Silverthorne Manor sat shrouded in a curtain of early-morning mist, its silver-white wards glimmering faintly like frost on glass. Severus Snape approached the wrought-iron gates with the same wariness he applied to everything in life. He disliked being summoned anywhere—least of all to places owned by other wizards.
Especially this place.
Alaric Silverthorne had a reputation even Snape grudgingly respected: an Auror with the ICW, a magizoologist who could pacify creatures most wizards couldn't even name, and a man whose dueling skills had once forced even Mad-Eye Moody to admit "he's annoyingly good."
Elarisse Silverthorne, though—she was an entirely different matter. A potioneer whose work rivaled, if not surpassed, even his own. Brilliant, elegant, infuriatingly calm.
He wasn't here for pleasantries.
He was here because Elarisse Silverthorne had owled him directly — a rarity in itself — requesting assistance in brewing several advanced restorative potions for St. Mungo's Healing Institute, as their usual supplier had fallen ill. She had been one of the few at Hogwarts he could tolerate during his student years: sharp, precise, and gifted in a way that did not rely on arrogance.
But even that respect did not quite explain the faint unease prickling under his skin.
The wards recognized him, scanning like cool fingers over his presence, and admitted him with a soft chime. He strode up the long path, cloak whispering behind him, and raised his hand to knock—
The door opened instantly.
"Severus," Elarisse greeted warmly, raven-black hair cascading over her shoulder, green eyes bright even at this ungodly hour. "Thank you for coming."
"I was told St. Mungo's is in need of a fresh supply of Lunar-Regenerative Draught," Snape replied. "Your owl implied urgency."
"It is urgent. And the hospital is requesting double the usual amount." She stepped aside gracefully. "Come in."
Snape swept into the grand foyer, taking in the floating silver orbs of light, the shelves of ancient tomes, and the subtle enchantments humming through the air like a heartbeat.
It smelled of herbs and parchment—comforting.
Then he paused.
There was another scent beneath it, faint but unmistakable.
Child's soap. Fresh ink. Lavender.
"Elarisse," he said slowly, "there's a new child here."
Her smile curved gently. "Yes. Mavis."
Snape's entire body went rigid.
His mind flashed to Lily—her voice, her laughter, her pleading—Keep her safe, Severus. Please.
His jaw tightened.
"You took her," he said quietly. "From the Dursleys."
"No," Elarisse corrected. "We found her after she ran away. She was five. Severus, the Muggles endangered her. Any decent witch or wizard would have done the same."
Snape's voice dropped to a soft, dangerous whisper.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLopOM19Ltp
"Dumbledore entrusted her safety to—"
"To people who treated her like a curse," Elarisse said sharply, surprising him. "Not a child. Certainly not Lily's child."
He flinched.
She softened. "We performed a ritual—the Silverthorne Adoption Rite. She is our daughter now. Protected. Cherished. Loved."
Snape's breath left him in a quiet rush.
"Blood adoption," he murmured, stunned. "That magic is ancient. Nearly forgotten. Few families retain the knowledge."
"We do. And we used it."
He stared at the polished floor for a long moment, trying to swallow the strange mixture of grief, resentment, and relief tearing at him.
"She looks like them?" His voice was barely a whisper.
Elarisse's smile gentled. "Come see for yourself."
She led him deeper into the manor, past alchemical glasswork shimmering with moonlit colors, until they reached the potions wing.
Snape heard the moment before he saw her—a soft giggle, bright as chimes.
"Mama, look! It's turning sky-blue—Isolde said that means I didn't overheat the moonroot!"
Snape froze.
Standing on a potions stool, with a silverwood ladle in her hand, was a small girl with Lily's face. Lily's eyes. Lily's small, pointed chin and familiar determined set to her brow. Her hair, dark auburn.
Mavis Potter—now Mavis Silverthorne.
Elarisse stepped forward. "Mavis, sweetheart, we have a guest."
Mavis turned—
And Snape's breath caught.
She look exactly like Lily—except for the lightning bolt shaped scar on the right side of her forehead. She had James's chin, Lily's nose, but something... something uniquely her own. Yet when she smiled, something in Snape's chest twisted painfully.
"Mama? Papa said a Professor Snape was visiting." Her voice was soft and curious. "Are you him?"
He inclined his head stiffly. "Yes."
She brightened. "Hello! I'm Mavis Potter-Silverthorne."
The name hit him. Silverthorne. The adoption had not been symbolic—they truly made her theirs. But she also kept her parents' last name as well. To honor her birth parents.
Before he could respond, soft footsteps sounded behind him. Alaric Silverthorne entered, tall and broad-shouldered, silver hair tied back.
"Snape," Alaric greeted with a nod. "Glad you made it. Elarisse tells me you're the only potioneer alive meticulous enough to keep St. Mungo's stocked."
Snape's scowl softened—slightly. "Competence is rare. I must compensate for the mediocrity of others."
Mavis giggled, covering her mouth. "You sound like Papa when Caelum tracks dirt through the hall."
Snape blinked.
Alaric coughed, "Accidents happen."
"Every day?" Mavis teased.
From the far table, Caelum—tall even at his young age, giant blood obvious—groaned. "I said I was sorry!"
Snape stared. It was chaos. Controlled chaos, perhaps, but nothing like the bleak silence of Spinner's End or the cold austerity of Hogwarts.
It was... warm.
Too warm.
He didn't know how to stand in it.
Elarisse gestured him forward. "Mavis has been learning potions. She's talented. Exceptionally so."
Mavis preened, "I can brew Calming Balm, anti-sting paste, and almost the sleeping draught if Nyx stops distracting me!"
Nyx, lounging upside-down from a ceiling rafter like a smug half-vampire bat, waved. "I only distracted you once."
"You dropped a book on my head."
"It was an accident!"
Snape cleared his throat sharply, "Miss Potter-Silverthorne... step down from the stool."
Mavis blinked, then obeyed instantly.
Good. She listened.
He approached her cauldron, inhaled, and felt his eyebrows rise minutely.
"You stabilized the moonroot infusion with crushed frostleaf," he observed. "Most adults fail to realize frostleaf prevents potion separation mid-boil."
Mavis grinned proudly. "Mama taught me frostleaf is like—like putting a ribbon around a bundle of magic. It keeps it tied!"
"That is... not incorrect," Snape allowed.
Elarisse hid a smile behind her hand.
Mavis leaned forward. "Do you teach potions at Hogwarts?"
"Yes."
"Will you teach me?"
The question hit him like a blow.
Lily's eyes—hopeful, bright, trusting—stared up at him.
He swallowed.
"I... suppose... if your mother wishes it." He forced the words out.
Elarisse stepped beside him, touching Mavis's shoulder, "I do wish it. Severus, she can learn from me, of course. But she needs more than one teacher if she's going to reach her potential."
Snape gave her a sharp look. "You assume she has potential."
Mavis huffed. "I do! Veridia says my magic shines like morning light. And Erevan says I smell like death—but he meant that as a compliment."
Snape stared.
Elarisse winced. "They mean well."
"I should hope so," Snape muttered.
Then he stiffened.
A small creature—a pastel-pink fox with delicate golden markings—hopped onto the table and stared at him with oversized, shimmering eyes.
A Nymfox.
Great.
And behind it, perched elegantly on a floating silver ring, was a majestic, white phoenix—radiant, ethereal.
Snape's jaw dropped, "You let her keep a phoenix."
Elarisse answered calmly, "Aurelion chose her."
"And this"—he gestured to Sakari, who was now sniffing his shoe—"is a Nymfox."
"Also chosen," Elarisse said pleasantly. "She is uniquely... bondable."
Snape's eye twitched. "She is seven!"
"Nearly eight," Mavis corrected, hugging Sakari proudly.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are going to give me an aneurysm."
Mavis frowned. "Do you need a healing potion?"
"No."
"Is it your head?"
"No."
"You look like it hurts—"
"It does."
Alaric coughed into his fist to hide his laugh.
Elarisse stepped forward, expression gentling. "Severus. Will you help her? She needs structure. Precision. Discipline. Someone who can challenge her without coddling."
He hesitated.
He could say no. Walk away. Pretend he didn't see her. Pretend she wasn't Lily's child.
But Mavis tilted her head, soft hair falling over her shoulder, eyes bright with curiosity and hope.
Lily's eyes.
But the child staring up at him wasn't Lily.
She wasn't James Potter either.
She was something else entirely — starlit magic, ancient bonds, Silverthorne strength... and a spark of Lily's kindness shining through her.
Snape closed his own eyes in surrender.
"...Very well," he said quietly. "I will supervise her potions education."
Mavis lit up like a starburst. "Really?!"
"Yes."
"Can I show you the Blister-B-Gone I made yesterday?"
"...No."
"Can I make you tea?"
"No."
"Do you want to meet Veridia and Erevan?"
"Absolutely not—"
Two small shapes, no larger than ferrets, scampered onto the table. One had scales shimmered like morning dew, wings folded neatly against its sides. Long pastel feathers crowned its head like a sunlit plume with bright, glowing sapphires eyes and bright life-magic aura. The other a sleek, jet-black creature with stark white mane and glowing ember eyes slunk forward silently.
Dragons.
Tiny dragons.
Veridia, the Life Dragon, chirped at him with warm curiosity.
Erevan, the Death Dragon, gave a low, rumbling hum that Snape felt in his bones.
Both dragons bowed. Snape bowed back before he could stop himself — and the Silverthorne siblings exchanged looks of awe.
Mavis giggled. "He bowed to them! That means they like you."
Snape pressed a hand to his temple. "Yes, well... they are dragons. It is only proper to respond in kind."
Alaric coughed to hide a laugh.
Veridia, the Life Dragon, tilted her head.
Then she chirped.
It was a musical, crystalline sound that vibrated pleasantly in Snape's chest—too pleasantly. He scowled, shaken.
"Don't let her fool you," Mavis whispered loudly. "She's very bossy."
Veridia puffed up indignantly and chirped again.
"That is not a word," Snape muttered, though he wasn't entirely sure.
Mavis turned to the tiny dragons, "Veridia, Erevan, this is Professor Snape! He's going to help me with potions!"
The dragons stared at him.
Really stared, as though peering straight through his skull, sorting every memory, emotion, and regret.
Snape swallowed.
"Stop that."
Veridia trilled innocently.
"She is reading your aura," Elarisse explained, "Life Dragons see the shape of one's magic."
Snape's lips thinned. "I am aware of the ability."
Veridia suddenly scrambled onto the floor—straight toward him.
Snape backed up so fast he nearly tripped over a planter.
"No."
Mavis laughed. "She just wants to say hi!"
"No."
"Professor—it's rude to refuse a greeting."
"I am perfectly content being rude—"
Veridia hopped onto his shoe.
Snape stared down in silent horror.
The dragon blinked up.
And purred.
Purred.
Elarisse clasped her hands together. "Oh! She likes you."
Snape felt faint. "Merlin preserve me."
Erevan slunk forward silently onto the floor.
Snape felt his magic recoil on instinct.
Death magic.
Ancient.
Primordial.
And utterly unbothered by his unease.
Erevan stopped a foot away, tail flicking like a lazy cat. He inhaled deeply, as though scenting the very fibers of Snape's soul.
Then—
"You smell like sorrow."
The voice wasn't spoken aloud. It resonated in Snape's mind like a whisper of smoke.
Snape jerked back sharply. "Do not do that."
Mavis brightened. "Erevan talks in your head! Isn't it cool?"
"No. It is highly invasive. And disrespectful. And—stop laughing."
She giggled anyway.
Erevan padded closer, movements fluid and predatory, though not threatening. His long whiskers brushed Snape's robes. "You carry grief. Old grief. Heavy grief."
Snape's throat tightened.
He hated how accurate that was.
"Professor Snape has had a difficult life," Mavis said softly, like she was offering an explanation.
Snape blinked.
She... understood that?
Erevan circled him once, tail sliding over Snape's boots like a ribbon of shadow.
Then the Death Dragon sat.
And bowed his head.
Snape almost stumbled backward. "Wh—what is he doing?"
Alaric stepped forward, expression surprised. "Erevan is acknowledging you."
Snape scoffed. "I highly doubt—"
"No," Alaric said, voice low. "Death Dragons bow only to those who respect death... or those who have lived beside it."
Snape's breath hitched.
Erevan lifted his gaze, silver eyes glowing.
"You know loss," the dragon murmured in his mind. "You walk with ghosts. But you do not run from them."
Snape had no words.
Mavis beamed. "He likes you too!"
"Absolutely not," Snape managed, cracking under the emotional weight. "I refuse to be liked by cosmic lizards."
Veridia chirped indignantly and slapped his shin with her tail.
Snape glared at her. "Do not strike me."
She chirped again.
Erevan snorted, white mist curling from his nose. "Veridia thinks you need sunlight."
"I need a stiff drink."
Elarisse hid a laugh behind her sleeve.
Veridia fluttered up onto a bench and examined Snape more closely.
"He is tired," she announced (Mavis translated). "Too serious. Needs more green things."
"I have plenty of green things," Snape muttered. "Cauldrons. Ingredients. Slytherins—"
"Those do not count," Mavis said matter-of-factly.
Erevan slinked behind Snape, resting his chin on Snape's shoulder like an oversized, spectral cat.
Snape froze.
"Get. Off."
"No," Erevan replied lazily in his mind. "You are comfortable."
"I am not—"
"You carry death well," the dragon offered helpfully.
"That is not a compliment."
Mavis burst into laughter.
Veridia climbed Snape's robes halfway, tiny claws hooking delicately into the fabric.
Snape stiffened again. "No climbing."
She chirped sweetly and continued climbing.
"Mavis!" Snape hissed. "Call off your beasts."
"They aren't beasts," Mavis corrected quickly. "They're my family."
Snape paused.
Something inside him softened—not willingly, but undeniably.
He looked down at Veridia perched proudly on his forearm.
At Erevan draped behind him like a living shadow.
At Mavis, watching with shining eyes full of excitement and trust.
Then he exhaled.
A long, exhausted, resigned sigh.
"Fine," he muttered. "Your... family... may stay in my vicinity. Temporarily."
Mavis squealed with joy.
Erevan hummed smugly.
Veridia purred again and nuzzled Snape's wrist.
"That does not mean I enjoy this," Snape warned.
Veridia chirped.
Translation unnecessary: You will.
Snape closed his eyes.
Merlin help him.
He was doomed.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlVk8i6XJ8v
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