Croydon.
The streets were littered with junk and filled with hollow-eyed, waxy-faced people shuffling around like ghosts.
Snape found Holly's Orphanage quickly enough. It was a crumbling Victorian semi-detached house that looked like it had seen better decades.
Warm orange light glowed behind thick windows. Roland Taylor, dressed in old, threadbare clothes, was staring out with those bright, pale-blue eyes of hers.
She was always watching the sunset, waiting for the one person everyone in the orphanage knew she was waiting for.
A few kids hovered in the hallway, watching their matron. She got so hopeful every time. She even walked every single letter to the post office herself, like dropping it in the green mailbox herself might make it arrive faster.
Finally, as the last rays of sun disappeared, the two weird visitors in black robes showed up.
Roland moved nothing like a middle-aged woman should. She practically flew out of her room.
Next to the peeling front door, the faded "Oak Children's Home" plaque hung crookedly.
The second she burst out, Snape's expression shifted. He yanked Sean behind him (those blank stares on the street had set him on edge).
Sean could only peek out from behind the billowing black robes like a curious kitten.
Roland let out a soft laugh when she saw them.
"You must be Mr. Snape. Please, come in—both you and Mr. Green."
She looked at Snape's cold, guarded face, then at the tiny one tilting sideways to see her, and her eyes suddenly went misty.
His cheeks had color now. That was good…
The yard had a few more play structures than last time. Inside, the changes were even bigger.
The outside might look rundown, but the interior was more than decent, practically luxurious for this neighborhood.
A cozy fire crackled in the hearth, steaming the raindrops off the windows.
Soot-stained walls had been painted a soft yellow (cheap paint, but cheerful).
The old iron beds were new, still hard as rocks, but neatly numbered.
Every child had their own metal bowl and wooden spoon now.
A huge pot bubbled in the middle of the room, rich smells rolling out as hungry kids gathered around.
Dinner started the moment Snape and Sean stepped inside.
No one stood on ceremony here. Matron, the plump, rosy-cheeked caretakers, and all the kids crowded around one long table.
Snape and Roland sat at the head; Sean was parked right next to Snape.
There were no strict manners, but every time Sean reached for a dish, every other fork in the room froze.
Snape gave a quiet, derisive snort. Sentimental nonsense.
Roland caught it. She studied Snape's sharp profile for a moment, then her eyes dimmed a little.
"Forgive them, Mr. Snape. The children here only know one way to show they care: slow and clumsy. If they can't find the right words… well, God knows it's not their fault."
Her voice was gentle.
Something twisted in Snape's chest. When he turned, she was looking at him with an expression he didn't recognize, and he hated it.
Night fell as dinner ended. The irritation in Snape's chest grew sharper.
Orphanages always reminded him of one person.
A person whose name he refused to speak.
Wizards who crossed the Dark Lord never ended well. Snape knew that cruelty better than anyone. His eyes drifted to Sean, who seemed blissfully unaware.
How stupid do you have to be to pick a fight with Voldemort over someone who doesn't even matter?
And the worst part: Snape had been watching Quirrell. He could've stopped it. He'd had no idea anything was even happening… just like with the vault.
He stood in the yard, forcing himself to go over every detail. When the Dark Lord returned, no amount of caution would be enough.
Then he remembered a certain Gryffindor Head of House had spent some time in the Forbidden Forest lately.
Rage surged so hard he almost shook.
"Minerva McGonagall knew about this?"
Sean sensed danger but nodded anyway.
"Professor McGonagall noticed something off with Professor Quirrell too."
Snape's eyes raked the courtyard like he wanted to burn it down. His voice came out hoarse.
"Tell me exactly what happened in the Forest. And how much Minerva McGonagall knows."
The night was dead silent except for the occasional caw of a crow.
Snape was trembling again, this time with pure fury.
Some ignorant little brat decided, all on his own, with no one the wiser, to confront Quirrell.
"How many lives do you think you have?! You have no idea how dangerous, how terrifying the Dark Lord is, you idiot! Reckless, brainless, troll-brained fool! Only morons play hero! And you know what's actually impressive? Surviving! Staying alive!"
His sarcasm lashed like the storm outside, but underneath it was paper-thin, desperate fear.
"Why… didn't you tell me…?"
He stared into Sean's eyes. Those green eyes weren't bright right now.
Everything was going to come out eventually.
Sean had known the whole time. But until it was over, he'd kept his mouth shut, because there was exactly one person at Hogwarts who could never, ever find out Quirrell's real secret.
Just like Snape never spoke openly about that ritual, Sean had been just as careful while Voldemort hid inside the castle.
For a double agent, even a hint of suspicion could be fatal.
Until Sean was strong enough to change the course of the war himself, he couldn't let anything happen to Severus Snape.
He didn't answer.
But Snape saw his own reflection in those green eyes.
He'd seen eyes like that before. He knew what silence meant.
The night was thick as ink.
Two black-robed figures stood alone in the yard.
The kids here loved in their slow, clumsy way, almost never speaking, just doing.
Roland had appeared at some point. She watched quietly until the streetlamp flickered on, until the fire in the hearth roared back to life, until something inside Snape finally caught flame.
"Remember your detentions," was all he managed to choke out.
A little while later, far away in central London, the house at the end of Spinner's End stood dark and empty as always.
But tonight, for once, a cold hearth sparked back to life.