Clear your mind, he instructed himself, pushing away the anger, the hurt, and the unfamiliar happiness that Dea's return had stirred up within him. With the ease of long practiced, the emotions and thoughts were banished, and his mind was perfectly clear as he stood in front of the Dark Lord.
"Severus." The name was drawn out thoughtfully, the voice chilling in the otherwise silent chamber in which he sat. "It has been some time since I have heard from you. I have been hoping for news."
Severus kept his face composed in a cool mask, and when he spoke it was without the tremor he felt inside. "There is little to tell, my Lord. After the death of Black—" feeling the cold, gripping tentacles of Voldemort's mind probing his own Severus let his hatred of Sirius Black seep through the wall he had built, knowing it would be a satisfying find for Voldemort. "They all felt it heavily. It is a weakening blow, my Lord." Though it was far from the truth, Severus spoke the words with confidence. It was Voldemort himself who was weakened, forced to flee from his last confrontation by traveling through the body and mind of a mere boy.
"Excellent."
"Well, hello dear Sev." A hand laid on Severus's shoulder with a disturbing weight, the long elegant fingers stroking over his wiry shoulder. Lucious Malfoy stepped to Severus's side, leaving his hand on his shoulder so that his arm draped about him casually.
The man, Severus thought, was entirely too touchy.
"Greetings, Lucius." Severus kept his face frozen in the deferential smile he often used in such occasions, but it was growing harder and harder to keep his mind clear and his emotions at bay. Now he had much more to be angry for. Knowing this silky bastard had helped take Dea's life had been bad enough. Knowing that he'd stolen years from her, and more personally, from Severus, sickened him.
And so he acted all the nicer.
~~~
"It's been years since I've been here." Her voice was awed as her eyes darted around the room. "Since before Mum and Dad went to America." Her heart seized at the thought of them. She still hadn't been able to get their faces out of her mind, their slack, dead faces. Now, standing in the Black domicile, more memories rushed to her, vague memories of the years her parents had tried to make it along in the wizarding world. Only once had they visited the Black house, relatives so distant they didn't even make the family tapestry.
Sirius, though very young, hadn't hesitated to tease about the inadequacy of her parents. Feeling a weight on her chest, she took a deep breath and looked up at Remus, who was staring at her with frank curiosity in his eyes.
"What if I said I didn't want to talk about it?" she asked cagily.
"That's your prerogative, Amadea. It's only that the walking dead are a bit of a curiosity." He shrugged and walked into the kitchen, mechanically gathering the makings for tea.
It was awkward. How could it not be? Before she'd disappeared, they'd been little more than acquaintances, bound together by an incident under the full moon.
"I heard about Lily and James." She sat down at the kitchen table and felt a pang of guilt when she saw his shoulders first stiffen, then slump. "And Sirius. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"It was no fault of yours. No need for you to be sorry." He slammed the kettle onto the range a little harder than he'd intended to, his hands shaking a bit.
"She—Lily—was the last person to talk to me before I went home." Breaking off to concentrate, she levitated an empty teacup to sit in front of her, wrapping her hands around it so she'd have something to do with them.
Tapping his fingers against the counter, Remus waited for the kettle to come to a boil. "I thought you didn't want to talk about it."
"I don't," she retorted quickly, lifting her chin. "But since I'm such a curiosity, I figured what the hell." When he said nothing, she continued, brasher now. "It wasn't Muggles. I know what they told everyone, and it was a lie. My parents' neighbors were the most harmless people on earth, so I don't guess it was they who played dress-up in their odd little masks and robes." Sighing heavily, she turned the cup in her fingers. "Can't you just microwave that? Or…?" She made a gesture with her wand.
He was too caught up with the past to ask what a microwave was. Instead he shook his head dismissively and sat down across from her. "Masks like what?" he asked urgently, grasping her arm at the wrist. "Miss Middlemarch, it's urgent."
She raised her split eyebrow and yanked her wrist away from him. "Masks like Death Eaters, I'd imagine," she said, annoyed with the sudden formality. "I didn't spend the last 18 years sitting on my hands. I've stayed underground, I've listened, and I've learned. You want to know who killed my family? Look for the people with the scary fuckin' tattoos on their arms." The profanity slipped from her mouth unbidden, a throwback to the rebellious Muggle youths who had eventually been tamed and became her siblings.
Remus thought of Snape, hand grasped to his arm to ward off the searing pain, and found he could not speak.
The silence didn't bother Dea. She'd spent most of the twenty years alone, silent but for the thoughts in her head, silent and listening to everything around her. She'd spent the time before that silent, as well, listening to those who could neither see nor hear her. But she'd started the story, and she would finish it.
With a voice only slightly hushed in deference to the topic, Dea spoke of the bodies of her family, eyes wide, hands curled in defense just as they'd been struck down. Her wand had been shaking from side to side, her trunk still floating in the air behind her with the remnants of Lily's spell.
Then the trunk had fallen, its magic lost by distance and time, directly onto the toe of the Death Eater behind her. He had grunted, unable to stop himself, and Dea had whirled around, the wand still jerking, her face dead white.
She'd said every incantation she could think of, forcing her hand to still and point the wand. The drapes burst into flame, the lights flickered off and on, and for the first time since learning the spell, Dea was able to correctly levitate something and rotate it, and the wizard had flown into the air, spinning wildly. He'd let loose a spell with an inaudible roar, slamming her with it and sending her straight into a wall.
And amidst the flames he'd fled, leaving her for dead as blood seeped down her face and into her eye, the smoke making it impossible to see or breathe or think.
"Oddly enough, I guess it was Lily Evans who saved me." Dea jerked as the kettle blew off steam and grinned sheepishly. "Edgy," she said by way of explanation.
"Yes," Remus said, turning his back to her and taking the pot off. "Lily was appallingly good."
"At magic?"
Remus looked over his shoulder at the witch and smiled with only one side of his mouth. "No. In general."
~~~
He had welcomed her warmly, and she hadn't really expected any different.
He'd been the only one who truly saw her without the aid of spells or coincidence or flukes. Albus Dumbledore had been her touchstone for the two decades of underground, secretive existence, and she knew if she could reach him, he would know what to do.
Now he stood regarding her with the same half-indulgent smile he'd had long ago, the eyes wise and assessing as she asked him the only question she wanted the answer to.
"Where is Severus?" She hadn't wanted to ask about him, not so soon, but Remus had mentioned him, and it was as though a switch had been flipped. Self-control switched off, she judged, disgusted with herself. The adolescent girl was gone, and by all rights a woman should have taken her place.
But the cursed curiosity was still there, as strong as it had ever been, and she wanted to know where the one person was who had managed to see her, and in seeing her, hurt her.
She saw Dumbledore and Remus exchange an uneasy look and her stomach turned over lazily. "Well, spit it out," she demanded. "I know he's not dead because you mentioned him earlier. Where is he?"
The door slammed behind her, making her jump, and the voice that sounded through the house, though familiar, was colder than anything she'd heard before.
"He's right here."