Welcome! For those who are still reading and for newcomers, thank you for giving this story a chance. This is the third rewrite of the Barton Saga, up to year four of the Harry Potter series, so updates will be quick up to that point. Fair warning, this book will probably be finished this week; after that, it will weekly updates, if my school schedule allows it (I'm in my last year of university so, yay?).

Why another rewrite, well—my first try was a plagiarized mess (READ: a copy of the original work) and the second (now that I'm older) disappointed me with all the loopholes I left (which had been intentional at the time, but due to many complications with the story's drafts, I had to change paths). As with many fanfics, this one does not suffer changes in plot, except for moments here and there.

I don't own anything you recognize, except for original characters and the narration. Comments and criticisms are welcome. I hope you enjoy—and yes, this will be the last rewrite unless something beyond my control happens.

EDITED: July 10th, 2020

Prologue: ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ

It was raining.

The man sitting on the plastic chair was as still as a statue. He didn't look happy, though this could be explained with one glance at his damp clothes and muddy shoes. The nurses refrained from commenting, but every once they passed by him, they threw him a scathing glare. The head nurse in particular looked vicious, and it was only because of the intervention of a young nurse that there was a sense of peace within the staff.

This was not the case for that man.

Rose, as the youngest nurse was called, approached him with a set of towels in her arms.

"Sir?" she inquired gently. Rose had to ask a second time for him to look up—

Her breath hitched. The little hairs on the back of her nape stood. A shiver rand down her spine and she had to visibly stop herself from staggering back. The man showed no reaction to this.

He was young. So, so young. None of the workers had been able to tell so, but Rose had the suspicion that this was due to his raggedy appearance. And his eyes. The rest of him really, but mostly his eyes. He wasn't particularly handsome—his nose stood out a bit—but there was something about him that drew her closer.

If they asked her to search for this man in a crowd, she wouldn't have had a chance to find him. He was unnoticeable, not enough to have eyes follow him 24/7. But she was sure—as sure she was of death and life—if she'd been asked to look and if somehow, this man's eyes had met hers, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Yes?"

Rose shook her head. With a smile, she offered him the towels. For a moment, it seemed he wouldn't accept them but then he said, "Thank you," very quietly, and took them from her. He started drying his hair but he didn't look quite invested in the action.

"Who is he?" Rose asked the head nurse once she returned to the office.

Scowl faltering, the woman answered: "Alec Barton."

Rose blinked. "Barton?" she repeated faintly. "The Barton husband?"

Though they'd only heard it yesterday morning, the name had spread through the pediatric ward. The Barton husband—as they had come to call the absent man—had been quite cursed by the female workers, more so by the older ones. Rose would've joined them too, but she had been the one tasked to monitor Mrs. Barton's delicate health.

Hours ago, Mrs. Barton had wandered into the hospital, her strange gown stained with blood on its skirts. The woman had been heavily pregnant, and it seemed she was about to give labor to her child. However, when the doctors asked her the procedure questions, it was discovered that her baby was actually coming a month early from scheduled.

No matter how many times they asked, how many times Rose pleaded to think of her child, Mrs. Barton stubbornly kept quiet and didn't inform the hospital of the reasons why she was pushed into a premature birth. The fact her husband was glaringly absent did not help matters. The nurses had formed all sorts of theories, each involving the husband in violent matters.

But now here he was. And to Rose, Alec Barton didn't seem like the violent type. If anything, he looked lost and afraid. Like a little boy.

"They all do," said one of the nurses venomously when Rose pointed out this.

At exactly 6:48 pm of June 27th, Mrs. Barton gave birth to a girl. By then, Alec Barton had been joined by three handsome men and a stunning woman. One of them looked like a carbon copy of Mrs. Barton, except for his shorter hair. At the moment, he was the only one whose presence wasn't scorned by the new mother.

The woman didn't want to see her daughter. Rose didn't understand why; in her opinion, the child was very cute-looking despite her very small size and red, pudgy face. Mrs. Barton's brother tried to convince her, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Even if she'd wanted to, Mrs. Barton wouldn't have been able to see the baby, anyways.

Later, Rose led Alec Barton and his group of friends to the Intensive Care Nursery, leaving Mrs. Barton's brother outside the woman's door. The red-haired woman in the group seemed ready to faint at the sight of many incubators and the few babies inside them. Because she was heavily pregnant too (and the color of her face was turning a worrying shade of green), Rose asked her to stay outside. With her husband having stayed firmly at her side, Rose, Alec Barton, and the other young man (who looked like he should've booked a room in the hospital) left the couple and went to the second last incubator from the left side of the room.

The child was sleeping inside the glass-box, unaware of the fact that she was in danger of dying. Alec Barton froze when he saw her, and Rose had to explain to the other man ("Remus Lupin," he'd whispered) all the problems that entailed having been born prematurely. Mr. Lupin paled at the many illnesses that the Barton child could—would, said the matter-of-fact voice inside Rose's head—acquire, but he bravely heard her until the end of the explanation.

The monitor's constant beeps changed for a second. Rose and Mr. Lupin turned quickly and saw a pair of wide eyes looking at them.

•••◘◘◘•••

At twenty-three, Alec Barton was a father. He wasn't prepared and, despite his brilliantness, he knew nothing about newborns except for how they were conceived (after all, he'd been a participant in the act more than once) and how they developed in a female's womb (which he'd read on a whim after his late mother refused to tell him what bees had to do with babies).

And yet, as he stared down at the small—tiny, really—human inside the see-through box, he couldn't help but feel his heart melt a little.

She was so small. Smaller than average, the doctor had said; she'd been born prematurely and with a lot of complications – medical and technological. Machines kept sparkling around them, and more than once the electricity had come and gone. Her health was not at top notch, either; the mask on her face and the tubes that went in and out of the incubator attested to that. He knew that it was their magical heritage that had been keeping her alive and not (without offense) the doctors and nurses' abilities. Alec dreaded to think what would have been the creature's fate had she been a Squib.

He jerked back as a door snapped closed. Remus and the nurse had left. Alec berated himself silently. Don't think like that. She's alive; that's what matters.

The baby shifted. Her eyes snapped open again as if his voice had summoned her attention.

"Oh," said Alec softly; a mere sigh filled with awe.

She was so tiny. The fact hit him harder than it should. She was delicate; breakable. Another reason to curse himself for bringing an unwilling child into war.

"What I have done?" he told her desperately. "What sort of life have I given you?"

She blinked, eyes becoming drowsy. They looked too big on her tiny face: they were very round and the large lashes on her lids fanned her rosy cheeks. Their color took his breath away. A mix of green and brown – and was that a hint of gray there?

She had his eyes.

In that moment, he swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to stop the war.

•••◘◘◘•••

It was easier said than done when the war he'd referred to was the least of his problems. Alec Barton was not a soldier despite being a natural fighter; he was an inventor, a man whose quest for knowledge bothered many and helped some. But there were days when it was too much; the losses, the battles, the fights—

And god, he wished that when he thought of fights, it was the image of a body covered in black robes and a snake tattoo on its arm that came to mind and not of the woman he'd married right out of Hogwarts—

The war was over, though. There were no more fights. No more deaths. No wife, either.

Voldemort had been defeated. And while there was more than a ninety percent of probability that the man was alive, Alec knew it would be a long time before any sort of battle started again. With their leader gone, the Death Eaters were nothing. Like the cowards they were, many had run straight to the Ministry in order to rat out their associates; others were being buried in unnamed graves, and the leftovers were being sent straight to Azkaban without trials.

It was radical, the way the Ministry of Magic tried to erase all evidence left of the war. Alec didn't agree with their methods, but he understood their fear. Also, he didn't want to get kicked out of the country and back to his homeland when he had so many plans for the future—personal and professionally wise.

And it seemed everything was going well. Hogwarts was once again brimming with life as students returned from their homes; people were no longer scared of walking Diagon Alley's streets on daylight; St. Mungo's maternity wards were almost bursting from so many mothers and recently born children. Like Albus Dumbledore had promised in what seemed to be a lifetime ago, it was a time of new beginnings.

Nine months later, a call came. It was Alastor Moody.

"I thought you were forbidden from calling?" said Alec bewildered into the phone. To his knowledge, his old mentor was still at St. Mungo's, healing from the loss of one of his legs. Because he had tried to escape more than five times (the most memorable being that time when Moody got to woo one of the Healers and later almost jumped out of a window), Alastor was officially on house arrest—or in this case, tied to his bed with bewitched belts. Alec had been unable to hide his laughs when he'd witnessed that.

"How did you even get a telephone?"

"Pickpocketed it," was the smart-ass answer. Alec silently marveled at Mad-Eye's skill; a telephone the size of a box was very difficult to hide, after all. "I was damn lucky the bloody thing didn't spark when it came through the wards. Anyways, I have a job for you."

"A – a job?" Alec maneuvered around the telephone's cord, wincing when it got tangled around his ankle. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Don't tell me you're finally getting cold feet?" said Mad-Eye exasperatedly. "After all the bloody things you went through?"

"Well, Moody, back then, I didn't have the responsibilities I have now."

"Rubbish. The lass was already around when you got into that bar fight along the Prewetts."

Alec rubbed his forehead. He held back a sigh. "Things changed." Everyone—the Prewetts, his wife, everyone he'd trusted at least once—was dead. Back then, Alec and Alastor had faith their backs would be always covered; now... it was just the two of them.

His last comment hovered between them awkwardly before Mad-Eye cleared his throat.

"I know this is asking a lot, Barton," he said roughly. "But I've got a hunch on this one. 'Sides, Frank's on the case, too."

"Is he?" When he finally freed his leg, Alec went to the nearest shelf and searched for a pad.

"He's the only one available."

More like the only one who heard you out, thought Alec with a silent sigh. It was no secret that since Voldemort had vanished, Alastor had slowly started to become unhinged. While paranoia was normal in him, the extremes he had gone to eliminate potential dangers had already hurt three people. Whatever power he possessed in the Auror Office had dwindled to almost nothing. Only him and the Longbottoms – the last assets of a whole generation that had once consisted of James Potter, Sirius Black, Marlene McKinnon, and many other young people – listened to him, and it was only now and then.

Alec doubted he would get involved but still wrote the details so that he could convince the Auror Office to investigate. However, as he re-read his own writing, and after another retelling, Alec couldn't help but feel that something wasn't right.

Five No-Majs had dropped dead in the middle of London. Each of them had 'died' in different times and different places. But according to the Healers, none of them had been alive; considering the decaying states of the bodies, they had been dead long ago.

It wasn't the first time Alec dealt with reanimated corpses. The Inferi had been a bitch to deal with, but unlike then, these people had not even reached the state of decay necessary to use the real strength of the Inferi. Whoever had revived them must have been an amateur or had revived them with another purpose.

But why would someone want dead people walking all over London?

"I'll look into it," he told Moody. "But no promises."

He glowered as a hum of satisfaction came through the connection.

•••◘◘◘•••

There was no reason, no logic—and perhaps, this was what drew him to the case.

With Anya around, the freedom of jumping straight into danger decreased considerably. The only danger he could possibly get himself into would be when his daughter finally showed signs of magic ("No, Alec, babies don't explode with vomit. That was just Black pulling your leg." "You're just jealous you haven't dealt with babies before, McKinnon!" "And because you have been vomited on by one makes you an expert?" "Exactly."), but he couldn't take that risk. Not anymore – not when Remus, one of the few he had trusted blindly, had left him to shoulder this burden alone.

It was with great reluctance that he left his daughter in Alice Longbottom's care. Unlike Frank, Alice had been considering on retiring to dedicate all of her attention on their son, Neville. Alec had no doubt that Alice would do everything in her power to protect both children, but as he and Frank Disapparated, that feeling of wrongness came back and hit him with full force.

It turned out that the coordinates where each body had stopped formed a clear path to a specific spot on the outskirts of London. The buildings around were old, incredibly so; the walls had large holes and seemed they would fall should a storm pass by. But the old citizens knew that was unlikely to happen, for these buildings had survived World War II.

The space between them was full of machinery pieces. Alec recognized some but the others were so scorched their shapes were difficult to discern. Still, he knelt so he could gaze at them closely.

Why this place? Why now? As far as he knew, this place was of No-Maj origin; no Pureblooded wizard would know about it at all. They were too attached to their mind closed ideas to even consider committing a crime in Muggle London, of all places...

"Nothing is going to happen," said Frank forcefully after the fourth time he saw Alec twirl his wand. It was a tic he hadn't been able to replace after his mother's death. It was this or fighting and getting angry was not an option, considering the consequences. But sometimes, Alec did it when he was thinking, and right now, his mind was whirling.

He bit back a retort. He couldn't say I know, because data wasn't a variable they counted on; he couldn't say you're wrong, either. But that feeling – the gut wrenching feeling that something was terribly wrong – didn't leave. If anything, it grew worse after they entered the warehouse 'the map' had supposedly led them to, and saw it empty.

"Take the upper floor," said Alec, pointing. "I'll search down here. If anything jumps at you, scream." The tapping on his belt belied his comment, though.

Frank rolled his eyes. "Ha ha." But he, like Alec, tapped his belt and took out a black device. The walkie-talkies were not unknown to these two: they'd discovered that this particular brand of radios was just as effective as the homemade ones to wizards, so well-made they were resistant to any type of magic. Only a bullet or a particular destructive spell would take them out.

They separated. Half an hour later, Alec was sweating and covered by rubble dust. Grime coated his skin as he marched to the front door, fuming. He pulled out the walkie-talkie from his belt and barked into it. "Found anything?"

There was static. "No—wait." Static. "Alec, you better come here. There's some strange reading but"—embarrassment laced his words—"I can't read half of it."

Alec Apparated. He landed close to the railing and lost his footing but Frank was quick to jump to his aid.

"I hate it when Wizards try to copy No-Majs," Alec grunted. "This is starting to look like a mob movie." As long as no one brought a gun to a wand-fight... He clapped a hand on Frank's shoulder and straightened. "Where is it, then?"

"Over there," said Frank. He led him inside a dusty office with broken windows.

Both Aurors stopped before a wall; their wands lit half of the room, blinding them for a moment. It took a beat to ignore the long shadows cast over them to finally see what Frank had found.

It was not a pretty sight.

The wall was covered by slashes: it was cut in such long and thin lines that made Alec realize this was a powerful wand's work. The slashes themselves formed words.

HE WILL RETURN

After hearing it so many times, the words meant nothing to him; Frank likewise rolled his eyes when he was informed. But Alec's eyes wandered and he saw, to his surprise, a familiar-looking plush toy of a rabbit. It was dirty and one eye was missing, but it was the ribbon around its neck with star pattern that turned his insides cold.

The House of Black was known for many of their deeds, but it was perhaps their fascination with stars that took the cake. Their tapestries, their names – they all had connections with the heavenly bodies. He knew first-hand that their members usually wore their own namesake's constellation: Andromeda Black used to wear a comb with little diamonds representing her name; Regulus Black, if Alec wasn't mistaken, had worn a family seal ring on his left hand before he disappeared.

And this ribbon—black and silver—had its own constellation, and although he didn't recognize it, Alec had a hunch from whom the note came from. Wordlessly, he pulled at the ribbon and handed it to Frank.

Frank's curse was enough confirmation.

•••◘◘◘•••

Hours of desperate research and creative-cursing later, Alec and Frank were kicking a pair of double doors open. When the men stepped inside, they suddenly snapped closed.

It took Alec exactly twelve seconds to analyze the situation they found themselves in. In total, they were nine humans in this building. Seven of them were grown wizards. Four Death Eaters and I've got only Frank. Alec cursed his own stupidity; panic had overridden his thoughts, and thus, he had not considered informing Alastor of the current situation.

Alice Longbottom's body laid between them. She was curled on the floor, eyes empty: her long, blond hair was no more—it had been cut rather harshly, a cruel reminder of her old appearance during the war; her clothes, once neat and clean, were now torn and bloody; whatever skin was visible, it was full of cuts... knife cuts. Handmade cuts, he concluded after seeing the silver knife in Rodolphus Lestrange's hand.

Alice was not dead, but Alec wasn't certain if she was alive, either. He could feel Frank's rage from his side. Scorching, mad, I'd be too. He knew that the man blamed his wife's misfortune on him. Alec did, too, but he shoved his guilt aside.

Unlike her companions, Bellatrix Lestrange greets him like an old friend would. She's all beauty and cutting smiles, hips swaying and wand twirling around her fingers as she sashays towards them. In that moment, she looks too much like Alec's late wife.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Bellatrix purred. "Aww, don't make that face, Alecky. Aren't you happy to see us?"

"Ecstatic," he replied flatly. Slowly, he started to walk forward; Frank shadowed his steps. "Absolutely loved your note, too." He raised the black ribbon tied around his fingers. "I suppose you decided to enjoy my work before you are locked permanently?"

He gestured around with both arms. The cathedral is a thing of art, for its schematics had been designed with the Notre Dame on mind. After Anya, the Arx was Alec's pride and joy. He'd started designing it when he was sixteen and his wife (though not his wife yet at the moment) had helped him make out most of the important details. It had been – and still was – the cold reminder of what his marriage had been: its stability and strength came from Alec's dreams; its beauty and aloofness had been his wife's design. They'd both meant for the building to be a place of protection; now, it would be besmirched by war. And whatever happened here – life or death – would bring closure to Voldemort's reign of terror. Of this, Alec was sure.

Of the variables? He didn't know.

Bellatrix laughed; her wand prodded her temple harshly. "Oh, Alec, dear—you know that's not going to happen."

Alec stopped walking; he stood a little further from Alice's body. On this position, Alec had a clear view of all the church; he also worked as a shield for Frank as the man knelt to check his wife's pulse.

"It's foolish of you to think you will come out unscathed from this," said Alec.

There was no denial from Bellatrix. Her husband and brother-in-law shifted when her shoulders started to shake; mirth danced in the woman's eyes. The other man – hiding in the shadows and looking like a shadow himself – didn't react.

"Well," she said slowly, a sick smile tugging on her red lips, "if I go, it will be with a bang."

Alec's eyes narrowed. "Enough! Where is my daughter?"

The spell came too quickly. Alec had expected it, but not the strength behind it. He went sailing over Frank and Alice; his body hit the other side of the church; he groaned as he face-planted on the floor.

"Ha! You think it will be that easy?!" spat the woman. "Tell me—where is our master?!"

For a moment, Alec dreaded she had somehow discovered the reason Voldemort had been so keen on recruiting him. But the madness in her eyes dispelled that fear; worry began to creep on him.

"I don't know," he said loudly. "Where is Anya?!"

"LIES!" said Rabastan Lestrange. With a flick of his wand, he sent a hex toward the Longbottoms. The couple barely dodged it. "We know you have the power to bring back our sire, Barton! You and the Longbottoms!"

Alec cast a shield on time. When he saw his opening, he sent them what looked like marbles; they flew into the air and landed at the Death Eaters' feet. They exploded, bursting into fire. The floor shook, but the building remained undamaged.

"What the fuck," the man muttered to himself before he rose and sent a spell toward the Death Eaters.

•••◘◘◘•••

A man with dark robes and dark, greasy hair entered the church without the people inside knowing; closely behind him, a woman followed. Contrary to her partner, she was not skilled in hiding, for her hair attracted much attention. Indeed, it was the only way Severus Snape could keep her in his sight as she jumped right into the quarrel without so much as a word.

He cursed that Gryffindor-ish streak of hers. Severus was not a man who fought for desire; he was a man whose knowledge was a greater asset. And yet, he moved smoothly through the fight, sending spell after spell and evading quite a few like a skilled duelist would.

The smoke was so thick he could barely see. The smell also irritated his eyes, making them tear up and thus blinding him. He hid behind a pillar, breaking into a fit of coughs; he covered his mouth with his long sleeve, narrowing his eyes at the fire; the unmistakable silhouette of the woman, a different shade of red, was moving toward the bunch of benches shoved together. She skidded on her knees as she fell. Severus couldn't see her face but the abrupt sound of her loud voice broke through him, making him react.

"Frank! Where is he? Frank, where is Alec? Frank, don't you dare—"

Severus dropped next to them. "Thea, cover us." He rolled up his sleeves, not bothering to look at her; even so, she complied wordlessly.

Frank Longbottom looked just as haggard as the rest of the Order did once the war against Voldemort came to its end. He'd been one of the few survivors that had come unscathed from the repercussions: except for looking tired, he and his wife Alice hadn't been murdered or turned out to be traitors (he winced at this) or had gained permanent wounds. Not until now.

It was nine months. Nine months had passed, and once again, they were sent straight into battle.

Severus pulled down the Auror's shirt and cursed at the long gashes running down the man's chest. Briefly, he wondered if it had been Bellatrix Lestrange's work; her preference for dark magic often made it difficult to heal the victim... or save them. But they were too messy, making him suspect it was the handiwork of one of her companions.

As the wounds healed under his hands, Severus glanced at Frank; he paused. Very slowly, he snapped his fingers close to Longbottom's face. But the man gave no response; his eyes were trained vacantly on the ceiling. Grimly, Severus placed two fingers on Frank's pulse.

He gave a little sigh and leaned as close as he could to Frank's face.

"Frank." It did not pass him unnoticed how foreign Longbottom's name sounded to him as he said it. "Frank, where is Alec?" When the man didn't move, he shook his shoulder roughly. "Where is Alec? Where are Alice and Neville?"

Frank blinked. Snape repeated the question. Ever so slowly, Frank's head moved to the left. His eyes flickered to where the larger pieces of debris laid. They were big enough to hide Alice and Alec from the ongoing chaos.

He stood. He heard Thea curse at his departure but he ignored it in favor of dodging the spells between the Aurors and the Lestranges. Snape managed to jump over the rubble before a spell whizzed where his head had been. He gave himself a moment to breathe.

When his eyes opened, he found Alice Longbottom rocking and cradling a bundle of blue blankets to her chest.

"No no no no no no no..."

Her eyes were vacant as her husband's, but unlike him, she kept repeating the same word over and over again. Her dirty face was marred by faint tracks of tears, mixed with make up, and a long wound on her forehead that was heavily bleeding. Her long honey-blond hair had been chopped off rather crudely, no doubt work of Bellatrix.

He was cautious as he approached. He barely touched her when she started screaming. "NO! NO, PLEASE, NOT THEM! HAVE MERCY, HAVE MERCY! PLEASE –"

"Longbottom – listen to me –"

"NO, PLEASE – !"

"Alice, shut up and listen to me—where is Alec?"

She looked at him, thoroughly horrified. She slowly moved her hands away from her ears.

"My baby," she whispered, "what have they done to him? Where is my baby?"

Severus was about snap when a hand closed on his arm. He started; he looked at the witch next to him. Judging from her black cloak, she was not an Auror. But his eyes widened as he recognized the brooch holding them together. They are here, how –

"We will take care of her," said the woman. Her voice was muffled by the green cloth covering half of her face. "The boy is in our custody."

He nodded and left, not looking back. Out of his small circle of friends, he didn't care about the rest. Not even poor Neville Longbottom, who would probably grow up without his parents.

The remembrance of an infant made him stop short. If the Longbottoms were here, and so were Thea and Alec, then—

The wall behind him exploded. The explosion rang through his body as he flew to the other side of the room, next to where the large organ was. Severus hit its pipes and fell to the ground unceremoniously, banging his head on the marble.

And suddenly, instead of fighting, the cackle of a woman filled the silence that clouded his head.

It took a lot of effort to move but he eventually managed to sit. Severus flicked his hair out of his eyes. He blinked, cursing as his eyesight took a while to adjust.

The cackles didn't leave him. In fact, he could've sworn they turned into a maniac laugh that chilled him deeply...

It was the cry of a baby that reminded him what he had been thinking before.

Anya.

His knees wobbled as he gingerly got up. Benches made him trip; his robes got caught by the longest pieces of broken wood and his black robes were nothing but pieces of rags by the time he neared the Main Altar.

He noticed three things at once.

One—the body of Alec Barton. The young man was turned on his direction, staring at him with empty eyes. Like Alice, he was covered in dust; the tears that had long stopped running were visible on his face.

Two—the laughing he kept hearing was not part of his imagination. The woman stood few feet from him; he easily recognized the black curly hair and the way her shoulders hunched as another laugh burst out of her (just like in Hogwarts, a habit she could never get rid of).

Three—there was a baby at the woman's feet.

Severus could hear her singing. Her voice, just like most of Pureblood women, was smooth and fruity, pleasant to the ears. But that woman was the devil himself wearing a mask—a mask of hatred and sadism.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, momma's gonna kill for you the whole... damn... world..."

His wand was pointing at her, a spell ready on his tongue. But he hesitated. That baby had been nothing but trouble to his and Alec's relationship. What was the point of saving her?

He should let Bellatrix kill her. She was nothing but a mere speck of annoyance. It had been her who had finally driven Alec Barton away from him, not the Marauders or the Order. If she was gone, then she wouldn't cause him more grief.

His hand tightened around his thin wand. What would Lily do? it was obvious. But he wasn't Lily nor was he Alec.

But if he didn't do anything, Alec would never look him in the eye, never forgive him.

The creature was wailing, and Bellatrix's screams fueled her further. The woman brandished her wand wildly, shooting sparks everywhere.

"AVADA KEDA—"

"Flipendo!"

Bellatrix screamed as she was flung aside. Her body flew high and over the altar, and crashed into the wall, knocking her out.

Her companions were quick to notice the fall of their leader. One of them, in panic, hit a witch with a blast of green. Her body burst into dust, and as the Aurors roared their outrage, the rest of the Death Eaters tried to Disapparate.

It didn't work. The battle had obviously ended, but the Lestranges and the blond boy (the one who disintegrated the witch) kept throwing spells as they tried to Disapparate. But it was futile. They were quickly overthrown by the robbed figures, and soon were apprehended. The group that had come to Alec's rescue stayed back as the Aurors hauled the Death Eaters out of the church.

Panting, Severus limped over, falling as he reached Alec's body. He curled over him and sobbed.

The red-haired woman came from behind him, dragging her boots. She threw a small, disgusted look at the weeping man and walked until she reached the altar. Thea (as Severus had called her) knelt and gently took the baby in her arms. She ran a finger down Anya's blotchy face, dirt and blood leaving a path behind.

She made shushing noises, trying to calm her. She rocked her, humming under her breath, and finally, Anya calmed down.

Thea joined Severus on the floor. He had stopped crying, but he hadn't moved yet. He raised his head slightly in acknowledgment, but his attention was captured by Anya.

While hearing her cry had been annoying, he preferred it over looking at her eyes. There was an emptiness that was irrevocably reflected by his, a cruel understanding that no child should have.

Alec Barton had always been a good man. He had not been innocent, of course: from a very young age, he had known how the world worked – both Wizarding and Muggle. But he had been kind, honest. Severus had seen him at his worst, and yet, Alec had never turned his back on people; he hadn't turned his back on Severus, not even after his betrayal. He wanted to keep weeping for the friend he lost; for losing the only chance he had of redeeming himself.

"Can you see it?" Thea said. Without waiting, she said abruptly, "She's got his eyes too."

He did. He could see it. But he didn't want to, and so, he put all his attention on the person next to him.

Severus noticed the differences right away – the color of her hair, her pale skin, the way her eyes shone in the light... the girl he had known and the woman before him were not the same. But he kept quiet and tried to fool himself he had not lost everything as he'd believed.

He watched her curiously, noticing the way her face softened as she spoke to baby-Anya.

"You're like us now." It sounded like an apology. "You'll have to be very brave, Anya. For what's going to come and what has yet to be decided."

Severus, after a moment of hesitation, laid a hand on her shoulder.

Minutes later, she quietly leaned on him.

The cries of Neville Longbottom and Anya Barton filled the silence around them.

•••◘◘◘•••

Arx's Cathedral, the first successful and public work of the Bartons in both the Muggle and Wizarding World, was left in nothing but ruins and broken dreams. The church, which had been so carefully designed by Alec since he'd been sixteen and finished by his wife was now a crime scene. If Dumbledore hadn't intervened, it would've been demolished by the Ministry, too.

The Longbottoms, as Severus had guessed, couldn't be salvaged. Whatever the Death Eaters had done to them caused a collateral brain damage that was irreversible. Little Neville was carted off to Augusta Longbottom, Frank's old mother, a haughty woman who wore dead birds on her head and had a sharp tongue. The older woman had been a weeping mess the moment she found out her son's fate, and days later, she could still be found crying in Frank's former office in the Auror Department.

In the same way she had appeared, Thea left swiftly. She took with her the mysterious group of robbed people, but not Anya. She also didn't reveal herself to any of her former acquaintances, leaving him as the only person who knew her secret (or so he believed). Like the ghosts of Hogwarts, she was nothing but a bitter memory that lingered.

Madam Pomfrey was the one tasked to take care of the girl's health as they decided what would be of her. Besides dehydration, Anya Barton was otherwise healthy. The Matron had taken a shine to the little girl, as did the teachers. To keep her distracted, they each came up with different spells, all shiny to catch the baby girl's attention.

"She can go with the Malfoys."

The flames on the fireplace creaked silently. Severus stood before Albus Dumbledore, whose stare was even colder than after Lily died. The twinkle of amusement that shone behind half-moon spectacles would have been a welcoming sight but all he received was a reproachful look.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. We have established the girl needs to be in a neutral environment—the Malfoys are not suitable."

Severus wilted; his anger grew. He knew Dumbledore was aware but he didn't try to hide it. He scowled.

"Sent her to Andromeda Black then!" he snapped. "Everybody knows she and her husband had been trying to conceive another child for months!"

With a condescending smile, Dumbledore stood and moved to face an empty portrait. His long hair gleamed against the light coming from the top window.

"If you weren't planning to make her stay with any of her prospect guardians, then why did she not go with Thea from the beginning?"

Dumbledore chuckled humorlessly.

"Severus, are you hearing yourself? Send a little girl to live with a dead woman? As far as the Ministry of Magic knows, Thea Rosenberg died, burned alive in the McKinnons' massacre. The MACUSA cannot take her into their custody either, as she was born outside their jurisdiction."

Severus was half-impressed and half-horrified at the lengths Dumbledore was willing to go. Fighting the MACUSA was mostly a dead cause these days, but leave it to the old man to change that. However, it left him thinking hard: Dumbledore had, quite literally, thrown away all the available options, as if...

He drew in a sharp breath.

"Is this a test?" he asked hoarsely. "Albus, I swear, if you are taking advantage of the situation, I will –"

"Will, what, Severus?" Dumbledore snapped. He turned, eyes blazing. "If I recall correctly, you relinquished any sort of responsibility you had toward her, even though you were to be her godfather."

"Whether or not I have a right, this is wrong! She is not an experiment! She's a human being!"

"You did not think the same when James Potter and his son were made to abandon whatever opportunity they had of normalcy."

They watched each other from their positions. Snape, breathing heavily; and Dumbledore, whose mood remained impassive.

"You are already paying for your mistakes, Severus," said Dumbledore softly. "Looking after Harry will not be an easy task. Why take another burden?"

Severus didn't—couldn't—say anything. What was left to say anyways?

Shaking his head and sighing, Dumbledore moved over where a stone basin laid; tapping his head with the tip of his wand, he twirled the thin wood and pulled at the silver thread. He placed it inside the basin, and the silvery water absorbed the memory, repeating their recent conversation before his eyes.

•••◘◘◘•••

A week later, Severus Snape stood across the St. Louise's Orphanage for Girls, rain pouring on his head. On his arms, Anya Barton watched his face curiously, her tiny fist clutching his robes every time he scowled.

He didn't know why he was doing this. Dumbledore had been right—he didn't owe anything to this creature, and while he did owe Alec Barton his life, Severus had long ago been freed from his debt. But when he heard Alec's daughter was going to be sent to Wool's Orphanage, he'd balked.

It was that half-breed Lupin who was going to take her there. It was not common knowledge 'he-who-must-not-be-named' had spent his childhood in an orphanage of poor resources; Severus was sure the old man had purposely retained this information, or else, Lupin would not have left Anya in the care of one Mrs. Andrews.

After Lupin left, he had swiftly broken into Mrs. Andrews' office and had Obliviated the woman of any memory she had of the last hour. When he was sure there was nothing left that would incriminate him, he had taken Anya and Apparated them to the place he was very sure they would never look into. A blind spot of sorts.

A soft sigh called his attention, making him glance down. Severus was almost startled to find big hazel eyes staring at him. They were nearly the same as Alec's; a ring of gold around the pupil, turning to hazel, and finally green. But instead of green, Anya's eyes ended into a light color that was impossible to discern from blue or gray. In certain lighting, Alec's eyes had turned gray; in Anya's case, an icy blue.

With a long-suffering sigh, he removed her hand, but she latched again quickly. Little Anya giggled at his disgruntled look.

It wasn't difficult to get past the closed gates. One tap of his wand, and next thing he knew, he was kneeling on the doorsteps of the building. The building had an uncanny resemblance to one of those Muggle schools... Meltings? Smeltings? He only remembered the school was full of snobs in the oven.

As he placed her on the ground, he felt himself unwind at the sight of the small tent hanging from the doorway. Sighing, he glanced at her one more time and swept out of sight.

It was as he had never been there.

At exactly five o'clock in the morning, a young woman arrived, having followed the sound of soft cries. The woman—who was just as young as Severus—knelt, eyes wide with worry. She searched between the blankets, trying to keep her calm until her fingers touched a small piece of parchment.

After mouthing the words, she didn't hesitate to take the baby inside St. Louise's Orphanage for Girls.