The Boy With Black Eyes

Through the Veil

Severus was brewing quietly in the corner of the bungalow in which they lived, tucked away in a quiet corner of the wizarding community of Notting Hill. Nox sat, staring into the fire, knowing what they were supposed to do tonight. A group of them were going to gather at the Prewett's home, their Secret Keeper having spilled his guts and his secrets about the two brothers, notable members of the movement that was gaining ground against them.

Denarius. Dolohov. Goyle. Malfoy. Snape. Yaxley. It would be six against two, with one of them being a docile, but vicious werewolf, not turning on her compatriots. Greyback had been busy biting, outfitting each separate division of Death Eaters with at least one werewolf, sometimes two, if they were a little newer to the cycles. There was talk of giants and half-giants joining their ranks soon, or even more magical creatures, shadowy things that only half-existed on the fabric of existed memory.

There were three Lethifolds in huge glass tanks that were used as quiet assassins, ensuring that members of the movement against them simply suffocated in their sleep. Nox hated them, always feeling them press close to the glass when she dressed by, the gentle rippling of the creatures looking like they were trying to lure her in. And the noises they made... It was just the cloak-like material rustling against itself, but she could swear, through double-layered glass and a nearly air-tight seal, they were sniffing her.

Severus put a goblet of Wolfsbane beside her, the final, strongest dose of the week, the blue shimmering smoke hanging over it trying to tempt her into drinking it. The blue shimmer murmured of promises of something that might taste faintly of lavender or even mint, but she knew Wolfsbane was disgusting, and the blue shimmer was from the silver. It made it metallic and hard, like licking the inside of a tin can, where there was enough aconite and dittany to kill a normal human, it just made the potion taste like something that had been pulled out of a sewer.

She downed it, trying to pretend it was a rare vintage of some obscure liquor. It didn't work, only making the taste more vile and disgusting. When she sputtered, and nearly spat the mixture back up, like a baby, Severus rushed over to ensure she was alright, rubbing her back, in the space between her shoulders. Nox wiped her lips, just in time for Sev to grip her by the jaw, and press his lips to hers, a demand to his lips, to the grip of his fingers on her jaw, and the press of his body on hers.

He was scared. She could tell. The Prewetts were near-legendary duelers, and the only way they would be able to kill either of them would be to catch them by surprise, hopefully as the pair slept. It was the night of the full moon, early in the afternoon, when he took her by the fireplace, her legs wrapped around his hips, locked together by the lips, holding each other tightly in each other's arms. The fire crackled behind them, the rug was soft under her back, and his lips were gentle on her skin.

Her plan was already set in motion. It wasn't about the greater good anymore. It was about that little boy in the blue one-sie, that had laid one little hand on her breast, right over her heart, and changed her.

**********

The writing stopped half-way through the page, Nox's handwriting trailing off into a few little sketches of goofy-looking bird, an island with a single palm tree and two small shapes connected by what appeared to be the hands, and a single, detailed rose.

But there was none of Nox's handwriting after that, just a short entry by her potions professor, and then another by Lucius, who had really distinct, aristocratic loopy handwriting.

The last words, or collection of words was Nox practicing her signature, over and over. Julianna Melissa Denarius. Julianna Melissa Denarius. Nox Denarius. Nox Denarius.

Melissa touched the very last words in Nox's otherwise empty journal, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears she knew were coming. Her heart ached on it's path up to the back of her throat, blood pounding harder and harder behind her eyes. A cold draft blew against her knees, and a single tear dropped to the old parchment.

Julianna Melissa Snape.

**********

November 18, 1981.

My girlfriend is dead. Yaxley killed her.

The Prewetts are dead.

Lucius brought my journal from the house we lived in together, as well as a few toiletries.

I can't look at the boy. I refuse to look at the boy.

My interview to teach at Hogwarts next year is tomorrow.

She would have been twenty the day after.

**********

Percy had picked out very colourful flowers. I was okay with this, as they were for her mother regardless. He understood now, that Narcissa was not his biological mother, but he loved her and I more than anything else.

The red doberman puppy walked along behind us, sniffling at every petal that fell out of the bouquet carried by the five year old. Pinks and purples and black trailed out behind the five year old, his hazel eyes big in his face, dark hair cow licked and haphazard; all over the place.

"Daddy - I'm cold. Are we almost there?"

"Almost, little man."

"Promise?"

"Of course."

The headstones were covered in snow, in soft little tufts, some of which had been dusted off, the mark of someone being here since the snowstorm of last weekend. The tall ash tree and the few grave plots underneath it had been visited earlier that day, footprints and a cloak-trail leading up to and away from the two green marble headstones, threaded with black veins, and gold embossed letters on the front pulling just a very little bit of the fortune tucked away in some bank in Switzerland. Percy fumbled for my hand, and I folded his smaller fingers into my hand, helping him through the snowdrifts, the red doberman puppy bounding through the snowdrifts, tugging on the end of his leash. But that was the only spot of happiness in the entire place.

The sky was grey. The snow was white. There was no-one else here, and the winter atmosphere cast the entire graveyard in silence. Percy's little hand quivered in mine as we approached the two gravestones, one bearing his mother's name, the other, his grandfather's. I helped him lay the colourful flowers at the foot of his mother's grave, before scooping him up into my arms, and he tucked his face into my lapel.

"Why do we do this, Daddy?"

"Because it was important to her that her baby remembers who she was."

"What happened to her?"

"She died, buddy. Protecting you from something you'll hopefully never have to face."

Evil in the purest and most disgusting form. Did I feel sorry for the Potter boy? Yes. However, my family had always come first. I was happy the Dark Lord would never terrorize my children the way he had terrorized me. Some days, the Mark still burned, and other days it bled.

He pushed back from my shoulder, chest twitching as the tears and snot began to start, fists tight on my wool coat. "Was it my fault, Daddy?"

"No. No..." I rubbed his back, and squatted close to the grave, brushing away a few rotting leaves from the base of the grave, before doing the same for Nicodemus's, brushing the snow off of both. A withered bouquet I Vanished, and sent it flying out into the snow. I lay Percy's bouquet in its place. Roses in varying colours, all dyed or transfigured. The kid had a good eye for it, and knew what would stand out in the snow, against the dark headstone. "If anything, it was your father's fault. Or my fault. We couldn't stop her time."

"Stop her from what?"

"Doing what she was doing all along. Trying to protect the people that mattered to her." I kissed the little man's forehead, and rumpled his hair, walking back through the snowdrifts, the puppy bouncing along after us. 

I needed a coffee.

**********