Everything he'd ever done since Queenie died was for Amabilia. Every deal, every step, every meeting was so his daughter wouldn't have to live in the fear of what had taken everything from them.

As an Auror, he raided Death-Eaters' homes. He bit down the curses he wanted to fire at their stupid faces, knowing that his wife (and so many others) was a corpse in the ground because they feared people born with magic, not from it.

It had always been for Ama.

His mind is a garbled mess as he fights. They're kids, sweet Jesus, he doesn't want to do this. But the snake's will is so strong over his, and he fires curse after curse, his heart breaking as the faces light up with a green glow.

Someone throws him back and that accursed silver mask falls, and he turns, coming face to face with...a girl. He remembers why he became an Auror, the choice that caused his door to be thrown open in the middle of the night, that made his mind a slave to a snake.

Amabilia.

"My daughter," he forces out, fighting the manipulation and the control.

"I AM NOT YOUR DAUGHTER. NOT ANYMORE."

"Ama, please—" His voice breaks, and he resists the urge to clutch the sides of his head. His mind and his thoughts are a battleground.

"How could you. Turn to this, when this is what took Mom? Join the very thing that took her from us?" He remembers his lovely Queenie, his woman to who he was devoted, body and soul. He remembers her being dragged away because she had dared to stand against the darkness.

He had held his daughter, cursing his own reluctance to fight. His ignorance, the faux air of safety he had convinced himself of. He throws off the curse finally and speaks desperately.

"Ama, dear listen, please, the imperious cur—" He doesn't see her move. A sudden, piercing pain shoots from his lower chest, right under the curve of his ribcage. He grunts in pain, legs giving out, crumbling to the floor with his daughter in tow.

He sees the exact moments Ama finally understands. "No, I'm sorry, no, I didn't—how, Papa, how—" She screams, and his bloody fingers clutch the side of her face.

He hears the snake, Voldemort, slimy voice and he shudders, remembering the nights he spent chained to stone, mind his own, the echoes of someone else's will reverberating through his bones.

Ama glances at the dark lord, eyes roving over two other students, with strange powers. He grunts as she picks him up with a surprising, one may say hysterical, strength. His hot blood seeps through his coat and into Ama's clothes, but she doesn't care.

His consciousness is floating away when new arms grab him, throwing his scarred arms over their shoulders, and dragging him away. The pain is rolling, wave after darkwave, hitting and pushing him down into the lost waters.

The world is a hazy blur, and he hears Ama screaming for a professor, and he's dragged away again. His stomach tilts and turns, the familiar tug of a portkey. He moans, but people are there. New arms take him, and he hears an unfamiliar voice.

"I'm here to help, it's going to be okay." He clenches his jaw, nodding. He's taken to safety.