31 October, 1991

It had been ninety-four days since Ariel had left the Dursleys.

Ariel had been keeping track. She’d left two days before her birthday, and now, it was Halloween. Ninety-four days sounded like a long time in her head, but in reality, it had flown by. The timeline was a game of ping-pong in her memory, from staying in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, going to Diagon Alley with Hagrid on her birthday to get her school things, and then being taken to the Weasleys for the rest of the summer. Ariel had been terrified (exhilarated) when she’d first walked into the Burrow, where Molly Weasley had greeted her like they’d known each other their whole life. Ron had shown her around, but Fred and George had been the first one to laugh at her jokes. Well, at least, they’d thought it was a joke. They’d been prying about what happened to cause her to end up with them, and Ariel had mentioned that Dumbledore and Snape had taken her to Hogwarts, which the twins had found absolutely hysterical. Apparently, Snape was, in Fred and George’s words, a huge dick. Ariel didn’t really know what that meant, but she supposed she agreed.

The Weasleys had taken care of her like she was one of their own. She’d cried that first night, because she hadn’t done a single thing in her life to deserve this, but by some stroke of luck, she was never going to see the Dursleys again.

Which was why she felt silly not wanting to go to the Halloween Feast.

Ariel thought whacking her head underneath her bed after finding a mysterious jumper down there was the only sign she needed not to go tonight, but she still felt weird about it. She rubbed the back of her head, trying not to alert Hermione as the pain subsided. She bit her tongue as she stood up. Luckily, Hermione had disappeared into the bathroom, which left Ariel alone in the girl’s dorm for a minute or two. Hermione was getting ready to go to the Feast, but what she didn’t know was that Ariel wouldn’t be joining her tonight.

She looked over at the collage of pictures behind her bed frame, mounted to the wall with a Sticking Charm. Lavender had helped Ariel put them up the first week of school, insisting that she keep them out (your Dad is a DREAM, Ariel Evans). They were the pictures from her mum’s trunk, the ones that weren’t safely tucked away in the photo albums. Some of them were Muggle, and some magic. Ariel loved them all, but she would’ve been lying if she’d said that the magic ones weren’t her favorite, especially the one of her parents' wedding. She could’ve watched her mum and dad’s sparkling faces as they twirled around each other until the end of time. They’d decorated them with fairy lights Lavender had brought from home, connecting the pictures together like a roadmap. When Ariel had trouble falling asleep, she’d sit up and stare at them.

Ariel stopped reminiscing when she heard Hermione come out of the bathroom. “Is this your jumper?” she asked, holding it up for Hermione to see. “It was under my bed.”

Hermione squinted from across the room, tugging on the brush that had gotten caught in her hair (again). “Yes, you borrowed it when we went to the lake last weekend, remember?”

She did. Ariel would never forget that day, because it was the day she realized she had a friend. She’d never had a friend before, and she’d been nervous that she was going to push Hermione away, somehow, that she’d see straight through her and her lightning bolt scar and think she was a freak. The Dursleys had always looked at Ariel with disgust, fear, apprehension, and indifference, but everyone at Hogwarts looked at her with a sense of starstruck caution. Ariel didn’t know which was worse, but Hermione had never looked at her like that. That day by the lake, though, had been the most fun Ariel had ever had — and that was saying something, because she didn’t think Hagrid taking her to Diagon Alley, or the sense of amazement and breathtaking wonderment she’d felt when she’d first looked up at Hogwarts, when Snape had brought her here, could ever possibly be topped. Meeting Hermione on the Hogwarts Express was almost as amazing as living in a magic castle.

Magic castles that had three-headed dogs, they’d learned. Maybe that was why Hermione had decided to be her friend. Stuff like that was bound to bring people together. Besides, it wasn’t every day you saw stuff like that (or almost died, either).

Ariel sat down at the edge of her bed, shutting her mum’s trunk with a dull thud. She let her hand rest on it for a moment, thankful that Dumbledore had stuck to his word and returned it to her. Everything was there, all the picture albums and jumpers and notebooks Mum had used when she’d attended Hogwarts. The only thing that had been missing was the vile filled with the shiny stuff Ariel couldn’t make sense of. She supposed that was okay, for now, and she hadn’t had a chance to ask Dumbledore because, unlike his promise about the trunk, he hadn’t kept his promise about seeing her again. Ariel supposed that was alright — Dumbledore was a busy man, after all, and she wasn’t nearly as important as running a whole entire school.

She was flipping through her Potions textbook idly when Hermione finally came out of the bathroom, looking frustrated. There was no doubt it was her hair again. She pretended like she didn’t care about it, but Ariel knew it bothered her. Her own hair wasn’t much better. It was longer than it had been when she left the Dursleys, but not by much — it came just passed her chin now. Malfoy had taken to calling her Red Cap, which Ariel hadn’t really cared much about until she’d seen a picture of one.

“Are you ready?” Hermione asked, smoothing her hair with her hands in an attempt to flatten it. It didn’t matter what she did, it was always about twice the size of Ariel’s own. She tied it back with a rubber band (she’d broken countless), wincing at the pull.

“I’m not going.” Ariel answered automatically. She tried to ignore the uncomfortable pit growing in her stomach as she picked up her potions textbook. Ariel liked Potions very much — she was rather good at them, actually, a whole lot better than flying — and it was the only textbook that really interested her. Well, she shouldn’t say that, Ariel loved every aspect of magic, it was just that for the first time ever, a class came fairly easily to her. Hermione had read through all the textbooks at least two times already, but Ariel still had higher marks than her in Snape’s class.

Thinking of Snape made Ariel feel like her brain was in a vice.

When he’d brought her to Hogwarts back in July, he’d simply left her with Madam Pomfrey, and then, Ariel hadn’t seen him again until term started, which had annoyed her quite a bit. Hagrid said he’d probably gone home for the rest of the holiday, which annoyed her for a reason she couldn’t help but think was ridiculous. When Ariel searched for him at the Welcoming Feast she had instantly regretted it. Snape had nearly taken off her upper half with the force of his glare, which was more than enough to make her avoid his gaze until his first Potions class, where he’d given her another one of those awful, hateful glares and moved on, never once acknowledging her existence in his class, or anywhere else, really. Ariel had sat through the first several Potions classes waiting for Snape to tell everyone about the Dursleys and the cupboard and all the really stupid things she’d said on their front stoop, but he never did. He attacked everyone else (especially Neville) but her.

Snape was a weird bloke, Ariel had deduced, and she was okay with never speaking to him again if he was.

Back in the present, Hermione swiped the textbook off the bed, demanding Ariel’s attention.“What? What do you mean? We have to go!”

“Professor McGonagall said it was optional.” Professor McGonagall had also given her a pitying look when she’d asked, but hadn’t pushed for the reason. They’d both known what it was. Ariel reached for the book again, but Hermione held it up higher and away from her hands.

“Ariel, it’s your first Halloween here… it’s a tradition.” She frowned when Ariel only huffed in annoyance, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Ariel hesitated. She didn’t know if she wanted to tell her. It wasn’t like Hermione didn’t know — everyone knew — but feelings were different then a fact, and Hermione relied very heavily on those.

Hermione’s face fell, when she didn’t answer. “Do you not want to go with me?”

“What? NO!” Ariel said, a little too loudly, causing her friend to jump in surprise. “Hermione, that’s not it at all! I just… I don’t feel like it, is all. I really want to go with you!”

Her face smoothed over, like she believed Ariel, who gave a sigh of relief. “Then what is it?” Hermione dropped the book on the bed, and plopped down beside her with a huff. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

Ariel swallowed painfully, fighting against the lump forming in her throat. She wanted to be a good friend, and friends told each other things, didn’t they? She didn’t want to keep Hermione from the Feast, but maybe if she explained why she couldn’t make herself go, at least for this year, maybe Hermione wouldn’t be upset.

“It’s Halloween.” Ariel said pointedly, hoping Hermione would know what that meant. She knew everything.

To Ariel’s disappointment, Hermione’s brown eyes only blinked at her in confusion.

She took a deep breath, and in a very quiet voice, said: “Tonight's the night that my parents died.”

Ariel could see when something went click in Hermione’s head. It made her stomach lurch forward as a cold breeze slid against her spine. “I wanted to spend tonight alone.” Ariel continued as Hermione’s eyes softened in comprehension, “Kind of in honor of them, I guess. It doesn’t feel right going to the Feast. I didn’t know when they died, or how they died for a really long time. I just wanted to be alone with them tonight since I’ve missed it before.” 

Hermione squeezed her hand. “You were going to do it alone? You shouldn’t have to be all by yourself.” 

“Well, where else can I go that’s quiet?” Ariel paused. “Don’t say the library.”

“How about the Astronomy Tower?” Hermione’s eyes searched hers — don’t push me away. Ariel found herself doing that, inadvertently sometimes.

She stared at Hermione, trying to fight the stringing behind her eyes. “You don’t have to —”

“We could… I have some candles! We could light them… make something out of it, maybe? The sky is nice enough tonight too.” Hermione said, giving her a smile. “What do you think?”

Ariel's eyes were shining with unspoken gratitude and a sadness that she had always known, but had never shared. “But the Feast —”

“It’s not worth going to if you’re not there.” Hermione said, very matter-of-factly.

She pressed her palm into hers — Hermione’s hands were still damp from the sink. “What about Ron? He’ll be there all alone…”

“He’ll be fine.” she waved at thought like it was an annoying bug as she stood. “He’s got Seamus and all the food he could possibly eat.”

Ariel grimaced, but didn’t argue. She felt bad, leaving Ron out, but sometimes she wondered if he was only her friend because she’d shown up on his doorstep. He’d been acting odd since Ariel had met Hermione, and she didn’t know why. They were always bickering, and it made Ariel feel bad, because while Ron wasn’t exactly the nicest to Hermione sometimes, his family had taken her in. It wasn’t the same, though. Hermione had been the first person she’d told about the Dursley’s.

When Hermione finally reappeared, she was holding a wicker basket filled with already half-used candles. She looked incredibly disappointed, like she’d been told that Christmas had been canceled.

“I thought I’d brought them up here with me.” She sighed, sifting through them, as if there would be brand new ones at the bottom. “The Prefects must have the good ones, but they’re in their quarters… and I don’t think finding out would be such a good idea.”

“They’ll do just fine.” Ariel grabbed her arm. “Let’s go, before the Feast lets out. You said the Astronomy Tower, right?”

Hermione nodded. “There’s an alcove on the stairs up that has a great view of the grounds. There’s enough room to sit and stuff.”

“Perfect.”

.

Severus found himself more irritable than usual this Halloween, and he suspected it probably had to do with the fact that Dumbledore was being more meddlesome than usual.

Hagrid was late, spitting out apologies left and right as he stumbled to his seat, nearly knocking over half the food in the process. Severus stifled the urge to slam his head against the table until he did enough brain damage to leave. He hated this fucking holiday, and he hated that he was being forced to be here.

It was because of Hagrid that Severus found himself seated in-between Dumbledore and Minerva, which was a place he actively avoided. Minerva on her own was manageable, but the two of them together made Severus want to stick a fork through his eyeball. They’d made him take the open seat between them (which he suspected they’d done on person) in order to leave the last seat at the end of the High Table for Hagrid, who had single handedly ruined (or, at the very least, made it a thousand times more abhorrent) his night.

They were discussing Hermione Granger, who was Severus’ almost least favorite subject since term had started.

“The girl can’t be satiated.” Minerva was telling Dumbledore. “I give her twelve inches for an essay, and she hands in forty-eight. Most of them are questions. I haven’t seen this much enthusiasm since… I don’t even know, Albus. She’s unparalleled.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in delight — he loved discussing the unmarked potential of the cretins. “High marks, then?”

“The highest in the class.” Minerva said, like he should have known that already. “Granted, it’s only been a few weeks, but sweet Salazar, if she keeps this up, her future has no bounds. A brilliant child indeed! She might be the finest witch this school has ever seen, and in Gryffindor, no less.”

This was a direct comment for Severus to respond to. He decided to send them both a disgusted, sideways glare instead. Granger was slowly becoming the bane of his educational existence. It was true, what Minerva had said — she overcompensated, but for what, Severus had yet to gauge. Severus wished she only handed in forty-eight inches — the least he’d gotten was sixty. He’d started taking marks off for every extra five inches the girl tacked on.

“She’s obnoxious, and a know-it-all.” Severus said, trying to murder his baked potato, which he had yet to touch. “I find her enthusiasm annoying, at best. She calls out when she’s not called upon. She’s constantly lecturing those around her, especially Weasley.”

Minerva frowned, seemingly offended that Severus wasn’t giving Granger a glowing recommendation. “Weasley could stand to listen to her. The boy doesn’t apply himself… you could say the same for the twins. Brilliant, the pair of them, but it’s like pulling teeth trying to get an essay out of them.”

“It’s not just Weasley.” Severus grouched, his head throbbing as he recalled her voice in his class prattling on and on and on. “It’s Evans too.”

He realized the trap he’d fallen into as the words left his mouth. Dumbledore smiled, raising his goblet to his lips, a look of satisfaction on his face. It made Severus’ blood boil. He dropped his fork and shot daggers at him, silently trying to force him not to go through with what he was undoubtedly about to ask.

“And what do you think of Miss Evans, Severus?” he asked, his blue eyes alight with genuine, sparkling curiosity.

What did he think of Miss Evans indeed. Well, for one, the girl no longer looked feral. Pomfrey and the Weasleys had done a fine job of seeing to that. Lily-thing was quiet, soft-spoken, and didn’t ask questions, but he wasn’t going to tell Dumbledore that, even if it was wholly uninteresting in theory. When the girl had walked into the Great Hall for the Sorting, he’d caught her searching, dark eyes landing on him, recognition lighting them up. For a terrifying second, Severus had thought the girl was going to wave, and so, he’d struck her down with a look so fierce that he’d seen those around her cower. She’d done the same, which was very un-Potter like. No, he’d rather keel over and die right there than let the old codger know he had any sort of opinion about the brat. Severus didn’t give a shit about the girl anymore, he was here to make sure she didn’t jump out of anymore sodding windows.

In closing, Miss Evans has gone from being the girl in the cupboard to the girl under the Sorting Hat, and now she was a passing face in a sea of dunderheaded children. Severus honestly knew very little, because he kept it this way, thanks to his avoidance of Dumbledore. He knew the girl was friends with Granger and the newest Weasley twerp, and that Draco Malfoy enjoyed getting a rise out of her. That hadn’t been surprising at all — Severus knew why, and it most likely had nothing to do with the fundamentally different personalities… well, not yet, at any rate. Draco was the center of his parents’ universe, and his own, for that matter. This was the first time his orbit was being overshadowed by another. Lily-thing was the newest celebrity, and seemingly well-liked. Draco was neither of those things.

Severus scoured the Great Hall, stopping at the Gryffindor table when he noticed Weasley was poking at his plate, sulking — alone.

Lily-thing and Granger were missing.

That had never happened before. They were always there — Snape knew this because he’d been watching the little monster. Dumbledore was convinced someone was after the Philosopher's Stone, and having the Girl-Who-Lived waltzing around the bloody school was sure to create problems. Dumbledore wouldn’t admit it, but Severus was almost positive that he thought the two were somehow related. He’d broken his silent treatment to Dumbledore to discuss the Stone and where it was to be held because of it. He’d been so angry after leaving the girl with Pomfrey that he’d gone to Spinner’s End and disconnected the Floo network until the week before school started. Severus knew that if Dumbledore wanted to, he could have Apparated there, or sent an Owl or a Patronus, but he suspected that the old man had been equally as rattled by Lily-thing’s Muggle upbringing. 

He did not want to remember Lily on this night. Memories warmed you up from the inside, but they also tore you apart.

Severus’ eyes narrowed as he turned to Dumbledore. “I think Miss Evans is absent from the Feast.”

There was the faintest indication of a frown on Dumbledore’s face, now. Severus felt vindicated. “I’m sure they’re making their way here shortly.”

“Or she’s gotten into trouble.” Severus offered, deliberately unhelpfully. “Not unlike her father.”

Dumbledore gave him a strange glance, one that only moved the eyebrows on his face. It reminded Severus of when the tide pulled back and left behind nothing but seashells.

“On the contrary, I find her to be a very thoughtful child.” Minerva intervened. “James wasn’t nearly as deliberate at Ariel’s age.”

Severus stifled the urge to roll his eyes. The girl had jumped out of a window to get her acceptance letter, for Merlin’s sake. If that wasn’t the epitome of James fucking Potter, gift to the wizarding world, then Severus was a Hufflepuff.

“Besides,” Minerva sniffed, sending Severus A Look, as if she were discipling him. “I spoke with Miss Evans earlier today. She asked if her attendance was mandatory… she expressed wanting to spend her time elsewhere, tonight.”

“And you told her yes.” Severus gave her a doubtful scowl. He didn’t know why this bothered him — he tried to tell himself that it didn’t. If Lily-thing didn’t want to participate in school activities, why should he care?

He didn’t.

Dumbledore seemed intrigued by this new information. “Did she say why, Minerva?”

Her lips pursed together in a tight line. “I would suspect it would have to do with another event many of us celebrated several years ago.”

Severus nearly dropped his fork. Dumbledore bowed his head in acknowledgment, while Minerva took a long, drawn out sip of the Elvish wine in her goblet. Thankfully, it was then that the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The students all fell silent, obviously startled, as Quirrell came bounding into their midst. He ran as though someone had set his robes on fire.

“TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!” Quirrell shrieked. “Thought you ought to know.”

And then the idiot fainted. It was times like these where Severus considered not having the Defense position a personal insult. He turned to Dumbledore, who, despite being the oldest person in the room, certainly looked the most powerful. He boomed out a command to the Prefects, who scurried to collect their Houses and escort them back to their dorms for the evening. Hagrid barrelled up again, looking a bit disappointed as he stared longingly at the full plate of food in front of him.

“Minerva, you will help me secure the Stone.” Dumbledore said sharply, drawing his wand. “Severus, I’d like for you to assist Pomona and Filius and then meet us. Make the students’ safety your top priority. I doubt a troll would pose any sort of threat to the Stone, but we must be vigilant.”

He didn’t need to tell Severus twice — a troll entering the school wasn’t exactly unheard of, but the timing was… suspicious.

There was a girl missing, in the meantime.

.

Ariel and Hermione made a beeline for the Astronomy Tower staircase, which was very long, and very high up. She didn’t mind the walk, though, the late-fall air felt good on her clammy skin. She was nervous, because tonight, with Hermione here, she was going to do it.

She was going to read that letter.

There was a whole slew of reasons why she hadn’t done it yet, but most of them were stupid, silly, and sounded like Aunt Petunia when Ariel said them out loud. She’d wanted to rip open the letter the second she’d landed at Hogwarts, after Madam Pomfrey had made her drink potions that tasted like old socks and toenails, but something had stopped her, the same thing that had stopped her from following Snape off the Dursley’s front stoop. Sure, tonight Ariel genuinely did want to spend it remembering her Mum and Dad — she thought they deserved some sort of commemoration since they had, in fact, died this very night. It changed the whole holiday for Ariel, really. She didn’t see how after learning about everything, she could simply pretend that Halloween wasn’t a marker for something else.

When they hit the third twist in the stairs, Hermione stopped, gesturing to a small alcove just a few paces to their right. “Is this okay?”

Ariel gave a small smile. “It’s great, Hermione. Do you think the candles will be okay with the wind and all?”

“Well, we’ll find out.” Hermione said, setting down the basket. “There’s been a neat Charm I’ve been wanting to try anyway — it keeps them from going out. Professor Flitwick taught it to me the other day when I stayed after class to ask a question about… oh, I don’t even know what it was about —”

She started to ramble about schoolwork as they both set up, lining the ledge with mostly-used-candles as Ariel offered quiet “mhm’s,” and “yeah you’re right’s.” She felt bad pretending to listen, but she was wondering how she was going to start a conversation about her dead mother’s secret letter when the current topic was about Transfiguration. It was getting chillier, too. Ariel shivered as she settled against the ledge, wishing she’d brought that jumper with her (whether it was hers or not). Part of her wish she had brought Ron, because unlike Hermione, he could be blunt when he needed to be. He would’ve started bickering with Hermione once she started talking about school, and the awkward silence after would’ve given Ariel the perfect opportunity to bring it up. Sometimes, Ariel didn’t know what to do with Hermione’s sincerity, her innate attention to detail, and it made her feel small.

The candles flickered, the wicks dimming as the conversation did the same. Ariel let her gaze drift from Hermione and to the grounds far below them, grinning as she watched Hagrid barrelling up towards the school, obviously late for the Feast. She tried to imagine her parents walking those same grounds, maybe out by the lake, or where she and Hermione were sitting right now.

“I think it looks nice.” said Hermione, who’s Charm had worked on the candles. She gave a satisfied little smile. “Do you like it?”

Ariel nodded, not knowing how to say that the candles didn’t matter so much as Hermione being here did. “It’s brilliant, Mione. Thank you. You really didn’t have to —”

“I wanted to be here.” Hermione inched a couple of paces closer to her. “I think it’s… I think they’d be proud. Touched.”

She didn’t want to think about what her parents could have felt. It was strange to miss someone, but projecting about how they would’ve felt about something was almost more painful than the missing itself. Ariel wanted them here more than anything, some days. For a long time, she’d thought that the thing she wanted most was to leave the Dursleys. She’d daydreamed about her parents coming to get her… and while Professor Dumbledore and Snape definitely weren’t what she’d had in mind in this fantasy, she was still incredibly grateful that someone had come.

She supposed she owed that to her parents too, in a way.

“No one talks about them.” said Ariel, bringing her knees to her chin. “About Mum and Dad. It’s like… like how no one says Voldemort’s name. Ron’s mum knew them, but when I asked her she got this funny look on her face, like… like she was trying to to cry. I didn’t even think they were that close. Even Dumbledore, when he came to my aunt and uncle’s… he seemed so sad when he told me what happened.”

Hermione stared at the stone floor, like she was debating on whether or not to share her thoughts. “My grandparents died when I was really little, so I don’t remember them at all. I asked my mum about them, for a school project we were doing, and she got all upset. My dad said it’s because they knew them, and it’s… difficult to talk through the pain of their memory. It’s different for me and you, because we didn’t know them the same way others did. It’s awful that you didn’t, but you don’t miss them the same way.”

The wind howled, interrupting Ariel’s next thought. The treetops in the distance shook and trembled, like an audience watching their conversation, eager to know where it was headed.

“I have to tell you something.” she said to Hermione, trying to put on her best Gryffindor-face, and failing. She was shaking like the trees. “My Mum left me a letter.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed. “What kind of letter?”

“I don’t know. I found it in her trunk when Professor Dumbledore and Snape came to my aunt and uncle’s. The trunk in our dorm is my mum’s, and before Professor Dumbledore took it, I found a letter inside.”

“Did Professor Dumbledore —”

“He doesn’t know I took it.” Ariel felt awfully bad about this, but it was, after all, her letter.

Hermione frowned. “What if it had something to do with You-Know-Who?”

“It has my name on it, so Mum wanted me to read it.” Ariel bit her lip. “I just… I haven’t built up the nerve to do it. I don’t know why, I feel so silly.”

She did know why. She was petrified that if she opened this letter, it was going to be something she didn’t want to know. After everything that had happened, she had no real reason to feel that way. Somehow, she was scared that this letter would make her feel worse, and she’d just started to finally sort through all the Parents-Murdered-By-Evil-Wizard business.

“Do you want me to read it with you?” Hermione asked softly. “If it’ll make you feel better… I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Ariel hesitated. “I… don’t know. I think so.”

“We don’t have to do this tonight —”

“No,” she interrupted. “I have to, or else, I’m never gonna have the nerve to do it again.”

Before Hermione could argue, Ariel reached into her robes, unfolding the letter. She’d been very careful to keep good care of it, and had been keeping it under her mattress all these months. She even checked on it every night before she went to bed to make sure it was still there. Hermione scooted closer, tracing Ariel’s name with her fingertips.

“She had nice handwriting.”

Ariel felt hot and cold all over as she unfolded the letter with trembling hands, Hermione’s chin coming to rest on her shoulder. It was dated 4 December, 1980.

.

My Ariel,

I must have rewritten this letter a thousand times for you by now, because you deserve for it to be perfect. I’m afraid it won’t ever be, and I’m starting to think there is no perfect way to tell you the truth. I hope that you won’t need this letter, and I can tell you myself, or maybe what I’m about to say has always been your life, for as long as you can remember. I hope you can forgive me for not giving you that, if you’re reading this without me there.

James and I are in hiding, waiting to hear from the Order. I hope you know what that means, and why it was so important to us. If I’m not here, with you, then I can only begin to imagine why, but I know that it must have something to do with Voldemort. He wants you, my sweet girl, and I will not let him take you, no matter what the cost. If you’re here, and I am not, then I’ve done what I need to do to protect you. Please know that there is no life living if you’re gone and I’m not. I’m sorry I’m not there. I’m sorry.

What I have to tell you is not out of regret. I’m worried that if I’m not there, that you don’t know at all, and the only thing worse than not being there is you having to read this letter and find out the truth all by yourself. You are not alone, Ariel. You are so loved, even if you don’t necessarily feel that way after hearing this. I hope you can forgive me for not being there, and if you don’t already know, for the lie you’ve believed until now.

James is not your biological father. Your father’s name is Severus, and it’s for his own protection that I’m keeping this a secret. James is the only other person that knows, and now, my sweet girl, you do too. Severus doesn’t even know. I don’t know if he’ll ever know, which is why I’m telling you, because you deserve that much from me. You have a right to know where you came from, and so does Severus, if all is well.

James and I dated our last two years at Hogwarts, and when we left, I decided that I wanted to give all my energy into the Order, to the fight against Voldemort. He had proposed, and I couldn’t find it in me to say yes. Not then, at least. I hope you're old enough to understand such things, but I do love James, very much so, but in my eyes, I had my whole life ahead of me for marriage. At the time, it was not clear whether or not there would be a life to live if Voldemort won. So I told James no, and that when we did marry, it would be in a world that was free of this darkness. It’s everywhere, Ariel, and growing by the day. I hope you live in a world free of him, without fear of his name, and what he is capable of. Hope has been hard to find, these days. The Order is losing, badly, and without James and I to help, I don’t know what’s going to happen.

James and I went our separate ways for a time, only seeing each other during Order meetings. Severus had chosen a different path. We were friends in school — my dearest and best friend. We had a falling out our fifth year, and I never spoke to him again, because he wanted to join the Death Eaters, and he did. I wasn’t sure, for a long time, if he’d truly gone and done so, but I saw him during my first battle with the Order. He saved my life. That was when I met Severus, again. I ran into him at Hogsmeade one night, and I asked — no, demanded — that he tell me why, because it had been eating away at me ever since. And he did.

When James found out I was pregnant, he insisted that I marry him then, if only to protect me and you from a world that hates Muggleborn witches. He is a good man, a good father to you. He’s holding you right now, feeding you a bottle in the kitchen. He loves you like you’re his own.

Severus remembers nothing, and that is by his own volition. He asked me to Obliviate him, and I only did it because he threatened to do so himself. There was no relationship that could be built, even after a night of talking, of learning things I didn’t know, and wish I had. I know Severus would never harm me, or even you, for that matter, even if he does not remember the last time we met. I pray he is still alive, because even though I’ve lost him twice now, you should still be afforded the privilege to know him. Dumbledore told me he’s joined the Order as a spy. I don’t know when, but it’s impossible for Severus to know anything about you. The only ones who know are James and I, and I’ve made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to never tell a soul.

I don’t regret you, or seeing Severus, for that matter, for a single second. Please know that. Keep it close to you, always. You are my greatest gift, my high point, and you are so loved.

Have some fire. Be unstoppable. Be a force of nature. Be better, and don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. I love you endlessly, and forever. Never forget that.

Mum

.

The letter seemed too short — too final. Ariel wanted more. She wanted to rip open the letter and climb inside her mother’s words, to ask a million more questions and learn a million more things. There were words crossed out, the handwriting wobbly and smudged in places. She tried to understand what that meant, but she couldn’t right now. It was like a person trying to touch a ghost and getting nothing but air.

Severus. That was Snape’s first name. That’s what Dumbledore had called him in Aunt Petunia’s house. This couldn’t have been the same Severus her mum had been talking about, the one who was her real father. Snape had sworn at her, called her a brat, and then destroyed half of Aunt Petunia’s house with magic. Snape ignored her and looked at her like he wanted her to drop dead on the spot. Snape hated her. Snape hated everyone.

He knew Petunia, though, said a small, annoyingly helpful voice, he talked about her as if he’d known her.

Ariel was going to be sick. She did not like this (she did, she love that horrible stupid amazing wonderful letter) and she did not like the fact that now, she was the only one who knew. Once you knew a thing, you could never unknow it.

Except Snape had. Snape had made himself forget, or her mum had, because he wanted to.

She had forgotten Hermione was there until she started shaking her.

“Ariel?” There were fresh tears in her eyes. “Ariel, say something!”

She didn’t know what to say. There was nothing she could say that would be right, nothing that could convey what was going through her head. The voice whispering in the midst of the hurricane inside her mind raged, told her to do something, to yell scream cry beg laugh —

“Did you know?” Hermione croaked.

“What?” Ariel found herself forcing out. “No! Of course not! If I had known, I would’ve —”

She didn’t know what she would’ve done. Snape hated her, or at the very least, strongly disliked her. He hated everyone, except maybe Professor Dumbledore, but even that was debatable. She would’ve asked to have her memory wiped, like Snape had. She would never have read this letter. She would have kept it in the trunk for the Headmaster to read. But if he had read it… would he have told Snape —

No no no no no

“This has to be some kind of joke.” Hermione grabbed the letter out of her hands, smoothing her fingers over it, like it was ancient text she was preparing to decode. “This can’t be right…”

Ariel couldn’t feel her lips anymore. There were stars in her vision, stars that sparkled like her mother’s eyes, sparkled like the laugh in her face and cheeks, sparkles like the fairy lights in her parents’ wedding picture, sparkles on the Christmas tree where she, the baby, had sat. She’d searched those pictures and stared at her father, wondering what she’d inherited. Not the face, the hair, the freckles, the smile that was higher on her right than her left. It was all coming together inside her head, a sonic boom so great that when it hit, even though she knew it was coming, she was not prepared.

The eyes — her eyes — the first eyes she’d seen into this magic world —

She did not hear Hermione calling her name when she started to run.