Chapter 5: The Please
Hogwarts Castle, 3 August 1981
The evening fog clung to the ancient stones of Hogwarts like a living thing, thick and damp. It muffled the usual sounds of the castle—the rustling portraits, the occasional creak of shifting staircases. Candles flickered behind stained-glass windows, casting colored light across the halls. The scent of old paper, candle wax, and faint hints of burnt caramel hung in the air as Severus Snape walked swiftly through the corridor, his black robes billowing behind him.
His boots tapped sharply against the floor as he climbed the steps toward the Headmaster's office. Each footfall was filled with urgency, and yet he carried himself with control—the quiet restraint of a man who knew the weight of secrets.
At the stone gargoyle, he hissed, "Sherbet lemon."
With a soft grinding sound, the statue leapt aside. The spiral staircase rotated upward in a slow spiral of movement. Snape ascended, every step pulling him further into the heart of the castle—and into the burden he carried.
The door opened before he knocked.
Albus Dumbledore stood by the arched window, his silhouette long and bent with thought. The soft glow of sunset bathed the office in warm golds and dusky violets, casting the room's many magical instruments into dancing shadows.
"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, without turning. "Come in. I have been expecting you."
Snape closed the door with a flick of his wand. The latch clicked, final and absolute. He stood near the edge of the room, his fingers clenched behind his back.
Dumbledore finally turned to face him, his blue eyes sharp behind his half-moon glasses.
Snape's voice was quiet but raw. "He has chosen. The Dark Lord has made his decision. He believes the prophecy points to the Potters."
Dumbledore nodded, his expression unreadable. "Yes. I feared as much. He reached that conclusion early this year."
Snape's throat tightened. "And he intends to act. He said he would do it himself."
A beat of silence. Then Dumbledore motioned to the chair across from his desk. "Sit, Severus. This burden will not be lessened by standing."
Snape hesitated, then obeyed, the worn leather creaking softly beneath him.
Dumbledore returned to his seat. He steepled his fingers before him and regarded Snape over them. "You understand what this means?"
Snape nodded slowly. "He will go after them. Lily... and the children."
Dumbledore's voice was grave. "He knows only of Harry. The other child remains our secret."
Snape's eyes flicked up, a sliver of confusion piercing his guilt. "You... kept Hardwin hidden?"
"Yes. Since January," Dumbledore confirmed. "Only a handful of us know. Lily, James, Sirius, Remus, Peter. Myself. And now, you."
A breath shuddered from Snape's chest. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Would you have protected him? Or used the knowledge to serve your master?" Dumbledore asked, voice calm but sharp.
Snape looked away. Outside, the evening wind rattled the high windows.
"I didn't know," he whispered. "I thought there was only one child."
"That mistake is the only reason Hardwin still lives," Dumbledore said. "And for that, we must be grateful."
A pause hung between them.
Snape finally spoke. "You must hide them. All of them. Use the Fidelius Charm."
"We will," Dumbledore said. "Preparations are already in place. But Severus... there is more at stake than simply placing them in hiding. This is a prophecy. A force beyond our control is moving now."
Snape leaned forward, his voice low and urgent. "I don't care about prophecies. I care about Lily. I—I cannot lose her."
Dumbledore's expression softened, but his voice remained steady. "You already lost her, Severus. You made choices that drove her away."
Snape flinched.
"But she trusts you enough to name you godfather to Hardwin," Dumbledore added gently.
Snape looked up, stunned. His throat constricted. "She... what?"
"She sent you a letter. You received it."
Snape swallowed hard. "I thought it was just... sentiment."
Dumbledore shook his head. "No. She meant every word. She sees something in you. Something I too believe in. That is why I ask you now: will you help us? Will you do what must be done to protect not just Lily, but the future she carries in those two boys?"
Snape's voice cracked. "Yes. Anything."
The candles in the room flickered.
Dumbledore stood and walked toward one of the tall bookshelves. He drew out a slim volume bound in black leather. As he opened it, ink shimmered across the page in living script—ancient runes, the language of old magics.
"The Fidelius Charm must be cast willingly," he said, eyes scanning the page. "And the choice of Secret-Keeper must be one made with perfect trust."
Snape stood. "Sirius Black?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "It is James's wish."
"Foolish. He's too bold, too exposed."
"It is not your decision," Dumbledore said firmly. Then, quieter: "But I understand your concern. We will advise caution."
Snape crossed the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back. He paused by the glowing silver instruments, watching as they spun slowly.
"Hardwin is... different," he said. "You feel it, don't you?"
Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully. "Yes. He carries something... old. Something awakened. Magic beyond his years. He is not like other children."
"Not even like Harry," Snape added.
"No," Dumbledore agreed. "There are threads in motion that we do not yet understand. That is why hiding him is essential."
Snape nodded. Then, after a pause, he asked, "Will you tell them I came? That I pleaded for their protection?"
Dumbledore walked back to his desk. He sat, folding his hands.
"That will be Lily's choice."
Snape bowed his head. The silence between them stretched long.
Finally, Dumbledore said, "Go back to him. To Voldemort. Continue to serve. Listen. Watch. Report. You will be our eyes in the dark."
Snape raised his head slowly. "I will do what must be done."
---
That night, beneath the crescent moon, Severus Snape walked the castle halls alone. His footsteps were silent. His thoughts were not.
In his pocket, he carried Lily's letter. Folded, worn, reread countless times. A single thread to a life he once dreamed of.
In the quiet nursery of Godric's Hollow, Hardwin opened his eyes. The room glowed faintly with wardlight. Lily slept beside his crib in a rocking chair, arms curled around a blanket.
Hardwin sat up slowly, his baby fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. His mind stirred with thoughts that no one-year-old should have.
> They are coming. I don't know when, but I know they are. I have to be ready.
In the crib beside him, Harry murmured in his sleep, a smile on his lips.
Hardwin turned toward his twin. The love he felt was powerful, instinctive.
> I will protect you, he promised silently. No matter what comes.
The night wind whispered through the trees.
The war was not yet here.
But it was watching.
And it would not wait long.