Deathbound

"Whispers are circulating about her lineage," Severus Snape began cautiously, his voice barely above a murmur. He leaned forward over his desk, fingers steepled, his gaze fixed on the grain of the wood as if it alone could shield him from whatever he might find swimming in his Godson's eyes.

"What whispers?" Draco had immediately demanded, impatience threading sharply through his tone. The boy stood rigid beside Snape's desk, frustration simmering beneath the need for answers.

Snape understood Draco's obvious frustrations. This boy was desperate for clarity-yet the truth offered carried consequences even he was uncertain he could weather. And some truths remained maddeningly beyond the Professor's reach.

A bead of sweat slid down Snape's temple as he deliberated, the weight of implication pressing heavily on his shoulders. He bit the inside of his cheek, tasting copper, before eventually speaking.
"I've conversed with several individuals within our circles," he admitted. "They've hinted that her heritage is intertwined with the Ancient Arts...though none could provide specifics. It has long since been understood that certain bloodlines-much like the Malfoys-carry power that runs deeper than most dare to acknowledge."

He drew a quiet breath. "Those I had consulted with refused to confirm or even deny my suspicions about Potter's Ancestry. However, one thing was made unmistakably clear-she holds the key to alter the very course of our history."

His Godson's eyes evidently widened, the boy's lips parting in stunned disbelief. Snape lowered his head into his hands, bracing himself for the weight of what had now been spoken aloud.
In the still, suffocating quiet of his office, he could only hope that the "Savior of the Wizarding World"-Lyra Noelle Potter, possessed both the mercy and the necessary restraint needed to keep their World-whom was already guilty of failing her, from unraveling completely.