October 11th, 1991 (Part Three)

Severus Snape was not a warm man. He could have been, once —if his father was not who he was, or his mother not who she was. Perhaps, he could have been warm to a young girl who he loved as a young boy. There was potential there, for him to become warmer –if never warm. But the girl did not love him back and Severus remained cold. Perhaps, when he became ingrained in his House at school he could have learned warmth. But Severus was a snake, and snakes are coldblooded by nature –they huddle together to survive the winter and in the sun they remain alone. So snakes did not teach Severus warmth –no. The snakes taught Severus Snape that his coldness was a virtue. His wit a weapon. His unflappable composure necessary. Lucius Malfoy, Evan Rosier, Matilda Pucey, even Ophelia Rosseau, they taught him he did not need to change to find his place in the Wizarding world.

Cold, however, does not mean unfeeling. Severus has notably felt a great many things, such as anguish and fury –and love. Thus, while Severus Snape may not be perfect, when Lucius and Narcissa called him to their manor on June 17th, 1980, Severus dropped whatever task he had set himself to and promptly apparated to their door. Two swift knocks later saw a mildly disheveled Lucius Malfoy with dark circles lining his eyes stampeding Severus through the halls until, finally, they appeared within a room Severus had never seen before. He had, of course, known the Malfoys would require a nursery. Narcissa was secretive about her pregnancy due to the war, but nothing short of a direct killing curse could separate Severus and the Malfoys. Not when they had all three supported each other.

So, one could imagine Severus’ immense shock at seeing not one but two bassinets in the nursery –one a deep verdant green with silver edging and one with gold.

That was when Lucius asked, in as mild a tone as any other, “Severus, they will need someone and I can think of only one who should guide them. Will you become Godfather to Draco Lucius Malfoy and Medea Ophiuchus Malfoy?”

Severus had paused, stepping toward the two bassinets. As he looked down on the two pale, pale haired, babies, he felt his mouth curl up. A mix of a sneer and smile.

“Who else would do it? Yes. Of course, Lucius.”

The next eleven years tested his resolve.

And yet, on a dark October night when Severus had originally planned to stew and brood and read a book, he found himself brewing an obscenely large batch of an impossibly difficult potion that required several galleons worth of materials and were highly restricted to all but the highest of potions masters. So of course it was for his infuriating goddaughter. The girl did nothing in half measures, Severus could give her that.

When a knock came Severus simply turned his head to the door and gave a flat, “No.”

When a familiar voice spoke, he spun from where he was standing, “Severus.”

“I need-“ There was already a stasis charm being cast on the massive caldron in front of him, “your help.”

“Medea?” That was, of course, the moment he very nearly tumbled as he ran gracelessly to his door. He swore under his breath as he gripped the handle and forced it open with every ounce of urgency he possessed, “What has happened?”

That was, to Severus’ shock, the wrong thing to say. As his goddaughter began listing her every sin, Severus gripped her shoulder and began dragging her through his rooms until they arrived at the dining room. The short trek gave him enough time to truly take in Medea’s state.

Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she was liable to cry at a moment’s notice, she was wrapped in on herself as if she was afraid —of what, Severus hadn’t the slightest— and her voice was shaking with every word. As bad as all that was, Severus regained his composure at the knowledge that at least it wasn’t physical. She may be hurting, but she wasn’t dying —not from this.

“Yes, you foolish girl. You have done all that and have come to me. What happened to rejoicing my disinheritance?” He heard himself say it with his usual drawl, but he was anything but indifferent to his goddaughter having an emotional collapse and deciding he was who she needed. His obnoxiously brilliant, unfathomably cunning, and volatile goddaughter had, for some reason, chosen Severus. This had never happened, and so he felt a sense of dread creep into him.

And then Medea did something he knew would loathe –she begged for potions. Both the begging and the potions. Severus had to remind himself that, despite Medea’s usual countenance, she is still an eleven year old child. A child who once ran for ten hours at five years old and, upon tripping in exhaustion, decided she wanted to continue running. Subsequently, she felt that desire so strongly the injured tendons in her knee suffered vanishing after a bout of accidental magic. The magic, responsive to her will, even numbed the pain. It has take the past six years to correct that –and will take another year yet to fully recover.

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Severus turned and cast several summoning charms, collecting tea, biscuits, and several cups. He took a moment to collect himself before turning back, “What, exactly , can you not take?”

Lucius had, of course told him vaguely about Medea’s memory —if only so he could make sure she was sufficiently challenged at Hogwarts. But Severus did not understand the curse such a power wields. He still remembers the day he attempted Legilimency on Medea after she went accidental. It had been three days and she had not eaten. Not an apple, or a sweet. She simply read Grimoires of witches long dead up in a tower in the garden.

She made eye contact and he took his chance. He needed to know how to get her to eat. Instead he felt a barrage of information —more information he had ever known about their surroundings flooded his awareness, but it didn’t stop. With every stray thought, there were thousands of images each holding a debilitating amount of information. Severus had to turn away from Medea and wipe a drop of blood from his nose before acknowledging her mind was impossible for one to comprehend, there was simply too much stored behind her haunted eyes. And Severus had chosen to just leave it at that. Any more questions would lead to discoveries he wasn’t sure the Malfoys would appreciate. And then he did something Medea never could. He forgot about it.

Until he saw Medea’s eyes shut tight, as if blocking out the world. As if protecting herself.

And he thought of what Lucius had said, “She said she remembers. They way she flinched from my staff —she saw me during the war. I know it. She saw us cast Unforgivables.”

As tears rolled down Medea’s face, Severus felt his scowl deepen. A blessing and a curse for one so young. He directed the tea to settle in front of her and poured some into a cup. And Severus listened. He would not stop whatever catharsis Medea was finding in this breakdown.

Until Severus was wounded so deeply he forgot that he, himself, held a tea cup as he clenched his hand so intensely the porcelain snapped, cutting his hand. Severus wasn’t sure what his face looked like in that moment, but he was sure it was thunderous.

“Medea, you will stop this.” He forced out, heavy with the familiar rage and anguish he was so used to coursing through his blood —only this was for Medea, not himself. “You have not stolen the affection given freely to you.”

“I’ll give it back.” She sobbed, “When we’re older, I’ll give it back. You all can have each other and I will just go elsewhere.”

“What has made you like this? What did you see?” Severus hissed, needing to know. To understand what to do.

“You!” Medea cried, “I found the Mirror of Erised and I saw you! Right next to Mother and Father! Across from Draco —you were there !”

“I-“ Severus, for the first time in over a decade, found himself at a loss for words, “I believe I will need more than that, Medea.”

A look of consternation made its way to her face as she took a shuddering breath, “You are Draco’s. Draco’s to love, to be loved by. I’m not…”

More tears fell as she struggled to find words.

“Supposed to love or be loved by you.” She finished lamely, her voice defeated as she clutched her tea cup for dear life.

Severus decided this was one of the better options and felt himself relax.

“You know,” he started, looking towards the small cauldron to their left, hovering over a suspended flame, “After I left my childhood home, I was told something interesting by a… not quite friend. She said if something was truly yours, it couldn’t be stolen. But the same was true if it was not meant to be yours—you wouldn’t be able to keep it.”

Severus thought back to Petunia Evans, who saw him off one summer with her sister, and her own casual cruelty. And the resigned way in which she had consoled him after learning of Severus’ estrangement with one Lily Evans.

“That is to say,” Severus’ lips curled into a half-sneer half-smile, “Stolen affection would not last half as long as it has so far. You should simply accept it as a matter of course. There is no need to give back what is destined to crumble.”

Medea was silent as she glanced between Severus and her tea before she opened her mouth. No sound came out for a moment, and then she gave an indignant huff.

“Yes, yes, child, I know you are smart enough to understand. Do not pretend. You are no thief —do you not love your brother?” Severus had found his coldness once more, his composure fully returned even as he whispered a single episkey to heal his stinging palm.

“Of course! Draco is…” Medea looked stricken, “He is one of three —no,” she sighed, “Four people I would die for.”

“Well, there will be none of that.” Severus said definitively, “Besides. It appears you give him a kind of love he would lack without you. Without you, he may have all of your mother and father’s attention and affection. But do you not feel you love him enough to make up the gap?”

Medea roughly wiped her eyes and cleared her face. Severus was worried it would be the emptiness she often showed, but to his relief, and surprise, her emotions were still clearly visible. They were still muted, but it was immensely easier to handle a Malfoy expression than the blank look Medea was oft to give.

“What?” Severus was almost affronted at the look of disbelief that made its way to Medea, “Merlin, what now?”

“I didn’t know you could say things like that,” She responded, her voice raw but steady, “Are you really Severus? Or is that you, Flitwick? Have you polyjuiced into my Godfather?”

“Hilarious, child,” Severus was pleased, not that his dry tone would betray him.

“Never mind all that,” he sighed and stood, heading to his potions room, “Come, goddaughter, you will help me brew your infernal potions. Bring the biscuits, you will eat the whole plate while we work.”

Medea hesitated, briefly, conflicted. Slowly, she stood and picked up the plate of chocolate chip cookies and made to follow to Severus.

Severus had a distinct feeling that this would be an exercise in patience —whatever had gone on was not healed. Not in the least. But it was no longer boiling within Medea. The crisis was handled for now. And he would use her mock-detention to figure out the extent of the wound.