Unknown
Hermione woke up slowly in an unknown bed. Dull daylight was seeping in through the small grimy window and the yellowed lace curtains. Her head was pounding, her mouth felt like sandpaper and she was sore all over.
She pushed herself up to a sitting position, looking around the small room. A wooden desk by the window with a few notebooks and pens scattered. The iron bed frame was rusty and might have been green once, the mattress was lumpy and hard and the wool blanket was itchy and rough. A Slytherin scarf hung from a hook behind the closed door, a chest of drawers next to the bed. Spotting the glass of water on the desk she took it cautiously and sniffed before gratefully drinking it down.
Her bag lay on the foot end of the bed, luckily. Where was her wand? Well, Bellatrix' wand, the one she'd had to use since the Manor. She bit her lip, frowning, trying to think. She usually put it in her back pocket or up her sleeve, but it wasn't to be found anywhere. Had she lost it during the the journey?
She sat back on the bed. What had happened, exactly? Memories started to surface of the day… was it yesterday? Hogwarts, the battle, the chaos, the deaths. The Headmaster's office. Gods… It was all coming back, what the portraits had asked of her. Unbidden tears started to well up in her eyes, over everyone she'd seen dead after the battle, over the choices she'd had to make. Choices that never were choices, as it were, as the alternative was never acceptable. She had no idea where she was, when she was, or what she was supposed to do with the rest of her life.
Another need made itself known and she rose, somewhat unsteadily, and made for the door. It didn't budge. She frowned and tried again. Was she locked in? She turned again to look for her wand. "Accio wand!" but none came flying to her hand. Who had caught her, was she a prisoner again? Had the Death Eaters returned? Panic rose along with bile in her throat. She started pounding the door. "Let me out!"
Suddenly the door was yanked open and she almost fell into the corridor. A lanky black-haired wizard clad in a ratty grey nightshirt stood outside, glowering at her, his ebony wand pointed straight at her. "Can't I sleep in peace?" he snarled.
"I really need the loo," Hermione snapped.
The young man blushed and stepped back, gesturing to a door down the short hallway. He still held his wand pointed at her. She ignored him and quickly made her way inside, to a cramped and filthy old-fashioned Muggle bathroom. There was a rusty bath tub, at least, and the loo and sink took up the rest of the space together with a small dresser for towels.
When the pressure on her bladder lessened she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and when her body relaxed her mind kicked back into gear again. Severus Snape. That was almost certainly Severus Snape, the younger version, and that meant this was probably his home. She recalled the strange journey, landing in darkness, the Death Eaters, the one she presumed to be Professor Snape. She didn't have any memories of how she'd made it to that bedroom, however. When she thought about his ugly nightshirt and the wild look in his eyes she felt laughter bubbling up inside but managed to quell it by recalling Professor McGonagall lying dead in the Great Hall.
After washing her hands she saw her face in the chipped mirror over the sink. She was an awful sight. Dirt, blood and tears had painted her face in all kinds of colours, and her hair was a complete rat's nest. The cursed scar on her neck had started bleeding again, as had the hideous word carved into her arm. She turned on the taps again and washed her face quickly with cold water, feeling marginally better afterwards.
He was still standing where she'd left him, outside the door, wand pointed straight at her. She froze, completely unable to think of anything to say to this man, this young wizard whom she didn't know, yet knew all too well what he could become.
"Erm…"
"Explain yourself," he said, his voice cold and sharp, not quite at the lethal rumbling purr he had perfected as an older teacher. Unless, of course, he wasn't who she thought he was.
She took a deep breath. "I…" Her mind froze. What could she possibly say, to explain her presence? "Err, where am I?"
"Who are you?" he snapped.
"I'm Hermione… Hermione Granger. And you?"
"Severus Snape."
She knew, she had known, but hearing it from him made her almost dizzy, causing her to sag against the doorframe. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, tears stinging her eyes. How could it be true? "I know," she half whispered.
"How?! Who are you?" He'd stepped closer, the tip of his wand touching her chin. "You called me Professor but you knew my name. How?"
She opened her eyes to look at him properly. There wasn't any warmth in his dark eyes, he was skinny, tall and lanky with seriously bad hair, fury simmering right underneath the surface. "I'll tell you everything when I know I can trust you. I know who you serve and what you have on your left arm. I know your mother was Eileen Prince, a witch, your father was Tobias Snape, a Muggle who was an abusive alcoholic, I know you had a best friend called Lily whom you showed magic to but you were in Slytherin and she in Gryffindor and she refused to forgive you after you called her names. I know you're brave and brilliant and really good at Potions. Now do you have any tea here?"
He stared at her, open-mouthed, before lowering his wand. "I… I don't keep much here."
"I think I have some sandwiches in my bag," Hermione offered. It seemed like he, too, reacted favourably to a certain amount of bossiness, just as Harry and Ron had. Grief bubbled up inside her at the thought of them, her friends, her old life, but she took a deep breath and pushed it down. This wasn't the time for falling apart. She walked cautiously around him, back to the bedroom she'd woken up in, and rummaged around in her bag until she found the hamper the elves had prepared. It was shrunk and in stasis but everything seemed to be as it should.
"My wand…" She trailed off.
"I have it."
When it didn't appear as if he was planning to give it back, she handed him the hamper. "Well, go ahead then."
He glowered at her but curiosity and confusion appeared to win over his distrust. "Come downstairs, then. Mind the steps, they're bad," he muttered. Without looking back he turned around and disappeared down a flight of stairs opposite the bathroom door.
She trailed him downstairs, minding the steps as he had said, and followed him into a tiny old-fashioned Muggle kitchen with a small rickety kitchen table by the window where he had deposited the still shrunken Hogwarts hamper. He was already muttering to himself, slamming the cupboard doors closed as he pulled out two chipped mugs and an old kettle. He lit the gas stove with a wave of his wand and flicked two tea bags into the mugs. Not until the tea was properly steeped did he turn to face her, pointing his wand at the hamper to enlarge it. His eyes grew huge as he saw what the elves had packed for them. Prepared sandwiches, a large piece of Cheddar cheese, half a ham and a large roast beef, two roast chickens, four loaves of bread, eggs, a huge sack of potatoes, a large jug of pumpkin juice, a jar of milk and several bottles of Butterbeer, a large pot of chicken soup, crackers, fruit and a bag of root vegetables, and probably more.
Hermione started giggling at the sight of so much food. The months on the run were still making themselves known. Even during their stay in Shell Cottage she hadn't been able to eat much although regular meals had made life a lot easier compared to spending months in a tent.
"What is this?" he demanded, glowering at her. "Are you trying to trick me somehow? Are Potter and Black behind all this?"
Hermione shrugged and reached for a roast beef sandwich. "Help yourself." It tasted wonderful, the first bite of food she'd had in however long it had been. It was very difficult to know how much time had passed but her stomach informed her that it had been too long, indeed.
"This looks like Hogwarts food. How did you get it?" He reached for a sandwich as well, cautiously, but once he'd had a few bites the frown grew less severe. It seemed food worked on him, too, despite the many times she'd seen Professor Snape pick at his meal at the Head Table.
Hermione merely nodded and opened the jug of pumpkin juice before realising she didn't have a glass. He noticed, too, and silently Summoned two from the cupboard behind him. "What date is it?" She poured both of them a glass and handed one to him.
"September, the twentieth," he muttered around his pumpkin juice.
"And… the year?" she half whispered. It was too much of a coincidence, the date.
He frowned and glared at her sharply. "The year? 1979. How could you lose track of the year?"
She barely heard him. "I arrived last night? Would you happen to know the time?"
He shrugged. "Around half ten, eleven maybe."
"Gods…" If she hadn't been sitting down she'd have fainted, for sure. Black spots danced around the edge of her vision and she put her head in her hands, resting her elbows on the table. If she remembered what her mum had told her, she had been born late in the evening of the nineteenth. And now she'd been thrown back to that very moment in time.
The sandwich disappeared without her taking note of the taste while she thought of her parents and the life she'd left behind. Snape was quiet, eating steadily and eyeing her warily.
Another thought rose, causing her to sit up straight again. "Did you… Does anyone know I'm here?"
He shook his head and finished off his second sandwich.
"Thank you," she whispered, sagging back in the chair. "Please, please don't tell anyone about me. They'll kill me, and probably you too."
It was impossible to see what he was thinking as he drank the last of his juice.
"I have to go." He rose abruptly, and with a wave of his wand the plate and glass he'd used cleaned themselves in the sink before floating back into the cupboard.
"Wait — where are you going?" She rose too, taking a step to follow him.
He glared at her over his shoulder, already halfway out the kitchen door. "I have an Apprenticeship with Master Pyrites, if you must know."
"Oh… Potions? When will you be back?"
He shrugged. "This weekend, maybe. I don't usually come here unless I have to. Wouldn't have come here tonight if it wasn't for you." He started pulling on his dragon-hide boots.
Panic started surging again, at the thought of being all alone again. "Please, can I have my wand back then? I don't want to be unable to defend myself if something happens."
He stopped, then, and slowly turned to her again. A frown was yet again furrowing his brow. "I still want answers. Fine, have your wand back but I want a wand oath." He produced her wand from his back pocket and held it out to her.
She grabbed it cautiously. "I swear on my magic not to betray you or your secrets, Severus Snape." Magic swirled around her, settling under her skin, but he seemed pleased with it. Another thought struck her. "Please… can I stay here a while? I literally have nowhere to go. If you turn me out I guess I'll have to head up to Hogwarts but I'd rather not, not yet."
He growled but stilled, raking a hand through his long lanky hair. "Fine. Give me your hand."
Pulling his wand out he took her wrist and almost dragged her through the small sitting room over to the front door. With an intricate wave of his wand she felt the wards awaken, and when he pressed her palm against the door jamb they thrummed around her, accepting her presence.
"Be very careful if you must go outside. This isn't a very good neighbourhood. And don't touch the books without asking first, some are dangerous."
"Thank you, Prof- Sn- Severus." It was hard not to stumble on his name.
With a nod he turned on the spot and left with a sharp crack.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
She sagged against the door after he'd left, slowly lowering herself to the dirty floor. It felt as if she was suddenly caught in a nightmare, one without an end in sight. She barely noticed the tears that started tracking down her cheeks, again.
An indeterminate time later she rose to make a second cup of tea and put away the rest of the food which was thankfully under good stasis spells and wouldn't spoil. The ancient-looking small fridge was empty but for a knob of butter, which Hermione suspected was for the best. There was a small freezer compartment at the top, completely frosted over. The cupboards were also mostly empty. A few chipped plates, some glasses and mugs, a can of baked beans.
The sitting room was small and cramped, with a small sofa underneath the window and an armchair with a small table and a floor lamp by the other corner. There were a few hooks and hangers next to the entrance door diagonal from the doorway that led to the stairs and to the kitchen. It was odd to see how Muggle it all was, considering what the Professor had been like later in life. Bookshelves lined the available surfaces and she spotted both Muggle and magical texts.
She walked upstairs again and headed into the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes and her toiletries. Flicking on the naked light bulb in the ceiling did not help make the small bathroom look better. The sink was cracked, the tub rusty, and the once light blue plaster on the walls had cracked and flaked. Hesitantly she turned on the shower faucet, checking if the water ran clear before stepping into the tub, easing in under the thin stream of thankfully warm water and sighing in pleasure as it streamed over her hair, down her back and thighs. Seeing all the dirt, grime and blood washing down the drain made her heart lighter, as if a few of her sorrows washed away as well.
When she was done she found a moderately clean towel and dried herself off after first flicking a Scourgify at it. The wounds weren't bleeding anymore but she covered them with gauze just in case, and pulled on an old t-shirt that used to be Harry's. The lumpy bed and itchy blanket felt heavenly, for what they represented if not their physical properties. Safe. She was safe, for the moment, hidden behind Severus Snape's wards in a place no one would bother to look. Sleep caught her quickly.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
The next morning she felt marginally better. She must have slept for at least twelve hours, if not more, but the days on the run and then the battle combined with her trip through time had made her completely exhausted. After fumbling under the pillow she found her wand and cast a Lumos to see better. Somehow her magic also felt odd, almost pulsating, fluctuating rather than being stable and steady, but she guessed it was the exhaustion and magical exertion. She padded off to the bathroom before going downstairs to eat something again. It was as if she didn't have the mental capacity for much more than to secure the basic needs, such as food, sleep and shelter, but she shrugged and thought it was probably a rather normal side effect of surviving a major battle and then crashing back in time.
Her hands set to work almost on autopilot after she'd finished eating. First she did the dishes, the cups and plates, having located detergent and a sponge. Then she continued cleaning the kitchen, wiping down the sink and the counter, the stove and the cupboard doors. It felt good to be doing something, and cleaning the Muggle way allowed her not to think. There were some old cleaning supplies in the cupboard under the stairs, allowing her to scrub the floor clean with soap. She moved upstairs next to the bathroom, giving it a good scrub with soap and hot water. It didn't do much for the general shabbiness of the room but it did look better, afterwards.
Later that afternoon, when she'd cleaned the small sitting room as well, she went to fetch some clothes from her beaded bag. When she opened it, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black fell out. "Finally, girl! I thought you had more sense than that!"
"Sorry? I didn't know you were coming too, sir!"
"You should have thought about it," the old Headmaster grumbled. "Now, what's the status? You're with Headmaster Snape?"
"Erm… he has a long way to go before he's Headmaster," Hermione ventured. "But yes, this is his… house." She couldn't call this a home. It wasn't.
"Good, good. What are your plans, then?"
She shook her head, tears tracking down her face again although she barely noticed. "Plans? I don't know, I don't know anything. What have I done?"
"There now, girl, you're doing fine," Phineas said awkwardly, apparently not too sure either how to deal with her. "You've made contact with him, that's a good start. You have time, yet, but not forever. Have you read the rest of the Headmaster's letter?"
Shaking her head she went to pull out the letter from her bag. The scroll felt longer now, and when she opened it a second, thicker scroll fell out. It was sealed with the Headmaster's sign and addressed to Severus Snape, so she carefully put it aside, certain that nasty things would befall anyone not named Severus Snape who tried to open it.
Her own letter had more text now, as promised. She quickly scanned the first part again before continuing.
Miss Granger,
If you read this, you made it. If Heliotrope's calculations were correct, you were sent back to the time of your birth and should now have been in contact with my younger self. As you probably have worked out already, this kind of time travel is not a closed loop. I, writing this, never had you visiting me, and the events you put in motion — be it intentionally or not — will inevitably lead to events not happening the way you remember.
I am unsure of what to tell you that would make a difference to you. My younger self is a true Death Eater at this point in time, or at least I, he, wants to be one. I was drawn to the recognition, the power, the promises, not willing to recognise the falsehood that lay beneath. I wanted to belong somewhere, and this was the only choice left open for a poor boy from the North.
As far as I can tell it is vital that you gain my trust, Miss Granger, and that you show that you trust me, him, if you can, since so very few people did. Don't let him think you pity him, don't let him push you away, but don't be afraid to tell him what you think when he cocks up, because he will.
A lot is riding on your shoulders, Miss Granger. For that I can only apologise.
Severus Snape
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
September 1979
Thursday, Friday
Severus chopped Alihotsy leaves on autopilot for the potion he was working on, a new variant of a mood-lifting potion. His mind was completely elsewhere, occupied with the mystery girl who had crash landed in front of him. Why had he saved her? He didn't do things like that, but something about her had triggered him to act without even thinking about it. He was doomed if the Dark Lord ever found out that he'd Obliviated Yaxley. Why had she asked about the year? Why did she claim to know him? Why did she call him Professor Snape?
And then she'd shared a meal with him, bringing more food than he'd ever seen anywhere apart from at Hogwarts or at the Malfoys. She didn't appear to be afraid of him, instead she'd been begging him to protect her. She'd seen him in Death Eater robes, she carried a foul word branded into her arm, and yet asked him to let her stay with him, to keep her safe.
Shaking his head he returned to the task on hand. After carefully measuring the Alihotsy leaves, adding them to the potion and stirring six times clockwise and once anti-clockwise, he left the brew to simmer on a low heat for an hour before he could add the next ingredient. If this worked he'd have a solid part of his Mastery done already, along with a Potions patent for which he'd split the profits with his Master as was custom.
Master Pyrites was vain, lazy, and never did any work himself if one of his Apprentices could be tasked with it, for the potions he sold or offered to his business acquaintances. One of the Dark Lord's original followers, a member of the Knights of Walpurgis, he was also completely ruthless. Severus had been offered the Apprenticeship once Lucius Malfoy had vouched for his skill in Potions, together with his NEWT results, but of course the offer had been contingent on his taking the Mark. Nevertheless, he had been grateful for the chance. With a Potions Master title he could make a living for himself, finally getting out of the miserable poverty he'd grown up in. Although the hours were long and the work hard, Severus never complained and was well on track to finish within two years. He had a tiny chamber in the attic above the workshop on Horizont Alley and usually slept there during the weeks, only occasionally going back to Spinner's End over the weekends when the Dark Lord had sent them out on raids. Two other Apprentices also lived there, Warrington who had only just started his Apprenticeship and Vulchanov, a former Durmstrang student from Bulgaria, who was expected to finish in the spring although in Severus' opinion he was far from ready. Warrington was a former Ravenclaw, a year younger than Severus and with a very high opinion about himself. Vulchanov, on the other hand, was quiet and soft-spoken and had helped Severus several times surreptitiously during his first year when he'd nearly botched something.
~oo~oo~oo~oo~
That odd witch kept intruding on his mind, causing him to get yelled at after he'd almost ruined a batch of Never-Flag Male Stamina potion due to his inattention. Who was she? She knew things about him…
Taking a deep breath he tried to start cataloguing what little he knew about her. She had said her name was Hermione Granger, that was one. She had appeared right in front of him in the middle of the night, that was two. There was a scar on her neck and another along her forearm, spelling out that word he hadn't uttered since then, that was three. She had brought food of a quality he hadn't seen since Hogwarts which she'd shared with him, that was four. She was thin, dirty and bloodied, that was five. She had a wand, that was six. And she'd known his name, that was seven.
He dumped the Jewelweed into the bowl he'd set aside and started reaching for the leeches. So, what could he infer from this? Obviously she wasn't a Pure-blood, that much was clear from her name if not for the mark on her arm. Recalling it made his lip curl in disgust over the sheer malice and viciousness required to do something like that. The wand she carried had seemed… wrong for her, somehow. It was Dark. She'd also been surprised, for some reason, when he told her the date. But, she hadn't been afraid of him, or disgusted by his appearance, or his manners. She'd asked when he would be back as if she'd still be there, waiting for him, and although she'd begged him not to tell anyone she hadn't forced him into an oath over it.
He shook his head and did one of the mental exercises Reg had mentioned. Carefully he tucked all thoughts of the odd witch into a corner of his mind and let his mind go blank until only the rhythmic motion of the knife remained.
After working late that evening he was luckily too exhausted to worry about witches, odd or otherwise, and only just managed to pull off his dragon-hide boots before crashing onto his lumpy bed. The next day, a Friday, was even busier. His own project still looked to be promising, the potion had turned lime green just as he'd calculated, but he was still not quite sure he had the correct formula. Between his own project and the requests for potions and ingredients preparation for his Master he was too busy to think, which was probably just as well.
Just as he was preparing to return back to the shithole that was Spinner's End that same evening the mark on his arm burned again, and he hissed in annoyance at the distraction. He shook his head at the thought. Distraction? He always appreciated the Summons, either the interesting discussions or the thrill of a raid, or the staged duels the Dark Lord often set up as entertainment and practice for his followers. He'd honed his situational awareness at home, his reflexes at Hogwarts, and his knowledge of hexes from duelling his fellow Death Eaters, until he'd gained a reputation as a vicious, unpredictable opponent with an excellent poker face.
This time the Malfoys were hosting. He arrived just outside the gates of the Manor at the designated Apparition spot, as not even the Dark Mark could override the ancient Anti-Apparition wards on the Manor. There was a ball going on, he noted. He felt underdressed as usual, now in his drab Apprentice robes underneath the Death Eater cloak, but he didn't have anything better to wear anyway.
Elves were drifting through the room with huge trays of canapés and other things he barely recognised, and he grabbed a few while trying to find someone he knew. The Lestrange brothers were talking to Lucius Malfoy and a host of older wizards. Lucius nodded at Severus but didn't break away from the crowd. The ladies were mingling in another corner, with Narcissa Malfoy holding court. Severus stayed well clear of them, not wanting to expose himself to the barely hidden scorn in their eyes when they saw him. He'd done what he could to blend in, getting rid of his accent, emulating their table manners, working out the unspoken social cues with some help from Lucius and Reg, but he knew he'd never be one of them no matter what he did.
Gereon Avery was there, talking to a couple of Ministry wizards Severus didn't recognise. They'd been sort-of-friends since Hogwarts, Gereon and Justus Mulciber and him. Not being friends with Avery and Mulciber would have hurt more than being friends with them, and so Severus had made sure to stay on their good side. They were decent company, anyway, they always invited him over for a pint when they'd been on raids together and they'd helped him at Hogwarts, plotting vengeance on Potter and Black or just studying together even if Severus often ended up doing most of the work.
He spotted his other friend there, in the corner of the room, and quickly went to join him. They had met at Hogwarts and despite the one year age difference they had become rather close over the years, bonding over disdain for the younger wizard's brother.
"How's it going?" Regulus asked over a glass of champagne. The youngest Black son was elegantly dressed as always, in resplendent green robes with silver inlays.
They'd drifted apart a little when Severus had finished his NEWTs and started his Apprenticeship while Reg finished his own last year at Hogwarts, but now he too had graduated, working with the printing team at the Daily Prophet for a year before he was due to start learning to manage the Black family business.
He'd recently taken the Mark. Severus had been there for the initiation, trying to support his friend afterwards as he was throwing up into a bucket but secretly thinking his own initiation had been much worse. The Muggle Reg had needed to hurt had been a random older man snatched off the streets, the duel had been rather tame and the girl in the end had been happy to see him.
"Nothing much." He squared his shoulders and looked out over the assembly. The Dark Lord was talking to some of his older followers, the Knights, while the younger Death Eaters were mingling.
"Right, pull the other one too," Reg said with a snort. "Girl trouble? Is that it? You met someone?"
"No! Not here, not now," Severus hissed.
The Dark Lord called for attention, and had all of them gather in the large drawing room. He spoke about his future plans for the Ministry and the Wizarding world, the way Muggles and others would bow to them, granting them power and wealth and anything else that came to mind. Severus listened impatiently, his mind half elsewhere. He stayed still and silent next to Regulus, careful not to draw attention to himself. It seemed today wouldn't be a duelling day. Some time later they were joined by a large group of witches in expensive-looking robes who started to circle the assembled crowd. He wasn't sure if they were bought or just drawn in by the power, wealth and darkness, but either way none of them looked his way and for once he was grateful for it. The Dark Lord called for all of them to enjoy themselves and mingle, and left the room together with Bellatrix Black Lestrange who looked pleased as a Kneazle.
Severus pulled Regulus aside. "Can we go somewhere?"
Regulus looked around but no one was paying them any attention. "The Wicked Witch?"
Severus nodded. It was a pub in Knockturn Alley which they sometimes frequented. They were soon able to sneak out and walked to the Manor gates to get outside the wards. The night was chilly and damp, making him grateful for not having to go out on a raid that evening.
Once they were settled in a private booth in the dingy pub, with a pint of ale each and Muffliato and Notice-Me-Not charms to hide them away, he suddenly had no idea how to begin.
"You met someone?" Regulus asked, smirking only a little. "I can tell, you know."
"Shut up, Reg." He glared at his sometimes friend and took a swig of beer. "Look, this is really weird, alright? I have no idea what to do."
"Awww, Sev's in luuuv!" Regulus grinned widely.
"Cut it out, Regulus!"
Regulus calmed down and actually looked serious again. Severus never used his whole name unless he was seriously peeved. "Right, sorry, I'll shut up. What's going on?"
Haltingly he began telling his friend what he knew, which wasn't very much. A witch had crashed through the forest, seemed to know him, had given him food and asked when he'd be back.
"Shit," Regulus breathed. "And you Obliviated Yaxley? If he sees it…"
"What do you mean, see it?" Severus was confused, Regulus sounded more worried than usual.
Regulus' eyebrows rose. "You didn't know? He's a Legilimens. He can read your mind."
He felt his stomach fall even though he was seated. "Merlin's tits… Seriously?"
Regulus nodded and took a swig of his beer. "If he did it to you and thought you were hiding something you wouldn't have any mind left when he was done. And if he found that, there wouldn't be anything left of you to bury."
Severus leaned back and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt way too sober for the amount of alcohol he had drunk. This was bad. Seriously bad. Although he hadn't particularly wanted to divulge her existence to the Dark Lord before, now it seemed he was screwed either way. He couldn't very well give her up now, several days later, and still expect to live. "What can I do, then?"
Regulus raked his hand through his messy brown hair. "Well, here's the deal. You can counter Legilimency with Occlumency which is the art of shielding your mind. Have you done the mental exercises I told you about?"
Severus nodded. He'd found them quite useful both in his Potions work and for duels or raids. "How come you know it?"
"Old Pure-blood family, remember?" Regulus said with a grimace. "Father taught us the basics. It's not a skill that's widely talked about if you have it but certain families do practice it. The Ministry frowns upon it even if it isn't really against the law. I'm not sure how far my shields would hold though, especially against him."
"So I'm doomed, then." Severus put his head in his hands, resting his elbows against the table.
Regulus shook his head and sat up straighter, leaning forward slightly over the table. "No. No, you're not. I'll teach you what I know and we'll practice together. Alright?"
"Yeah. Now?"
"Nah, not here, not after drinking," Regulus said. "Let me know when you're free next time. Did I tell you what Dad saw the other day about the Ministry? He found one of his associates sucking off the Minister's assistant."
Some time much later he stumbled up the stairs at Spinner's End, haphazardly shedding boots and robes as he went. The champagne and then the beer had done a number on him, more than he'd realised at the time. Not until he entered the bathroom did he remember his houseguest. There was a towel he didn't recognise hanging on the rack and the room looked slightly shinier than usual. On his way to the bedroom he stopped by the other door and opened it slowly. The odd witch was still there, fast asleep, her head at an odd angle with her arm splayed across the pillow, displaying half of the gruesome word in the pale light seeping through the curtains.
