Spinner's End — 9th January 1971
Severus' 11th Birthday
The letter was warm from how tightly he'd been clutching it for the past hour, his thumb still tracing the raised edges of the Hogwarts crest like he was memorizing every curve and shadow. The wax seal had cracked under his eager fingers the moment it arrived, the parchment now bore the telltale creases of being read and reread at least seventeen times, but Severus didn't care. He'd waited his entire life for this moment—all eleven years of it.
He'd known it was coming, of course. Natalia had made sure he was ready, drilling him on magical theory until he could recite Gamp's Laws backward and explaining the nuances of Transfiguration theory with the kind of casual brilliance that made other ten-year-olds look like they were still learning to count to twenty without using their fingers.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared you for the moment your Hogwarts letter actually arrived via a very disgruntled owl that had somehow managed to find Spinner's End despite the fact that it barely qualified as a proper address.
Severus sat rigidly in the corner of their cramped sitting room, spine straight against the moth-eaten fabric of the battered armchair that had probably been ugly even when it was new, while his parents' voices crashed through the thin walls like a thunderstorm that had been building pressure for months.
"You knew this was coming!" Tobias roared, his voice carrying that particular edge it got when he'd been drinking since breakfast and someone had the audacity to exist in his general vicinity. His tall frame loomed in the doorway, all sharp angles and barely contained fury, dark hair disheveled and eyes wild with the kind of rage that came from feeling small. "You've been hiding it from me for years, haven't you? Filling his head with that—that unnatural filth—when you thought I wouldn't notice!"
The sound of glass shattering punctuated his words—probably the ugly ceramic mug that had been sitting on the kitchen counter, the one with the chip on the handle that cut your lip if you weren't careful.
"You've been teaching him behind my back, haven't you, Eileen?" Tobias continued, his voice cracking slightly on his wife's name. "Teaching him your freak tricks! Making him into one of... one of you!"
"I've taught him nothing." His mother's voice was flat, emotionless, carrying that particular deadness that meant she was hanging onto her composure by her fingernails. She was holding on by threads so thin they might snap if someone breathed too hard. "Nothing, Tobias. I swear it."
"Nothing?!" Another crash—definitely a plate this time, probably the chipped blue one they used for Sunday dinners. "Then how'd he get that blasted letter, eh? How's my son going to some freak school for freaks if you taught him nothing? Don't you dare lie to me, woman!"
Severus felt his jaw clench, the letter crinkling slightly in his white-knuckled grip. The parchment was getting damp from his palms, but he couldn't seem to loosen his hold on it.
It wasn't fear coursing through his veins anymore. Not the helpless, bone-deep terror that used to make him small and quiet and invisible whenever his father's voice started rising like the warning whistle of a kettle about to boil over. Not since that night nine months ago—the night Tobias had raised his hand one time too many and Severus had moved faster than thought, catching his father's wrist mid-swing and squeezing until the older man's knees buckled and something like understanding flickered in his bloodshot eyes.
Something fundamental had shifted that night. The balance of power in their tiny, broken house had tilted, and it had never shifted back.
Tobias still yelled. He still drank himself into rages that shook the thin walls of their terraced house and made the neighbors pretend they couldn't hear. But he didn't come at Severus anymore. He couldn't. Because somewhere in his gin-soaked brain, some primal part of him had recognized that his son was no longer prey.
Natalia had seen to that.
In the Evans' garden, under the cover of helping with "homework" and "tutoring," she'd taught him how to stand his ground. How to plant his feet like tree roots, keep his dark eyes cold as a January morning, and use his wiry frame as a weapon instead of a weakness. She'd taught him how to read the signs—the particular flush of his father's neck that meant violence was coming, the way Tobias' hands flexed when he was working himself up to strike, the subtle shift in his breathing that meant he'd crossed the line from angry to dangerous. Most importantly, she'd taught him how to hurt back, if it came to it.
"Clean and efficient," she'd said in that matter-of-fact way of hers, demonstrating a joint lock that could drop a grown man in seconds while looking like she was showing him how to hold a cricket bat. "Pain should always have a purpose, Sev. Make it count."
The kitchen door banged open with enough force to rattle the hinges.
"Think you're clever now, do you?" Tobias stumbled into the sitting room, his face flushed red above his torn undershirt, cheap gin heavy on his breath like a cloud of toxic fumes. His dark hair was sticking up at odd angles, and there was a wild look in his eyes that Severus recognized all too well. "Think you're better than us now? Gonna come back here waving your bloody wand around and looking down your nose at your old man?"
His eyes were desperate, frantic, and Severus recognized the look. It was the same expression Tobias wore when he'd lost too much at the pub, when the factory foreman had dressed him down in front of the other workers, when life reminded him exactly how small and powerless and ordinary he really was in a world that seemed determined to grind him under its heel.
Severus didn't flinch. Didn't move so much as a muscle. Just lifted his eyes slowly from the letter to meet his father's gaze—calm, steady, utterly unimpressed. Like he was looking at something mildly distasteful that had crawled out from under a rock.
Tobias froze halfway across the room, fists clenched at his sides, suddenly uncertain.
For a long moment that stretched like taffy, they stared at each other across the shabby sitting room. Father and son. Past and future. Magic and mundane. The weight of eleven years of accumulated resentment and fear and disappointment hanging in the air between them like smoke.
Then Tobias' gaze flicked down to the letter in Severus' hands, and something like fear—actual, genuine fear—flashed across his features.
"Put that away," he muttered finally, voice hoarse and smaller than it had been moments before. "Don't... don't wave that thing about in my house."
Severus said nothing. Just watched his father stand there, chest heaving like he'd run a marathon, until the older man spat something unintelligible under his breath and stormed out of the house entirely. The front door slammed hard enough to rattle every piece of glass in the building and probably wake half the street.
Only then did Eileen appear in the doorway, her thin shoulders sagging with the kind of exhaustion that went bone-deep. Her dark hair hung lank around a face that looked far older than her thirty-one years, all sharp cheekbones and hollow eyes, but when her gaze found the letter in Severus' hands, something almost proud—almost hopeful—flickered in their depths.
"You'll do well there," she said quietly, and it wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly what her son was capable of.
Severus still didn't respond. Just stood with careful, deliberate movements, slipped the letter back into its envelope with the reverence most people reserved for religious artifacts, and walked past her toward the front door.
"Severus," she called softly when his hand touched the doorknob.
He paused but didn't turn around, shoulders tense with the effort of not looking back.
"Happy birthday," she whispered, and her voice cracked just slightly on the words.
He was already gone, the door clicking shut behind him with the kind of finality that seemed to echo.
---
The Evans house was warm and bright when Severus slipped through the back door twenty minutes later, using the spare key Lily had pressed into his palm years ago with the solemn declaration that he should always have somewhere safe to go. The familiar sounds of domestic happiness—Mrs. Evans humming off-key in the kitchen, the radio playing something soft and cheerful, Mr. Evans' distant laughter from the sitting room—washed over him like stepping into a warm bath after being out in the cold.
He found them in the attic, as always, in their favorite sanctuary.
Natalia sat cross-legged in the center of the old Persian rug that had been relegated to the attic after suffering one too many juice spills, surrounded by a perfect circle of books like some scholarly summoning ritual. Her red hair caught the afternoon light streaming through the dormer window as she scribbled notes in a leather-bound journal with the kind of fierce concentration that suggested she was either solving world hunger or planning someone's elaborate downfall. Her tongue was poking out slightly in concentration, a habit that made her look younger than her ten years.
Lily was sprawled across a mountain of cushions nearby, ankles crossed in the air as she read what looked suspiciously like one of her mother's romance novels, the ones with covers featuring shirtless men with flowing hair and women in impractical dresses. Her own red hair was braided with ribbons that had probably been pristine this morning but now looked like they'd survived a small tornado.
Neither girl looked up when he climbed through the trapdoor, but Natalia's hand twitched toward the cup of tea cooling beside her elbow—a sure sign she'd heard him coming from three streets away.
"You're late," she said without lifting her eyes from her notes, quill scratching across parchment with surgical precision. "I expected you an hour ago. Possibly an hour and fifteen minutes, accounting for your tendency to walk slowly when you're processing emotional upheaval."
"Traffic," Severus replied dryly, settling onto the worn floorboards with the careful movements of someone who'd learned to make himself small and quiet when necessary.
"Right. Because Spinner's End is known for its bustling thoroughfares and congested motorways." Natalia finally looked up, green eyes sharp as cut glass and twice as dangerous. "Let me guess—dear old dad had opinions about your mail? Strong ones, involving raised voices and projectile dishware?"
"How did you—"
"Sev, love, you've got that particular expression you get when Tobias has been performing his one-man show of 'Angry Drunk Man Yells at World,'" Lily said without looking up from her book, though her voice had gone soft with concern. "Plus, you're holding whatever's in your jacket pocket like it's made of spun gold and fairy dust."
Severus pulled the letter from his jacket and dropped it in the space between them with the kind of reverent care usually reserved for handling ancient artifacts.
Both girls went perfectly still, like someone had cast a freezing charm on the entire attic.
Lily's book tumbled forgotten to the floor as she scrambled upright, green eyes wide as dinner plates. "Is that—oh my God, is that what I think it is?"
"Your Hogwarts letter?" Natalia's voice was carefully neutral, but her eyes had gone wide with something that might have been awe or might have been terror. She reached for the envelope like she was handling a live snake, or possibly a particularly explosive piece of Muggle technology. "Well, well. Happy birthday, Severus Tobias Snape."
She held it up to the light, examining the wax seal with the kind of scientific precision she usually reserved for dissecting particularly interesting insects. "Official crest, proper parchment, addressed in that gorgeous calligraphy they use for all the important correspondence... It's real, isn't it? This is actually, genuinely, no-fooling-around real."
"'Course it's real, you daft cow," Severus snorted, but his eyes were bright with something that might have been joy. "What did you think, I forged it for fun? Spent my morning practicing medieval calligraphy and wax sealing techniques?"
"I don't know!" Lily burst out, bouncing on her knees with the kind of manic energy that suggested she was approximately three seconds away from vibrating out of her skin entirely. "Maybe! You're brilliant enough! You probably could forge a Hogwarts letter if you put your mind to it! Oh my God, Sev, you did it! You actually got your letter! This is really happening!"
"I hardly 'did' anything," he replied, but he couldn't quite suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth like it was being pulled by invisible strings. "It's not as though I had to audition. 'Right then, Mr. Snape, please demonstrate your ability to turn a beetle into a button while hopping on one foot.'"
"Don't be modest," Natalia said, tossing the letter back to him with a flick of her wrist. "Not everyone gets to go to Hogwarts, you know. There are plenty of magical children who never receive letters, never get the chance to—"
"Wait." Lily's face had gone pale, all the bouncing excitement draining out of her like someone had pulled a plug. "Wait, wait, wait. If Sev got his letter today, on his birthday..."
"Twenty-one days," Natalia said quietly, her voice gone soft and slightly strangled. "Our letters will come in twenty-one days. January thirtieth. Our birthday."
The silence that followed was electric, charged with possibility and terror in equal measure.
"Assuming we get them at all," Lily whispered, chewing her bottom lip until Severus was genuinely concerned she might draw blood.
"We will." Natalia's voice was iron-certain, carrying the kind of conviction that could move mountains or at least convince them to relocate slightly to the left. "We have to. The magic is too strong in us not to. I refuse to accept any other possibility."
"But we're Muggleborn," Lily protested, wrapping her arms around her knees like she could hold herself together through sheer physical force. "What if—what if they don't want us? What if there's some sort of... of blood requirement or something? What if—"
"Evans." Severus' voice cut through her spiraling worry like a blade through silk. "Stop. You'll get your letters. Both of you. I'd stake my life on it, and possibly my collection of interesting rocks."
"Your rocks aren't that interesting," Natalia said automatically, but her eyes were soft with gratitude.
"They're moderately interesting. Some of them are quite sparkly."
"How can you be so sure?" Lily asked, still chewing her lip like it had personally offended her. "How can you possibly be certain that we'll get letters when we don't even know if Hogwarts accepts Muggleborn students?"
"Because," Severus said simply, settling back against the cushions with his letter still clutched in his hands like a talisman, "you turn teacups into flowers when you're bored. Perfect flowers, with proper petals and everything, not the sad wilted things most people manage when they're trying to show off. And Natalia..." He gestured at the perfect circle of books around her, all of them opened to precisely the right pages and arranged with mathematical precision. "Natalia could probably teach half the Hogwarts professors by now. Possibly the good half."
"Flatterer," Natalia murmured, but she looked pleased in the way she always did when someone acknowledged her intellectual superiority.
"It's not flattery if it's true," Severus replied, then grinned with the kind of wicked delight that usually preceded trouble. "Besides, you both owe me five Sickles. I distinctly remember a wager about whether my letter would arrive on my birthday."
"Technically," Lily said, perking up with the prospect of winning an argument, "we bet it would arrive today. We didn't specify when during the day. Could have been midnight, could have been noon, could have been teatime."
"Ah, but it did arrive today, didn't it?" Natalia's smile was wicked enough to make angels weep and devils take notes. "Which means we were right, and you owe us chocolate frogs for doubting the superior predictive abilities of the Evans twins."
"I don't remember agreeing to any chocolate frogs," Severus protested, though he was fighting a smile.
"Well, you should have read the fine print," Lily giggled, the sound bright and clear in the dusty attic air.
"There was no fine print!"
"There's always fine print when you're dealing with Evans twins," Natalia said sagely, adopting the tone of someone imparting ancient wisdom. "First rule of negotiation. Second rule is never trust anything Lily says about animals—she once convinced Tommy Clearwater that hedgehogs could fly if you threw them hard enough."
"I did not!" Lily shrieked, launching a cushion at her twin's head. "I said they could glide! Like flying squirrels!"
"Hedgehogs don't glide, you absolute disaster of a human being!"
"How do you know? Have you ever seen a hedgehog try?"
"Because they don't have the right anatomy for gliding! They're round! They'd just fall like hairy cannonballs!"
"Maybe they could learn! Maybe with the right training—"
Severus threw a cushion at both of them. "You're both insane. Completely, utterly insane, and I'm questioning all my life choices that led me to be friends with you."
"You love us," Lily said smugly, dodging the cushion with practiced ease.
"Unfortunately," he muttered, but his eyes were warm.
They dissolved into giggles after that, the three of them sprawled across the Persian rug in a tangle of limbs and comfortable chaos, cushions scattered around them like the aftermath of a very soft explosion.
"So," Lily said once they'd settled down again, though she was still trying to work a feather out of her hair, "what happens now? Do you write back? Do they send someone to explain everything? Do you get a handbook titled 'So You're a Wizard: A Beginner's Guide to Not Accidentally Setting Things on Fire?'"
"They'll send someone," Severus confirmed, smoothing his letter carefully against his knee. "Usually in late July or early August. Professor McGonagall, most likely. She handles Muggleborn students and their families, explains everything about the magical world."
"Professor McGonagall," Natalia repeated, testing the name like she was tasting wine. "Transfiguration, right? And Deputy Headmistress under Headmaster Dippet?"
"Dumbledore, actually. Armando Dippet retired 15 years ago." Severus raised an eyebrow. "You've read Hogwarts: A History cover to cover at least three times, Talia, don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."
"I'm not playing anything. I'm just... processing." Natalia's voice had gone soft, almost wonderstruck, like she was trying to wrap her mind around something too large to fully comprehend. "We're really going to do this, aren't we? We're really going to Hogwarts. We're going to learn actual magic, with wands and everything."
"In September," Lily breathed, and her voice had that dreamy quality it got when she was imagining something wonderful. "Can you imagine? Actual magic lessons. Flying lessons—oh God, we get to learn to fly! Potions and Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts—Sev, you're going to love Potions. I just know it. You'll probably be the best in your year."
Something warm and fluttery unfurled in Severus' chest at the way she said his name, the absolute confidence in her voice like it had never occurred to her to doubt him. Lily always believed in him, even when he didn't believe in himself, even when the evidence suggested that maybe her faith was misplaced.
"What House do you think you'll be in?" Lily continued, oblivious to the way his cheeks had gone slightly pink, though she'd tucked her legs under her and was leaning forward with the kind of focused attention she usually reserved for particularly interesting books.
Natalia noticed, of course. She noticed everything, filed it all away in that frighteningly organized mind of hers. But she just raised an eyebrow and said nothing, filing the information away for later consideration. There were some secrets that weren't hers to tell, some truths that needed to unfold in their own time.
"Slytherin, probably," Severus said, forcing his voice to stay level and casual. "My mother was a Slytherin. It runs in families, usually. Blood will tell, and all that."
"Slytherin," Lily repeated thoughtfully, like she was turning the word over in her mouth to see how it fit. "That's the ambitious one, right? With the snake? The one that values cunning and resourcefulness?"
"Among other things." Severus' tone was carefully neutral, though something flickered behind his eyes—old hurts, maybe, or fears about what she might think of him if he ended up in the House with the worst reputation. "What about you?"
"Gryffindor!" Lily said immediately, eyes sparkling like someone had lit fireworks behind them. "Definitely Gryffindor. All that courage and adventure and—and standing up for what's right! Can you imagine? Being brave enough to fight Dark wizards and save the world?"
"Showing off, more like," Natalia interrupted with a snort that would have been undignified from anyone else but somehow came across as elegant when she did it. "I read that Gryffindors tend to be notorious show-offs. Always throwing themselves into danger for the glory of it."
"I do not show off!"
"Lily, love, you once climbed the highest tree in Magnolia Crescent just to prove you could, despite the fact that you're absolutely terrified of heights."
"That was different! Tommy Clearwater said girls couldn't climb as high as boys!"
"And you had to prove him wrong by nearly breaking your neck and giving your mother a heart attack. Very Gryffindor of you, really. Brave to the point of stupidity."
"I proved my point, didn't I? And I didn't break my neck, so obviously it worked out fine."
"You got stuck up there for two hours and had to be rescued by the fire brigade."
"Details," Lily said airily, waving a hand like she could dismiss the minor matter of having required professional rescue services.
Natalia and Severus exchanged a look that spoke volumes about the trials and tribulations of being friends with Lily Evans, who had never met a stupid idea she didn't want to try at least once.
"What about you, Talia?" Severus asked, partly to change the subject before Lily decided to demonstrate her climbing abilities on the attic rafters. "Any House preferences, or are you planning to charm your way into all four simultaneously?"
Natalia was quiet for a long moment, fingers tracing the edge of her notebook in the absent way she had when she was thinking hard about something.
"I don't know," she said finally, and there was something almost vulnerable in her voice that made both Severus and Lily sit up straighter. "I like learning for learning's sake, which sounds very Ravenclaw. Knowledge for its own sake, wisdom over cleverness, all that. But I also like winning, which is apparently a Slytherin trait. I don't just want to know things—I want to be the best at knowing things. And I'd probably die for my friends, which seems fairly Gryffindor, though I'd prefer to keep them alive through superior planning rather than heroic sacrifice."
"You'd die for us?" Lily asked, voice gone soft and slightly awed.
"Don't be stupid," Natalia replied, but her cheeks were pink and she wouldn't quite meet their eyes. "Of course I would. You're my people. My family. You're the most important things in my world, and anyone who tries to hurt you will have to go through me first."
"We're your people," Severus repeated, something warm and fierce settling in his chest like a small sun.
"Yes, you absolute disasters, you're my people. God help me." She looked up at them with eyes that were bright with unshed tears and fierce with love. "I chose you, and you chose me, and that makes us family in all the ways that matter."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while after that, watching dust motes dance in the afternoon light that slanted through the dormer window. Outside, the world continued on—Muggles going about their mundane lives, completely unaware that magic was real and wonderful and waiting just around the corner for three children who'd found each other and decided to face whatever came next together.
"Twenty-one days," Lily whispered eventually, and her voice was soft with anticipation.
"Twenty-one days," Natalia confirmed, her journal forgotten in her lap.
"And then, in September, Hogwarts," Severus added, letter still clutched in his hands like a promise.
"And then everything changes," Lily finished, and she was smiling like she couldn't quite believe their good fortune.
They were right, of course. In twenty-one days, two more letters would arrive via disgruntled owls who would probably get lost trying to find Cokeworth. In September, they would board the Hogwarts Express and leave their old lives behind like snakes shedding skin.
But for now, they were still just three ten-year-olds in a dusty attic, dreaming of magic and possibility and the adventures waiting just around the corner. Three children who had found each other in a world that often seemed determined to keep them apart, who had built their own family out of loyalty and love and the kind of fierce devotion that could survive anything.
It was enough.
It was perfect.
And it was only the beginning.
—
The attic was still full of faint laughter when Natalia caught Severus' sleeve as he rose to go.
"Walk with me," she murmured.
Severus arched an eyebrow but didn't argue — he never really did, not with her — and followed as she led him quietly back down the ladder and through the warm, bright chaos of the Evans house. They slipped out the back door into the chill evening air.
The yard was empty, quiet but for the faint hum of Mrs. Evans' radio through the open kitchen window. Natalia didn't stop walking until they reached the far end of the garden where the hedges grew tall and wild. She crouched under the lowest branch of the sycamore there, ducking into the hidden hollow they'd discovered years ago.
Here, tucked out of sight, they could talk without being overheard.
Natalia smoothed her skirt under her and sat cross-legged on the cold earth, fixing him with those razor-sharp green eyes that seemed to see everything.
"Well," she said at last, her voice soft but edged. "It's official now. You're on your way to Slytherin."
Severus leaned against the tree trunk, folding his arms across his chest.
"You don't know that."
She snorted faintly.
"I do know. You'll go in wearing that look you wear around Tobias. That look like you've already learned people are weapons if you use them right. And Slytherin loves that. Don't fight it, Sev. Use it. They'll underestimate you if you play quiet."
He tilted his head at her, his voice flat.
"You're still on this, then."
"Of course I'm still on this." Natalia plucked a brittle leaf from the ground and twirled it between her fingers. "Slytherin is where the most radical of the old families send their children. Purebloods, obsessed with blood politics and traditions and power. The ones who'll see what's coming first — and shape it. If there's going to be a… a war—" Her mouth tightened around the word. "—then that's where the pieces are already moving."
Severus said nothing for a long moment. He stared down at the leaf between her fingers, then finally muttered,
"You make it sound like you already know what's coming."
That earned him one of her small, humorless smiles.
"I have… a feeling," she said. "Call it intuition if you want. Call it something else, if you dare. But I see the way the currents are pulling, Sev. Every book I read about magical history says the same thing — every few generations, there's a reckoning. And when it comes… it's the quiet ones, the clever ones, who survive to write the history books. Not the heroes."
His dark eyes flicked up to hers, searching.
"And what are you?" he asked.
Her smile deepened — sly and sad all at once.
"Me?" she echoed softly, her voice dropping. "I'm just someone who intends to stay alive. And keep the people I care about alive, too, if I can."
For a moment, the mask slipped. He caught it — the faint shadow that passed over her sharp, pretty features. Like she was looking somewhere very far away, somewhere only she could see.
There were things about Natalia Evans that even he, who knew her better than anyone, couldn't name. Things in her eyes that didn't belong to a ten-year-old girl.
But she didn't offer more, and he didn't press.
Instead, she set the leaf down, smoothed her skirt, and gave him a look that was all business again.
"You remember what I told you," she said briskly. "Blend in. Don't pick fights. Not yet. Let them think you're nothing. Let them get comfortable. And listen. You'll learn more in silence than they ever will by shouting. When it counts… you'll know when to strike."
Severus inclined his head slightly.
"I remember."
"Good." Natalia's expression softened. "And don't worry about Lily. She's… Lily. She'll charm every professor at Hogwarts before the end of her first week. You just keep her out of the worst of it, all right? If there's one person in this rotten world worth protecting, it's her."
He swallowed. Looked down at his shoes.
"I know," he said, almost too quiet to hear.
Natalia leaned forward, resting a warm, light hand on his sleeve for just a moment.
"You're going to be fine, Sev," she said firmly. "We all are. But only if we're clever. So promise me — you'll play the long game."
"I promise," he said.
And it wasn't just words, not between them. He meant it.
She studied him for a second longer, as though memorizing his face. Then she straightened, brushing dirt from her skirt, and her smirk was back in place.
"Good," she said lightly. "Now let's get back inside before Lily eats all the biscuits. Honestly, she's a menace when Mum bakes."
Severus almost smiled at that, the faintest curve of his lips.
They ducked back through the hedge, side by side, two quiet conspirators moving through a world that didn't yet know what to make of them.
In twenty-one days, two more letters would arrive.
And after that… everything would change.
---
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