Severus Snape knew something was coming. He didn't know what, but his instincts, those same razor-honed senses that had kept him alive this long amidst the treacherous currents of war and double-dealing, were screaming.
The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but undeniable to him. The breakout at Azkaban had thrown everything into disarray, a sudden, brutal move that had caught the Ministry and even Dumbledore by surprise. And the fact that the Dark Lord had said nothing to him—his supposed spy, his most trusted informant—was a problem. A very big one. It spoke of deep suspicion, a chilling lack of trust that could prove fatal.
The Dark Lord had spoken before of retrieving his loyal followers from the wizarding prison, but he had clearly stated it was not yet time, that they needed to wait until there were more preparations, more strategic advantages. So why now? What changed? What had prompted this sudden, impulsive, and frankly, reckless move? Snape's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of information, the sudden shift in the Dark Lord's unpredictable temperament.
And then there was Dumbledore.
The old fool had gone and gotten himself cursed—fatally so. A dark, insidious mark on his hand that was unlike anything Severus had seen before, a curse of profound, ancient malice.
He'd scoured his collection of ancient tomes and obscure records, even some of the Dark Arts manuals hidden away since his Death Eater days, poring over forbidden knowledge, and still nothing. He had found some obscure references about the curse, its symptoms, its relentless progression, but nothing about a counter, no known antidote or reversal.
He had managed to concoct a potion that slowed its spread, a temporary measure at best, a fleeting reprieve. Each subsequent use of the potion would have less and less effect, its efficacy waning with every application. The old man was on borrowed time, decaying from the inside out, a ticking clock of his own making.
Snape ran a hand through his greasy hair in frustration, a rare display of genuine agitation. He hated this. He hated being caught in the middle, bound by obligations he despised. To be honest, if he had not made an Unbreakable Vow with Dumbledore about working for him, about protecting Harry Potter, he would have abandoned him and gone to what was looking more and more like the winning side.
He felt no love for this side, for the Order, for Dumbledore's grand schemes. He never had. The only reason he stayed was the vow—an Unbreakable Vow forged under pressure, sealed with guilt and desperation after Lily's death, a chain around his very soul. He had to do his best to help the old man, to fulfill his end of the bargain.
But once the old man died?
He would be free.
The thought was like balm on a festering wound, a cool, soothing promise of liberation. The chains would shatter, the obligations would cease.
And if he played his cards right, if he was cunning enough, there was still a way to win favor with the Dark Lord, to reclaim his lost standing, to ensure his survival, and perhaps even gain power.
He'd bring him Harry Potter.
Not that Snape didn't loathe the brat already, the arrogance, the insufferable cheek, the uncanny resemblance to James, but it was more than that. It was justice.
Lily's child or not, he was also James Potter's spawn. The living reminder of everything Snape had lost, everything James had stolen, everything that had been ripped from him. Lily had been his. Or she should have been. Their destinies had been intertwined, their magic, their lives.
But Potter had ruined that, just like he ruined everything else. The boy was the last piece of her twisted mistake, the wretched spawn of a union that should never have been, and it was only fitting that he suffer for it, that he pay the price for his father's transgressions.
Aw, his lovely Lily, she was supposed to be his if not for that bastard. It was his fault that she died. He was the one who ruined his relationship with her and then got her pregnant with his wretched spawn that brought the prophecy to her.
If he hadn't gotten her pregnant, then it wouldn't have mattered that he was the one that told the Dark Lord about it. Yes, it was Potter's fault, all of it, and his child will pay for it. Delivering him to the Dark Lord would not only free him of the vow, it would be redemption, a final, bitter triumph.
Across the country, miles away from the dark machinations of a delusional mind of a twisted soul in Hogwarts, Nymphadora Tonks exhaled slowly, steeling her nerves, and knocked on her parents' door. Her nerves were on edge, but she needed clarity, she needed advice. Her mother might be brutal with her honesty, but at least she never lied, never sugarcoated the truth.
The door swung open almost immediately, and Ted Tonks, her father, welcomed her with a warm smile, his face creased with affectionate worry. "Dora! What a surprise, love, come in, come in! Are you alright? You look a bit… frazzled."
She gave a tired smile, a faint shadow of her usual cheerfulness, and nodded. "Yeah, Dad, just came to see Mum. Needed to talk to her."
"She's in the living room," he said, ushering her inside, closing the door softly behind them.
Sure enough, Andromeda Tonks, her mother, was seated on the couch with a glass of wine in hand and a thick, leather-bound book. She looked up, her sharp eyes blinking, startled but pleased to see her daughter.
"Well, this is unexpected, Nymphadora. What's wrong? You rarely visit without a specific purpose, and you look like you've been dragged through a hedge backward."
That was Andromeda Tonks—blunt and to the point. No coddling, no dancing around subjects. She knew her daughter, and she knew when something was truly amiss.
Before Tonks could say a word, Ted piped in, ever the well-meaning intermediary, "Said she needed to talk to you, love."
Andromeda arched an eyebrow, her gaze fixed on her daughter, but didn't push immediately. Instead, she gave her husband a look—one that clearly said "girl talk, Ted, out." Ted took the hint and excused himself, disappearing to his study with a murmured promise of tea.
Silence settled in the room, thick with unspoken questions.
"Well?" her mother finally said, her voice calm, expectant. "What happened, Nymphadora? Out with it."
Tonks fidgeted. She didn't look at her mother at first, her gaze fixed on her twisting fingers in her lap, gathering her thoughts, her courage. She went into detail about her relationship with Remus, how she felt about him, or thought she felt about him, how she had tried different ways to get his attention and make things official, and at the end, how the coward backed off with useless excuses when she decided to just directly confront him. She exhaled, a long, shaky breath, and decided to just get it over with. "I confronted Remus."
Andromeda's expression shifted instantly. Her lips thinned into a grim line. She had seen this coming.
"And?" she prompted, her voice tight.
"He said no," Tonks whispered, the words still stinging.
Her mother stared, her eyes wide with disbelief, then a familiar, exasperated sigh. "No?"
Tonks nodded, a bitter, humorless laughter slipping out. "Said he can't. The whole cursed werewolf excuse again. 'I'm a monster, I'll hurt you, I don't deserve happiness.' The whole pathetic spiel."
Andromeda gave her The Look. The one that screamed, 'I told you so.'
Tonks groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Don't say it, Mum. Please, just don't say it."
"I told you so, Nymphadora," Andromeda said, her voice firm, unyielding, but with a hint of underlying affection.
"I said, don't say it!" Tonks protested, her voice muffled.
Her mother scoffed and crossed her arms, a familiar gesture. "Nymphadora, I told you that man was emotionally constipated. He was always like that. Gloomy, passive, miserable. You're sunshine. He's fog. You were always too good for him."
It's not like Andromeda hated Remus, but she was not going to sugarcoat it and say that his behavior was something she wanted as a part of her daughter's life. Nymphadora was bright, cheerful, and a go-getter person, while Remus was anything but.
He was always that gloomy person that was pulled around by James and Sirius, and after they were gone, he got worse. And what she didn't like most about him was that he ran away from everything, and that was certainly what solidified her opinion of him."
Tonks tried to glare but ended up chuckling, a reluctant admission of truth. "Mum."
"I'm serious, darling. I don't hate the man—he's a decent enough wizard, I suppose—but he's not for you. You're lively, bold, and driven. You deserve someone who embraces life, who isn't afraid to reach for happiness. He's... not."
"Yeah, I figured that out when he ran from my feelings like I'd offered him a potion of doom," Tonks muttered, sinking deeper into the couch cushions, the anger slowly draining away, leaving only a dull ache.
"Well," Andromeda said with a smirk, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "At least now you know. Better to learn it now than waste more years on a lost cause."
Tonks sat silently for a moment, the weight of her mother's words settling over her. Then, she spoke up again, her voice softer, almost hesitant. "There's… someone else, Mum."
That got her mother's full attention. Andromeda's eyes, sharp and intelligent, fixed on her daughter, a flicker of keen interest.
"Oh?" she prompted, her voice devoid of judgment, simply curious. "Do tell."
"Yeah." Tonks hesitated, then took a deep breath. "It's… Harry. Harry Potter."
Silence.
A profound, almost comical silence descended upon the room. Andromeda's eyes widened, her elegant features registering surprise.
Then—
"Harry Potter?" she repeated, her voice a little higher than usual.
"Yes," Tonks confirmed, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
More silence. Andromeda blinked, setting her wine glass down with a soft thud, as if needing both hands to process this new information. "Well, that's… unexpected. Quite unexpected indeed."
"I know," Tonks sighed, running a hand through her hair. "He's younger. He's also… different. There's something about him, Mum, something captivating. And he's interested in me."
Andromeda was quiet again, thoughtful, her gaze distant, considering the implications. "I've never met him, so I can't judge. But if your gut says there's something there, then give it time. Test it. See where it leads. Nymphadora. Just see."
"You're not going to tell me I'm too old for him?" Tonks asked, a hint of surprise in her voice, expecting the usual maternal disapproval.
"Sweetheart," Andromeda said dryly, a faint smile touching her lips. "In our world, a 19-year-old marrying a 50-year-old is barely news, merely a footnote in The Daily Prophet. And you're what, 20? Hardly a scandal, not in the grand scheme of things. Age is often just a number among us Winx, as long as both parties are above 13 years, it's acceptable. You see men and women far older than their partners all the time."
Tonks laughed, a genuine, relieved sound. "Okay. That's fair. Thank you, Mum."
Her mother leaned back and gave her a knowing look, her eyes twinkling. "But make sure you're not just using him to bandage over your Remus wounds, Nymphadora."
That sobered her, the amusement fading. "I'm not. At least—I don't think I am."
"Good."
Tonks nodded, a quiet understanding passing between them. She didn't say it aloud, but she already knew her feelings for Harry weren't just a distraction, not just a rebound. There was something real there, a genuine connection, even if she didn't know what it would become yet.
Still, it could wait. For now, she would savor the comfort of her mother's presence.
She smiled as she shifted the conversation away, letting the warmth of home soothe her weary heart.
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