Chapter Text
Harriet knew she shouldn't have done it. The silver strands of memory swirled invitingly in the Pensieve on Dumbledore's desk, left unattended while the Headmaster was delayed by some urgent matter elsewhere in the castle. She had come here for another fragment of the past, something to aid in the destruction of Voldemort, but her fingers had trembled with forbidden curiosity at the sight of her mother's name etched faintly on the vial's label. Lily Evans. Before she could talk herself out of it, Harriet had plunged her face into the cool, silvery liquid.
The world tilted and dissolved around her, pulling her into the memory with a rush of cold that stole her breath. She found herself standing in the dim, stuffy interior of a funeral home in Cokeworth, the air thick with the cloying scent of lilies, ironic, that, and polished wood. Two caskets stood at the front, closed and somber. Mourners in threadbare black filled the pews, a sparse gathering for what seemed a quiet, unlamented passing.
Harriet's gaze sharpened as a sallow-faced figure caught her eye in the front row. Severus Snape, but younger, perhaps in his early twenties, his hooked nose more prominent in the harsh light of the funeral parlor, his expression even more sullen than the one she knew, like an undertaker who had come to claim his own. He sat rigid, hands clenched in his lap, his lank black hair falling like oil over his forehead. Then, a flicker at the back of the room: her mother entering the last pew, red hair vivid as flame against the gloom. Lily Evans, alive and vibrant, her green eyes, Harriet's eyes, scanning the room with quiet hesitation.
Snape's head snapped up. His dark eyes widened in shock, then something deeper stirred there, a raw hunger that made Harriet's stomach twist even as she watched from the shadows of the memory. The service droned on, but the memory swirled and shifted, impatient as thought itself, carrying them away from the funeral home to a shabby little flat nearby. The air here was stale, heavy with the damp chill of neglect, cigarette smoke. Threadbare curtains hung crookedly over grimy windows, and the furniture sagged and battered, beer bottles scattered about as if the drunk had only just finished with them.
They were kissing now, fiercely, desperately. Lily's hands fisted in Snape's black robes as he backed her against the wall, his mouth claiming hers with a pent-up ferocity that bordered on violence. "Lily," he rasped against her lips, voice catching, eyes darting furtively as if expecting James Potter to burst through the door at any moment.
"My mother told me about the funeral… He doesn't know I'm here. But when I heard... I know we haven't talked Sev... not since- "
Snape cut her off, his hand tangling in her fiery hair, pulling her closer. "Enough," he hissed, terse yet trembling with restrained emotion. The memory slid again, seamless as silk, and suddenly they were stumbling toward the bedroom, mouths never parting. The first door they shoved open revealed only a single sagging cot in a boy's room, walls lined with books, faded posters peeling at the edges, the faint ghost of childhood lingering in the dust. They broke apart, panting. Lily's cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving beneath her modest black dress.
"Master bedroom?" she gasped, voice husky. They tumbled through the next door into a slightly larger room, the bed dominating the space like a weary broken throne. The linens were grayed with age, the mattress dipping in the center, but neither cared. Clothing flew, Lily's fingers working at Snape's shirt buttons with frantic need, black muggle duster discarded on the floor like pooled tar.
Harriet stood frozen in the memory's periphery, her heart hammering with a sickening mix of horror and something hotter, more treacherous. This couldn't be real. Mum... with him? Yet her eyes widened as the scene unfolded, a forbidden voyeur in her own mother's past. Snape's body was lithe and skeletal, pale skin stretched taut over sharp bones, marred by a constellation of old burns and scars, small, circular marks like cigarette stubs pressed into flesh long ago. His chest was narrow, ribs faintly visible, but there was a wiry strength in the way he moved, all contained menace and desperate longing.
Lily's hands reached for the last buttons of his shirt, tugging it open. Snape's hand flew over hers, gripping tight. "No, Lily. Don't." He said, as if he had only just realised what she was doing.
But her eyes flashed with that familiar Evans defiance, green fire igniting. She pulled the shirt down anyway, hard. There, livid against his left forearm, the Dark Mark stood out like a brand, black ink twisting into a skull and serpent, pulsing faintly even in memory. Lily recoiled. "So you are one of them," she spat, the heat between them twisting from pure lust to something sharper, more dangerous.
The atmosphere shifted like a storm breaking. She rose to leave, but Snape's hand shot up, fingers wrapping around her throat, not crushing, but firm, possessive. He slammed her back down onto the sagging bed with a growl that sent shivers through Harriet's core. No, no, this isn't happening. Yet she couldn't look away, her pulse thundering in her ears, a shameful warmth pooling low in her belly despite the revulsion clawing at her chest.
"No, Lily," Snape snarled, his voice low and venomous, eyes blazing with years of pent-up fury and want. "You don't get to come in here after four years, and now what, spying for Dumbledore, is it? Going to rat me out to the Order? Or did you just come to tease me?" His grip tightened fractionally on her throat, thumb pressing over her racing pulse, he hissed through crooked teeth only slightly less yellow than Harriet knew them to be now. "Is that what you think? You can walk in here with James's stink still on you and toy with me like some mudblood whore?"
Lily's breath hitched, but she didn't fight him, not truly. Her wand clattered to the floor as he knocked it away. With his free hand, he yanked open his belt, the leather whistling through the loops. His cock sprang free, huge and intimidating, thicker than Harriet could have imagined, veined and flushed dark with arousal, the head already glistening with a bead of precum. It curved slightly upward, menacing and alive against his pale, scarred abdomen. Lily's eyes widened at the sight, lips parting in a gasp that was half shock, half hunger.
Snape hissed, leaning over her, his breath hot against her ear. "I've waited years for this mudblood cunt. Years watching you with him." He shoved her black dress up roughly, the fabric tearing with a sharp rip as he wrenched her panties free. They were damp already, the scent of her arousal musky and sweet in the dingy room. Without preamble, he notched the thick head of his cock against her entrance and thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
Lily cried out, back arching off the bed, her walls clenching around the invasion. "Sev, ah!" The sound was raw, wet, obscene as her slick heat enveloped him. Harriet's face burned, horror twisting in her gut like a knife, this is my mother, even as a forbidden thrill pulsed between her own thighs, her breath coming shallow. The bedroom reeked of sour sweat and smoke tar, the bed creaking protest under their weight, springs groaning like tortured souls.
Snape didn't give her time to adjust. He fucked her hard, hips snapping with punishing force, his heavy balls slapping rhythmically against her arse with every deep thrust. Lewd, squelching sounds filled the air, the wet slide of his massive cock plunging into her dripping pussy, her juices coating his shaft and dripping down to soak the sheets. "Fuck, Lily," he snarled, vitriolic pleasure dripping from every word. "So tight. So fucking wet for me. Does Potter fuck you like this? Does his prick stretch this greedy little cunt open?" His hand left her throat to press between them, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing in tight, merciless circles as he pounded into her.
Lily's eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. "Severus, please, oh god! Oh god yes!" She was begging, hips gyrating to meet his thrusts even as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, her red hair splayed across the pillow like spilled blood. It was impossible to tell if she was trying to push him away or pull him deeper; her body betrayed her, tits arching up into his chest, nipples hard peaks straining against the remnants of her dress.
Snape ripped the bodice down with his teeth, exposing her full, pale breasts. He latched onto one, sucking hard, biting the sensitive flesh as he continued to rail her. The bed slammed against the wall in time with his thrusts, thud, thud, thud, the dingy room echoing with the sounds of flesh on flesh, her slick gushing around him, his grunts low and animalistic. He pulled back only to flip her roughly onto her stomach, yanking her hips up and driving in again from behind, deeper now, the angle making her sob with pleasure.
"Take it," he hissed, one hand fisting her hair, the other slapping her arse hard enough to leave a red mark. "This is what you came for, isn't it? My cock ruining you for him." He fucked her through her first orgasm, her pussy spasming wildly around his girth, a flood of her release squirting out around his shaft to splatter his balls and thighs. Harriet watched in transfixed horror, her own body clenching sympathetically, shame flooding her cheeks even as arousal made her dizzy. Mum... begging like that...
But he wasn't done. He pulled out, cock glistening with her cream, and manhandled her onto her back again. This time he hooked her legs over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half as he sank back in, grinding deep. "Look at you," he growled, unhinged now, dirty talk pouring from him like poison-laced honey. "Crying on my cock. Did James ever make you come this hard? Ever fill this sloppy mudblood hole until you can't walk?" His thumb worked her clit relentlessly as he thrust, balls-deep, the wet schlick-schlick obscene and unrelenting.
Lily shattered again, screaming his name, her walls milking him as fresh tears streaked her face. Her breasts bounced with every impact, bruised from his mouth, nipples reddened and swollen. Snape's own release built, his thrusts growing erratic, savage. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the root and came, flooding her pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum. It spilled out around his cock as he kept pumping, overfilling her until it dripped in pearly rivulets down her arse and onto the soiled sheets.
He collapsed over her, still twitching inside her, and suddenly the fury cracked.
Tears, real tears, slid down Snape's sallow cheeks. "Lily... I'm sorry," he whispered, voice breaking as he buried his face in her neck. "I'll do anything for you. Anything. Please. I've always loved you. please forgive me..."
Lily panted beneath him, debauched and come-filled, her tits bruised, eyes glassy with the aftershocks. She didn't cry. She simply lay there for a long moment, shaky, before sitting up slowly. She wiped at the mess between her thighs with a corner of the sheet, pulled her torn dress down over her body with trembling hands. Her wand was back in her grip. Snape didn't move, he simply sat there on the edge of the bed, cock still half-hard and impressive, slick with their combined fluids, waiting.
"Obliviate," she cast, her voice steady despite the tremors in her limbs. The spell washed over him, and the memory began to fade.
Harriet was wrenched back into the present with a gasp, stumbling away from the Pensieve. The office spun around her, the familiar clutter of silver instruments whirring, the phoenix Fawkes perched silently. Her heart pounded, skin flushed, a confusing ache throbbing between her legs Mum and Snape... that... Horror clawed at her throat, visions of his scarred body, his huge cock slamming into her mother, the filthy words, the tears, yet beneath it, a dark, unwelcome heat lingered, that made her want to retch and touch herself all at once.
Harriet stood there her legs felt unsteady, as though the stone floor beneath her trainers had turned to shifting sand. The air was thick with the familiar scents of aged parchment, lemon drops, and the faint metallic tang of magical instruments whirring in their endless orbits. But nothing felt familiar anymore. Not with the echo of her mother's cries, pleasure and pain intertwined, still ringing in her ears, nor the image of Snape's scarred, skeletal body moving with such brutal desperation burned into her mind.
Dumbledore stood there, his eyes, usually twinkling with that maddening benevolence, dark with worry, the light absent. "Harriet..." he said softly, taking in her shaken form, the disturbed Pensieve.
"That was not a memory I would have had you see. Not yet, perhaps not ever." he began, his voice low and measured, the gentle cadence he so often used when delivering difficult truths. “What you have seen… was never meant for your eyes... But now that it has been witnessed, I owe you what clarity I can.”
Harriet swallowed and nodded, feeling unable to to do much else.
He folded his hands before him, the long fingers laced together as though in quiet supplication.
“I asked Lily to follow up with young Severus,” he continued, each word chosen with deliberate care. “To discover whether the boy she had once known had truly fallen into Voldemort’s service… or whether there might still be a chance to turn him, to watch him, to use what influence remained between them for the greater good. She volunteered, of course. Her courage was never in question. But I suspect there were deeper currents at work—old ties, old wounds—that pulled her back far more strongly than I realised at the time.”
Dumbledore’s gaze drifted for a moment toward the Pensieve, where the silver strands still swirled faintly.
“She returned with the memory vial,” he said quietly. “Resolute… but deeply shaken. She begged me to Obliviate her afterward. She could not bear the shame of it—the betrayal of James, the confusion of her own heart and body... The encounter had been… complicated. Not simple coercion, but far from willing in the way one might hope. I obliged her, as I so often did with those I placed in impossible positions. I removed the memory, and with it, I hoped, the burden.”
He paused, the lines around his eyes deepening.
“But fate, as it so often does, had other plans. Shortly thereafter, Lily discovered she was with child. With you, Harriet.”
The words settled over the room like a heavy cloak. Dumbledore’s voice softened further, touched now with a sorrow that seemed almost personal.
“I was not sure. Not until much later... what the truth was. To reveal it seemed a greater cruelty. Severus never knew. Lily never remembered. And I… I chose silence.”
He looked at her directly then, the blue eyes steady and unflinching.
“You were never meant to learn of it this way. But the truth has a way of surfacing, especially where blood is concerned. Harriet. And I am sorry—truly sorry—that the knowledge has come to you through such painful means.”
The full realization crashed over her like a wave of ice water. Severus Snape was her father. Not James Potter, the laughing, messy-haired hero whose stories she had clung to like a lifeline. But him, the hooked-nose git, the spy, the man whose vitriolic hunger she had witnessed splitting her mother open on that sagging bed. Harriet's vision blurred, a roar filling her ears.