Severus Snape had never expected to like the daughter of James Potter.
He had expected, wanted, to hate her. The daughter of his childhood bully and the cause of his honorary sister’s death.
He’d expected to stare into her emerald green eyes and see only the ghosts of her parents.
Instead, it was like staring in a mirror.
Her eyes – not emerald, but poison, killing curse green – were dull and suspicious, rimmed with shadow and framed by a fractured lightning scar. Her face was gaunt, devoid of life, cheekbones far too pronounced for her young age. And her smile… it wasn’t the mischievous smirk Severus loathed so much. Nor was it the kind grin he was so familiar with. It was sharp, mocking. Too many teeth, not enough warmth, like she’d learnt to smile from staring into the jaws of a wolf.
Severus Snape saw more of himself in this little girl that he did James Potter.
That was what clued him in.
He watched her in the courtyard, the library, the Great Hall, so often sitting with the Slytherins, sharing books and snide remarks. He saw how much more comfortable she was, sitting with those that would sooner insult her than praise her, those that would judge her by her own merit and not the fame she’d unwillingly been burdened with.
He saw her with his godson, Draco Malfoy; saw those sharp, mocking smiles appear more frequently in his presence.
He saw her with her godbrother, Neville Longbottom; saw those sly, suspicious eyes soften for him alone.
And when he held her back after class, intending to speak with her on the subject of her mother, he saw those same eyes flash with something fearsome, something dangerous.
As he spoke to her about Lily, her expression remained blank. He told her of her mother’s kindness, and of her ferocity when challenged. He explained how she had been his steadfast protector since they were children, until the day James Potter had pushed him too far and he’d snapped. He apologised for failing her, for unwittingly betraying Lily and James and dooming her to a childhood of abuse.
Her eyes had narrowed at that, questioning how he could know such a thing.
He revealed his own bleak childhood, the pain he’d suffered at the hands of his father.
Abused children have a way of recognising each other, he said, and she could only nod. He wondered if she was thinking of Draco and Neville, of the pain and hatred they so carefully hid from the rest of the world.
Rhea’s eyes had softened now. She tasted no lies in his speech, though Severus wasn’t aware of that yet.
She began questioning him – about her mother, about her father, about her aunt and uncle and her place in the world. He answered every query the best he could, feeling he owed her that much at least.
The more questions she asked, the more he found out about her childhood, the more Severus wished he’d killed Petunia when they were teenagers and she’d upset Lily over Christmas dinner.
While it wouldn’t change the circumstances of Rhea’s upbringing, Severus swore to himself that he’d use his next weekend off to kill the bitch anyway. Maybe he’d kill her husband and son as well, just for good measure. He could make it look like an accident, no one need know of his involvement.
He suggested this to Lily’s daughter, noting how her lips curved upwards and her jaw clenched.
“The thought is appreciated,” she said, “but I intend their deaths to be at my hands alone.”
It struck Severus then, that Rhea didn’t look like James or Lily in that moment. Instead, she resembled James’s best friend, Sirius Black – a man with a propensity for violence, as Severus well knew, and a taste for revenge.
It was this realisation that had the Potions Professor questioning everything he thought he knew, and gave him an idea that he could only hope would aid in his self-driven need for redemption.
He had failed Rhea Potter, and he would never ask her to forgive such a thing, but perhaps there was something he could do to make it up to her.
And so Severus Snape resolved to look through the archives, and research everything to do with the trial of Sirius Black.