So, here is the POV from Snape's perspective, which you all voted for on Discord, as well as Dumbledore's. Dumbledore was requested by my very first subscriber, Austin, and honestly, he fit into the story perfectly.
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✨ COMMUNITY POLL: A ROSIER LEGACY ✨
Should we witness the legendary Grindelwald vs. Dumbledore duel through the Pensieve?
🗳️ Vote now on Discord: https://discord.gg/tgdTNZYVKt
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POV: SEVERUS SNAPE
I sat in the darkness, where only a restless candle flame danced. It was Christmastime, and I was alone once again. My only companions were firewhisky and cruel memories. My closest friend was rotting in Azkaban, the woman I loved was dead, and their children were adding years to my face.
I had been expecting Harry Potter. I knew exactly when he would arrive and what I needed to prepare for. Dumbledore hadn't forgotten to instruct me, like his obedient slave, to keep an eye on him. Perhaps I would have even resented him for it, were it not for the knowledge that Lily's death was entirely my fault.
"Curse that prophecy," I spat through gritted teeth. I didn't blame him for seizing the opportunity and enslaving a young Death Eater with an oath. Without it, would I have stayed in this cursed castle? From a broken home straight to Hogwarts—from one prison to another. A place that caused me nothing but suffering and constantly reminded me of every single lost memory.
I remembered vividly the first time Evan stood up for me. How he duelled all four of those Gryffindor cowards just to help me. He showed me that I had to defend myself. Since then, I was no longer afraid to stand my ground. In the beginning, we only nodded to each other in passing; I wanted to be his friend, but then again, who wouldn't?
Evan was the proud heir of a pure-blood house—attractive, charismatic, popular, and powerful. He had everything he desired. What could a bullied "half-blood" possibly help him with? Absolutely nothing.
Over time, our encounters in the corridors and the Slytherin common room changed. The nods of greeting turned into short conversations, which later grew into long debates. Thanks to him, I was able to join the others: Regulus Black, Barty Crouch Jr., and occasionally other pure-bloods. The Gryffindor cowards no longer dared to bully me once they saw that Evan could handle them all by himself. I felt free.
But here, the irony of fate revealed itself. While I hated Muggles and my father—that brute who beat and insulted both me and my mother—Evan, Barty, and Regulus didn't have a problem with Muggles. They simply weren't interested in them. However, other pure-bloods outside our circle were escalating their attacks against "mudbloods." There were whispers of a Dark Lord who would return power to the hands of the pure-bloods.
I liked the idea. The power of wizards, an end to the abuse from my father... I wanted to join him. I began to listen to Lucius more. The others listened with one ear and let it out the other, but me? I hung onto his every word. And when I returned home?
I immediately started defending myself against Tobias. I talked back, I even struck back—though only once. I didn't stand a chance. My father was twice my size, and I often woke up on the floor with a bloody nose. If not for my mother, I probably wouldn't be alive. Only the potions she secretly gave me kept me on my feet.
Why did a proud member of the Prince family marry a Muggle? We both suffered. When I was fifteen, my family heritage manifested: an affinity for mind magic. At first, I wasn't sure what was happening at all. I perceived foreign feelings in my head that didn't belong to me, and occasionally I saw flashes of memories. Only after some time did I understand the nature of my power.
Then came the fateful turning point and that cursed day. I unintentionally used Legilimency on Evan, who deflected my attack instantly and coldly. For a moment, he was suspicious, but then he explained what was happening and warned me to be careful whose mind I tried to penetrate. Other pure-blood houses would consider it a direct attack, and I could live to regret it bitterly.
Of course, I was afraid. I literally begged him for help; he knew what I was struggling with, while I had no idea how to control my power.
In time, he allowed himself to be convinced. He saw my desperation and decided he would lead me. Many things could be said about Evan—about his vindictiveness, his occasional coarseness, or his cruelty in duels—but no one could ever deny that he was loyal and helpful to his friends and family.
And so, he began to teach me Legilimency directly on himself. We regularly engaged in mental duels, during which it became clear that I had an extraordinary talent. I saw recognition in his eyes. Only then did I admit to him that my mother was a born Prince.
After that, he wasn't surprised. He briefly summarized the family history for me and explained that the Princes were a noble information-gathering house, whose primary art was espionage and intelligence. Looking back after all these years, it is a bitter irony of fate. I became a spy, exactly according to family tradition. Even after the fall of the Dark Lord, I still inform Dumbledore of every step his former servants take.
But I've digressed a bit... Since I was exceptionally talented, we quickly moved on to Occlumency. According to Evan, I had to know how to defend as well, not just attack. Both sword and shield.
We swapped roles, and that was when the cursed moment happened. Evan saw all my childhood memories, which until then had meant nothing to me. He saw all my suffering caused by my Muggle father. From his initial indifference, his attitude toward Muggles shifted to pure hatred. And I, like a complete fool, supported him in it and fanned his inner flame of anger.
I dragged my closest friend into the darkness with me, and his charisma took Barty from Ravenclaw and Regulus along with him. They were no longer indifferent; they began to actively hate Muggles, and their resentment soon spilled over toward Muggle-borns. Because of my memories, Evan began to perceive them as animals. Back then, I was happy. We joined the Dark Lord contentedly.
All I had left now was a bitter hatred for myself. I was directly responsible for the death of my love and for the imprisonment of my best friend. I didn't even dare to visit him in Azkaban—I was that ashamed.
While I expected Potter, I certainly didn't expect a perfect copy of Evan. As soon as I saw Patrik for the first time, my heart was gripped by ice. Self-hatred returned with a breath-taking intensity. I regretted my actions and sins so much... and it was even worse when I found out he grew up in an orphanage just because I had deprived him of a father through my stupid mistake.
Why was I so dense? Why didn't I explain to him that not all Muggles are like that? There was the Evans family, after all... But as if by a cruel twist of fate, he only saw Petunia and her insults directed at magic. Or did I subconsciously hide the better memories?
I took a sharp swig of firewhisky. I hoped its burn would, at least for a moment, drive away the searing hatred I felt for my own existence.
Not only did he look like him, he acted like him too. Originally, I thought I would have to intervene to protect DeMille and stop the bullying. But I couldn't do it prematurely—it would have jeopardized my standing in the eyes of the Death Eaters. As long as everyone thought I was still loyal to the Dark Lord, Harry Potter was safe. Patrik, however, stood up for her himself and demonstrated his power in the common room even as a first-year. The memories and words of Farley revealed the extent of his talent to me. He undoubtedly got that from Evan, but the strength? Evan was above average, but what Patrik displayed must have been the result of the union of Rosier and Black blood.
I vividly remembered Evan admitting to us in our circle that he had fallen in love with a Squib from the House of Black. Barty and I laughed at him—but only once. We woke up in the Hospital Wing; beaten, swollen, and with broken bones. It turned out Regulus had dragged us there, and fortunately, he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut.
Since then, we didn't dare poke fun at his feelings. He was head over heels in love, and we had to respect that. Regulus supported him quietly. And what did it turn out to be in the end? That even in this, Evan had excellent judgment. The heir of the House of Rosier has the potential to become one of the most powerful wizards of all time. How stupid and reckless we were in our youth...
And of course, Patrik inherited the Black madness as well. Images of the beaten and tortured Mulciber and Rookwood in an abandoned classroom constantly swirled in my mind. I couldn't bring myself to punish him. How could I, when I owed him so much?
At least he wasn't alone; he had DeMille with him. A Death Eater's daughter, yet significantly softer and more childlike than him. For a moment, an image of Lord Voldemort with Bellatrix flashed before my eyes, but I immediately suppressed the thought.
I took another sip of firewhisky, trying to drown in self-pity. If not for that cursed oath, would I still be here? For a moment, I allowed myself to dream of what would have been if I hadn't dragged Evan into the darkness and if Lily stood by my side. Would I have my own children now? Would I be spending Christmas surrounded by family?
My heart overflowed with self-hatred, and I continued to dream.
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POV: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
I had been under pressure the entire school year. The Philosopher's Stone, Lord Voldemort hidden in Quirrell, the boy from the orphanage in Wool's, and the constant danger looming over Harry Potter. I felt that although I was pulling the strings, I was barely keeping pace with events.
Quirrell's behavior had become increasingly erratic, bordering on pure madness. Many students and staff members had noticed him muttering to himself in the corridors, looking utterly unhinged. I wanted to step in, but I realized Severus was already closely monitoring his every move. Seeing Severus stay so vigilant confirmed my belief that my investment in his freedom—and my faith in second chances—was the right call.
I was certain that Tom was at the end of both his strength and his sanity. He wouldn't have acted so foolishly in the past. I believed that nothing would happen if I let him fall quietly into the prepared trap. Harry was safe. Even in the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW), peace reigned before Christmas—aside from the werewolves in Hungary and vampires in Romania, there were no serious problems. Even that fool Fudge was leaving me alone for now.
I was honestly looking forward to Christmas. I hoped that once the students went home, I would find a moment to relax. Before the holidays, however, I decided to test both Harry and Patrik using the Mirror of Erised. But Patrik was leaving for Christmas, I didn't have enough time for thorough preparation, and so I had to cast a weaker compulsion on him. I expected him to resist at least a little—his family was, after all, famous for the art of the mind—but he yielded.
Only later did I realize what a fool I had been. The mirror harmed him psychologically; I saw him break down mentally. I naively thought that as a first-year, he wouldn't realize the compulsion, that he wouldn't be powerful enough for that. But he felt it—and he yielded to it on purpose. How did I figure that out?
Honestly? Not until long after his words had shattered my heart into a thousand pieces and reminded me of every single mistake in my life. I wasn't surprised that he knew my family history, the story of my dead sister, or my love for Gellert. It wasn't a secret, just a truth buried deep under layers of respect for my person. But for those who wanted to look, it was there to be found.
Although I saw hatred in his eyes, I didn't feel it coming from him. Because of that, I realized his mind is as strong as his magic; his Occlumency remained firm even in the midst of a psychological breakdown.
But another question troubled me: had I created another Dark Lord through my stupidity and arrogance? His anger was palpable and his words sincere. He truly believed the world needed a Dark Lord. He believed that I was responsible for the lack of progress. Like many others, he thought I was omnipotent and controlled everything and everyone. But power must be used responsibly—I cannot force people into what they do not want. I can only gently guide them.
Did he expect a confrontation? Did he consider me his enemy? It was logical; otherwise, he wouldn't have dug into my bloody history. Ariana was an open secret, but only a minimum of people knew about my love for Gellert and our relationship.
I looked toward the future with concern, wondering what awaited us. What if he was right? What if it was my own ambition and Ariana's death that drove Gellert to attempt to conquer the world and enslave Muggles? What if my suspicion and cold caution toward Tom guided his steps onto the path of dark magic and death? And what if this latest mistake of mine created a Dark Lord more powerful than all the others before him?
These thoughts burned within me throughout Christmas and January. I felt the blood of millions on my hands and feared that if I were responsible for another rise of darkness, my heart would no longer be able to bear it. However, his last sentence constantly echoed in my memory and calmed me in a strange way:
"But it won't be me. The position of Dark Lord involves way too much work, and I'm more interested in personal power and a Tequila Sunrise somewhere on a beach. Happy holidays, Dumbledore."
I sipped my firewhisky and watched with concern as the flames in the fireplace contentedly licked the logs. My fears were at least softened by Fawkes; his song filled me with a hope without which I would probably no longer be able to sleep.
Just then, an owl tapped sharply at the window. It was the same one I had bought for Mrs. Figg so she could inform me about the conditions at the Dursleys'. With a heavy sigh, I waved my wand and let it into the room. For a moment, I hesitated to open the envelope and read the contents of the letter, but finally, I overcame it. Years had taught me that unpleasant matters should not be put off until later. I immediately began reading:
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I am writing to you this late because I was visiting a friend whose cat just had seven beautiful kittens. You wouldn't believe how adorable and sturdy they are! Wouldn't you like one? One of them reminded me of your twinkling eyes because of its fur color.
When I returned home, however, the neighbors informed me of a great scandal. Muggle Aurors were at the Dursleys'! Would you believe it? They say Vernon was taken away and an investigation is underway. No one knows exactly what's happening, but the neighbors say no one has seen him for a month.
Petunia doesn't look so stuck-up anymore, and young Dudley can be heard all down the street shouting that he isn't some slave to shovel snow and that they should call that weirdo Potter to do it for him.
Sincerely, Arabella Figg
P.S.: If you should be interested in that cat after all, don't hesitate to get in touch.
After finishing the letter, I sighed heavily and pressed my palms to my throbbing temples.
"What the fuck happened now?" I wondered, feeling my age as never before.
Tomorrow, I will have to go to Petunia's to finally find out what is going on there. And on top of that, I have to figure out how to smooth things over with young Rosier. How to establish a better relationship with him? Perhaps if I offer to teach him some advanced spell or technique as an apology, it might calm him down.
Fuck my life
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Author's note:
Were you surprised by how I wove Evan into Snape's story? Honestly, I can vividly imagine that pragmatic pure-blood families couldn't care less about Muggles, so Severus's hatred just dragged them down right along with him. And of course, poor Dumbledore.
The big question is: what will Dumbledore offer our MC, and what will he choose?
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Upcoming Chapters - already written:
28. Equality is an Illusion
29. The Phoenix's Verdict
30. Pragmatism and Kindness
31. Water Whips and Secret Truths
32. The Echo of Wool's