Chapter Text
Saturday, 9th November
The fire in Snape’s office flared emerald as he knelt before it, jaw tight, shoulders squared. He tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the flames and spoke clearly: “Lestrange Manor”.
A moment later, the familiar drawing room came into view: tall windows veiled in heavy green drapes, gilt-edged furniture, and the faint glow of candles floating high above. To his immense relief, it was Rodolphus who appeared, striding into view with a half-buttoned jacket and a curious frown.
“Severus?” He stepped closer, kneeling to the hearth. “What’s wrong? Is it Haedus?!”
“He’s fine” Snape replied immediately, “I assure you, he is entirely unharmed. But there was… an incident today, during his Quidditch match, and he wished for me to inform you before anyone else does”.
Concern flickered across Rodolphus’s face. “Then I’ll go get Bella before you start to explain-”
“No!” The word came out sharper than Snape intended. He forced his voice to settle, forced himself to stay calm. “No. There is no need to alarm her unnecessarily. Haedus is safe, he has already written to you, and telling Bella at this stage will serve no purpose except to… complicate matters”.
Rodolphus’s eyes narrowed. “You mean she’ll storm the castle and hex Dumbledore into an early grave?”
“... Perhaps”.
“Then perhaps, you'd best step through”.
The man stood, taking a few steps away from the fireplace, and Severus sighed before reaching for his bag of Floo powder. He had hoped to do this through the fire, where his physical form would be kept safe, but he had promised Haedus that he’d do this properly, and, really, telling the Lestranges what their son had been getting up to should be done face-to-face anyway.
Stepping through the Floo, he brushed the soot from his robes and reluctantly followed Rodolphus over to the Chesterfield chairs at the side of the room.
“So” the man began, gesturing for him to sit, “Whatever it is that happened is bad enough that my wife will try to murder Albus Dumbledore?”
Snape’s lips curled faintly. “Yes. Which, I admit, would not break my heart, but it would derail the Dark Lord’s carefully laid plans. And that is something that neither of us can allow”.
Rodolphus studied him for a moment, then gave a short, humourless chuckle. “Fair enough. Tell me, then. What happened?”
Severus outlined the incident concisely - the broom bucking, the unmistakable Dark curse, his immediate counterspell. He gave nothing away of Haedus’s suspicions or his strange, powerful surge of will; that was for another day.
When he finished, Rodolphus leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. “Merlin’s beard. And this was only at his very first match?!”
“Indeed” he replied dryly, “The child seems determined to send me to an early grave”.
“Do you believe it will happen again?” Rodolphus asked, “During his next Quidditch game?”
“... No” Severus eventually said, after a moment's thought, “I think whoever did this failed thoroughly enough not to try again - but nevertheless, I shall request that I referee the next Slytherin match regardless. Hopefully, my presence on the pitch should deter any further… incidents from occurring”.
“Thank you” he replied genuinely, his dark eyes sincere, “Do you have any idea who cursed his broom yet?”
“Not yet” Severus replied, albeit reluctantly, “But Dumbledore - or, far more likely, Minerva - is sure to call a staff meeting this evening to discuss what happened. I’ll get a better impression of possible suspects then, and I will keep you informed of any… developments”.
Job done and promise kept, he stood, smoothening the front of his robes and turning back to the fireplace. For a fleeting moment, Snape allowed himself to feel grateful - this had been far less painful an ordeal than he had anticipated, and he had been fortunate that it was Rodolophus, steady and measured, who had answered his call. He couldn’t even imagine the carnage that would ensue if-
“Severus”.
The familiar voice sliced through the air like a blade.
He froze.
Bellatrix Lestrange swept into the drawing room, her black gown whispering across the polished floor, her hair a dark halo of untamed curls. She stopped dead when her eyes fell on them - on Snape’s pale face, on Rodolphus’s too-casual posture - and her gaze immediately sharpened.
“What has happened to Haedus?”
“Nothing” Severus said, far too quickly.
“Nothing at all” Rodolphus echoed, far too earnestly.
Her lips curved in a cold, cruel smile. “Oh, really? And yet the pair of you currently look like kneazles caught in a trap... Try again”.
Sparks crackled from her fingertips, tiny flares of raw magic that made the air hum. Snape forced his tone to stay level even if he couldn’t control his racing heart.
“Haedus is fine, Bella. Completely fine. He had a… minor accident during his Quidditch match this morning, but received nothing worse than a few small bruises. He’s fine - and what's more, he caught the snitch and ensured that Slytherin won!”
He had hoped that by mentioning their victory, Bellatrix - a former player on the Slytherin team herself - would be distracted.
He should’ve known better.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “An accident?”
Rodolphus shifted, slowly standing and taking a few steps to the side to place himself between her and the Floo. “Bella. He’s fine. He’s even sent us a letter! He’s safe, I promise you!”
But she wasn’t listening anymore. The sparks of magic had only increased - in both size and frequency - and her voice had dropped to a low, venomous purr. “If Albus Dumbledore thinks he can touch my son and live, I will flay him alive! I will tear his beard out, hair by hair! I will boil his bones and make him choke on them! I will- I will- I-”
The drawing room lamps spluttered as the sparks around her hands erupted into small, snapping whips of violet light.
“Bella!” Rodolphus’s voice was sharp, commanding, “You storm that castle now, and you hand Dumbledore the excuse he’s been salivating for! You’ll burn the treaty to ashes! Our son is fine!”
“And” Severus added, voice like a dagger sliding into flesh, “you will play right into his hands. He wants chaos. He wants to make us look like violent animals. He wants the Dark Lord to appear unstable… Do not give him the satisfaction”.
Bellatrix’s breathing was ragged, chest heaving, eyes still wild - but at least she was listening. “If he allowed my son to come to harm, then I demand retribution! An eye for an eye!”
“Then retaliate” Severus continued quickly, “But don’t do so with violence. We must be clever about this!”
“Then how do you suggest I get the blood that’s owed to me?!”
“Exposure” he said simply, “We’re not saying that you can’t get what’s owed to you, we’re merely suggesting that you take a… different form of reprisal. Imagine the damage you can do with your words - with the words of the Lestrange, Black, and Malfoy families backing you up? Imagine the Daily Prophet filled with tales of how, under Dumbledore’s very eyes, a child was put in needless danger? It isn’t the first time this has happened. Imagine the articles that could be published about how Hogwarts is unsafe and how Slytherins are often the targets. Imagine the questions it would raise about Dumbledore’s competence - about his loyalty... Haedus doesn’t need you to fight his battles for him, Bella, but there are avenues of revenge that you, as an adult, can travel down far easier than he can”.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the sparks died down, the candles flickered back to life, and that maniacal gleam flared in her dark eyes, fierce and hungry.
“Yes” she breathed, “Yes! Let the world see how useless he is. Let them whisper, let them doubt! Let them turn on him!”
Her laugh rang out, shrill and delighted, as she swept toward the writing desk.
“I’ll write to Rita Skeeter right now! Papa has more than one contact in the publishing world, and Lucius has a cousin who works at the Prophet, too! And oh, I’ll make sure they know everything! Albus bloody Dumbledore will be drowning in scandal before the week is out!”
Snape and Rodolphus exchanged a silent glance - one full of relief tempered with exhaustion.
As Bellatrix bent over her parchment, scribbling with furious glee, Severus quietly stepped back toward the Floo, already thanking every single deity out there that he’d at least delayed the catastrophe for another day.
The fire in the grate spat low embers, painting the cosy townhouse in soft, flickering orange. Remus sat at the worn kitchen table, sleeves rolled up, a mug of tea steaming between his hands. Across from him, Sirius paced restlessly, his hair falling into his eyes, his boots thudding against the scuffed floorboards.
“You’ve been what?” Remus asked at last, his voice deceptively calm.
His partner dragged a hand through his hair, looking rather like a scolded dog. “I’ve been… you know… watching him… Keeping an eye on him… Making sure he’s safe”.
“In your Animagus form”.
“Yes”. Sirius’s grey eyes sparked with defiance. “Padfoot’s invisible in the Forest, Moony! Just a mangy stray dog nobody looks twice at. He’s the perfect cover!”
Remus set his mug down with a soft click. “He’s perfectly reckless, you mean! Dumbledore’s not blind, Sirius! What if he had seen you?! Or even worse, what if one of the students realised you weren’t just a stray and told a professor who then called the Aurors on you?! What if Harry had realised?!”
“He won’t!” he protested, “Harry doesn’t have the first idea who Padfoot is! He doesn’t even know who we are! Maybe he doesn’t even know what Animagus are! To him, I’m just a dog who likes hanging around”.
“Who likes- you mean he’s seen you?!”
Sirius grimaced, but then snorted and shook his head. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it, but then the little brat Stunned me!”
“He what?!”
Sirius straightened, grinning despite the sharp look Remus was giving him. “Last week, when he was outside the greenhouses. Kid’s got instincts like a bloody Auror! One second, he was pretending to admire a plant, the next - Stupefy! - and down I went! He said he knew I’d been following him for weeks!”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “For fuck's sake, Sirius!”
“No, Moony, listen”. His voice softened, warm with pride. “He was brilliant! Eleven years old, and yet he’s still that fast? His reflexes were sharp as a whip, and he was smart enough to question me before deciding what to do. He didn’t panic, didn’t shout for help. He just… sized me up”.
His partner raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well, he is in Slytherin, Pads. Only a Gryffindor would’ve rushed in, wand-blazing with no plan!”
Sirius’s grin widened. “Maybe, but you didn’t see him, Moony… There’s something of James in the way he carries himself, and - Merlin, the way he flies! I watched his first match this morning. He’s a hundred times better than James was at that age!”
That, more than anything, made Remus sit back, his expression flickering. Sirius’s voice had taken on a low, aching note.
“And that’s not all. He caught the snitch after nearly falling off his broom! Someone cursed it, tried to throw him off, and still, he pulled himself back, somehow overcame the curse, and caught the snitch after pulling off a hundred-foot dive like it was nothing! I’d never seen anything like it!”
Remus frowned, his concern overtaking his annoyance. “Wait - he was cursed?!”
Sirius nodded and started to pace again. “Someone jinxed his broom. Had him dangling by one hand while the crowd screamed, and none of the other fliers were able to get close enough to catch him. I’ve no idea who was doing it… although Snape was muttering something and looked damned suspicious-”
“Pads” he interrupted with an exasperated look, “You know full well that Severus wasn’t the one trying to hurt him! If anything, he was likely casting the countercurse! Harry’s in his House, too, and you know how protective he is of his students - not to mind the fact that the Lestranges raised him and Severus has been friends with them for years!”
Sirius’s brows furrowed, his grey eyes narrowed in thought as the rest of his body stilled. “You know, I didn’t really believe him when he said he didn’t put two and two together during the Order’s last meeting. I mean, Harry may look like Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, but he also looks like James, and he’s got-”
He cut himself off, irritation flashing over his face, so Remus sighed and finished his sentence for him.
“And he’s got Lily’s eyes” he said quietly, “You’re right. There’s no way that Severus didn’t realise the truth, no matter what he’s told Dumbledore - he’s far too intelligent for that”.
“Which means he isn’t truly on the Order’s side”.
“Well, neither are we” Remus countered, “If we’re on Harry’s side and only playing nice with Dumbledore to be kept in the loop, then… then maybe Severus is doing the same thing”.
Sirius made a noise halfway between a scoff and a growl, but didn’t contradict him. Instead, he shook his head and resumed his pacing.
“Anyway, we can come back to that later - right now, however, the most important question is who would want to hurt Harry?”
“I think a better question is why” Remus started slowly, “I mean, what possible purpose does attacking an eleven-year-old serve? And were they attacking the Potter heir? Or were they attacking the Lestrange-Black heir?”
For once, Sirius had no answer. The fire crackled. Outside, London traffic rumbled past. The house suddenly felt too small for the weight of the silence that settled in its walls.
Finally, Sirius dropped heavily into a chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. But I’ll find out. And when I do…”
Remus held his gaze, his own eyes briefly flashing molten gold. “They’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on him.”
The long staff table gleamed under the candlelight, heavy platters of untouched food pushed to the centre. No one was eating. The air was taut with the aftershock of the Quidditch match.
Albus Dumbledore sat at the head, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his half-moon spectacles glinting. His expression was as it so often was in these gatherings - serene, almost distracted, but Severus knew him too well to be fooled. Those blue eyes were sharp and assessing, weighing every person in the room.
Severus took his seat at the far end of the table. His expression was neutral, his mind disciplined into the same cool, silken mask he had perfected years ago. He had only just returned to Hogwarts in time for the staff meeting, and although it wouldn’t have been dangerous, as such, had he explained where he’d been, he didn’t want Dumbledore to associate him with the Lestranges any more than he already did. Severus knew that he was on thin enough ice as it was, with the revelation that the son of one of his closest friends was the long-lost Harry Potter, and he knew that the Headmaster didn’t quite fully trust him as much as he once had.
“Let us begin” Dumbledore said, “I’m sure that by now you are all aware why I called this emergency meeting. There was an incident today during the Quidditch match. Our young Slytherin seeker, Mr… Lestrange, was very nearly unseated”.
“Very nearly killed” Severus corrected softly, his voice like a blade cutting across the table.
Madam Hooch pursed her lips, chin lifting. “I watched the entire thing from the pitch. It looked to me like some sort of broom malfunction”.
He turned his head toward her, his gaze dark and unforgiving. “Then your eyes are failing you, Rolanda. That broom was very obviously cursed!”
A murmur swept the table. Flitwick frowned, tugging at his beard. “Severus is correct. I felt the resonance of the Dark Magic myself. Quite an advanced curse, I’d say, and quite a nasty one, too”.
Madam Hooch flushed scarlet. “That sort of depravity has no place on my pitch. I check every broom personally before they’re allowed in play-”
“Which is exactly why” Severus interrupted sharply, “the caster waited until the boy was already flying!”
Dumbledore raised a calming hand. “Whoever cast it did so from the stands. That much is clear”.
“Clear?” Karkaroff scoffed, leaning lazily back in his chair, his furs spilling over the carved wood like he owned it. “You think this was done in front of the entire school? With over a dozen professors present?! Whoever did this was clearly hidden elsewhere - back in the castle, perhaps, or even in the Forest”.
“On the contrary” Flitwick chimed in, “from what I can gather, the nature of the curse requires constant eye contact. Whoever maintained it would have needed to be in direct line of sight of the boy and visibly concentrating”.
Karkaroff waved a jewelled hand. “Then we would have seen them, but none of us did, did we?”
“I just don’t understand” Sprout said anxiously, “Why target Mr Lestrange of all people? The poor boy is just a first-year!”
Severus’s mouth curved in a humourless smirk. “Yes, he is, however, he is no ordinary first-year”.
The words hung in the air, unchallenged. Even Minerva’s lips thinned.
“Regardless” Dumbledore said smoothly, “we must take every precaution to ensure this does not happen again. Extra wards over the pitch, perhaps-”
“Wards won’t stop it” Karkaroff interrupted again, his voice carrying a sharp impatience, “If someone wants the boy dead, they’ll find another way. A broom, a staircase, a poisoned glass of pumpkin juice… Why, even that troll would have done the trick if Lestrange hadn’t killed it first!”
A tense silence followed. Even Dumbledore’s eyes flickered, just for a heartbeat, before he settled back into his benign mask. He had mixed feelings about the troll incident, Severus knew - Salazar, he even had mixed feelings about it himself! For an eleven-year-old child to be capable enough to take down a fully grown and enraged mountain troll…
“Speculation will do us little good” Dumbledore said at last, his tone quiet but decisive, “Our duty is to protect the children - all of them. Especially those who may be more… vulnerable to attack”.
“Then let us speak plainly” Severus said, his voice soft but dangerous, “The attack was on one of my students. A boy who, for reasons obvious to all of us, is already the target of undue scrutiny. And yet Madam Hooch saw fit to dismiss it as broom trouble”.
Rolanda bristled, her hawkish eyes flashing. “I do not dismiss the danger, Severus! But Quidditch is my domain, and I know the signs of a broom malfunction when I see them-”
“What you saw” he cut across smoothly, “was your pride clouding your judgment. You were too close, too invested in your game to admit that such a violation could take place under your nose - not to mention the fact that you and Mr Lestrange have clashed before. Perhaps you wanted to see him hurt”.
“Now see here-”
“Enough!” Minerva’s sharp tone snapped like a whip. She glared at Severus and then at Madam Hooch. “This is not the time for your petulant battles. Rolanda acted as any responsible official would and called for a time-out-”
His lip curled. “Responsible? While a first year was nearly smashed to pieces?! And let us not forget, it was the captain of my team who called for the time-out!”
“Severus” Dumbledore interjected, calm but firm, “this is not the moment to assign blame. What matters now is preventing it from happening again”.
“Then I will referee Slytherin’s next match”.
A ripple went through the table. Madam Hooch half-rose from her seat, scandalised. “You? Don’t be absurd! You’ve never refereed a match in your life! You’ll spoil the entire flow of the game-”
“The ‘flow of the game’ is irrelevant” Severus shot back, his composure thinning, “when a student’s life is being toyed with like a bludger! It was my student who was attacked, Rolanda, and I will not allow your incompetence or your biases to endanger him further!”
Gasps followed with even Flitwick muttering, “Severus, that’s hardly fair-”
“On the contrary” Karkaroff drawled, “I think he has a point. If someone has marked the boy, what’s to stop them from trying again? Best to have someone… shall we say… vigilant in charge”.
His grin was thin and snake-like, his gaze flicking between Madam Hooch and Severus with clear enjoyment of the tension.
“Severus cannot referee every match” Sprout said, her brow furrowed, “That isn’t reasonable or fair, and it sets a dangerous precedent, doesn’t it? The other Houses will think we’re favouring Slytherin-”
“I do not care what the other Houses think!” Severus snapped, “This is not about points or trophies. This is about a child’s life!”
“Severus”. Dumbledore’s voice was still soft, but it now carried an unmistakable edge. The murmurs stopped at once. He regarded Snape with those unreadable blue eyes for one long moment. “... Very well. You may referee Slytherin’s next match - but only Slytherin’s. Madam Hooch will continue to oversee the others”.
Rolanda’s mouth snapped shut, her indignation barely contained, but she reluctantly, hatefully, nodded her agreement.
“Then it is settled” Dumbledore concluded, rising to his feet with a sweep of his robes, “We will enhance the wards around the pitch, and we will all be vigilant. Our students’ safety must remain paramount. That is all”.
As the meeting was adjourned and the others filed out, murmuring in low, uneasy voices, Severus lingered behind, the gears in his mind racing.
He did not know yet who had cast the curse - but someone had. Only a few professors had spoken up during the meeting, while some of the others had remained almost suspiciously silent, but none had appeared guilty or wary. And yet someone in this room had smiled while Haedus dangled in the air, waiting to fall, to plummet over a hundred feet to his death...
And when Severus found out who, he would ensure that they regretted it.
Monday, 11th November
The Slytherin table was a low hum of conversation, forks clinking softly against plates as steam rose from sausages, eggs, and fried tomatoes. Haedus sat in his usual seat next to Draco, a strip of bacon in one hand and a buttered roll in the other. Underneath his robes, warm and comfortably coiled, Asha stirred.
“Hungry” she hissed, tongue flicking against his ribs.
“Patience” Haedus murmured under his breath, breaking off a small piece of bacon and letting his hand fall to his lap. Asha’s sleek head emerged just enough to snatch the morsel before vanishing back under the folds of cloth.
Draco, busy smearing marmalade onto toast, glanced sideways at him. “Feeding her again? You know, if anyone outside Slytherin ever finds out you sneak food to her during meals, you’ll never hear the end of it”.
“She deserves breakfast just as much as we do” Haedus said calmly, sneaking her another bit of sausage.
“Next thing we know, you’ll be teaching her to drink pumpkin juice through a straw” Theo muttered across from him, though his lips twitched in amusement.
Blaise leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. “I think I’d actually pay to see that. Imagine McGonagall’s face if she saw a snake sipping from a goblet at the table”.
Haedus allowed himself a small smile. “Then it’s fortunate Asha has better manners than most of the Gryffindors”.
There was a flutter of wings above them as dozens of birds swept into the Great Hall. The morning owls descended, rustling through the air in clouds of grey and brown feathers. Letters and packages dropped across the tables, some tied neatly with ribbon, others clumsily bundled in twine.
Almost immediately, the usual chatter shifted into whispers. Students leaned over their papers, voices hushed but urgent, heads turning toward the staff table at the front of the hall.
“What’s going on?” Draco asked, frowning.
An eagle owl swept down and landed gracefully in front of Haedus, dropping a copy of the Daily Prophet before stealing a slice of toast and flapping away.
Haedus pushed his plate aside and unfolded the paper. The bold headline sprawled across the front page in Rita Skeeter’s dramatic hand: HOGWARTS HEADMASTER ENDANGERS STUDENTS: DARK CURSE STRIKES ON QUIDDITCH PITCH
A grainy photograph of him half-falling from his broom - blurry, given the distance, but still unmistakably him - took up half the page, his face set in grim determination as the broom bucked violently above him.
Theo whistled low. “Merlin. You parents sure didn’t waste any time”.
Draco leaned in, eyes widening. “Let me see!”
Haedus tilted the paper so they all could read. The article was long, winding, and full of Rita Skeeter’s trademark dramatics. She recounted the Quidditch match in breathless detail, claimed eyewitnesses had seen Haedus nearly thrown to his death, and made pointed suggestions about Dumbledore’s “criminal negligence” in allowing such violence to take place on the pitch at all.
Blaise gave a quiet laugh. “Well, she sure doesn’t hold back, does she? Look at this bit - ‘Had such a thing happened to a member of the Gryffindor team, would the reaction have been so delayed? One must wonder whether Headmaster Dumbledore values the lives of his Slytherin students at all’. That’s going to go down beautifully with your father, Draco”.
Draco smirked. “Maybe he’ll even frame it and bring it with him to the next Board of Governors meeting”.
Haedus skimmed lower, where Skeeter quoted unnamed sources about Hogwarts’ “declining safety” and the “long list of past incidents conveniently swept under the rug”. There were even allusions to Dumbledore’s biased favouritism - how the Headmaster turned a blind eye when Gryffindors got into trouble but left other students unprotected.
Asha hissed a faint chuckle against his chest, no doubt sensing his dark curl of satisfaction. Sharp-fanged words - they bit deeper than venom.
Haedus folded the paper and slid it smoothly into his school bag, hiding the faint curl of vicious delight tugging at his lips. Around them, the murmurs in the hall were rising: Gryffindors protesting loudly, Ravenclaws already trading copies to analyse the text, Hufflepuffs muttering uncertainly. Up at the high table, Dumbledore’s expression was maddeningly serene, but Madam Hooch - who had also not been spared judgment - looked thunderous.
“Well” Theo said softly, lifting his teacup in mock salute, “let the chaos begin”.
“It’s about damn time” Blaise agreed, “Maybe people will start asking the right questions for once”.
Haedus reached for another slice of bacon, feeding it absentmindedly to Asha. His pulse thrummed with quiet, fierce satisfaction. Whatever storm his Maman had stirred up, it was one Dumbledore would have to weather alone.
And Haedus, for once, was content to sit back and watch the cracks begin to spread.