Chapter Text
The silver glow of Dumbledore’s Patronus had faded, leaving only the quiet crackle of the fire and the suffocating tension that gripped the room. Dumbledore sat still behind his desk, his face shadowed and lined, the usual twinkle in his eyes replaced with something colder: disbelief and disappointment.
“You have turned away from the path I have tried to set for you,” he said softly, though the sharpness in his tone sliced through the air like a blade. “And in doing so, you have defied my instructions and placed yourself in unimaginable danger.”
Hera’s chin lifted defiantly, her green eyes blazing with unflinching resolve. “You left me no choice.”
Dumbledore’s gaze narrowed, his calm beginning to crack at the edges. “No choice?” he echoed, his voice quiet but heavy with disapproval. “You speak of choices, Miss Potter, but you act as though your actions carry no consequence. The magic you have already begun to practice—your secretive behavior—do you think Severus did you a favor by encouraging this? Do you believe he serves your best interests by indulging such recklessness?”
Hera’s fists clenched in her lap, nails biting into her palms. “He didn’t encourage me,” she snapped, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. “And this isn’t about him. This is about you. You could have told me. You could have prepared me. But you didn’t. You would let me walk blind into a war where I’m the target, where Voldemort hunts me, and you think I should just sit back and wait for you to pull the strings?”
Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair as his gaze cooled into something distant and inscrutable. “You are not the only one fighting this war, Hera,” he said wearily. “You speak of preparation, but I see no wisdom in what you have done—only desperation. And darkness.”
The word struck her like a blow. She stiffened, a flicker of hurt buried beneath her defiance. “You think I’m dark because I’m willing to do what’s necessary? Because I won’t let others die for me while I sit here in ignorance?”
The accusation lingered like smoke in the air, and for the first time, Hera saw something crack in Dumbledore’s carefully controlled demeanor. The lines of his face deepened, and his shoulders seemed to sag under the weight of her words. For a fleeting moment, he looked so very old.
“I have only ever sought to protect you,” he said quietly, though the unwavering conviction she had always heard in his voice faltered.
A brittle silence followed, the only sound the occasional snap of the fire. Hera forced herself to steady her breathing, reigning in her anger as much as she could. She hated how childish her outbursts sounded, even though her frustration felt entirely justified. Across the desk, Dumbledore regarded her steadily, as though trying to see past the barriers she had built, to understand how much she had changed—how far she had slipped from his control.
Finally, he spoke, his voice softer, though no less deliberate. “Do your friends know?” he asked quietly. “Does your godfather?”
Hera froze. Her stomach twisted sharply at the mention of Sirius, the blow landing harder than she wanted to admit. “What?” she said warily.
Dumbledore’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do they know the path you have chosen? Your willingness to practice dark magic, to strike down your enemies without mercy?” His words were deliberate, each one aimed like a precise cut. “Do you think they would understand? Would they accept the changes in you, Hera?”
Her hands curled tighter at her sides, and she forced herself to look away, jaw clenching. Although their relationship had changed, she could still hear Ron and Hermione in the back of her mind, the disapproval written all over their faces. But Sirius—Sirius was what hurt most. The thought of his worry, his disappointment—it made her stomach churn.
“You don’t understand,” she muttered, her voice low.
“No, Hera,” Dumbledore said softly, the sorrow in his voice cutting deeper than any reprimand. “It is you who does not understand. There are costs to every choice we make—costs you cannot possibly grasp yet. And once you begin down this path, there will be no turning back.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, but Hera refused to waver. Her chin lifted stubbornly once more, her voice unwavering. “Then I’ll pay the cost,” she said firmly. “Because I won’t lose.”
Dumbledore’s eyes searched hers, attempting to find weakness or doubt. For a moment, it seemed as though he might argue further, but then something shifted. A deep resignation settled over him, like a shadow passing over his features. The firelight flickered against the dark hollows beneath his eyes, and the weariness in his posture deepened.
“It seems,” Dumbledore said at last, his voice quiet and measured, “that we have reached an impasse.”
The words had barely left his mouth when a soft knock echoed through the room. The heavy office door creaked open, and Severus entered, his dark robes sweeping behind him like a shadow. His expression was perfectly impassive, but his black eyes flickered sharply between Dumbledore and Hera, assessing the scene in an instant.
Hera looked up at him briefly, and for a moment, her heart settled just a little. The tension in the room shifted as he stepped inside, and his gaze found hers, sharp but steady. It was enough to ground her, to remind her that she wasn’t standing entirely alone.
“Severus,” Dumbledore greeted, his tone calm but weighted with unspoken reproach. “Thank you for returning so promptly.”
Severus inclined his head stiffly, his silence deliberate. His sharp gaze flicked to Dumbledore’s blackened hand for the briefest moment before settling on Hera. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though silently demanding an explanation.
Hera shifted in her chair, unwilling to let Dumbledore manipulate the narrative or trap Snape in a lie. “The headmaster told me about the prophecy,” she began quickly, words rushing out in a deliberate attempt to stay ahead of both men. “And—well—you were right, Severus. I’m a terrible liar. He figured out I was the one who took it… with your grudging assistance.”
Severus’s expression darkened immediately, his features hardening like stone. Hera pushed on, bracing for the storm she knew was coming. “And I may have also let slip that we know about the Horcruxes and have been begun searching for them.”
For a moment, there was silence—heavy, suffocating. Severus’s lips thinned, his jaw visibly tightening as he turned sharply toward Dumbledore. The anger radiating off of him was palpable, though he fought to keep his composure.
“I trust,” Dumbledore’s voice broke through the quiet, faintly edged with steel, “that there are no further surprises either of you wish to reveal?”
Severus’s lip curled ever so slightly, though his voice remained controlled and smooth. “It would appear,” he said coldly, “that Miss Potter has been quite thorough tonight.”
Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on Severus a beat too long, his eyes assessing, the firelight reflecting off their piercing depths. “Severus,” he began, his voice tempered but no less biting, “when I warned you against leading Hera down a dark path, I did not anticipate you would go this far. Training her in using dark magic. Sneaking her out of the castle. Helping her retrieve the prophecy. And now—” he gestured faintly to Hera “—Horcruxes.”
Severus’s shoulders stiffened, but before he could respond, Hera jumped in. “I asked him to help me,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the mounting tension.
Dumbledore’s expression remained implacable, though his disappointment lingered in the air like a shadow. “That does not excuse his actions,” he said softly, his gaze turning back to Severus. “I expected better judgment from you, Severus."
Severus’s face remained impassive, though the anger simmering beneath his surface was evident in the hard line of his mouth. “What I do, Headmaster,” he replied, his voice low and sharp, “I do to protect her. You may not approve of my methods, but you cannot deny the results.”
Dumbledore’s gaze softened just a fraction, though his disapproval remained. “Protecting her, Severus, does not mean encouraging her toward a path you yourself once regretted.”
At that, Hera stiffened, a defensive spark igniting in her chest. “He’s not encouraging me to do anything,” she snapped, the words spilling out before Severus could respond. “He’s keeping me alive. He’s helping me learn what I need to fight Voldemort. And more than that, he’s helping me understand how to use magic and what my limits are.”
Dumbledore’s brow lifted slightly, his expression unreadable but tinged with doubt. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Hera bit out, refusing to back down. “You might not approve of the magic I’ve been learning, but Severus hasn’t let me lose myself to it. He’s helping me find balance when no one else would.”
Dumbledore studied her for a long moment, his gaze flitting briefly back to Severus. “There is no such thing as balance when you decide to deal in death and dark magic,” he said, his tone heavy with sorrow. “You must trust me, Miss Potter, when I say that even the best of us can fall to such temptation.”
A beat passed, and then Dumbledore turned his gaze fully on Severus, his tone sharpening once more. “And you, Severus—do you think this is what Lily would have wanted for her daughter?”
The name struck like a thunderclap. Severus’s reaction was immediate but subtle: his shoulders tensed, his fingers curling into the folds of his robes, his face impassive save for the faintest flinch in his eyes. Hera caught the movement, a flicker of confusion flashing across her face. Lily? Of course, Severus had known her mother—they had been classmates—but the way Dumbledore said it, the way Severus reacted, made her uneasy.
But then, as quickly as it came, the reaction vanished, buried beneath Severus’s icy mask. “What Lily wanted,” Severus said curtly, his voice emerging sharp and cold, “is irrelevant. What I do now, I do for Hera—and to see the Dark Lord defeated.”
Hera’s breath hitched faintly at his words, but Dumbledore seemed more discouraged than before.
“It seems we are at an impasse,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes fixed on Hera. “I would like to know, Miss Potter, how you intend to proceed from here—moving forward—with honesty.”
Hera hesitated, glancing at Severus for only a moment before speaking. “We know about the Horcruxes,” she repeated, her voice steady. “We know there’s more than one, but we haven’t gotten very far in figuring out where they are.”
Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his tone remained calm. “How, may I ask, did you come to the conclusion that there were multiples?”
“The diary,” Hera said firmly. “The one from my second year.”
Severus inclined his head slightly, his voice cutting in with precise calm. “Lucius Malfoy was entrusted with the diary—a man whose recklessness is matched only by his cowardice. The Dark Lord would never risk placing his sole tether to immortality in such hands.”
Dumbledore’s gaze shifted between them, his expression betraying a flicker of approval. “Your reasoning is… astute,” he murmured, though his tone remained guarded.
Hera leaned forward, unable to suppress the question burning on her tongue. “How many are there?” she asked, her voice quiet but intent. “Do you know how many Horcruxes Voldemort made? Do you know where they are?”
For a moment, Dumbledore didn’t reply. His eyes drifted to the blackened hand resting on his desk, as though the sight of it weighed on him more than the curse itself. When he looked up again, the somber lines of his face seemed deeper. “I have my suspicions,” he said carefully, “but I do not yet have all the answers you seek. However…” He paused, his sharp blue eyes locking onto Hera’s. “…I believe I can provide insight that will aid you. Voldemort’s Horcruxes are not random. They are tied to his past—to his obsessions. Memories, Miss Potter, hold the key.”
“Memories?” Hera repeated warily, narrowing her eyes.
“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed. “Over the years, I have gathered memories—fragments of Voldemort’s history—that may illuminate his choices and reveal where he has hidden the pieces of his soul. I intend to share them with you, if you are willing.”
Hera studied him carefully, suspicion prickling at the back of her mind. Why not just tell me outright? The thought hovered on the edge of her tongue, but she swallowed it back. Whatever his reasons, Dumbledore’s offer was too important to dismiss. She nodded slowly. “All right.”
Beside her, Severus finally spoke, his voice cool and measured but with a sharp undercurrent of caution. “And how, Headmaster, do you suggest we proceed in the interim?”
Dumbledore’s gaze flicked to Severus, the flicker of displeasure returning. “I would like you to share any other theories with me—everything you have uncovered thus far. And from now on, I expect full transparency before any steps are taken.”
Hera’s stomach twisted uneasily. She exchanged a quick glance with Severus, his face an unreadable mask, before responding. “We’ve told you everything we know,” she said evenly. “We were going to start looking at the other Death Eaters. We think Voldemort could have entrusted something to some of his followers—his most loyal ones.”
Dumbledore’s brow furrowed faintly, though his expression remained contemplative. “An interesting theory,” he admitted, “and one that merits exploration—under my supervision.”
The words rang heavy in the air, unmistakable in their warning. Supervision. Hera forced herself to nod, though she bit back the sharp retort threatening to surface. “Of course,” she replied tightly.
Dumbledore’s expression didn’t waver as he leaned back, folding his hands atop his desk. “Then we shall begin with the memories,” he said, the firelight flickering in his gaze. “I will arrange times for us to meet, Miss Potter, and I trust you will approach this task with the seriousness it requires.”
“I will,” Hera said, her voice steady, though the simmering frustration hadn’t entirely abated.
Dumbledore’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before shifting back to Severus. “And you, Severus…”
Hera’s pulse quickened. Her mind flashed back to the last time Dumbledore had tried to force them apart. She couldn’t let that happen again.
“You can assist with Hera’s research into the remaining Horcruxes, but I cannot condone your other… assistance with learning dark magic.”
Severus spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “I will continue to do what is necessary to keep her alive—regardless of your approval.”
Dumbledore’s expression cooled, though a flicker of something—perhaps regret—passed across his face. “And at what cost, Severus?” he asked quietly. “I have seen the toll such choices take.”
Severus’s expression didn’t waver, though the tension in his frame was undeniable. “The cost is irrelevant,” he replied icily. “What matters is the result.”
Hera glanced between the two men, feeling the unspoken history simmering beneath their words. Finally, Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair as though the weight of the conversation had drained him further.
“It seems we fundamentally disagree,” he said slowly. “I can only trust that the two of you will exercise more caution moving forward. And I will continue to impress upon you the folly of this path.”
Hera nodded faintly, though deep down, she knew this was as much ground as Dumbledore would concede.
Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on Hera for a long, weighted moment before turning his attention to Severus. “Severus,” he said softly, though the authority in his tone left no room for question. “I trust you will escort Miss Potter safely back to Grimmauld Place.”
Severus inclined his head, his posture rigid but resigned. “Of course, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore’s blue eyes flicked back to Hera, the warmth in them carefully measured. “I imagine Sirius is quite beside himself by now,” he said gently. “You’ve been away for some time, Miss Potter. Best not to leave him worrying any longer.”
Hera’s jaw tightened at the mention of Sirius. Part of her bristled at the insinuation that she needed to be handled or accounted for. Still, she knew better than to argue. “Fine,” she muttered. She stood abruptly, pushing back the chair, her movements sharp with lingering frustration.
Dumbledore held up a hand before they could leave. “Severus, please return once Miss Potter is safely back at Grimmauld Place.”
Hera hesitated, her gaze flickering between Dumbledore and Severus. It wasn’t lost on her that Dumbledore would likely grill Severus for additional information. What is he going to say? she wondered. But aloud, she merely nodded. “All right.”
Dumbledore’s expression turned serious again. “We will meet soon at Grimmauld Place, where I expect you will have gathered your thoughts… and perhaps had time to reflect on my concerns. I hope, in time, you will see that my guidance was never meant to hinder you—but to save you.”
Hera didn’t reply, biting back the sharp retort on her tongue. Instead, she turned on her heel, her cloak sweeping behind her as she made her way to the door.
Severus followed her, but not before exchanging one last glance with Dumbledore. The headmaster’s expression remained unreadable, though Severus’s lips curled faintly—a whisper of disdain—as he inclined his head and swept after Hera.
The spiral staircase was silent save for the echo of Hera’s storming footsteps. She descended quickly, the weight of the conversation pressing on her shoulders. Behind her, Severus walked in silence, his face an impassive mask, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable. His footsteps were sharp against the stone floor, his robes billowing like a storm cloud.
Hera didn’t need to look at him to know what he was thinking. You told him too much.
They walked in tense silence for several steps before Severus finally spoke, his voice low and controlled, each word laced with quiet disapproval. “You were… remarkably forthcoming.”
Hera winced but refused to meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry. After he guessed about the prophecy and started questioning me, I lost my temper,” she said apologetically, a flicker of guilt creeping into her tone. “I spoke without thinking.”
“And in doing so, you revealed sensitive information that effected us both,” Severus murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper.
Hera stopped abruptly, as her frustration flared, but she bit it back. “He pushed me,” she muttered defensively. “I couldn’t—”
“You could have,” Snape interrupted sharply. “And you must. Dumbledore is many things, but a fool is not one of them. He will look for cracks in your defenses, and you cannot afford to give him any.”
Hera swallowed hard, his words cutting through her lingering anger. “I know.”
Severus studied her for a long moment, his gaze sharper than the cold night air. “Do you?” he asked softly, the edge of his voice almost biting. “You have shattered whatever trust I managed to rebuild with him. He will now watch us more closely than ever—pushing to convince you to see reason.”
He was right, and Hera felt the sharp sting of shame. Her reckless behavior had once again caused problems for Severus. Her voice softened. “I truly am sorry, Severus. I know I put you in an awful situation. But part of me… part of me is relieved. There were too many secrets. Dumbledore has been so suspicious; he would have figured it out eventually. And now—maybe we can find a way to work together.”
For a long moment, Severus said nothing, his dark gaze searching hers. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing, though his expression remained stern.
“We must be careful,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “Dumbledore is not a man to underestimate.”
Hera nodded faintly, letting the warning settle over her like a weight. With her thoughts in a tangled web, she fell into step beside him as he motioned for her to follow.
The cold night air bit sharply at Hera’s skin as they crossed the darkened grounds, their path lit only by the faint light of the castle behind them. Severus’s pace was brisk, his silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. Hera’s own mind churned, replaying every word, every question, every suspicion from Dumbledore’s office.
When they reached the castle gates, Severus stopped abruptly. The night hung still and silent around them, the faint wind the only sound. He turned to face her, his dark eyes unreadable in the gloom.
“You must be more cautious,” he said, his voice low, but there was something softer beneath the words—a rare note of concern. “You were reckless tonight and I will not continue to make allowances for your behavior.”
Without another word, he reached for her arm, his grip firm, steady—something that felt strangely grounding.
“Hold on,” he murmured.
Hera looked up at him one last time, his sharp profile silhouetted against the dark horizon, before the world twisted into darkness with a sharp crack.