The irony was so cruel that Severus sometimes wondered whether fate possessed a sense of humor.

Years ago, he had carried a prophecy to Lord Voldemort.

One conversation.

One mistake.

One moment of ambition.

And an entire generation paid for it.

Including her.

She had been born the Dark Lord's bastard daughter, unwanted by the father who never acknowledged her and neglected by a mother who treated affection as weakness. By the time Albus Dumbledore discovered her existence, she had already learned not to expect kindness from anyone.

Then came the Potters.

Dumbledore sent her to them for protection.

For the first time in her life, someone opened a door and expected nothing in return.

James laughed loudly.

Lily hugged too easily.

Harry followed her around like an enthusiastic duckling.

And somehow she stayed.

Then came Halloween.

The night everything should have ended.

Voldemort arrived intending to kill.

Instead, the girl threw herself between him and Lily.

Perhaps because Lily was pregnant.

Perhaps because Harry was crying.

Perhaps because she had finally found a family worth dying for.

Nobody knew.

Not even her.

The curse struck.

The world shattered.

And when the dust settled, the Potters were alive.

James survived.

Harry survived.

Lily survived.

The unborn child survived.

The girl survived too.

Barely.

Something of Voldemort remained inside her.

A fragment.

A wound.

A Horcrux.

Lily later gave birth to her daughter and named Severus Snape godfather.

The irony of that was almost unbearable.

Because if Severus had never delivered the prophecy, none of it would have happened.

Not the attack.

Not the Horcrux.

Not the years that followed.

The Potters became her family anyway.

She grew into Harry's favorite "cool aunt," the witch who sneaked him sweets, taught him questionable spells, and somehow managed to get banned from family game nights more than once.

When she was older, she studied Potions.

Partly because she was good at it.

Partly because Severus Snape and Sirius Black had once saved her life.

Partly because understanding poisons felt easier than understanding people.

Years passed.

The Horcrux remained.

So did the scars.

Then Voldemort returned.

And she joined the Order.

That was when Severus's real punishment began.

Watching her across Order meetings.

Watching her laugh with the Potters.

Watching her risk her life.

Watching her carry a burden she never asked for.

A burden created by his own choices.

She should have hated him.

Perhaps part of her did.

Yet every time they crossed paths, she treated him with infuriating kindness.

As though he were not responsible.

As though she did not carry a piece of the Dark Lord's soul because of him.

As though he deserved forgiveness.

Since the spring, something had changed.

He noticed her more often.

Thought about her more often.

Looked for her whenever she entered a room.

An increasingly dangerous habit.

Because the more time he spent near her, the harder it became to ignore the truth.

He had helped create the tragedy that shaped her life.

And despite that, she still looked at him with trust.

Trust he had never earned.

Trust he might never deserve.

The Horcrux inside her was not the only ghost haunting Severus Snape.

The worst one wore brown eyes, carried the Potter family's affection like armor, and stubbornly refused to blame the man who had started it all.