In an alternate existence

Echoes And Lullabies

Morning in Akira's suite was not gentle-it was a slow, golden awakening that crept across the nursery, making every detail impossibly sharp. Teddy Lupin, bundled in a blanket soft as memory, lay in his crib beneath the drifting constellation mobile. He babbled at the stars, lavender hair shifting hues with every delighted sigh. Magic pulsed from him in sleepy little waves-reminders that the future could be as strange and wondrous as the past had been brutal.

Akira sat nearby, knees curled under her in a battered rocking chair conjured for comfort, not style. In her lap: Snape's old journal, its leather surface worn ghost-smooth, its pages dense with secrets and bitterness. It didn't smell of parchment and ink, but of earth after rain-like something buried and half-remembered.

She'd thought it was just potions. She'd almost put it away. But last night, restless after the Hall's uneasy peace and Matteo Lestrange's accusation, she'd opened it again. The first page greeted her with words that only appeared in moonlight:

For the one who carries both Light and Death, truth lies between the lines.

And beneath, a line so faint it seemed a whisper:

You are not the first to see behind the veil.

She traced that sentence now, thumb trembling. It was not poetry. It was warning, and recognition. Snape had watched her more closely than she'd known-seen shadow clinging to her like a second skin. Maybe he'd seen himself reflected there, too.

The next pages blurred potion theory with coded fragments-spellwork annotated with odd, urgent asides. Some recipes shimmered with a residue she could sense but not name, as if the ink itself mourned something lost. One charm, simple on the surface, flickered under her gaze with the same spectral thread she'd glimpsed in the Resurrection Stone. She remembered the rune, burned into her mind and under her skin.

Was Snape reaching out from beyond the grave, or just leaving breadcrumbs for anyone clever enough, desperate enough, to follow?

"Keeping secrets, Professor?" she murmured, her words half a joke, half a plea for guidance.

Teddy giggled from the crib. The mobile above him flashed; a star burst into glitter that drifted down, sparkling on his nose. He sneezed, gold flaring in his hair, and blinked up at her with eyes so trusting it almost hurt.

Akira scooped him up, tucking his warm weight against her heart. He was the only thing that anchored her to the ordinary world. Everything else-her reputation, the war, the way people looked at her-felt unreal, as if she were haunting her own life. But Teddy's tiny hand tangled in her hair, his sleepy breath against her neck, was a promise she could hold.

"You saved me, you know," she whispered into his hair. "You're the only real thing left."

He hiccupped, unconcerned, and tried to gnaw on her robe.

She balanced him on one hip, flipping another page with care. There, in the margin, a rune she'd only ever seen within the Resurrection Stone itself-etched deep, humming with memory. Below it, Snape's script:

If you're reading this, then Death chose you. And it never does so lightly.

The words sent a chill up her spine. She stared at them, feeling the room expand and contract around her, as if Hogwarts itself were listening.

The castle beyond her window was waking: voices echoing in the corridors, owls swooping past the windows, the smell of toast drifting faintly through stone and tapestry. Somewhere, people were gossiping, debating, worshipping or resenting her. To them, she was a story. A legend. But inside, she was something stranger-inhabited by magic, marked by things she still didn't understand.

And Snape had seen it. Had left clues not for the Chosen One, but for the haunted, half-broken girl beneath.

Teddy fussed, impatient with her silence. She set the journal aside, conjured a blue blanket, and rolled it into a pillowed nest on the floor. Teddy squealed, reaching for floating blocks that stacked and toppled with every flick of his chubby hands. Joy came easily to him. Akira watched, half-smiling, and felt the ache of wanting to protect that innocence at all costs.

She glanced at the journal again, the pages fluttering in a breeze that wasn't there.

Snape had seen too much, and written down only a fraction. Somewhere in this maze of ink and regret was a path she had to walk alone.

But for now, she let Teddy's laughter fill the room, and let herself believe-just until the next shadow fell-that she could be enough.

Her thoughts wandered as Teddy played. She remembered the way Snape had looked at her in her final year-measured, almost wary, as if he sensed something beneath her skin. Maybe he had. Maybe that was why, even after everything, he'd left this to her and not to anyone else. Not to Hermione, who would have deciphered every code and every rune, but to Akira, who understood what it meant to straddle the line between legend and ghost.

The journal beckoned, whispering from the edge of her mind. She picked it up again, tracing the next page. Here Snape had written about loss-about what it meant to survive when others did not. His words were sharp, but beneath them, she felt a kinship, a sense that he too had been remade by war and regret.

Akira closed her eyes, letting the memories wash over her: the moment in the forest when all seemed lost, the cold certainty of sacrifice, the ancient magic singing in her bones. She had thought dying would be the hardest part. She hadn't realized that living with the aftermath would be harder.

A knock at the suite door jolted her. She set Teddy down on the cushion, whispered a quick ward, and crossed the room. On the other side, Hermione stood, pale and drawn, clutching a stack of books to her chest.

"Sorry, Akira, I didn't mean to bother you-"

"You're not," Akira said, ushering her in. Hermione's eyes flicked to the journal, then to Teddy, and softened.

"Rough morning?" Hermione asked, voice gentle.

"Just... a lot to think about," Akira replied. She hesitated, then added, "Did you ever feel like the war never really ended for us?"

Hermione set her books down and sat beside her, silent for a long moment. "All the time. I keep thinking there'll be a day when I wake up and I'm not tired, or scared, or guilty. But it hasn't come yet."

Akira nodded, grateful for the honesty. She didn't say anything about Snape's journal, or the secrets it seemed to hold for her alone. Some burdens, she knew, couldn't be shared-not yet.

They sat together for a while, watching Teddy giggle and levitate blocks with clumsy, instinctive bursts of magic. It was ordinary, and extraordinary. It was enough, for now.

Later, when the castle was quiet again, Akira found herself reading by wandlight, following Snape's ink deeper into the labyrinth of his regrets. There were riddles hidden in his potion notes, references to places in the castle she'd never explored, and warnings that felt like prophecy.

If you seek balance, look to the oldest stones.

She closed the journal, heart pounding. Somewhere in Hogwarts, Snape had left more than words. He'd left a trail, and with it, a challenge.

Akira looked at Teddy, sleeping now, his hair pale and serene. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, vowing again to protect him, no matter what shadows she had to walk through.

As night settled over the castle, Akira slipped into bed with the journal at her side, feeling the weight of both the past and the future pressing in. She wasn't just a survivor, or a symbol. She was something new, something not even Snape had words for. And tomorrow, she would begin to find out what that meant.