"Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?" the school secretary asked the black-haired man standing in the entrance hall and looking somewhat lost.
"I'd like to speak to a teacher. Mrs Saunders. Is that possible?"
"Well, do you have an appointment?"
"No, but it's urgent."
"Right, Sir, wait a minute, please." She went into her office.
"You're lucky", she called, "Mrs Saunders has two free periods now. I'll try to phone her in her classroom. Can you tell me your name, please?"
"Yes, of course, my name's - Snape."
Had he expected a reaction? There was none. The secretary picked up the receiver and dialled. "Hello, Claire, this is Brenda speaking. Here's a parent who would like to speak to you. Is it possible now? Yes, a Mr Snape. Right, I'll send him to your room. OK, Mr Snape. Go up the stairs, turn left and it's the third door on the right. Modern languages department."
Snape mumbled his thanks and went in search of the classroom. Obviously it was break now, students were coming down the stairs. They looked different from Hogwards students, grubbier, their school uniforms in bad repair. And their behaviour! Shouting, pushing, dropping sweet wrappers – having to teach them certainly had to be a nightmare.
Finally he reached the classroom and found a woman waiting for him at the door.
"Hello, Mr Snape, have you managed to fight your way through the student hordes?"
She smiled and extended a hand. Small and slim. As was the rest of the woman. She looked like a – what was that Muggle kind of entertainment called? ballet? yes, she looked like a ballet dancer, with her brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. She wasn't exactly young, somewhere around his own age, but her smiling grey eyes had a youthful sparkle. Grey eyes, surrounded by black lashes, looking at him enquiringly. Hastily he took her hand and answered her greeting.
Claire did some rapid thinking, trying to place the man. She didn't have a student called Snape, she was sure about that, and she couldn't find any family resemblance between her visitor and a student. So who was he? Perhaps a stepfather? There were so many single parents with new partners. But these rarely cared about the children. She led the way to the front of the classroom and gestured invitingly to two chairs next to her desk. The man sat down and Claire took her notebook from her bag and sat in the chair facing him. He looked shabby, like many other parents at this school. Faded black denims, greyish-white shirt and a black jumper with a hole at the elbow. Pale skin, black greasy hair tied back into a ponytail. He certainly wasn't handsome, but there was some attraction in a dark and brooding way, there was something about his eyes… Claire pulled herself out of her reverie and changed into professional concern and cheerfulness.
"Well, Mr Snape, what can I do for you? I'm sorry, but I'm at a loss about which class your child is in …"
"I'm not a parent, Mrs Saunders, sorry, I only created this impression to get this appointment."
"Oh," Claire was taken aback, "so – what do you want?"
He took a deep breath and studied the hands in his lap – tight fists, white knuckles, he certainly was tense. Then he looked up.
"Have you had any nightmares recently?" he finally asked.
Claire stared at him. What was going on here, who was this man?
"What - I mean, how – who on earth are you?"
"I'm Severus Snape. I'm a wizard. And I'm wanted for murder."
He sounded emotionless like a newsreader. Claire got angry.
"I haven't got time for silly jokes. Would you please leave my room!"
She was about to get up, but he placed a hand on her knee.
"No, wait, please listen to me. Sorry, I couldn't find a better way to start. I know it sounds crazy, but I am a wizard. There are many of us around, we're some kind of parallel society with schools, hospitals, a ministry, a prison... Usually we avoid contact with Muggles – non-magical persons – but ours is a special case. I have to speak to you."
His hand was still on her knee, well shaped, long fingers, she thought as she looked at it. He followed her gaze and withdrew it.
"Please."
Claire settled into her chair again.
"If you are a wizard, can you prove it and do some magic?" she asked with a sarcastic undertone.
He uttered a sad laugh. "No, unfortunately I can't. As I told you the ministry is after me, they can track any magic done, and if I performed it here, the Aurors most certainly would show up in ten minutes' time."
"Aurors?"
"Wizard police."
"Oh, I see."
They looked at each other in silence. He sighed.
"Let me ask a different question: Did you donate blood at St. Matthew's Hospital about four weeks ago?"
"Yes," Claire breathed.
"And soon afterwards the dreams started?"
"Yes, but how do you know?"
"Well, I received your blood, and these dreams – they are mine."
"Yours?" Claire stared at him, no, he wasn't joking, he looked dead serious.
"But they are horrible…"
"Yes, they are horrible."
His voice sounded flat. He looked at his shoes, avoiding her curious gaze. Silence. Claire listened to the playground noises outside. He made a new start.
"Let me explain: Blood transfusions usually are not used among wizards, we have other methods. But I couldn't go to our hospital – "
"Because of the Aurors?"
"Yes, the Aurors, so I had to rely on Muggle medicine. I didn't know what would happen.
I suddenly started dreaming about a car accident. As we don't drive cars, this couldn't be my memories, so I guessed that the blood transfusion had established some connection between us."
"Connection", Claire repeated thoughtfully, "but – how did you know it was me?"
"Oh", he shrugged and avoided her eyes, "just some – investigation in the hospital's file cabinet."
Claire nodded. "But – why is it so important? I mean, these dreams are a nuisance and I would like to get rid of them, but what is the disadvantage for you?"
He looked at her for a moment, massaged the bridge of his nose and said, "Listen, I'll explain it to you. It's a complicated story, but I'll try to make it short. There is a Dark Lord in the Wizarding world, who wants to gain absolute power. His followers are called Death Eaters and I'm one of them. He wants to control us completely, so he – as you would say – reads our minds regularly. Usually I can influence what he is allowed to see or not, but if he catches me in a weak state, he may find you there. And he - doesn't approve of Muggles and certainly wouldn't appreciate my being somehow bound to one. He would kill you – and me."
Claire cleared her throat. "Why do you care? You said you were a murderer and a – Death Eater, so why do you care if I die?"
"Didn't you listen? He'd kill me as well."
There was a strange look in his face.
"Don't ask silly questions," he said roughly, "just do what I tell you."
"And what is it?"
"You must use Occlumency."
"What?"
"Don't interrupt, listen!"
He leant closer to her.
"You must empty your mind every night before you fall asleep. You must block your thoughts if you feel that they are running away, block your mind."
Claire laughed. "As easy as that," she said sarcastically. "Sorry, but I don't think I can do it. I tried meditation once and it didn't work."
"You must try. I do my best, but it is really effective only if both of us do it. Don't you understand, this connection between us is dangerous."
His black eyes probed into hers, willing her to cooperate. She swallowed hard.
"Oh, very well, I'll try. But I can't promise any positive results."
He sighed.
"Let's see if you can do it."
"Now?"
"Yes, now. I'll try to enter your mind and you must try to reject me."
He forced his black eyes into hers. Claire felt her brain reel, she couldn't control her thoughts and memories, everything came flooding past her. The funeral, all the mourning relatives, herself in hospital after the car accident, the moment the car hit the tree. No! NO! She held her breath and stemmed her mind against the flood. Nobody knew and nobody should know about this. About the fact that they had argued violently before the accident, herself confronting him with the news that she knew about his girl-friend and that she was not going to accept it, that she would make it public and destroy his promising political career. He had tried to hit her in the face and thereby caused the car to swerve and crash into the tree. No! She sobbed. A headache was beginning to throb above her right eye. He took her hand.
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't know…"
She looked up.
"What did you see?"
"Nothing I didn't know before. You are a natural Occlumens, Mrs Saunders, I don't understand why, but it's very useful in our case."
He leaned back in his chair. "If you do it properly every night, we will be able to stay out of each other's life and nothing will happen to you."
"Right, I'll just slam the door of my mind into your face," Claire said with a faint attempt of humour. He scowled.
"I'm serious."
"Oh, absolutely, so am I."
She massaged her brow.
"Sorry, but my next lesson is starting in five minutes, so I'm afraid you must go now."
She extended a hand, he took it, held it for a moment, his black eyes glittering and unfathomable, and left.
Thanks to JKR for the inspiring characters.