Fosco's daughter is seriously gorgeous—I'd totally go after her! Oh, and Severus, happy birthday!
"Wow, even the ice cream shop has my wanted poster up now," Dylan said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight smirk.
Still, he didn't really mind. Last time, Fosco mentioned that his daughter worked at the Ministry of Magic. So, it made sense that he'd put up a wanted poster in his shop to support her. Fair enough.
Stepping inside, Dylan caught the faint sound of an argument coming from the back—two voices, a guy and a girl.
"What's going on?"
He raised an eyebrow, gave a little cough, and called out, "Uncle Fosco, you in here?"
The arguing stopped instantly.
A moment later, the door to the back creaked open, and Fosco poked his head out, looking a bit like a ghost sneaking out of a secret passage. When he saw Dylan, he froze for a second before flashing a warm grin. "Oh, you're on Christmas break already? Come in, grab a comfy spot—I'll be right out!"
With that, he ducked back inside, muttering something under his breath to whoever was in there with him.
Not long after, the back door swung open again. Fosco stepped out, followed closely by a young woman.
She was dressed in the black uniform of an Auror, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders with soft curls at the ends. She had a slim figure but perfect curves, her waist cinched with a black belt that held a wand holster, a small magical alarm, and a portable potion vial.
Dylan's eyes landed on her—fair skin, bright, clear light-blue eyes that shimmered with a cool, distant vibe, a high nose, and soft pink lips pressed into a thin line. As she stepped out, her mouth turned slightly downward, her expression calm but with a hint of stubbornness.
Who's this…?
"Let me introduce you," Fosco said with a grin, turning to Dylan. "This is my daughter—Vera Clementina Fosco."
Vera?
Dylan suddenly remembered overhearing some Aurors chatting last time. One of them mentioned a Vera who'd nabbed Delphini.
What a coincidence—Vera was Fosco's daughter? The same daughter who got taken out by Voldemort without a second thought, only to turn around and capture *his* daughter?
"Hi, I'm Dylan Hawkwood. I'm a student at Hogwarts," he said, introducing himself.
Vera's light-blue gaze shifted to him. After a moment, she gave a faint smile. "Hey there, little junior. Just a heads-up—I go by Vera Clementina."
Fosco sighed, exasperated. "Hey, Vera, I'm not here to fight with you!"
But when Vera's eyes flicked back to her dad, her expression turned icy again. "Don't even think about changing my last name."
Fosco's mouth twitched, and he let out a long sigh. "You're always like this—smiling so sweetly at everyone else, but with me, it's nothing but a cold shoulder."
Vera didn't say anything, staying quiet.
Shaking his head, Fosco turned back to Dylan. "My daughter just swung by to put up that wanted poster—the one on the counter."
He jerked his chin toward it.
Dylan nodded slightly, showing he'd already noticed.
"I don't get to see her often, so I was hoping to chat a bit more…"
"Sorry, Mr. Fosco," Vera cut in, "but I don't think we've got much to talk about. You're already holding up my work."
Fosco's brows furrowed in frustration. "Tomorrow's Christmas! Today's a day off—where's this 'work' coming from?"
Vera faltered for a second, pressing her lips together. Clearly, "work" was just an excuse to avoid her old man.
Dylan paused.
This was getting a little unexpected.
For one, he hadn't imagined Fosco's daughter would be *this* pretty. And two, with the father-daughter spat unfolding right in front of him, sticking around might be a bit awkward.
"Uncle, I just dropped by to check in. You helped me out with all those Galleons last time—it meant a lot. But since your daughter's here now, maybe I should…"
Before he could finish, Vera interrupted. "He's funding your schooling?"
Dylan blinked, then nodded lightly. "Yeah, Mr. Fosco's a really generous and kind wizard."
Vera's eyes flickered with suspicion as she glanced at her dad.
Fosco hadn't expected Dylan to bring that up, but when he caught his daughter's look, he subtly puffed out his chest and shot Dylan a sneaky wink.
*Nice one, kid! All those ice cream sundaes I sent your way weren't for nothing!*
"Hmph, well, my work's done here. I'm heading out," Vera said, turning to leave.
Fosco raised a hand, unsure what to say.
But Dylan spoke up. "Vera, sis, is there some kind of beef between you and Mr. Fosco? Last time I was here, he couldn't stop talking about you—nothing but praise. I bet he really loves you."
"He even said the only reason he sponsors me is because you won't take a single Knut from him. Instead of letting the money sit around, he'd rather help someone who needs it."
"Vera, sis, if there's something going on between family, maybe you could talk it out?"
Vera shot a glance at this little kid. "You wouldn't get it."
Dylan grinned. "Exactly why I need you to explain it, sis!"
Vera paused, her foot hovering mid-step before she slowly pulled it back. "Little junior, I've heard about you. Professor Flitwick's a big fan."
Dylan tilted his head. "Vera, sis, did you graduate from Ravenclaw?"
"Yup. I still keep in touch with Professor Flitwick through letters."
Her light-blue eyes settled on Dylan. "You're pretty young to be playing peacemaker, huh?"
Dylan chuckled, a bit shyly. "Well, we're only eight years apart, and everything I said is true."
"You little rascal."
Seeing her soften up, Dylan decided to dig a little. "Vera, sis, last time I was in Diagon Alley, I saw you guys arresting someone. What'd they do?"
Vera's golden-brown hair caught the light as she frowned slightly, a puzzled look crossing her delicate face. "Why're you asking about that?"
Dylan flashed an innocent, kid-like smile. "'Cause every time I come to Diagon Alley, I run into Aurors catching someone. I'm starting to wonder if you're planning to nab me next!"
Fosco burst out laughing. "Yeah, Carstairs popped up twice, and both times Dylan was here grabbing ice cream!"
"Oh? That's a funny coincidence," Vera said, raising an eyebrow. She shook her head. "Diagon Alley's pretty safe, though. As long as you steer clear of Knockturn Alley, you won't run into any real troublemakers."
Dylan nodded obediently. "Got it. The professors warned me about that."
Vera sighed, her brow creasing. "It's Christmas, but the Ministry's got all us Aurors cutting our holidays short to hunt down Carstairs."
Her face darkened a bit. "That guy's dangerous. He's mastered the Unforgivable Curses—completely unhinged. He throws around Imperius and Cruciatus like it's nothing. A total lunatic!"
"If we let him run loose, who knows what he'll do next? The Ministry doesn't want another…"
"Vera!" Fosco cut in, frowning.
She stopped mid-sentence, shooting her dad a sideways glare.
"Anyway, I've said what I needed to. Just watch yourself lately, got it?"
Her tone was sharp when she spoke to Fosco, but Dylan could still hear a daughter's concern underneath it.
He had no clue what went down between these two. Last time Fosco mentioned her, it was all vague—nothing concrete.
Dylan figured maybe Fosco botched his love life, split with Vera's mom, and she ended up raising Vera alone. For whatever reason, Vera grew distant and resentful toward the dad she barely saw.
Of course, "resentful" might be too strong a word. There was probably some playful annoyance mixed in there too.
Girls, right? Raised by a single mom, young and feisty, full of pride and rebellion—it's normal to be a little tsundere with her dad.
But this wasn't Dylan's family drama to meddle in. He'd already overstepped with what he said earlier.
Luckily, Vera was Flitwick's student too, so they had that connection. Plus, being younger, his words didn't seem to rub her the wrong way too much.
"Don't worry, I'll be fine. If I can't fight, I can at least hide, right?" Fosco chuckled.
"Who knows? You might just charge in like a maniac—you've always been nuts like that," Vera said, her pink lips curling into a slight pout. "Anyway, I've got to hit the next shop to post another wanted notice."
She stepped toward the door, reaching for the handle.
Fosco's expression dimmed as he watched her back, his throat tightening. He opened his mouth, but the words to stop her wouldn't come.
*Ding-a-ling~*
Vera pushed the door half-open, one foot already outside.
Then she paused, glancing back slightly, her chin tilting up as she pouted on purpose, her tone dripping with mock disdain.
"What, another Christmas alone this year? Or are you gonna bug Uncle Ollivander again?"
"Hmph, leave him alone for once. Since it's Christmas Eve, why don't you cook something decent?"
"But don't count on me showing up! I'll only swing by if I'm free *and* in a good mood!"
Before Fosco could react, she shoved the door open and slipped out.
Fosco stood there, stunned, his eyes blank.
Dylan grinned from the side. "Uncle, it's getting late. If you're planning to cook for Vera, sis, you might want to start prepping now."
Fosco snapped out of it, his lips curving into a grin he couldn't hold back. The laugh lines around his eyes crinkled as he turned to Dylan.
"Hahaha, you're right, kid! I'm so glad I shelled out those ten thousand Galleons for you!"
"She must know I'm not some stingy jerk if she's willing to spend Christmas Eve with me!"
"Oh, look at me, I'm so excited—I've got to close up shop now. Sorry, kid, no time to hang out. There's ice cream over there—help yourself, don't be shy. I've got some shopping to do!"
Fosco buzzed around, practically bouncing in place.
"Gotta put up some decorations here, set stuff up there—man, it's been ages since I last did Christmas at home! I've almost forgotten how!"
Dylan waved him off with a smile. "I'm good on the ice cream, Uncle Fosco. Go get busy!"
Beaming, Fosco hustled out with Dylan, flipping the "Open" sign to "Closed" as they stepped outside. After a quick goodbye, he dashed off to shop.
Dylan lingered at the ice cream shop's entrance, casually crossing his legs and gazing at Fosco's retreating figure. One hand slipped into his pocket as he tilted his head back, looking up at the sky.
It was dusk now, and the sunset looked like a giant salted duck egg yolk, its golden glow spilling across the sky, painting it a warm orange-red.
Diagon Alley's buildings were draped in the golden light of the fading day. A few lazy clouds drifted by, like random splashes of color on a painter's canvas.
A cool evening breeze brushed Dylan's face as he strolled toward the exit of Diagon Alley, his figure slowly fading into the distance.
---
**5:30 PM**
Gringotts' grand doors swung shut, closing up for the day.
The old goblin finished tallying the day's accounts, locked away important magical contracts and valuables, and slipped out through a side exit.
It was Christmas Eve, and Diagon Alley was nearly deserted. Only a handful of Aurors hurried past now and then, probably rushing home.
The old goblin was late leaving. By the time he reached the fireplace in Diagon Alley, no one else was around.
He pulled out a pinch of powder, ready to toss it into the fire.
Out of nowhere, a spell shot toward him from behind.
Before he could react, everything went black, and he crumpled to the ground with a thud.
A moment later, his clothes started moving on their own—his collar and cuffs rustling as if tugged by invisible hands.
From the lining of his suit jacket, a bulging coin pouch floated up into the air.
The pouch untied itself, and gold coins poured out like a shimmering stream, clinking as they vanished into an unseen void nearby.
In seconds, the pouch was empty. It hovered for a moment before dropping back onto the goblin's chest.
The old goblin stirred, groaning as he came to. When he saw his now-empty coin pouch, a wail echoed through all of Diagon Alley.
---
"Thirty thousand Galleons? Do goblins really like carrying that much cash around?"
On his way home, Dylan checked his money balance.
It'd spiked by over thirty thousand!
He resisted the urge to convert it all into suitcase space right then and there, heading straight home instead.
It was Christmas Eve, after all—he was on break, and it'd be nice to spend some time with family. In his twelve years, last Christmas was the only one he hadn't spent with them.
Even though Dylan was hooked on studying magic and researching spells lately, that didn't mean he didn't miss his family in this life.
With an adult soul, he could tamp down those feelings pretty well. And with how busy he usually was, he kept that homesickness tucked away in his heart.
Thanks to his unique knack for magic—one that didn't fear detection—Dylan didn't have to worry about using it outside school like other young wizards did. As long as no one was watching, he was in the clear.
Wearing his Shadow Ring, Dylan hopped on his broomstick and flew toward home.
The streets below glowed with the soft yellow haze of streetlights, lighting his way.
When the familiar sight of his house came into view, he landed in a quiet corner, stepped out, and let the Shadow Ring's effect fade.
"Mommy, I'm back!"
Dylan pushed open the door, and a wave of warmth hit him, wrapped in the rich smell of home-cooked food.
Maeve poked her head out of the kitchen. When she saw Dylan, her face lit up with a smile.
She hurried over, taking his coat as she fussed, "You're back so late—I was starting to think you wouldn't make it! Dinner's almost ready. Go wash up and get ready to eat!"
Dylan nodded, heading to the bathroom to rinse his hands and wipe them dry with a towel.
In the dining room, the table was loaded with dishes—each one colorful, fragrant, and downright delicious-looking.
A fancy candelabra sat in the center, its flickering flames dancing softly. Hubert was already at the table, grinning ear to ear when he saw his son.
"So, how's it going, kid? Still got enough cash to spend?"
Over the past few months, he'd sent Dylan millions of pounds!
Who sends their kid off to school and drops a couple million in just three or four months? That's a million or two a month!
But Hubert didn't think it was too much—he was proud of it.
He was the dad, after all. What's the point of making money if not to spend it on his wife and kid?
Well, not just his son—what if they had a daughter someday?
A dad's gotta spoil his kids, right? The more he spends, the more it shows how capable he is!
Sure, Dylan had pointed him in the right direction with the money-making, but what's his is his son's, and what's his son's is his—same difference!
Dylan nodded lightly. "It's just enough for now. But after the holidays, I'll need more. Guess I'll be counting on you to keep the funds coming, Dad!"
Hubert's grin froze.
*Wait, what?*
*What'd he say?*
A few million pounds *weren't enough*? He needed *more*?
Did he raise a son or a money-eating monster?
Hubert swallowed hard.
Maeve caught her husband's expression, rolled her eyes, and smirked. "Look at you, all smug a second ago. What happened to that swagger? Once the holidays are over, you'd better get back to work—can't let our baby run out of pocket money!"
Hubert's face crumpled. "Pocket money? *That's* what you call it?"
Dylan snickered. "I know my dad's the best! A few million pounds? Piece of cake for you, right?"
Flattered by the praise, Hubert's grin crept back up despite himself.
"Of course! Go ahead and spend all you want, son—your old man's got you covered!"
"Thanks, Dad!" Dylan beamed.
Maeve brought out the last dish, and the family sat down together.
At first, Hubert tried to play it cool, acting all serious. But it didn't take long before he was cracking up, animatedly recounting funny run-ins he'd had lately with company bigwigs.
Maeve piled food onto Dylan's plate, chiming in now and then to humor her husband.
The three of them laughed and chatted, tossing words back and forth. Every so often, something Dylan said sent the Hawkwoods into fits of laughter.
Outside, snowflakes started drifting down, soft and steady.
It was a quiet Christmas Eve—no earth-shattering events, just a simple, cozy night that passed naturally.
---
The next day, Christmas arrived.
Dylan headed back to Diagon Alley.
Florrin's Ice Cream Parlor was still closed—guess Fosco and Vera got along decently yesterday.
"Man, that guy's daughter is seriously stunning. She's totally my type. Too bad she's already graduated, and I'm just a second-year—no shot at chasing her," Dylan muttered to himself as he strolled up to Gringotts' entrance.
Even though it was Christmas, the shops in Diagon Alley were open.
It's the commercial hub of magical Britain, after all—everyone's off for the holidays, so of course they'd come here to shop.
Inside Gringotts, Dylan glanced around, ignoring the goblin who tried to greet him, and made a beeline for the old goblin from yesterday.
"Hey, good to see you again!" Dylan said, stepping up to the counter.
The old goblin looked rough—worn out, his wrinkled face unable to hide how drained he was.
"Oh, it's you. Back again?" he asked weakly, lifting his head.
"What's wrong with you?" Dylan tilted his head. "I thought about it after I left yesterday—that house really is nice, just a bit pricey. So I came back to see if you could knock the price down a little. If it works out, I'll pay up right now."
"Oh? Oh! You're sure you want to buy it?"
The goblin perked up, suddenly alert.
"Heh heh heh, I just didn't sleep well last night. Since you're serious about the property, let's… sit down and talk details, shall we?"
He stood, bowing respectfully like yesterday and gesturing for Dylan to follow.
His attitude was a complete 180 from when they'd parted ways.
Dylan smiled and nodded, trailing the goblin into a private room.
"I can tell you really like the place—rushing over on Christmas, no less! I don't want to lose a buyer like you, so I'll cut you a deal. How about… thirty-five thousand Galleons, firm?"
The goblin lifted his chin, a shrewd glint in his beady eyes.
"That's the best price I can offer. Miss this, and you won't find a steal like it again."
Dylan shook his head. "My limit's twenty thousand."
The goblin nearly choked.
*Twenty thousand?*
Was this kid trying to bankrupt him?
At twenty thousand, he wouldn't make a single Knut!
Sure, there'd be a commission—five thousand Galleons, tops—but that's it!
"You're joking, right…?"
"Nope, dead serious. Twenty thousand's my bottom line."
The goblin's face twitched.
Seeing his conflicted look, Dylan chuckled. "Alright, how about this—I'll bump it to twenty-one thousand. If that works, we sign. If not, I'll pass and check out cheaper places… or maybe ask another goblin about this estate's price."
He started to stand as if to leave.
The goblin shot up, blocking his way.
"Whoa, whoa, no need to rush off! If you're not happy, we can still negotiate—don't go to anyone else!"
Dylan stared at him silently.
The goblin squirmed, then gave a bitter laugh. "Fine, you win! Twenty-one thousand Galleons—it's yours!"
If this kid didn't look like a fourth- or fifth-year student, he'd swear Dylan was the one who mugged him yesterday and stole his cash!
He'd reported it to the Aurors, but with the holidays, it kept getting pushed back. Heaven knows when they'd catch the thief!
That blasted crook—stealing *his* money! He hoped Voldemort melted them on the spot!
The house's base price was twenty thousand. He'd hoped to squeeze out an extra fifteen to offset his losses.
But this kid slashed it right to the bone.
What if he could read minds?
No, no way—yesterday's attack must've rattled him. A little wizard couldn't possibly know Legilimency!
The professors wouldn't teach that to a student!
"It'll take a few days to finalize the property transfer. Gringotts will clean the house and handle everything before handing it over."
Dylan nodded.
When he didn't say more, the goblin added, "So, if you're set on it, you can pay now, sign the contract, and lock it in?"
Dylan nodded again.
Using the old goblin's own money to buy a house from him? Dylan didn't see a problem with that.
They signed the magical contract together. As it took effect, Dylan felt something shift in his soul—like an added weight, stronger and more binding than the pledge he'd signed at school.
He figured the goblin, signing for Gringotts, felt it even more.
"Wonder if I could crack soul magic someday and figure out how to break a contract like this one-sidedly?" Dylan mused as he paid and left Gringotts, ushered out by the goblin.
---
The next few days were pretty chill.
The house deal wrapped up in two days. After Christmas, the Hawkwoods were back at it, hustling to earn more for their son, popping out during the day to buy lottery tickets or fiddle with stocks.
Dylan had half a mind to have Carstairs make another appearance, but it was Christmas— even the Fool deserved a break.
Plus, showing up too often for petty stuff would cheapen the act.
With Aurors working overtime through the holidays to catch him, Dylan—being the considerate guy he was—decided to let them come up empty-handed.
So he stayed home, tinkering with experiments through the whole Christmas break.
When the holidays ended, he returned to Hogwarts under his parents' reluctant, smiling, and wildly waving farewell.
Old Dumbledore had clearly tightened the reins on Hogwarts lately—Dylan felt it the moment he got back.
He wasn't sure if Dumbledore knew or suspected that Voldemort might be using Horcruxes to keep part of his soul alive with dark magic.
Back when Voldemort fled, Dumbledore could've struck but held back—maybe worried that killing him would just spawn another Voldemort.
It seemed like Dumbledore was already onto the Horcrux idea.
Especially since *Secrets of the Darkest Art*—the book with Horcrux details—wasn't in the Restricted Section anymore.
That could only mean one thing: Dumbledore had taken it.
Dylan wanted to peek at its contents and dig deeper into Horcruxes, but he figured it was probably sitting in Dumbledore's office now.
That place wasn't exactly a dragon's lair, but it might as well be a mountain of knives and a sea of fire.
No way was he sneaking in to steal it.
Worst case, he'd cozy up to Dumbledore later and find some excuse to borrow it.
Back at school, Dylan dove into his usual routine of studying and research.
Then came Snape's birthday.
It was January, and snow still fell steadily outside, blanketing everything. The air felt even colder, taming even the Whomping Willow under its thick layer of snow.
"Professor, do we really need to surprise Snape like this?"
Dylan glanced down at his bizarre getup, then at the others.
They were in a room with not just McGonagall and Flitwick, but Dumbledore too.
The professors were dressed normally, while Dylan was decked out like a mini Snape—black robes, fake wig, the works.
"Oh ho ho, I can't think of anything more surprising for Severus than you dressed up like this," Dumbledore said with a laugh.
"Besides, you're the one who suggested throwing him a birthday party—you've got to pitch in!"
Dylan's face twitched. "You sure he won't freak out and hex me the second he sees me?"
Dumbledore shrugged. "I'm pretty sure you can dodge, right?"
"That's the spirit—that exact look! Merlin's beard, I'd almost think you were Severus's kid!" Dumbledore crowed.
Dylan's eyelids fluttered wildly.
McGonagall smiled at him. "Didn't expect you'd actually look a bit like Severus once we got you dolled up."
Flitwick nodded eagerly. "Like they carved you from the same mold! Is this makeup? Disguising without magic?"
Dumbledore chimed in, "I've seen Muggle makeup tricks before—amazing stuff, almost like magic!"
Dylan sighed as the three professors chatted away, leaning against the door to wait for Snape.
They were in Snape's office. Someone had just lured him out—though once he realized it was Lockhart calling him, he'd probably be back fast.
---
Meanwhile, Snape stormed back toward his office, his face dark as thunder.
That idiot Lockhart had dragged him out over a busted pipe!
He'd never met a dumber professor—not even Quirrell was this bad!
At least Quirrell could handle an Unforgivable Curse!
"And what's with McGonagall and the others these past few days?"
Severus couldn't shake the feeling that everyone around him was acting weird lately.
All fake—fake smiles, fake hellos, fake wandering around in front of him.
"Whatever. They're always like this—probably cooking up some nonsense again, especially Albus!"
He reached his office, but as he went to push the door open, he froze, frowning.
"Someone's been here."
He raised his wand.
With the Chamber of Secrets monster stirring up the school, that petrifying power seemed to need only a slight trigger. Even he had to stay on guard.
He nudged the door open with his wand.
The room was dim.
Severus spotted a figure standing ahead and nearly raised his wand—until he saw who it was.
A smaller, mirror-image version of *himself*?
"Sectumsempra!"
"What? Wait, Professor, it's me! Protego!"
Dylan dodged to the side.
Hearing his voice, Severus halted mid-spell.
"Dylan?!"
Severus's eyes widened. Before he could demand answers, Dumbledore waved his wand from the back of the room.
*Bang!*
A loud explosion startled Severus—he thought someone had grabbed Dylan.
But then, dazzling magical fireworks erupted in his office.
Golden and silver ribbons swirled through the air. Flitwick and McGonagall waved their wands, conjuring twinkling sparks that danced like fireflies.
Severus stood there, dazed, his gaze sweeping over everyone. As it sank in, his face darkened.
Dylan quickly shouted, "Surprise! Happy birthday!"
"Professor Snape, happy birthday!"
"You're about to set my office on fire!" Severus growled, his voice low and strained, like he was choking out each word.
"No worries, no worries—these are cold fireworks. They won't burn a thing," Dumbledore said, flicking his wand. "I'm pretty good at this spell."
*Whoosh.*
A spark landed on a book and set it ablaze.
Flitwick blinked, hastily dousing it. "Huh? Cold fire? Nobody told me!"
Severus: *!*
Catching his look, Dumbledore exchanged a glance with McGonagall, and they burst out laughing.
"Severus, look at your face—doesn't it match Dylan's?"
Severus glanced at wig-wearing Dylan, his eye twitching hard.
"Who did this to you?"
Dylan froze, swallowed, and pointedly looked at Dumbledore.
The message was clear.
A vein pulsed on Severus's forehead. "Dumbledore, I swear your brain's been squashed by the Chamber door!"
Dumbledore just smiled, unfazed.
"Anyway, Severus, it's your birthday today—happy birthday! We'll leave the gifts here. Open them after we're gone."
He pointed his wand at a table piled with wrapped boxes.
Severus paused, falling silent again.
Truth be told, he hadn't celebrated his birthday in ages.
How long? Maybe since that summer he and Lily fell out—or even further back.
Aside from Lily, no one had ever genuinely celebrated it for him.
After she died, he'd let his birthday slip from his mind.
Sometimes Dumbledore remembered—well, every year, actually—and sent him a gift or two.
Usually Chocolate Frogs or Honeydukes sweets—like those awful Cockroach Clusters he couldn't stand.
Those always ended up as bug food—he never ate them.
For some reason, only the little things Lily gave him ever suited his taste.
Whether those gifts came or not, what did it matter?
Last year, though, he got something from an annoying, sharp-tongued little wizard—a kid who could be dead serious one minute and impossible to scold the next, like a pint-sized Dumbledore.
That gift wasn't bad—the black robe he'd gotten was still in rotation.
After that, Severus figured maybe marking his birth wasn't such a terrible idea.
But did it really need celebrating?
At first, he thought no. Then Lily came along, and "no" turned into a quiet hope.
After she was gone, every day, hour, minute, second dragged on like centuries.
He bore the weight of time as penance, ready to give his life for it until the end.
His body was 33, but his mind felt ancient.
The constant pain gnawed at him, stripping away any sense of joy.
Protecting Lily's only child—and now maybe this lippy little brat too—was his sole purpose.
This year, he'd expected some useless candies and maybe a decent, creative outfit.
But these guys showing up out of nowhere?
Just to throw him a birthday party?
Albus and Minerva, fine—but Flitwick? Since when were they buddies?
Severus eyed the crystal orbs spelling out his name and "Happy Birthday!" above his office.
Then the stack of gifts and a cake on his desk.
The small room wasn't crowded, but a faint warmth crept into Severus's heart despite himself.
Dumbledore's ribbons drifted down onto his head.
His once-greasy hair—cleaned up since Dylan's Christmas gift of shampoo potion—was now smooth and sleek.
Severus kept his face taut.
Dumbledore spoke up. "This cake's got treacle tart filling—my own recipe. Want to try it?"
Dylan stepped forward. "I haven't tasted it, but it's probably good. Give it a shot, Professor Snape."
Hearing the cake's full name, Severus's brief flicker of emotion shattered.
"If it's so good, why aren't you eating it?"
Dylan grinned. "You're the birthday boy—you get the first bite!"
(End of Chapter)