Every kind of possible warning! Rated M for reason!
A/N at the end
and ofc it's Rowling's world still.
Chapter 21. Garden of Herbs
November arrived with frost and the unwelcome duty of attending the Dark Lord. With all the training he recently had, Severus polished his Occlumency beyond perfection. Even if he was yet to master his abilities with unbound magic to the fullest, he already could hide his different state along with all the training. The Dark Lord's prying mind would see only the dull and annoying everyday struggle at the Head Table and his NEWTs students' quickness during his lessons. Although it occurred to Severus that he should slow down those memories in the future, for his older students' achievements met now with uncommon interest.
The advances at the Department of Mysteries gave reason for violent disputes. Lucius finally turned against Avery. Rightfully so, since the man was utterly useless in Severus' opinion. Not that his incompetence didn't inadvertently serve the Order's aims but suffering through Avery's nonsense didn't become much easier even with that thought.
The other issue was the planned attack on the prison island. Apparently, the Dark Lord sought the best moment to time it, which meant he required additional details about all his prioritized enemies' plans, giving new aim for Lucius's guided curiosity in the Ministry and Severus's supposed work at Hogwarts.
Returning from the environment of violence always seething under the surface around the Dark Lord to outright flaring aggression in Hogwarts' corridors about something as mundane as a sports event was a bad joke he could never really get used to. Still, Severus spent several evenings in the Slytherin Common Room to give an ear to all the complaints and boasting preceding the match with Gryffindor.
Draco trembled with anticipation, and it was easy to understand his feelings. It must have been hard to carry on with the façade of being an exceptional Seeker while never being able to catch a snitch against Potter.
The fact that the boy proved himself a good player against the other houses didn't help much in Slytherin's public opinion with Gryffindor as the archenemy. Severus silently thanked all spirits whoever cared that these were problems he hadn't made for himself in his childhood. Lucius hadn't played either. Snape wondered why the boy pushed himself so hard.
The long built-up emotions clashed on the Quidditch pitch after Gryffindor snatched the victory again, and Severus found himself hurrying with long strides toward his office to punish Draco before anyone else could.
Little idiots. Like his mood wasn't bad enough with his daily practice with Beauxbaton was cancelled because of this ridiculous power projection. Then Lucius' son had to engage himself in a Muggle fight!
Not that Severus was afraid of Cissy, but she deserved better than to worry about the brat. Actually, she deserved better than to worry about any of her family, in his opinion. It would have been hard to find a more decent witch around… if not for Beauxbaton, he had to add.
Sufficiently worked up, the office door slammed behind Professor Snape with a bang.
"Professor, I did nothing! I only tried to talk to them!" – The boy seemed to jump a little too quickly, and his words came with suspicious fluency from his mouth. Which was torn to add some evidence… his nose was still bleeding, and a dark circle began to form under his left eye.
Severus swiped away another thought about Cissy.
"Sit down" – he impatiently waved off Draco's words of defence – "A Muggle fight? Was that what you learned at home?"
"Professor, I did not mean to. They hurled themselves at me! I only wanted to talk-"
It was easy to imagine Draco's attempt at talking. He was more than familiar with such talks' nature. Although that other worshipped brat could have more brains than to… Brains?
"I will not have you punished, Mr. Malfoy." – He decided in the most circumspect way with hidden venom the boy couldn't yet discern. – "Not that I believe you were innocent in the deed, but unfortunately" – he picked up an official-looking paper from his desk – "all my interference would be in vain.
I will follow the spirit of this new educational decree, numbered as the twenty-fifth" – he spat the number like a bitter bug mixed in a birthday-cake – "to precision. This means, Mr. Malfoy, that we must let the esteemed High Inquisitor decide how much she wants to be involved. The decree gives her supreme authority over any punishments and sanctions a member of staff may order. It might serve you in the future to be aware of this."
Draco swallowed with some alarm.
"Do you think, Professor, she might feel the need to get involved?"
"I very much doubt that." – Severus grimaced, seeing the boy's immense relief. "I only wish to make you aware of the importance of your notifying your father about the occurrences in a timely manner. I am sure you could phrase your experiences of a Muggle fight in a way more to your liking than I would when we next see each other."
This time the boy blanched and could only nod violently. In his immature mind, hazy pictures twirled about his father punishing the house elf, him hiding in his room or behind his mother's skirt, or his father with his face covered with his Death Eater mask while he peeked in on him during a late hour in the summer. Severus wondered what that occasion might have been.
The last image suspiciously doubled, suggesting how Draco imagined his Head of House when he left Hogwarts. It was a new thought, such as the shaping envy Severus hasn't perceived in this young mind before. He already knew the boy was wary around him since the gathering in the summer, but who would have thought he also romanticized the Dark Lord's followers, judging them by the friendly dinner and undoubtedly Iris?
Severus tried to imagine what Lucius could have told his kid and made a mental note to talk to him about his son. The shiny bastard would lose his temper knowing what the kid was beginning to dream about.
"Report to the Infirmary, Mr. Malfoy, then make sure your father hears about this… adventure. I suggest even before you return to your Common Room. We don't want Miss Parkinson to faint at your sight, now do we?"
Watching the boy's cheek flush never lost its entertaining quality, and Draco disappeared from his office with the subdued politeness of a fifteen-year-old boy finding his manners. Severus finally sat and leaned back in his armchair after the turbulence outside. Really these sports fans are noisy beasts!
It could be because of either the overpopulated Quidditch stands, the racket, the missed practice in the morning or something else, but Severus couldn't find his place all day. Consequentially most of those who roamed the corridors were driven to distraction since – according to more than one Ravenclaws' and Hufflepuffs' complaints – he was everywhere.
He rambled through the corridors, the side-staircases, the grounds, the perimeter of the forest until snow began to fall. It didn't ease his discontent. He had an itchy feeling of something was just not right. The agitating hunch that something was going to happen, the sense as if the world was waiting, had accompanied him since the term began, and now, in his restlessness, it grew on him.
On his hundredth round, maybe on the third floor, he peeked out of a window to see if the snow had ceased to fall and spotted a light in the caretaker's window. There were no Death Eaters who mentioned Hagrid during their last meeting. His long absence still felt curious. Was it possible he'd finally returned?
Severus knew he'd done everything in his power to ensure the half-giant's journey was fruitful. Still, Macnair curiously stayed away too, and he had no idea about his whereabouts either. The only fact he knew for certain was that Hagrid's journey had become an open secret, and now he finally had an aim with his ramblings, to find out if their struggles were not for nought.
"Fizzing Whizbees" – he panted as soon as the Gargoyle came to his view.
Nothing happened. Damn them all! Hagrid was late enough; why did Albus had to delay too? Severus stopped short by the closed entrance to the headmaster's office, and his restlessness reached a level he could have given it a pet name and let it run about the corridors on its own.
"Severus!"
The silent voice that called him was soothing after their morning rituals. A short peek along the empty corridor, and he approached the witch's door with a strange excitement.
Her cauldron levitated above a portable flame, already wobbling cheerfully, the lights were warm and the air scented. He almost closed his eyes, suddenly easing into the calmness.
"What's cooking, Beauxbaton?"
She didn't seem to share his unexpected sense of serenity.
"Anti-doxivenom." She pulled her lips into a grimace and pointed at a pile on the floor. "I guess this was your Pink Peril's present. It came this morning with a Hogsmeade owl, no sender. I felt like a fool to open it with magic, thinking it's some madness from my father's blood. Turns out his persecution complex is not as much rubbish as I always wanted to believe."
Severus's nerves jumped back to edge.
"Did she send you a poisoned scarf?"
"Lovely, isn't she?" – Sage nodded. "But I have no proof unless you make an owl talk. However…" – she lifted her wand and extinguished the fire, then with another quick wand-move the scarf and its wrappings lifted from the floor and flew into the liquid the cauldron contained.
A small puffing sound and grey smoke, and the witch looked satisfied. "I want to watch her face when I wear it!" – the witch finished.
She hung up the dripping piece of garment to dry, but for Severus, it wasn't that easy to get over his rage. Beauxbaton might content herself with the elegance of her solution, but he knew he would not forget this among the thousand other matters the toad should pay for. No matter when or how, but-
"Still hot!" – The witch hissed after she shrunk her cauldron and curiously put it on a chain to wear around her neck.
Severus absently moved towards her and promptly forgot about his previous seething.
"I wanted to sneak down to see you, but it's easier this way." – She went on, searching his eyes with a peculiar glance. "Do you trust me?"
He hated this question as a rule. Not ever once a good thing came after it, and even if somehow it did, he was not good with trust at all.
"As much as I am capable of" – he grumbled – "Witch, what do you have in mind?"
She laughed at his wary expression.
"It's easier to show than to explain. If I invited you to my safe place, would you come?"
"To your… where exactly?"
He wasn't ready for the level of intimacy the question suggested. Notably, he wasn't actually averse to it, but it was hard to believe they thought the same. And her chuckle didn't help the slightest.
"You have to trust me, I guess. I promise to explain it all later. Just don't let my hand go, will you?"
He must have stared at the witch with utter confusion, but she wasted no time in mocking him, only clutched her fingers tightly around his hand, and, with apparent focus, she began to chant.
"Locumtutum vocatur."
The next moment the room blurred, and Severus felt like he had stepped into a whirlpool. Various colours flashed in front of a black background, but their following each other seemed to draw out a thread. He couldn't follow it, couldn't move his neck to turn and see where those spots and dots ran about him, and he couldn't move his limbs either. It wasn't hard not to let her hand go; he wouldn't have been able if he tried. Before the whirling could truly affect him, Severus' feet descended on some ground.
Some, because it wasn't even similar to Hogwarts. He felt grass under his feet and sunshine on his face before he could take in his surroundings.
Sage let his hand go, and Severus looked around. He was in an orchard, with a tall and ancient plum tree leaning over his head. He saw lines and lines of apple trees, peach, apricot and plum trees in long rows as far as his eyes could see. The early afternoon sun shone on them, boasting with strength only summer could give, and the sky was an unknown shade of blue.
Severus instinctively touched his wand and backed down some steps only to get brought up short by a bench under the trees. Where could the witch drag him? And how?
"You cannot Apparate at Hogwarts" – Severus spoke out the first coherent-ish thought that came to mind.
"We didn't Apparate. This is the spell I used when you saw me escaping the Dark Lord. Can you remember what you have seen?"
Of course, he could. Those moments of fear and despair were yet to fade into memory, especially with the additional guilt of knowing his own hand in the situation. Her screams, her struggling, her form wavering for the shortest part of a second that gave the tiniest hope… yes, he nodded, he remembered.
"I told you I was not there to suffer. I was here. This is a charm Mira invented. My heirloom, so to speak. It takes you to a safe place. A place to heal, to calm, to learn – then the spell takes you back to the exact second you departed from."
It was hard to put every piece together in such a short time, but her remark on timing explained why he saw her form wavering. She left their reality for this place. Was this real?
"Where are we, Beauxbaton?"
She took a deep breath.
"It is not only up to where…."
Severus only raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Well, we are in Alsace, that's the easy part. This is my grandmother's summer house. I mean, obviously only part of the garden… and the year is…"
Now Severus gaped at her. "The year?"
"Sage, est-ce vous?"
She sent him an apologetic glance and hurried ahead among the trees where an older witch turned up, lean and tall and visibly anxious. She was probably in her sixties or eighties - it was impossible to tell. Her hair was lined with silver locks, her glance was warm, and her eyes mild brown similar to Sage's, but at the moment, she looked so strict it prompted respect. Especially with her long and strangely narrow wand standing tall in her hand.
"Grand-mère ce nes pas un problem…" – Sage hurriedly pointed out before she glanced at Severus and continued in English. "This is Severus Snape, a friend who needs you. Severus, meet Héloïse Coquinne."
Her affection and pride for her grandmother and guardian were plain to see. However, all the thoughts Severus ever had about this matron - apparently the epitome of a pureblood and rich head of a foreign clan - ran through Severus' mind rapidly. Unlike the elderly witch's gaze, that took her time to observe and probably estimate him from head to toe. Her head tilted slightly to the side – the mannerism was so similar to her granddaughter's Severus had to bite back a smile.
Finally, the witch lowered her wand and offered her right hand, and Severus bowed above it with practiced politeness.
"Welcome to the Coquinne summer home – she gracefully greeted him before she turned to Sage with the exact same directness Severus got used to from Beauxbaton.
"You have two days, dear. Then you will come and visit before you leave for school."
"Oh… all right. I thought I aimed for mid-July."
"I jinxed that month. We had enough for the year. I'm glad to see you sane and healthy this time. Are you?"
Sage blushed and sent a covered look to see Severus' face. "I am."
"Wonderful. Let's get inside then!" – her accent was so slim it only could imply her recent disuse of the language and earlier practice of probably a lifetime. Severus wondered for a second what could have she spend that time with, but the matron already started walking back the way she came among the trees.
She led them through the last lines of plum trees, and Severus wanted to ask which year the witches talked about. Or what did they mean by mentioning Sage leaving for school and visiting here at all? Then behind the last tree, the view widened to the most extensive herbs garden he had ever seen, and most of his questions dissipated in his awe.
He counted hundreds of plants by the narrow path leading from the orchard to an old manor house with inviting wide windows and an extensive porch that ran around three of the walls. Most were traditional herbs, but he saw some rare magical species that enhanced magical properties in common weeds and flowers—some of the tricks he hadn't seen outside of a book.
And the extent of the rows! Severus halted about the middle of the path and looked around. He could see no end of the flowerbeds to his left or right. The scented air filled his senses. It was only too easy to imagine the connection between this garden and Sage's mind.
He understood now; in a sense, she kept coming home. He could even say she practically still lived here, in her mind, wherever and whenever here might have been. A safe place indeed. Also beautiful. He wouldn't give it up for the world if he had something like this—even a memory.
How could this charm work? Did she plan to teach it? If it was a family heirloom, was she allowed to teach or show it at all? And what about this garden? Maybe also her inheritance? He suddenly remembered the Dark Lord's need for money and the plan that Malfoy would use his French acquaintances' interests to get that. Did he intend to steal that from here?
The thought felt more horrifying than it should have for less than five minutes of acquaintance with the wonders he saw; nevertheless, the horror was real in sharp contrast with the beauty that still enveloped him. Somehow the volatility and vulnerability enhanced the attraction of the scenery, giving it additional grace and allure.
Was this beauty and centuries' hard work that cultivated and nurtured this exceptional garden to be a treasure mine for herbologists and potioneers to fall only to be fed the Dark Lord's plans with its pecuniary worth?
He never thought of what he adored in Sage's mind as something that might perish. Also, he never expected any way to live what he thought of as a wonder.
He could not imagine this ancient and at the same time very much current garden with its vigorous green crispiness and air like breathable honey to vanish for the terror and the craze of a half-man, unfamiliar to a single human feeling but maybe hate!
Severus' protective instincts to defend the vulnerable and the beauty – both of which he found extremely rare in the world – surged and rebelled. There was one to stop this madness, one who had to plan already how to defend all this, and his eyes sought out Sage's just before she climbed the steps to the portico.
She happened to smile at his bewildered expression, and without intent or thought, a part of Severus swore his loyalty to protect whatever belonged to her. He always had a weak spot for confident beauty, and what lay around him was the epitome of that.
Severus forced his muscles to carry him towards the house, and within a short time, he joined the ladies on the portico. Héloïse offered lemonade with lavender, and they let him take the seat that faced the fields to marvel at the beauty around him. He was glad the witches conversed without his aid.
An unknown feeling of serenity surprised him, similar to the wall of calmness he stepped through, entering Sage's quarter, only somehow this was more mature and wholesome.
Two house-elves worked diligently between the flowerbeds, their ears flopping cheerfully on the rhythm the insects buzzed around them, and the birds chirped on the fruit trees' branches. Herbs dried in the open air, hanging from the roof of the portico and fruit perched in large wooden boxes. An old-timer broom leaned against the wall, and the clinging of crystal to crystal complemented the sounds and breezes all around as Héloïse refilled the glasses with a snap of her fingers.
This was a home of an old pure-blood family, and he could indeed sense pride and self-assurance in Héloïse's behaviour – but what to call then the Malfoy or the Black family home with their resonance on a completely different rhythm and feeling? He had to think about the difference in approach between old pure-blood families like the Weasleys and the Malfoys, the Prewetts and the Notts, anything he ever saw, which was diverse enough - and this.
Also, watching these two witches converse brought him a sense of home in itself, but it was unlike anything he had experienced as a child. He long knew his upbringing denied him the closeness others perceived as normal. Still, the way these witches turned to each other, open affection without the Weasley- over-enthusiasm, simply true, it made his chest tightened and his thoughts turbid. Did he miss out on so much? Was he broken since he knew his first conscious thought? If this was Life, he lost more than he ever thought…
Severus only got to his senses when he heard out his name from their flow of words.
"Oh, the Prince-line, I know you're familiar with the family." – Sage just replied to her grandmother.
"Is he? A good long line of healers" – Héloïse nodded her approval, then she let a mischievous smile enter her face. "Although not them all, but why should we mention what we couldn't avoid ourselves?" the witches laughed on the inside joke. "So, whom will Geraldine's daughters marry?"
"Grand-mère, you should not pry into the future."
"Oh, pish-posh, I could ask a seer! I haven't yet heard of the Snapes. It must have been a love match. Geraldine never liked those. Which of her daughters would manage to defy her?"
Severus swallowed against his awakening insecurities. If the bubble of beauty should burst, let's get it over with and back to real life.
"It was Eileen, Madame," – he replied with already a hint of defiance. "She chose my Muggle father and married him as soon as she finished school."
"A Muggle?" Héloïse asked back, no less flabbergasted than he anticipated.
"Yes, Madame, that's what he was." – Severus replied, lifting his chin to receive her dismissal and return to his own world. The witch couldn't possibly say anything on the matter he hasn't yet heard.
"And was he a good man?" – the elder witch pushed on, turning his defiance into bewilderment, and Severus noticed with some shock, he first gaped at the witch.
"I believe he tried" – he cautiously told her, omitting his firm belief of the failure.
Héloïse only smiled and nodded.
"Well, I guess nobody's perfect" – she summarized, and Severus tried to figure out if she meant his father's attempts or his origins. "I imagine you came from the same war Sage obstinately keeps silent about. Two Occlumens… I dare not even imagine what you must go through. Heaven knows I saw her in conditions it was better to forget! Is she any good at the Art?"
As her voice turned sharp and haughty for the last question, it was easy to sense the pride of the master when her student was to pass a test.
"She performs on her own way, but stood her stand, Madame."
Héloïse smiled with open contentment and patted her granddaughter's arm.
"This friend of yours is nothing if not polite, dear. What do you need this time? I doubt you came only for idle talk."
Severus couldn't agree more. Already having his fill of the miracles of the garden, his thoughts returned to their sudden and unusual journey across time and space, if he understood that charm at all. He also turned to the witch with a raised eyebrow and a mocking smirk.
"Well, Beauxbaton?"
She rolled her eyes at him.
"I know I promised I would explain it all, but I already did. Mira's charm creates a safe place and teleports you through time and space. The rules of teleportation are similar to Apparition as always, but here you are also due to state your preferred time of arrival. As we are talking about a time and space within our reality, we must have this flexibility to avoid interaction with our other-selves. It makes it sufficiently different to Apparition for the wards to be unable to recognize when the charm is performed. You cannot change the location, though."
"So is this the only place of a possible arrival?
"Well, no, Mira had her own choice. It's only that you cannot divert from your first choice later, only in time. Time travel needs countless energy. We figured a safe place would give enough positive emotion to fuel the first attempt, and all other times, you would only repeat your journey, giving the time you choose.
The first attempt's positive intent and feelings channel your magic to change time every attempt later, but those emotions are linked to the location. Mira made that imbedded in her first intent, so if you wanted to change it, you should need a different binding, wording, and I guess a new state of intention, which is way too much effort and unnecessary in my opinion. And neither of us wanted to risk a charm through a different reality. She was only sixteen after all!"
On her last words, Héloïse jerked her head.
"Sixteen? You made me believe it wasn't under-aged magic! For Heaven's sake, Sage, how many times shall I repeat if you perform dark magic at least have an adult around!"
"I was of age, grand-mère! And it's not a dark spell in morality only uncodified, about which you never gave a damn!"
Severus couldn't let this nonsense go on. He had created numerous spells while underage but nothing meddling with time. Even a Gryffindor wouldn't be that bold!
"Did your cousin invent this spell underage? How did she perform it if she had the trace?"
"Oh, we thought it was on the wand, so she made it wandless, but when the ministry came over, we simply lied that it was me."
"You lied to your ministry?" – Severus stared at the witches, wanting to clarify, but Héloïse looked decidedly unfazed.
"Why, what would you have me done? Haven't you done anything stupid at your age of sixteen or nineteen?"
Severus winced. Not much, besides joining a bunch of blood-purist idiots, swore alliance to the devil walking, and drinking up about a year-worth of potions all of which should have had a better use as ingredients…. It was wiser to change the subject, and the old witch's words seemed to come handy:
"That's a good charm sweetheart, don't let him distract you. You should bring your cousin here sometime, I'd like to see what became of her" – Héloïse smiled, and Severus saw Sage's smile freeze on her face.
"I thought it was also illegal to pry into the future." – He quickly spoke up before the old witch could react to Beauxbaton's sudden lack of composure.
"You're learning way too quickly for your own good, young man!" – Héloïse turned to him as he hoped, but her gaze showed amusement even if she lifted her index finger to a mocking scold.
"Why did you invite me?" – Severus turned to Beauxbaton to redirect her attention.
Sage took a quick look about her grandmother but soon returned her gaze upon him.
"You're in trouble."
"Am I?"
"Yes, Severus, you need help, this practice we are performing is way too inefficient compared to your talent, and I cannot help you more."
Her words were in a strange disagreement with his experiences on their daily practice. Beauxbaton's exercises never stopped challenging him. On the contrary, she seemed to become bolder and bolder with her presumptions of what he could achieve. He felt he worked at the edge of his abilities. What could the witch still have in mind?
"You did well enough. There haven't been-"
"Oh, forget unintentional magic, you way exceeded that! But I cannot make you develop any further!"
Severus' eyebrows raised again. "Develop?"
"Grand-mère, Severus practices wandless magic, more, he is a natural talent throwing over incantations. I thought with your experience-"
"A natural?" – Héloïse turned to Severus with renewed curiosity. "It's time you tell me, dear, I believe I was patient enough. However, it's not a job to accomplish in two days, even if your friend is as talented as you seem to suggest."
"If I could arrive in July…"
"Oh, yes, the jinx." Héloïse sighed. "I still don't think that was a mistake, though… very well. And what about you, young man, are you determined to learn?"
Severus's gaze alternated between the witches, and he tried to decide on the best words to say.
"He loves rules, grand-mère, it will be a new experience for you." – Sage tried to offer her help, but Héloïse hushed her.
"It is solely up to you" - she turned back to Severus. "Will you do as I say without argument? Are you ready to oblige and obey my rules?"
The expectations began to sound too serious about accepting her. Also, Beauxbaton had dragged him here without a word. Severus felt he had mastered more than enough already. However, Sage's assistance had been crucial to his last month's peace of mind. Her guidance was more than welcome. He had learned to appreciate the witch unlike no other in these last few weeks, and their short time together meant something. Was she to lose him and pass him on, or was she to help now even more than before? Why did she feel she had to drag him here?
"Are you tired of our practice, Beauxbaton?" – he asked silently, embarrassed to betray his insecurities in any way.
"No, I want to enhance them."
Her eyes were light without the Occlumency shields, but Severus had long given up on the wish to read her. She showed him more than anyone who ever lied trust to him. He thought he would play along just to see what she could have in mind and decide later.
"What would you need me to do, Madame, to teach me?"
Héloïse's gaze searched both their faces while they talked, and now she only looked at him with mild curiosity and surprisingly, not with any expectations.
"Your word is enough that you won't ever lie to me."
"May I deny you answers?"
Héloïse laughed up.
"As long as you don't try to hide it," –she inclined her head. "I warn you, I will ask insane things in the process. I want you to obey me or deny me openly, bearing all the consequences. I don't want your freedom, only your honesty."
"That, Madame, I can try." Severus acquiesced, looking Beauxbaton straight in the eye, still trying to figure her purpose with all this.
The witch's smile gave something back for her abruptness. However, it seemed their wordless discussion was less satisfying for Héloïse because she didn't hesitate to warn Sage.
"You are not to step in! If I do this, I will do it on my own terms. Who had you practise as a child?" – she turned to Severus, and his fleeting calm disappeared.
"I received no training as a child."
"Haven't you said you said he was a natural? Maybe I misunderstood" – Héloïse glanced at Sage. "What spell did you use then to unbind your magic?"
"None, Madame. However, my efforts were solitary before your granddaughter decided to take up with them."
"Are you then self-taught?" The witch seemed astonished. "Self-taught and alive?"
Severus thought he had already begun to feel the hardships of training with the elderly witch, but Sage grinned widely and nodded in his stead.
"Well, this will be an experience!" Héloïse deemed and stood from the table. "I'll order the elves to tidy up the attic for you tomorrow. You may hide there until your younger self visits and leaves to have your farewell with Polla before school. It's only a day or two."
Without any further talk, she disappeared into the house, and Severus found himself alone with the witch that he couldn't seem to stop staring in the eye. She had her habitual half-smile about her and looked back as if she waited for his opinion.
Honestly, he was yet to form one, so they only sat in silence until an elf appeared with the message from the lady of the house who wished to receive her granddaughter in the kitchen. She beckoned him to accompany her, and it turned out to be Severus' most outstanding experience in a pure-blood household.
Héloïse took part in making their evening meal, and she expected no less from her grandchild, although a house elf diligently worked under their instructions. He had a hard time imagining any pure-blood lady he knew doing the same. Héloïse ordered the house elf to lay the table in the dining room, but with her granddaughter's begging, she acquiesced to stay in the kitchen if their guest didn't mind. Severus didn't. He took the part of a neutral observer as always when he had no idea where to place himself.
He kept his silence and retreated to a secluded place by an old-fashioned oven. Later, they set down to dine by the thick and wide wooden table. No one bothered him in his aloofness, neither with words nor with curious glances.
Later Héloïse showed him his room instead of her elf, and although the witches stayed up and talked, Severus felt happy to retreat. He carved all details of both his past evenings into memory. The difference couldn't be more striking. He tried to accept that this unexpected journey meant he suddenly had all the time in the world to polish his abilities only to return to his life the same second he departed.
What second was that? He wanted to talk to Dumbledore, ask about Hagrid. He wanted to choke the Pink Toad for sending that scarf. He planned to talk to Lucius and couldn't find a modicum of peace… Now the witches' talk filtered into his room quietly from somewhere in the house. Crickets chirred in the garden, and somewhere he heard a screech-owl shriek. Instead of the cold and wet dungeons, his window was now best left open to let the night's breeze blow some chill into the summer-heated room.
It was hard to find rest when everything was so unfamiliar, but eventually, the well-known crisp harshness of the linen sheets, its clean scent mixing with chamomile, lavender and an inscrutable mix of herbs and half-made essential oils from the garden and the portico lulled his senses. He thought about his doubts for only a second before he fell asleep. The morning found him in the similar dichotomy between keeping aloof, distancing himself from this alien world unsure about its rules and expectations or embracing the chance to enjoy the undoubted beauty and the offered opportunity.
If only Beauxbaton had bothered asking before she acted! If only her attitude was less commanding! What she offered him from time to time was in harsh contrast with the way she did so, if only she saw how her methods show the conceited, self-absorbed reality of the pure-blood clans he tried all his life to tame or escape. Even as a young child, he had never known a girl so abrupt as Tuney or as demanding as Lily could be. It is true, it somehow entertained him, and also it was just, her father was…
Severus' thoughts halted just like his hands buttoning up his robe.
Since when did he begin to think of Lily as a pureblood witch? This was not what made her special. It was her… Oh, Merlin!
Severus recognized he adored her not only for her beauty or talent, not even for her special kindness, which, to be honest, she sometimes neglected to show. Lily was of a better world, from the other side of the river. Like Beauxbaton was from the other side of the Tunnel, and Cissy… as much as he shouldn't count her, it was true. She was from the other side of a whole divided world.
Were they all of different worlds where he could never live? Severus searched his mind to produce an image of just one witch he felt strongly about and wasn't from a world he couldn't belong to, but for some reason, his thoughts obstinately turned back again and again to Eileen.
Why? His mother would have hated them all! She never let him close like he saw others clung to their mothers, but she loved him as much as she could. He never doubted that. She just didn't have that kind of personality to show off her feelings, and again, why should she? Mother had her special world she lived in, but she gave as much as she could – he repeated to himself.
Severus was sure that if Eileen couldn't give more, it was his father's fault, but this time his thoughts didn't change with anger as they usually would. He hung up on the word, and it gave a disturbing feeling of uncertainty. Even his mother was from another world.
Was she so distant because she was a pureblood witch, and even she felt he was less? Was he truly a filth by birth like some seemed to think? Or did she keep him at arm-length because she knew his deviations, his dark interest, did she recognize what Héloïse called talent? Did she fear it?
As much as the question in itself was devastating, he wanted to know the answer. Which made him initially a filth, his genetics or his so-called talent? Obviously, he was doomed by both, but instead of rising above them, he only made himself muddier with every decision he made. So were they all right and just to push him away?
He knew Lily was right to avoid him. Cissy never showed off her station. She didn't need to. What was Beauxbaton doing? Why did she help? Why did she pass him on now? Why? Is this her way to push him away and to sever this friendship? What did he do again? Why did she deny it?
By the time he finally managed to button up his robe and leave his room, his thoughts circled a loop of insecurity and hurt. Severus prepared to finish this theatre of friendliness before it got to him even more. She had to take him back to his life, where he knew he was ready to practice alone. He had no intention to inflict himself upon her if she had enough of their morning training. She did already more than he could ever thank her for.
Why did it hurt so much?
When he found the witches, the table was laid with fruits and fresh bagels, and his favoured tea waited for him, and everyone smiled. It would have been a shame to bring up his unpleasant thoughts. Héloïse didn't do anything to deserve an impolite guest. Severus decided to wait.
He had to wait longer than he anticipated, for Beauxbaton offered to look after something a house elf reported halfway through the breakfast, and he found himself alone with Héloïse. The older witch's demeanour didn't change a bit after her granddaughter's departure. More, she invited him for a walk about the house.
It was a perfect opportunity for her to finally show off her richness and superiority. However, she only showed a small garden behind the house, built for silent solitude with a bench and a drinking fountain, and engaged him in a long conversation about his studies, research and favourite authors on contemporary potion-making. She had a thought to add to everything he mentioned. Even if he sometimes told her about new findings, she kept up seemingly effortlessly.
Héloïse Coquinne proved herself an exceptional study in Herbology and Potions but didn't brag with her understanding, only spurred him on with questions and a way of giving attention he was unused to enjoying.
"I always understood Potions as a special form of Art. It combines more than the materia, linking the brewer and consumer with magic bound to the brew. Closest to Alchemy if done right. Have you ever studied Alchemy?"
Despite their serious discussions, her tone was chatty, and Severus absently told her about his readings instead of giving the disciplined answer that it wasn't taught at Hogwarts. Nothing suggested this was a mistake, though. She sailed on between the Scylla of judgment and the Charybdis of sounding old-fashioned or demented with amazing ease, mentioning the elements by their symbolic planets and continued their talk about Potions using ancient symbolism.
Thoroughly enjoying the rare challenge, Severus took up with her playful ways and answered in the same manner as long as he could.
"I always wondered how the magic clung on materia. What could be the link there, or is it embedded, in your opinion?"
"If magic was embedded in the matter and also imprinted at birth, then we share more qualities with the surrounding world than those born without magic. We are both made of matter. Why wouldn't all show the same qualities?"
Héloïse smiled approvingly.
"Thus you proved, magic is not inherently linked to the materia, so neither is it linked to the materia that constructs you."
Severus stared at the witch wide-eyed.
"Madame, you just presented evidence I was recently told a lie when one suggested a wizard's body was the container of his magic, such as of his soul."
"You don't say, I thought it was you who provided the proof!" – Héloïse laughed off the issue as if she heard some outrageous gossip in a ballroom, only the small gesture seemed to miss as she would playfully hit someone with her collapsed fan. "And pray what would link a soul to the matter if it has even fewer known qualities to bind than what we may prove about magic?"
"Are you suggesting that there is no possible way to bind a soul to a container in absence of such a link? Herpo the Foul-"
"Oh, I know his story, but what do the living know about the soul? What can bind without a link, Severus?"
He searched the eyes of the old witch incredulously for long minutes before giving the evident answer.
"Magic."
"So true, but how do you link with magic? You must know this, brewing every day!"
Severus stared at the witch, astonished, knowing he had no idea about the answer. Muggle science had its reasoning behind each and every occurrence if he broke down the ingredients to their basic elements. Although Muggle science had never came up with an explanation on a potion's magical properties, only the general workings of some basic herbs within the human system. Why would it ever come up with answers about phoenix feathers or unicorn milk when the Muggles denied even the existence of such ingredients?
He linked together matters with different qualities, nowadays called properties, with magic, making a brew, and he taught the process; but had no idea how he created the link. Moreover, he never heard about anyone who knew or even researched the issue, although, at this point, he would have bet one against twenty that magic must have more than one property when it came to linking and binding. One for linking magic, or not, itself, and another to use magic as a link. Was it truly not coessential but dual in nature instead? How to examine it? Sweet Merlin, it was a whole new territory to explore and research!
"Is there anyone who knows that, Madame?" – he asked back cautiously?
"Wouldn't it be nice if there was?" – she smiled. "That one person could answer you how magic works, chooses, and links. Maybe that same man would even understand where it has its origins."
"That would be outstanding indeed" – Severus agreed, swallowing against a strange constriction in his throat.
"May that one be you!" – the witch smiled and slowly walked back to the house, gesturing for him to follow. "So if you decided that your magic is not linked or originated from the materia, where would you suggest to me to search for it when it is at rest?"
Now more familiar with her teaching method Severus allowed himself to smile.
"You tell me, Madame, has anyone given a name to the feeling as we reach for it to call, or is there a name for the moment I prompt my right hand to lift a stick?"
Héloïse laughed without holding back and reached out to caress his upper arm.
"We'll be fast friends, Severus, I already feel it. Come, I show you my sanctum."
She led him deep inside the house, they passed the living room, and for Severus's regret, a carefully carved door that probably led to the library, to stop by a non-descriptive small door hidden in a side-corridor not far from his appointed room. The witch smiled with mischief, her features resembling Beauxbaton's so much Severus stepped back, then she produced what seemed like a large old key and pulled it slowly through the air in front of the door.
The entrance enlarged to show an ancient-looking wooden door he would have imagined would belong to a cell and opened on its hinges, soundlessly uncovering a room as big as the inside of a cathedral. Undoubtedly space was magically enhanced to accommodate this dimension.
"Guild!"
On the witch's call, the oldest house elf Severus had ever seen, appeared, and bowed in the door.
"This is my guest, Severus. You call him the Studying Master and show him everything he wishes to see. Even the old tomes. Am I clear?"
The house elf narrowed his eyes on Severus with suspicion and measured him from head to toe without any usual respect.
"I mean it, Guild, you are to respect his wishes, or the Goddess help me I will close you out of the cellars and curse the Blue Codex out of your reach!"
The change was imminent and astonishing. The old elf straightened his shoulders and obediently smiled and bowed to them both.
"Of course, Mistress. Mistress wish, Guild serve happy. Mistress' guest is Guild pleasure."
The elf stepped aside, and they entered the hidden library. If Severus was astonished upon seeing the gardens, now he was in shock. Walls and walls of tomes, books, codexes in leather cover, darkened by age and use, storages for palimpsests, papyrus, scrolls of parchments from floor to ceiling with an artificial sun to provide light for the studies, shining down on the two workbenches in the middle of the room. Catalogue boxes were stored in mahogany bureaus about the perimeter. The strangest thing, a kiln stood on the other side, surrounded with a complete potions lab, workbench for preparations and a series of cauldrons.
Severus couldn't help but stare at it with an unconsciously quickened breath.
"My ancestors had a thing for Alchemy, as by now you undoubtedly suspect. That's not my pastime, though. Would you look at these?"
She led Severus behind the rows of bookcases to a set of vitrines leaning on the room's far wall. As she pulled her key in front of the display cases, the house elf shrieked his disapproval, but Héloïse didn't seem bothered.
"It is mine, Guild, I will use it the way I see fit," – she declared categorically, and Severus saw the elf bowing to her back. The grumpy little fellow still eyed him suspiciously but with visibly growing respect.
"My correspondence" – Héloïse explained, gesturing for the houself to lift and move the tomes. "And some remaining work of my ancestors."
Opening the leather-bound books, Severus found hundreds and hundreds of letters written in different eras and languages, all to discuss primary issues about magic, great explorations, unproven theories, challenges and errors of studies and research. Also, many dealt with questions on morality, human development among wizardkind and muggles, possibilities of cooperation, changing legal sanctions, political pamphlets, undeveloped theories and philosophy behind legislature on magical species. It was all addressed to or received from its age's most well-versed magicians of five continents.
They drew and described the evolution of magical thinking and the background of their greatest contemporary findings, shedding light on the struggles of research and scholarly life's hardships.
Here lay the correspondence of Héloïse and her ancestors with all the greatest minds of the last six centuries, all preserved and detailed without shortening the texts. To call it a gold-mine would have been an understatement, for there was no richness and wealth of the world to compare this fountain of wisdom and truth. He could bury himself here.
All these great minds struggled with their magic, their circumstances, and society's judgment, their errors and all the consequences of those. These were testaments of liberated minds and thinkers refusing to see the world in black-and-white and searched and strived to have a glimpse of a more wholesome, more absolute truth, an Undivided Art.
Severus' breath caught, and his skin shivered under the rays of the warm artificial sun, developing goosebumps just by paging through these tomes. It was incredible. Humiliating and elevating at the same time. It was everything a man in search for something greater could have: Companions. He was not alone in his endeavours for the first time in his life, and if he believed these letters, he has never been. And there was no other choice than to believe them.
Héloïse touched his shoulder lightly and pulled for him a chair before she silently said:
"I leave you to your reading."
With that, the old witch left her "sanctum" without a qualm, without even warning him against anything he could do, copying, damaging, or misunderstanding these texts. She gave neither advice nor restrictions.
Severus stared after her with mouth agape but saw only the grumpy house elf nodding as if he was pleased to see his awe.
Honestly, he didn't even have an idea where to begin!
There were six major tomes collected the correspondence of the last six centuries, but he also counted smaller ones, thematically sorted by the most outstanding pieces. One of the several smaller omnibuses contained the philosophical excursus on the nature of magic. Another included detailed descriptions of experimental arts. One held several recommendations on different reading material depending on the researcher's interest, co-referenced on the margins with the library's catalogue-numbers whenever possible to ease the research. He saw a thinner tome with selected potion-recipes, experimental potions and recommendations on the use of dangerous ingredients. For his greatest entertainment, Severus even found a smaller selection of the most unfettered and delusory bragging copied out of the six tomes' letters – a selector's choice. He wondered who the scholar could have been to spend his or her time compiling such a booklet.
After uncounted hours of undisturbed reading, he heard a soft knock on the door before Beauxbaton entered. She waited for him to make her place about the workbench, and with a snap of her fingers, she offered a tray of refreshments before asking if he liked the place.
"Like?" – Severus stared at her wide-eyed, and couldn't recall what could have made him in the morning even consider returning to his life. "This…" - he shook his head helplessly and looked around the hall-sized room. "Now I know I had no chance to understand what I perceived in your mind. This is so much more than a safe place… this…"
"This is a legacy" – she finished for him smiling. "You know it is a pity no one gives a whit about History of Magic in Hogwarts." She put one finger on the thick tomes. "This is the history of magic. Errors. Failures. Wonder. All these people searched because they believed in something out there, or inside, greater than them all.
Grand-mère believes you began the same journey as a child, but you got caught up within your circumstances. I cannot imagine how Albus never thought about sorting the students who were so obviously talented. You should have received private tutoring, especially because he knows about a lot of these" – she gestured around – "yet I have never seen him share…"
"We are sorted at a very young age, Beauxbaton, and by a different method. He told me himself that Hogwarts educates for safety. There must have been graver issues to consider than a single student's progress."
"All schools educate for safety, even Durmstrang" – she sought out a letter from the first pages of the most contemporary tome.
It carried detailed descriptions about ways to encourage students to research but not to experiment without supervision. It also referred to some mishaps with several students who disobeyed this rule, one among them a Gellert Grindelwald.
"I didn't mean to criticize Hogwarts," – she added silently, averting her eyes.
Strangely irrespective of their subject, to be deprived of her gaze suddenly felt an unbearable loss, and Severus searched in vain for words to convey this peculiar feeling. Whatever he thought of would have sounded cheesy or false. Eventually, Severus hesitantly touched the witch's hand to regain her attention. She replied with a warm glance, and Severus promptly forgot whatever they were talking about.
The solitude of the afternoon was spent more systematically searching for the concept of magic, any and every research for its origins, nature, or any attempt to define it. He swiped those potentially disturbing moments around midday away with practiced ease.
Severus made sufficient progress by the time the awkwardly grumpy house elf popped up next to him and announced the time.
With his mind engaged with his readings, Severus found it hard to give the elf attention, but the wrinkled old fellow insisted he tidy himself and become presentable by the time of the dinner with the family. Severus absently pulled a finger along the stubble on his chin and, recalling where he was, reluctantly returned to the guest room assigned for him. A clean black robe and hot water waited there for his use.
Héloïse seemed pleased when he joined them and tactfully heard him out on his progress. It felt like an engaging conversation, and they neared the end of dinner by the time Severus felt as if he was a schoolboy reciting his lessons. When he mentioned this, Sage chuckled, but Héloïse looked unfazed and only asked on and on until she was finally satisfied with his process and understanding.
The next morning began much in the same manner, except this time Héloïse opened up the library after an early breakfast - Severus hasn't even noticed she closed it down for the night – and left him to his studies. This time she was the one joining him about midday. After some discussion of the texts he perused, she looked him thoughtfully in the eye.
"Severus, I would like you to open up your mind."
First, he didn't even understand what she meant, but looking in her powerful eyes, it was impossible to miss the skilled Legillimens' touch on the surface of his thoughts. Severus sat up with alarm, and all his barriers shut down to Occlude.
"We don't read each other in this house. That is a rule older than I am. You have no reason to be afraid of me." Héloïse told silently but never averting her eyes. "I would say I know your kind, but it would be unjust because I have no way yet to know you; still, you need to trust me that I would not pry."
Severus swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. Was she to take back all the wonders of the last day? Was he an idiot to believe – even for some hours – that he found selfless help? Why would she help him? Why would she teach him? Hell, she opened her so-called "sanctum" unrequested like her grandchild opened up her mind. Why wasn't he more aware of the impossibility of it all?
"I am no warrior, Severus. I am a healer. I feel no need to compete with you, and I don't care about your secrets," – Héloïse went on. "However, even without prying, it is plain to see, you're not whole. Forgive me for saying the obvious, but you seem severely wounded, and as a healer, I am well within my rights to point this out. You're not the first one to use mind magic to cover his imperfections, maybe even his struggles-"
She waited for some kind of reply, but all Severus could offer was a wary look that showed even more of his distrust than he intended.
"I have already told you I have my own methods and ways." The witch said now in a stern tone, and she slowly stood up. "I know what I ask and why, and I know it's as hard as if I asked you to take off your right hand, but you will dismiss your occlumency shields, or you will leave. I give you my word; there's no soul around here who would even to try to trespass on your privacy.
This is for your benefit," she added in a more placable tone, "as long as you hide your fears, your memories and whatever emotions even from yourself, I suspect, your mind cannot possibly be whole. This is the way to learn. When you're ready, you will find me in the small garden."
She left without her usual smile, and Severus knew she meant the garden with the drinking fountain and the bench behind the house. Was he to report there with all his occluding dismissed? The idea was laughable! So why the witch didn't simply just throw him out? It was obvious he wouldn't ever comply!
Shaking his head, Severus turned back to his studies with an absent pull of his shoulder. The old witch may have a good long wait in her garden as long as she deemed it fit. If he was to leave this place, it's better to gather as many of its treasures as possible in his presumably short time.
After a few pages, it occurred to him that neither of the witches had to show care, but they still did, and he still didn't know whatever they might have wanted in return. Was he lowering his defences serving them in any way? Héloïse might promise the moon, but he hadn't come far long by believing blindly – or as a matter of fact, believing at all.
Severus read on with another shrug, but then… Sage Moody swore her loyalty to the Dark Lord, all her activities to win his friendship began after that. Was she using him? Did she spy on him? What did he tell her that might be his fall? Thinking Beauxbaton had betrayed him hurt like hell, so Severus swiped the feeling to an abandoned corner of his mind with suspicious practice. Honestly, he sent there more feelings and thoughts than he cared to count in these past few months, especially since she first turned up in his lab.
While he re-ordered his memories and found sufficient explanation for all he'd done in her presence should the Dark Lord ask, Severus inevitably sorted through all the moments of their acquaintance, and that abandoned corner of his mind threatened to collapse on him. He was more experienced than to let that happen. Seriously, after years of hiding from his suicidal thoughts upon losing Lily and denying his baser feelings towards her expertly for years, the small nuisance of a hardly-known witch shouldn't demand his skills!
Whatever these strange witches found out to trap him, he was ready to fight his way through. Just let him finish his reading. It seemed useful. He might need to find a way to convince the old witch he was doing her bidding and…
The library door opened and closed silently, and Beauxbaton sat by him, offering fruits and sandwiches like yesterday. She could have sent her ugly elf.
"Are you all right? I heard what she told you."
Severus sat warily eying her, and he didn't reply.
"It must be hard to change your ways, but she doesn't ask it forever…" – she tried to encourage him in vain. "I remember you said you have always been Occluding. She just wants you to be whole and healthy."
A memory broke its way through from that secluded corner of his mind. A memory of their first time "having fun". Somehow it brought some feelings and images with itself about her nudging him with her elbow, encouraging him, making him feel important and cared about – he showed those fragments back to their place.
"She doesn't ask you to do the same" – Severus looked into her suspiciously dark eyes.
"That's because she has no idea of what I am hiding," – the witch admitted, and she let her eyes fall. "Would she want to know about the future what our lives turn to be? I cannot let her find out that Mira…" – a tear escaped from under her lashes, and Severus felt his thumb itching to wipe it with a caress.
Another bunch of emotion escaped from that protected, overused corner of his mind making him turn his eyes on her wet lips, reddened by her sudden sorrow. They were enticing, making his breath shallow. It threatened to remind him of that long-ago moment of insanity when he nearly let some flying fancy get the better of him – Severus swiped all those disturbing memory-fragments away with practiced ease.
"You have your reasons to protect your mind from her. Maybe I have reasons of my own" – he offered – "I cannot see the difference, Beauxbaton. You wanted to get rid of our practice, so you dragged me here. She obviously regrets her earlier openness. Why can't either of you admit to your real intentions and just be done with it?"
Her incredulous stare was unnerving in its intensity, but Severus was through with the farce. He pushed himself from the desk and walked some steps aimlessly away. Unfortunately, the witch followed him to a nearby shelf.
"I can't believe how distrustful you are! Did I ever give you a reason to doubt me?"
Her hand rested on his arm as she tried to make him turn and look at her, reminding Severus of a moment of confusion and warmth when she knelt before him discussing the Emerald Tablet for the first time. Another rush of emotion to swipe away. Sage must have seen the moment he enforced his Occlumency in his eyes.
"You know what? I think she is right!" – she cried out with sudden energy – "You are not complete, you way overuse your skills, hell, I don't even know if I ever knew you or talked to you as a whole person, can even you still tell who the fuck you are?!"
Her accusation was laughable.
"Beauxbaton!" – he tried to make her see reason, but the witch turned away with anger and stomped to the door.
"Answer only this if you can: You said yourself, you see magic as wholesome with all polarities. How do you even think to comprehend it, to understand and embrace it, when you deny your own polarities and disown your own absoluteness?" – With that, the enraged witch shut the door on him with unforeseen force, and the bang felt like a slap on the face.
As Severus stood rooted in place by one of the bookshelves, a different kind of insecurity grabbed him. What if he was wrong to look for ulterior motives? Once, he had already thought ill about Beauxbaton's intentions only to feel humiliated by the gift of Héloïse's library. What if this time he managed to hurt the witch like he once managed to hurt another beyond repair?
Suddenly he remembered the moment with clarity when she had stood helpless in his lab, and with a heavy pull of her shoulders, she had announced she had just given up on him. She had already given him a third chance at the end of October, and man, what a chance that proved to be! Even without this library and this outstanding spell, he had won with their acquaintance more than he would have ever dared to hope!
The simple fact he could never wrap his head around why she would wish to help him was not enough to prove her motives lacking. Severus gasped, suddenly panicky of losing her and all that surrounded him for his lack of reason and judgment. Didn't he lose one already for the same misconceptions? A feeling of distrust, panic, hurt and fear? What if there were no ulterior motives behind Héloïse's demand? What if there were? The whole question came back down on trust again, like EVERYTHING since this crazy witch waltzed in his life, offering her mind and a cuppa!
Severus hid his face in his palms and growled in frustration. If there were ulterior motives and he complied, he might risk his station as a spy, thus the war. Not that he didn't risk that already accepting tutoring from any other but the Dark Lord. If they were honest in their dealings, he risked his chance to learn, to have a friend and keep her close, to—
It somehow felt he risked much more than he could enlist at the moment, and this time he didn't swipe the feeling away.
So, if he obliged, what would that involve?
Severus tried to quickly run through the main areas of his occluding, as if he took stock of his potion storages, just visiting the main sections, reading the labels on the biggest boxes in his mind.
He had a frequently used zone storing the secrets of the war. The one he wanted just now so fiercely protected. However, the zones he kept to bridle his temper, his ambiguous feelings about Dumbledore, and even the Potter-boy, Minerva, or as a matter of fact, any one of the Order seemed broader than the actual issues with confident nature.
He hid his hurt. Hurt, that no-one ever cared about him on either side. He hid his real opinion of his fellow Slytherins who cared more about politics and blood-purity than a boy of their rows beaten down and bullied.
He hid his opinion on the sanctimonious bastards now posing in the Order as some consecrated force of justice in the world—the same who gave not a spit about a child suffering among them. Who never moved a finger for any of his peers, never even tried to stop a Slytherin ruining his life, to fall, to suffer, or to die, only followed some obscure Gryffindor superiority that clearly couldn't cope with life without a hint of Ravenclaw, the strategical sense of a Slytherin and the patience of a Hufflepuff to tame all those together.
He hid his raging anger.
And he was yet to scratch the surface.
Digging deeper and deeper felt as if he thought to glance into a mirror and abruptly faced the abyss. The closed-up memories and emotions he stored inside his mind now overwhelmed him with their quantity. Did he really use only a fragment of himself to drag his weight through life?
However, opening up those boxes, even thinking about opening them, felt suicidal. To face those days again with Tobias- no, not a chance in hell. Or Eileen's silence and distance?
He shook his head absently, not even recognizing his stance faltering, and he leaned heavily on the bookshelf with perspiration stirring on his temples.
Even if he left his childhood undisturbed, which seemed nonsense, especially with Beauxbaton's frequent insistence on him facing his memories about it, but even if he skipped that, there was, of course, Lily. Reigning since he was nine up until now. What was he supposed to do about her?
With ragged breaths, Severus clung onto the shelf he grabbed and tried to see himself facing all he kept away of his thoughts just to function every day. How could he walk, talk, even breathe with the knowledge he killed her? How, with the knowledge, he killed at all? He was no better than his father, actually worse, much worse, at least he didn't outright kill anyone in the neighbourhood!
He was nauseous and out of breath already. He had no right to live in a world she left because of him. He had no right to this air, to… He looked around in a daze, and by the kiln, on the workbench, something glittered invitingly. Severus stumbled closer and grabbed the silver knife.
It blended in his palm with familiarity. Everything a good potioneer needed for a difficult brew. A good, wide-bladed silver knife. Its use ranged from picking ingredients to various ways of preparations to the ultimate service.
Did he deserve the comfort of his Occlumency?
Maybe he owed her at least carrying the full weight of his actions. Hesitantly he lowered his walls around her memory. There were more boxes than one. If he opened those, he would probably drown in pain. So why choose to suffer before the inevitable?
Severus peeked at the silver knife and thought of Tobias Snape, standing straddle-legged and still staggering slightly. When he staggered, he never stammered and vice versa. As a young child, Severus spent long moments contemplating the possible connection between his father's legs and tongue. He always said he was worthless. If he believed his father in time and got this over with, would Lily still be alive? Would his mum have smiled more?
The silver glittered in the rays of the artificial sun, the smell of the ancient tomes filled the air with comfort, and Severus stabbed with fervour till he felt the hilt hitting his chest.
A/N: Only this time note at the end. Sorry for being evil. Keep your bearings. And do write a review if I managed to touch a chord! This is really the time to communicate. See where the lack of it took Severus!