would be practically suicide. In fact, she had not stepped foot out of their house in Godric’s Hollow since Voldemort’s triumph. True, most people were not actually sadistic enough to torment Mudbloods and Muggles for sport - but it did not require most people to do so. All it took was one.

Though Harry, at least, was still protected. Under the Blood Law, anyone who could prove that they had a magical parent was considered a halfblood. Halfbloods were legitimate witches and wizards and accorded full legal rights and protections. For Harry, the only penalty he suffered was that, as a bastard born out of wedlock, he was not permitted to inherit under the Potter line.

And the horror of it all was how quickly everyone else accepted this.

Because anyone who could prove they had at least one magical parent was counted as a halfblood, that encompassed the overwhelming majority of witches and wizards in Britain. There was no stigma attached to halfbloods, and their lives were not detrimentally affected by the Blood Law. The Blood Law had been deliberately, diabolically, drafted this way: to include as many people as possible, only excluding those who bore 100% of the Muggle taint. It drew a clear, bright line that preserved stability and quelled dissent.

Halfblood status only truly mattered when it came to noble estate inheritance. If a Pureblood from a Noble and Most Ancient Pureblood House married a halfblood, that marriage was considered entirely legitimate and their children could inherit the noble estate. But if the Pureblood divorced and subsequently chose to marry another Pureblood, the children of the second Pureblood-Pureblood marriage would always take precedence in inheritance over the children of the first Pureblood-halfblood marriage.

In practice, though, this rule did not affect the vast majority of halfbloods, who were not in line to inherit noble estates anyway. So for most people, life went on much as it always had. This restriction in the Blood Law was only viewed as a legal technicality, not a grave injustice.

Which was why James stood alone whenever he pushed back against the Blood Law.

The Purebloods gathered in this glittering ballroom? They were thriving. Their wealth and legacies were now safe from the taint of Muggles and Mudbloods. The halfbloods? Life went on the same as before. And the Mudbloods? Most had already migrated to other countries or mixed back into the Muggle world. In fact, this was the officially encouraged position, and the subsidiary legislation under the Blood Law set out clear procedures to facilitate the migration of Mudbloods and make it as easy as possible for them to leave. The few Mudbloods who still remained, like Lily, shut themselves away in their homes for their own safety, out of sight and therefore out of mind of the rest of society.

So whenever James spoke out against the Blood Law, the responses he received were united, and all in objection:

“Why are you making such a fuss? The war is over. Life is good. We have peace and stability now, thanks to the Blood Law.”

“Well, if the Mudbloods don’t like the Blood Law, if they think it's so unfair, they're free to leave. No one's stopping them.”

“We just don’t want those Mudbloods around. They don’t belong here. Would you let a stranger just barge into your house and live as if it were their home?”

“We had so much war and bloodshed these past few years, all because of Mudbloods who tried to shove their way in. We need the Blood Law to prevent that from happening ever again.”

“We are civilised people. Even in our victory, we are magnanimous enough not to hunt down the Mudbloods. We are simply asking them to leave. If they insist on staying, knowing they're not wanted, they only have themselves to blame for any unpleasantness.”

And finally, the whispers behind James’ back, when they thought he was out of earshot, “He’s just bitter that his bastard can’t inherit. Should have thought of that before he fucked a Mudblood.”

Lucius gave James a sharp, vicious smile. To Rodolphus, he said, “Oh, don’t be so hard on James here, Roddy. These dalliances do run their course eventually. No one faults a young man for sowing a few wild oats before settling down properly. When James eventually decides to take a proper witch to wife, I’m sure no nice girl will hold it against him."

A familiar, arrogant voice cut in, “And I suppose you’d know all about that, won’t you, Malfoy?”

James’ heart leaped.

Sirius had finally arrived. He looked as handsome as ever, dressed in fine but slightly rumpled robes. And there was something wild in his dark eyes - the same reckless fury that James sometimes saw in his own reflection in the mirror.

Sirius continued, “One might even think you were speaking from personal experience. Funny, I never thought of cousin Cissy here as a nice and forgiving girl. But I suppose people are full of surprises.”

Narcissa’s face froze, a mask of icy offence coming over her features. Lucius, by contrast, went crimson with fury. His hand moved in the direction of his wand.

A sudden hush fell.

Every conversation seemed to cut off suddenly mid-word, every head in the room turning towards a fixed point. But they were not looking at Sirius and Lucius.

James followed everyone’s gazes. His blood ran cold.

Voldemort was looking over at them.

He was still standing a distance away, to the right of Orion Black and Gideon Greengrass. He was shockingly handsome, almost unbelievably so, with his aristocratic features, black hair and eyes the colour of blood. Those eyes were fixed sharply, intently on them now. On the Malfoys and Sirius - and also on James and Harry, by extension, standing near.

Sirius swallowed. Lucius’ hand fell away to his side.

There was another long, tense moment of silence.

Then Voldemort turned away dismissively, engaging Orion Black in conversation again.

The warm hum of background chatter gradually started up again. Lucius looked back to James and Sirius, his expression filled with icy disdain. He linked his arm with Narcissa’s and placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“Draco, let's go,” he said, and then together, the Malfoys swept away.

James let out a sigh of relief and turned back to Sirius. “I didn't think you would actually come.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “And miss the chance to piss off my father and mother? I don't think so. Bet Regulus already regrets inviting me.” He smiled smugly.

James sighed. “I could have handled it with Malfoy, Pads. Piss off your parents all you like, but him…” He gestured subtly in the direction of where Voldemort was standing, where he was, fortunately, still speaking with Orion and Walburga Black and paying them no further attention. “Don’t draw so much attention to us. You know Lily and Harry…”

“... Okay, okay,” Sirius groused. He reached down to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Hello, little Prongslet.”

Harry beamed up at his godfather and threw himself at Sirius, hugging him around his knees. “Uncle Pads!”

Then, the announcer’s voice rang out again. “Announcing Master Severus Snape!”

James whipped his head around.

Snape stepped into the ballroom, and James felt his breath catch.

Part of him had still foolishly expected to see the greasy-haired boy that they had used to prank in school. But no - the man who crossed the threshold was unrecognisable from the Snivellus of James’ memories. He was no longer a sallow boy, hunched over in ill-fitting robes. Instead, he stood tall, clad in exquisitely tailored robes of deep emerald with fine silver embroidery. His dark hair was now sleek and silky, pulled back in an elegant tie at the nape of his neck. His perpetual scowl had been replaced by a look of cool, unassailable confidence. As Snape moved through the crowd with fluid grace, the gathered Purebloods all parted before him as he made his way to the centre of the ballroom.

Straight towards Voldemort.

"Severus." Voldemort's voice cut across the ballroom, not raised but carrying nonetheless. He was smiling, actually smiling, as he turned his back on the Blacks and the Greengrasses, his entire attention focused on Snape. "There you are. I was beginning to think you'd never arrive."

"Apologies, my Lord." Snape’s voice had changed too, now a soft, deep drawl instead of the sullen mutter that James remembered. "I was responding to an urgent inquiry from the German Magischministerium."

"You work too hard, Severus. Even you are permitted to rest occasionally."

Snape’s lips curved into a smile. "You’re one to talk, my Lord."

A ripple of polite laughter moved through the nearby guests.

Voldemort reached out and plucked a delicate canapé from a levitating tray.

"Eat, Severus," Voldemort said warmly, as he passed the canapé to Snape. "I know you've been up working since dawn."

“Thank you," Snape murmured, taking it from Voldemort’s hand.

Voldemort’s hand lingered on Snape’s for a fraction longer than necessary, brushing softly against his fingertips, before finally falling away.

Sirius whispered to James, incredulous, "Did you see - ?"

"Yes," James said faintly.

But no one else had even batted an eye. Around them, the other guests had already started to return to their own conversations. This casual show of intimacy between Voldemort and Snape was apparently common enough to be entirely unremarkable.

Sirius muttered, "I'm going to be sick. Tell me I'm hallucinating. Tell me you’ve Confunded me."

Before James could say anything, Orion Black tapped his wand against the crystal flute of champagne in his hand, then tapped it against his own throat. He’d evidently been waiting for Snape’s arrival to begin his speech. The room fell silent.

"Honoured guests, esteemed witches and wizards," Orion began, his enchanted voice ringing out across the ballroom, "It is my great privilege to welcome you all here tonight to celebrate a most momentous occasion - the engagement of my son Regulus, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, to Miss Dara, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Greengrass!"

Applause rang out. Regulus, standing next to Orion, smiled brightly. Beside him was Dara, a petite witch with silvery blonde hair. Blushing prettily, she tucked her hand into the crook of Regulus' arm.

Orion said, “This union represents everything our world holds dear. Two ancient, pure bloodlines, soon to be joined together in matrimony. The Black family has always understood the importance of tradition, of protecting what makes us who we are. Our magic, our culture, and our way of life. Toujours pur - always pure!

“For too long, we had to watch as the Muggle taint threatened to destroy us. Our world teetered on the brink of chaos. Too much blood was spilled, as those who had no right to our legacy attempted to claim it as their own. But we have emerged victorious! Thanks to the vision and strength of the Dark Lord, we have finally defeated the Muggle taint! We have purified our society. We have secured our future. Our children, and our children’s children, will live in an age of peace and prosperity as never seen before, under the leadership of our Lord, protected by the Blood Law!”

More applause rang out through the hall, this time even longer and louder.

Orion continued, "Our Lord saw what needed to be done, and had the courage to do it. We owe a great debt of gratitude to our Lord, and also to Master Snape, the brilliant mind who crafted this foundation of our new order, the Blood Law, which protects our legacy and keeps our society pure."

Around them, guests raised their glasses high, and Snape inclined his head graciously.

Orion finished, "So let us now toast to Regulus and Dara. Let us toast to the future of House Black. And let us toast to the Blood Law, and to the man who had the vision and the strength to make it reality.

"To Regulus and his lovely bride-to-be, Dara!

“To the Blood Law!

"To the Dark Lord!"

The crowd raised their glasses as one, cheering loudly. James stood frozen, unable to force himself to join in. He felt sick.

Harry tugged at the hem of James’ robe, alarmed by the sudden noise.

"Papa, loud," Harry complained.

"I know, Harry. It's all right."

But it wasn't.

The engagement toast having concluded, the crowd began to mingle again, conversations resuming in clusters. People gathered around Regulus and Dara to congratulate them. The room hummed with pleased, self-satisfied murmurs.

"I need a drink," Sirius said darkly. "Several drinks. Possibly an entire bottle."

"Yeah, that’s not going to help - Harry! Come back here!"

James' heart stopped as Harry took off running, chasing a fairy which had flitted away from the main cluster.

Straight in the direction of Snape.

“Harry! Harry, wait - "

But it was too late. Harry collided with Snape's legs at full toddler speed, bouncing off and landing on his bottom with a surprised "Oof!"

Snape looked down, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

James's hand twitched in the direction of his wand instinctively. Futilely. As if he could cast even something as harmless as a Tickling Charm on Voldemort’s favourite without being murdered on the spot. His mind raced through all the ways that this could go horribly wrong.

Then Snape reached down and, with unexpected gentleness, set Harry back on his feet.

"Careful where you're running, little one," he said mildly.

Harry blinked up at him, somewhat surprised but not truly frightened. “Okay,” he said.

Then he ran back to James’ side.

Snape's gaze lifted to meet James.

"Potter," Snape said. "And Black. How unexpected to see you here."

"Master Snape." James moved closer, subtly angling his body to place himself between Snape and Harry. His artificially, painfully polite smile was back in place. "You look well.”

Sirius cut in, "I’ll bet."

"Sirius," James hissed under his breath.

But Sirius ignored James as he stepped forward, his face flushed. "Good for you, Snivellus. You seem to have finally found someone who appreciates your hard - ” Sirius coughed pointedly, “ - work. I wonder exactly which one of your talents our Lord values most - ”

"Sirius!”

“Because it certainly couldn’t have been your sparkling personality that won him over. Must have been your skill in spr-"

"Sirius, shut the fuck up!" James grabbed Sirius’ arm, forcefully yanking him back. His heart was hammering. Cold sweat beaded on his brow.

Snape had gone very still, his face blank.

James did the only thing he could think of.

He spoke quickly, the words tumbling over each other. "I apologise, Master Snape. Sincerely. Sirius has had too much to drink - we both have - and it's been a long evening. He didn't know - he didn’t mean to imply - " The words burned in his throat, but James forced them out anyway. "Please. I apologise unreservedly on his behalf."

James’ face burned with shame. Every instinct screamed at him to stand tall, to draw his wand, to spit defiance in Snape’s face instead of grovelling.

But he had Harry to think of. He had Lily.

Severus regarded him for a long moment. James forced himself to bow his head, even as his stomach churned with humiliation.

"Too much to drink," Snape repeated softly. "I see. Try to control your lapdog, Potter. Do not imagine everyone else is as forgiving as I am."

With that, Snape turned his back on them and moved back towards the centre of the ballroom, where Voldemort stood.

Voldemort’s hand came to rest at the small of Snape’s back. He leaned in, murmuring something that made Snape’s dark expression soften minutely, and Snape said something in response, too quietly for James to hear. Then they moved away together, Voldemort's crimson robes flowing behind him, with Snape next to his side like a dark shadow.

James watched them go with no small amount of relief.

"I - " Sirius started, his voice rough.

"Shut up, Sirius." James said again. His hands were still shaking. He shoved them in the pockets of his robes. "What the fuck were you thinking? You were going to get us all killed."

"He deserves - "

"It doesn't matter what he deserves!" The words came out harsher than James intended, sharp with fear and frustration. "Don't you understand? This isn't Hogwarts anymore. This is - " He gestured helplessly at the ballroom around them, the glittering gala, the grand celebration of the purity of blood. At the reality of their defeat made manifest.

Sirius' face went pale. "James - "

"I have a family." James's voice cracked. "I have Harry. I have Lily. I can't - we can't afford your recklessness, Sirius. Not anymore."

Sirius hung his head.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, and he sounded like he actually meant it. He sounded as wretched as James felt. "I just... seeing him like that. Seeing them win."

James sighed. "I know."

He scooped Harry up, ignoring the boy's protests that he still wanted to play. "Time to go home, Harry."

"But Papa, the fairy lights -"

"Mama can make pretty lights for you at home, Harry. Don’t you want to go home and see Mama? I want to go home and see Mama.”

Harry giggled. “Okay, Papa. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The crack of Apparition cut through the silence. Lily was off the sofa in an instant, her wand in hand, her heart racing.

But to her relief, it was only James at the doorway, with Harry half-dozing against his shoulder. Sirius was trailing several steps behind them, looking thunderous.

Lily lowered her wand, the tension draining out of her body, though her pulse still hadn’t entirely settled.

"How did the gala go?" Lily asked, though she could already read the answer in the tight set of James' jaw.

“It was great, Mama!” Harry burbled happily. “I saw fairy lights!”

"Yeah. Really great," Sirius said sarcastically as he made his way to the Firewhiskey cabinet. As he poured himself three fingers of Firewhiskey, he said, "It was an absolute triumph of blood purity and celebration of the new order. I particularly enjoyed the part where my dear old dad loudly and publicly kissed the asses of Voldemort and Snivellus Snape."

Sirius downed half the glass in one swallow.

Lily's stomach clenched, but she kept her voice steady and free of any trace of bitterness as she said to Harry, "That’s so nice, Harry dear. It sure sounds like you had fun."

James passed Harry over to her, and Lily cradled him against her chest as she settled back down on the sofa. Harry gave her a big hug and then settled down into her lap. His little hands fisted in the front of her robes. Lily pressed a kiss to his dark hair, breathing in the sweet child-scent of him.

James joined Sirius in front of the Firewhiskey cabinet, pouring himself a drink as well. Meanwhile, Sirius was still complaining loudly about Severus.

"That greasy git, swanning around in his fancy robes, looking so bloody pleased with himself. Late, naturally, having made everyone else wait for him, because he'd been doing important work for his lord. And then Voldemort just smiled at him - flirted with him!”

“Flirted with him?” Lily said.

“He practically tried to hold Snape’s hand,” James confirmed, with a look of deep disgust. “And no one else even batted an eye.”

Sirius made a retching noise.

"So the rumours are true, then," Lily whispered. She ought to be aghast, but instead all she felt was dull, weary resignation. “He really is Voldemort’s… consort?”

Not officially, of course. But even Lily, shut up in her home for the past two years, had heard the gossip through James and the letters of her few remaining school friends who were still willing to communicate with a Mudblood. Severus Snape was now Lord Voldemort's second-in-command. His most trusted advisor. His favourite. His... whatever else he was, in private. The gossip varied depending on who was telling it.

"True?" Sirius barked out a laugh. "They’re definitely sleeping together. Voldemort knew that Snivellus had been awake since dawn. And I've seen married couples who were less intimate with each other in public. The way Voldemort looked at him, doted on him - " He shuddered. "And Snivellus was loving it. You should have seen him."

"What did he look like?" The question slipped out before Lily could stop it.

James and Sirius exchanged glances.

"Different," James said finally. "His hair, his robes, even just the way he carried himself… he looked like he’d been transformed. As if he had been waiting his whole miserable life for this." He downed a large swallow of his Firewhiskey too quickly and grimaced. "He looked like he was thriving. "

"Because he is thriving," Sirius spat bitterly. "While the rest of us suffer under their new order, Snivellus thrives by bending over and spreading his legs for -”

“Sirius,” Lily said warningly, glancing down at Harry. But Harry’s eyes were already starting to fall shut, the fatigue from his exciting evening having finally overwhelmed his little toddler body.

“By - ahem - kissing up to a monster,” Sirius corrected himself.

"Did he..." Lily swallowed hard. "Did you speak with him? Did he say anything? About... did my name come up?"

James' expression softened. "No, love. We… spoke with each other briefly, but he didn't mention you at all."

It stung in a way Lily hadn't expected.

She had once been the person Severus loved most in the world. She had known, as a girl always knows, even if she hadn’t been able to return his feelings - she had known, just from the way he looked at her, that she had once been the centre of his universe. These past years, late at night when James and Harry were both asleep, she had laid in bed, tossing and turning, tormented by thoughts of whether there was anything that she could have done differently, anything at all that she could have said which could have pulled him back from his dark path.

But apparently Severus had never looked back. He had found everything he was looking for in the arms of the man who had ruined her life.

He had probably never thought about her again.

Lily looked at her husband, at the tension still written in every line of his body. At Sirius, drunk and bitter and reckless, still fighting a war he was too stubborn to admit he had already lost. And the house around them, the home they'd built together, which had now become their sanctuary and their prison.

"James," Lily said. "We should leave."

It was an argument they had had dozens of times before, ever since the new regime had swept into power.

"Lily - "

"Please." She leaned forward, willing him to understand. "We could go to Australia, or Thailand, somewhere where they still legally recognise Muggleborns. Somewhere I'm - " Her voice cracked. " - somewhere where I'm still a person."

“Lily, you know why we can’t,” James said quietly. “This is spreading. MACUSA already elected the Heritage Party last month, the one that campaigned on implementing blood purity legislation similar to Britain’s. And at the gala, Snivellus said he was late because he had been communicating with the Magischministerium in Germany. We have to resist here, at the source of it. If we don't push back now, it will become normalised everywhere else. Voldemort still tolerates some dissent - for now. He lets people speak out and voice objections to the Blood Law."

As long as the dissent stayed within the bounds of words and not action, Voldemort ignored it. This was a fine line to tread, but one that allowed James to continue to try and resist the Blood Law in any small way he could. It was why he still attended Pureblood galas like tonight’s one. Lily knew this had nothing to do with mercy. Voldemort only allowed it in order to make himself look magnanimous and civilised, and entirely unthreatened by pushback. And somehow, this only seemed to make him even more popular.

“We can’t just give up. We have to stay and fight,” Sirius said grimly, backing James up as he always did. “If everyone like us leaves, then they've won.”

"They have won!" Lily said. She couldn't keep the desperation out of her voice. "James, Sirius - they've already won! Do you honestly think your speaking out tonight accomplished anything?"

James flinched. Sirius looked down at his glass.

Lily said, "I'm sorry, but you both know I’m right! The war is over. Voldemort won. Dumbledore is dead. The Purebloods are thriving. The halfbloods are comfortable, and they all have Severus as an example to look up to of how to flourish under the new regime.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice now. “All the other Muggleborns like me have either left already or gone into hiding. Nobody else cares, James! Nobody wants to fight anymore.

“And how long more do you think you can continue to speak out? How long before Voldemort decides that line has been crossed? At any moment, he could decide that making an example of you and your Mudblood wife - of your bastard son - would send a useful message!"

James remained silent.

“It will all just be normalised soon anyway,” Lily said dully. “Hogwarts isn’t accepting any Muggleborn students. That means there will be no new Muggleborn witches and wizards to fight for. Only people like me will still remember a time when we were considered legitimate witches and wizards. But a generation from now? Muggleborns will never even learn about magic. They’ll never find out about wizarding society. They’ll just live the rest of their lives like other Muggles, with the occasional magical outburst that they rationalise away as coincidence or imagination. What the regime calls ‘the Mudblood taint’, ‘the Muggle taint,’ will just be… gone. Erased. As if we never existed at all.”

The words hung in the air between them.

"Please," Lily whispered. "Please, James. Let's just leave the country. Let’s go somewhere where we can all be free."

James continued to remain silent, but the muscles in his jaw tensed again. Lily could see the conflict written clearly across his face. The war between his Gryffindor pride and his love for his family.

It was what Lily had loved about him, once. His fierce, stubborn courage. His refusal to back down in the face of insurmountable odds.

Now it was the cause of a death sentence they were all serving together.

Between them, Harry, bored by the adults’ conversation that he didn’t understand, had already fallen asleep.

As Severus entered their private quarters, he shed his formal dress robes with a quiet sigh of relief, casually dropping them over the back of a chair.

The gala had been an excruciating affair. He had never been one for mingling, for the careful dance of niceties and simpering hidden behind polite smiles. It was why he’d deliberately shown up as late as he thought he could get away with without annoying Voldemort or causing offence to their hosts. The inquiry from the Magischministerium hadn’t actually been that urgent, but Severus had deliberately let himself become preoccupied with answering it. Easier to immerse himself in the parchment and ink, policy and correspondence, than to face the cloying press of sycophants fawning over Voldemort - and himself.

"You performed admirably tonight," Voldemort said.

He'd already taken off his own dress robes as well. His crimson eyes were now fixed on Severus with an intensity that still sent a shiver down Severus’ spine, even after all this time together.

"Did I?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "I arrived late and said perhaps a dozen words in all to the Blacks and the Greengrasses."

“At events like this, your presence is more important than any words of flattery you speak."

Severus nodded in acknowledgment, though his lips twisted faintly. He understood, of course. A halfblood like himself, elevated to such a place of prominence at a high-profile event like this, was a message in itself. It signalled to the halfbloods who made up the majority of the populace that purity of blood was not the only currency of power under the new order. Talent, and loyalty would be rewarded. They, too, could aspire to greatness and be judged on their own merits, not merely their blood. It was a perfect piece of propaganda, delivered without words.

Still, Severus loathed being paraded about before all those preening peacocks. He hated being the centre of attention of every Pureblood and halfblood, most of whom would only be too happy to see him fall from grace. Being subject to their scrutiny made his skin crawl. But this was a sacrifice he made willingly, to secure the eternal reign of his Lord.

Voldemort sat down on the bed, lounging back against the pile of pillows. “Some of those puffed-up Purebloods would do well to take a cue from you. I thought Orion would never stop talking.”

“He was very effusive in his praise of you, my Lord."

"And in praise of his own bloodline. Toujours pur." Voldemort smirked. "As if centuries of inbreeding with other Purebloods has produced anything more impressive from the House of Black than Bella's fanaticism and Sirius Black's recklessness."

The casual disdain in his voice made Severus huff out a quiet laugh. This was the Voldemort that no one else saw except him. The man who didn't bother with pretence, who was cutting and sarcastic about the very people who worshipped him. And none of the Purebloods at tonight’s gala would ever know that the Dark Lord who had remade the entire wizarding world, uniting everyone under the banner of the Blood Law while proclaiming the importance of the purity of blood, was a halfblood as well - just like Severus himself.

Voldemort’s voice softened. “You seem unsettled, Severus. Did Black try to bother you earlier tonight?”

So he had noticed. Voldemort missed nothing.

Severus glanced down at his hands in his lap, momentarily unsure of what to say. Oh, he did not keep secrets from his Lord and lover, and there was nothing that Voldemort did not already know about his history with Black and the rest of his little gang of bullies. But it was still uniquely humiliating to confess that these old memories apparently held enough power over his psyche to throw him off-balance for even a moment, even now. When he was now second in command only to the Dark Lord himself, and they were now only a disinherited, penniless Pureblood, a washed-up ex-Auror and social pariah… and his Mudblood.

“Would you like me to kill him for you?” Voldemort offered casually. “And Potter too, if you wish. He’s been a thorn in my side for too long.”

Severus jerked his head up. “No, my Lord. But thank you,” he said quickly.

Voldemort scrutinised him keenly again.

Severus elaborated, “I was not troubled by my encounter with them, my Lord. Truly. They're nothing but irrelevant shadows of what they once were. Black is the same reckless, immature idiot he always was. Potter now has to grit his teeth and bow and scrape to me. It’s only that… " Severus’ voice trailed off.

Voldemort waited patiently.

Severus said, “James Potter’s boy bumped into me earlier. His bastard son, Harry. He looks almost exactly like his father, except for… his mother’s eyes.”

Those brilliant green eyes, wide with childlish innocence, had connected with Severus’ gaze for only a moment. Yet even now, almost a full hour later, they still lingered in his thoughts.

Understanding flickered across Voldemort's features.

Severus said, “I assumed that she would have had the sense to leave the country with her child, but…"

“Evidently not,” Voldemort said. He got up from where he had been lounging on the bed and approached Severus. He placed his hands on Severus’ shoulders. The touch was warm and grounding.

“Do not let it trouble you, Severus,” Voldemort said. “Lily Evans was always a fool. She had no sense then, and she has none now. To remain here, under our reign, is only further proof of her folly.”

Severus remained quiet.

“She was never worthy of you,” Voldemort continued. “She was just a callous little Mudblood who cast you aside, who turned on you without a backwards glance. You, Severus, deserve better. And you have chosen better.”

A flicker of heat curled low in Severus’ chest.

“Yes, my Lord,” he murmured.

He had chosen.

Decisively. Irrevocably.

The Blood Law itself was the ironclad proof of his choice. He’d known exactly what it would do to Lily when he was drafting it, to all the other Mudbloods like her, and he had done it anyway, even though he knew for a fact that Mudbloods were no different from witches and wizards.

But Lily had abandoned him when he had needed her most. Lily had turned her back on him, leaving him to the tender mercies of his bullies. Lily had joined in with them, sneering at him and calling him Snivellus, telling him to wash his pants as the cruel laughter of his tormentors rang in his ears.

Whereas Voldemort had lifted him above all others. Voldemort alone had recognised his worth. Voldemort had protected him and ensured that no one would dare to hurt him, the Dark Lord’s untouchable favourite, ever again.

The Blood Law was his love letter to Voldemort, crafted out of all his brilliance and his pain. Voldemort had originally wanted to simply kill all the Mudbloods, but Severus had persuaded him that the Blood Law would be a more efficient, elegant solution. And he had been proven right beyond his wildest dreams. The Blood Law had secured Voldemort’s popularity, granting him an unchallenged reign stabilised by the perception of fairness and legality and giving him widespread international legitimacy. For this triumph, Voldemort doted openly on Severus, raising him up above all others for building the unshakable foundation of his empire.

Now, those who had once humiliated Severus cowered at his feet, while the entire wizarding world bent to his will.

He had won.

Voldemort lowered his head and kissed Severus then, a soft and tender press of lips. Severus returned the kiss with fervour, reaching up to fist his hand in Voldemort's robes. Their kiss deepened into something hungry and possessive. As Voldemort’s arms came around him, Severus melted into the embrace.

Between Voldemort and Lily, it had never really been a contest at all.