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Chapter Text

“That’s a suicide mission!”
“Worse. It’s a murder mission, and it’ll kill everyone, literally. I still think I should do it.”
  

  “So, will you try it?” Avery twitched his eyebrows, a sly smile curving his thin lips.

  “Nah,” Mulciber grumbled, “my mum will kill me if I Apparate.”

  “Why? You’ve got your licence for two bloody years!”

  “Yeah, well, try telling her!”

  Avery chuckled. “Be careful her thumb doesn’t smash you, Mulc, you’re so deep under it …”

  “Oh, stow it!” he hissed, poking his elbow into his classmate’s ribs. “Just find someone else to bunk off with and leave me alone.”

  The next second, Avery’s eyes fastened on Severus, and his pulse spiked. “Snape!” he bellowed, loud enough that surely even the Gryffindors on the other side of the Great Hall had heard him; Severus resisted the urge to turn round and look for one particular redhead, but he couldn’t stop himself from rolling his shoulders against the prickle in his back.

  “What?” he snarled, taking a bite of his toast instead of smuggling it into his cloak pocket to devour later on the train back to London.

  “Fancy saving yourself seven hours on the train?”

  “Hell no!”

  Avery groaned, Mulciber chuckled and winked at Severus. 

  Bloody idiot.

  “But why not? We’re adults! Fuck, we’ve finished school! Nobody can stop us now!”

  Severus tore his eyes off Mulciber and fastened them on Avery. “Wrong. We’re considered students of this school until we set foot onto the platform in King’s Cross,” he lectured him, trying to imitate Lucius’s drawl, “and taking the train back is mandatory. I won’t fuck with my education just for your bloody kicks!”

  “Ugh, you’re such a wet blanket, Snape …”

  He gave him the finger, and when the idiots were finally busy with themselves again, he sneaked some more food into his pockets while simultaneously stuffing more scrambled eggs into his mouth. Mh, so good … 

  But all too soon, McGonagall rose from her chair, and everything vanished from the tables. “It is time to get your luggage and return home, the Hogwarts Express will leave in an hour. I wish all of you a lovely summer, and to those of you who won’t return in autumn, a good start to your adult lives! As always, Mr Filch awaits you at the gates, and please! Behave! I don’t fancy contacting your parents and spoiling their beautiful day!” Her smile seemed almost genuine, yet Severus couldn’t help narrowing his eyes at her.

  “What’s wrong?” Mulciber asked and poked him in the ribs as well, almost squishing the sandwiches in Severus’s pocket.

  “Where’s Dumbledore? Why is McGonagall bidding us goodbye?”

  He looked around at the teachers’ table, then he shrugged. “Dunno. Does it matter?”

  Severus made a non-committal sound and got going at last. Letting himself be swept out of the Great Hall and back down into the dungeons for the last time, he tried to keep the food out of everyone’s way, but there were so many students hurrying around mindlessly that he did collide with someone at last.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled out of reflex, then he looked around, finding that said someone was at least as suspicious as Dumbledore’s absence. 

  A woman of about thirty years, a tad bit smaller than him, but not one of the teachers. He had, in fact, never seen her before. “No, it was my fault,” she laughed awkwardly, “I’m sorry! Please, don’t let me stop you.” She gestured in the vague direction of the dungeon corridor, and Severus got going again.

  Only when she’d been swallowed by the crowd of students did he realise that he was wearing his casual robes already. How did she know I was a Slytherin?

  It wasn’t until on the train that he found something more was amiss about this day. He’d sneaked away from the compartment he was sharing with his dorm mates to find an empty one and quickly eat some of the food that was hidden in his cloak pockets, but when he pulled out the slightly soggy sandwiches, a folded piece of parchment tumbled to the floor. 

  What the … Frowning, Severus put the sandwiches aside and bent down to get it. 

  ‘Meet me at King’s Cross if you dare, WHSmith’s.’

  He read the note multiple times before his gaze began ghosting through the compartment, his mind reeling in the steady clack-clack clack-clack of the moving train. Meeting? Whom?

  Was Avery taking the piss out of him?

  Then he remembered the run-in with that woman in the Entrance Hall. She’d come from the right direction to smuggle that note into his pocket … 

  But why would she? Who was she? And what did she want from him?

  A jumble of voices drew nearer, and Severus stuffed the note back into his pocket before he gobbled down one of the sandwiches. He still had some time to make up his mind. And to watch Avery … 

  King’s Cross was a mess, as always. Kids were screaming, parents shouting, owls screeching, trunks tumbling down the stairs. Severus watched a younger student struggle with his and smirked when he snatched his wand and cast a Feather-light Charm on his before he made it hover beside him. He’d have to cancel that last one as soon as he passed through to the Muggle part of the train station, but it was worth it for the glare that followed him.

  “You’re a prick,” Mulciber stated, laughing, when he caught up with Severus.

  “No, I’m free!”

  His grin widened. “Yes, we are! Are you coming to Lucius’s next week? It’ll be grand! You shouldn’t miss it!”

  “I won’t.”

  “Perfect! See you then!” And with a last clap on Severus’s shoulder, Mulciber was gone.

  Severus focused on all of his classmates joining their waiting parents instead, swallowing the thick feeling swelling in his throat, and as if his eyes were magically drawn to her, he found Lily’s auburn hair in the crowd. The lump in his throat turned sour, and his face twisted when he noticed Potter’s black mop next to her, smiling politely as he was introduced to her parents. 

  Fucking wanker. 

  He tore his eyes away, and although he really tried, he was unable to stop himself from scanning the platform for another familiar face. But of course, his mother hadn’t bothered to come. Curling his lip, he took off his cloak and stuffed it into his trunk; it was too hot to wear anyway, and now that the pockets were empty, it didn’t matter. Then he got going again, following the growing stream of people leaving the hidden platform in small groups.

  He passed through with a mother ushering her two children forward, and leaving the soft trickle of magic behind, Severus stopped to look around. That note and its message were churning in the back of his mind, had during all the remaining travel here. Should he risk getting humiliated and go meet whoever had written it? Nothing about Avery’s behaviour had seemed fishy to him, so maybe … Maybe it hadn’t been him after all.

  A deep frown plastered on his forehead, he looked in the direction of the local WHSmith shop, the bleary announcement of some change in the railway schedule flowing past his ears. If he carefully sneaked closer … 

  Checking his surroundings, Severus got going, flowing with the stream of people again, sticking to the other side of the train station and only casting glances at the shop. ‘STEEL STRIKE LOOMS’, the Daily Mirror declared from one of the magazine racks, and Severus stopped, tilting his head to be able to look past it. His grip around his trunk handle tightened, a bead of sweat forming at the back of his neck.

  Then he spotted her. It was that bloody woman!

  What the hell?! What did she want from him? 

  But curiosity got the better of him. Clenching his teeth, he looked around again, just to make sure none of his classmates were still around to see him, then he ruthlessly pushed through the people. 

  “Have a care!” somebody shouted at him, but Severus ignored them. 

  He moved in a wide berth through the crowd and carelessly put down his trunk before he covertly drew his wand and pushed the tip into her neck when he approached her from behind. “What do you want from me?” he hissed, and she gave a tiny gasp. “And who the hell are you?”

  A shocked second passed, then she slowly turned her head a bit. “I’d tell you if you’d put that down.”

  “Well, tough luck!”

  “Pity.” With a swift motion, she whirled around, blocked his arm and snatched his wand from his hand, letting it disappear so quickly even he didn’t clock where she’d put it. 

  Fuck. 

  “Will you now stop acting like a wanna-be spy, or do I need to incapacitate you in earnest?” She twitched her eyebrows and smiled smugly.

  Ten minutes later, he’d followed her to a chippy near the train station and used her offer to have him by ordering a large serving of fish ’n’ chips. He wasn’t overly hungry yet, his sandwiches still kept him quite full, but one never knew when another chance like this arose, so he would use it. 

  “A drink, too?” she asked unfazed.

  “Coke.”

  There were little dining nooks, and although it didn’t seem like the best idea to sit down in one of those with a woman he didn’t know, she didn’t seem dangerous enough for him to object to her suggestion. Still, he kept his wand—which she’d actually given back the moment he agreed not to attack her for now—in hand and pointed it at her underneath the table. 

  “Any reason you don’t shrink that?” she asked and nodded at his trunk that was standing beside the table and blocking part of the way to the other tables.

  “None of your business.”

  She nodded slowly, her lips thinning. Contrary to him, she’d only ordered a water and was watching him eat, although, he thought, she could do with some food, too. Her complexion was paler than he’d realised at Hogwarts, her cheekbones standing out rather prominently. Only her hazel eyes seemed alert and lively, and they scrutinised him curiously, taking in every single detail of his appearance. “What d’you want from me?” Severus asked again when he began feeling uncomfortable. “And—“

  “—who are you, I know,” she cut in. “Don’t you want to eat in peace first? I won’t run away.”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Very well. My name is Jean Cavanagh, and I want to help you.”

  “Help me with what?” he asked, chewing on a chip.

  A muscle underneath her eye ticked. “With everything, I guess.”

  He scoffed. “I don’t need help.”

  She barked a borderline hysterical laugh—“Sure …”—and took a sip of her water. 

  Fuck’s sake?! “What is that supposed to mean?” For the first time in his life, he actually felt like he had some kind of control over what was happening to him. He needed no fucking help! Not anymore! He’d almost succeeded in pulling himself out of the cesspool that was Cokeworth and the abysmal situation his parents had borne him into. He had Lucius’s support and an amazing prospect for his next years. He’d have needed help five years ago, but not now.

  The doorbell rang, and another patron entering the chippy distracted her. Then her gaze, intense like a spotlight, fastened on him again. “That means that I know who you are and what you’re about to do, and I want to give you another option. You might think that what you’re planning to do is the only feasible way for your life to get better than what you had up ‘til now, but that’s not the case. In fact, the opposite is true.”

  What I’m … “What the hell are you talking about, lady?”

  Another tick of her muscle, then she rubbed her teeth against each other, contemplating. 

  Only to catch him cold yet again when she swiftly whipped out her wand and cast first a Notice-Me-Not, then a bloody Muffliato!

  “How do you know that spell?” Severus blurted and shot up. The edge of the bench uncomfortably pressed into the back of his knees, his plate rattled, but he managed a sufficiently stable stand to point his wand at her openly now.

  She looked up at him languidly. “Sit back down.”

  “No?” he laughed mirthlessly.

  “Now!” she added and twitched her chin at him.

  It was such an assertive and no-nonsense kind of gesture that his heart seemed to skip a beat. Slowly, he sank back down onto the bench. 

  Nodding approvingly, she straightened her back and—despite his wand still pointing at her—said, “I told you I know who you are.”

  “But you didn’t tell me whether that’s a good or a bad thing,” he hissed, tightening his grip on the handle.

  “Would you believe me if I said it was a good thing?”

  Hell no!

  The right corner of her mouth ticked up. “See?” Folding her hands on the table, her wand nowhere to be seen anymore, contrary to his, she regarded him. “So, as to what the hell I’m talking about,” she then proceeded, “I strongly advise you to cut ties with Lucius Malfoy and the man who calls himself Lord Voldemort as soon as possible.”

  He laughed. “Why the hell should I?” he spat. “Just because you say so? Then you don’t know me at all! And I bet you don’t know Lucius either! Or Lord Voldemort, for that matter!” Cutting ties … right. 

  “I do know them. I wish I didn’t, but I do, in fact, know what I’m talking about. Better than you do. I especially know what Lord Voldemort’s true plans are.”

  “Everybody knows,” Severus sneered. “He wants to become Minister of Magic. And he will! Soon!”

  She huffed. “He will never be Minister of Magic.” Under her breath, she added, “That’s one disaster we’ll be spared …”

  What? “Are you a bloody Seer or …”

  She looked back at him. “No. Just someone who knows a lot.”

  “Well, so far I’m not impressed.” He pointedly poked his fork into a piece of fish.

  “It’s not my goal to impress you, but if you want me to … You’re from Cokeworth. You’ve been best friends with Lily Evans until you called her a not-so-nice word. A group of four boys, consisting of James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew, made your life at Hogwarts a living hell. They didn’t even stop after you found out Lupin has a furry problem, and the reason they could just go on as before is that Albus Dumbledore let them. They always knew where you’ve been, there was no place to hide for you when they set their mind on messing with you, and to this day, you have no idea how they did that. You are afraid they might go on even now, as you’ve all left school, that they will still know where you are whenever they like to mess with you, but I can promise you, they won’t. The reason they knew where you were at Hogwarts won’t help them anymore now.”

  How the … He’d stopped chewing his fish about halfway through her statements, and the bite seemed to double in his mouth while time was first slowing down, then snapping into the back of his head so brutally, he almost spat the fish on the table. He rinsed it down with some Coke, begging his brain to work again, but everything she said felt like square blocks of information he tried to push through round holes, so the only thing he managed to say at last was, “What?”

  She smiled indulgently. And maybe a tad bit smugly. “See? Now you’re impressed.”

  Cow. He squared his shoulders. “Even if, why would I trust you? I don’t even know who you are! You lured me here with that note and-and food! Who says you won’t kill me first chance you get?”

  “It’s not my wand pointing at you right now, is it?”

  His gaze twitched to his trusted tool and back to her face.

  “And if I’d wanted to kill you, I could have done so the moment we ran into each other at Hogwarts. You were distracted and a laughably easy target. That note I smuggled into your pocket could have been the tip of my wand pressing into your spine before I cast the killing curse, and you would have gone down silently, so silently that I’d have long been gone when somebody stumbled over your dead body. If I’d wanted to kill you, Severus Snape, you’d have long been dead.” She said all of that with the same calm and steady voice as all the stuff before, a voice that slid into his ears, infested his brain, and rippled down his spine. Not entirely uncomfortable, though … 

  He clenched his teeth to keep himself from swallowing. “And you think that’d make me trust you more?”

  “No,” she said and leaned back, taking a deep breath. “I don’t need you to trust me. Not yet. I just needed you to listen to me. I’m offering you an alternative to what you think is the only way to go for you, and I advise you to take it, because I know who you are and I know what you’re heading for.” She dug for something in her cloak pocket, a movement that caused Severus to grip his wand tighter again. She either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, an attitude that did impress him, too, he couldn’t deny that. Eventually, she pulled out a slip of parchment. “This is my address in London. Should you find yourself curious to find out more about what I can offer you, come visit me.” She put the folded piece on the table and met his eyes again, only for a moment, but it was an intense moment. Then she got up. “Eat your fish ‘n’ ships before they go cold.”

  When she passed the dining nook, however, he reached out and grasped her wrist. He winced from the sensation of her warm, soft skin underneath his fingertips, but she stopped and jerked her head around to look down at him, her eyes wider than before. “Who are you?” he asked again. “Why are you doing this?”

  The woman, Jean Cavanagh, swallowed and smiled mirthlessly, albeit strained. “Maybe, if I decide that I can trust you, I might tell you.” Then she twisted out of his grip, rubbed her wrist, and left the chippy, letting him alone with his whirling thoughts and a slip of parchment that gave him more questions than answers.

  Severus wandered the streets of London for some more hours, trying to make sense of this strange encounter (in vain) before returning to Cokeworth; with his stomach full of fish ‘n’ ships, he’d have been doomed to throw up from squeezing himself through an Apparition. And, well, he didn’t want to go back home earlier than necessary either, so … 

  It was late in the night when he Apparated and stayed standing where he was, warily glancing around. But everything was silent. After about a minute of listening, he relaxed a bit. 

  Was it true? Would Potter and Black really never await him anywhere ever again? 

  But how the hell had they done it at Hogwarts? Fucking psychopaths …

  He swallowed and got going, sneaking along the dirty streets, each one of them echoing decay and rancidness. He wrinkled his nose at the familiarity that had become surprisingly unfamiliar since he’d last been here, covered up by years at Hogwarts and holidays at Malfoy Manor.

  Unfortunately, Lucius hadn’t invited him for this summer yet, so back to Cokeworth he went. 

  He was carrying his trunk as if it weren’t charmed to weigh nothing more than a purse, and slipped into his parents’ house after looking left and right and making sure nobody was watching him. 

  They’d gone to bed already, a blessing, really, and leaving his trunk at the door, Severus sneaked into the kitchen to get himself a glass and fill it with water from his wand. The tap water wasn’t safe to drink, and the food from the chippy had left him parched, probably the salt. He scowled at the floor while he drank it, leaning against the worktop, still turning his conversation with that woman this way and that in his mind. 

  That was why he winced when his mother appeared at the door, wrapped in her dressing gown, her hair done up with curlers. “You’re back,” she said in a low voice.

  “I am.”

  She blinked, her eyes twitching to the glass he was holding. “Why?”

  Severus frowned. “Why, what?”

  His mother cast a glance back into the living room as if she were expecting his father to turn up behind her any second. “Why did you come back?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Severus snarled and emptied the rest of his water into the sink. “This is still my home.”

  “Is it?” she whispered sternly. “Because I haven’t seen you round here for at least three years. Only the odd letter, scribbled down messily so I could hardly decipher it, and never a reply to any of mine.”

  Be thankful you got at least that. “Calm down,” he muttered, “I won’t stay for long. Just until next week.”

  “Will you now?” she huffed and almost forgot to keep her voice down. “Didn’t realise we were a motel now. Do you intend to pay us for having you until next week?”

  “Paying?” Severus hissed, glaring at his mother. “After how little you and Da could provide for me, don’t you think it’d be the least to have me for a couple of days after I relieved you of my burden for three full years, and before you’ll never have to see me again? Don’t you think I suffered enough?” Didn’t you suffer enough? He gulped.

  And maybe his silent thought had flitted over his face clearly enough for her to catch it because she gulped, too. “You had everything you needed. And now, you’re an adult,” she still said, “so behave like one and provide for yourself. Down the road is a hostel, they offer cheap rooms.”

  What the … “Really? You’re kicking me out, Mum?”

  “Don’t Mum me!” she whisper-screamed, a sound she’d perfected. “And be grateful I only tell you to leave! Your father wouldn’t hesitate to belt you out the door!”

  Severus curled his lip at her. “I didn’t expect anything else from him,” he mumbled, taking his voice down another notch, “But you?” He scoffed. 

  “I won’t let my own son walk all over me, either. Leave! Or I will wake your father!”

  His heart was thumping a mile a minute while he held his mother’s eyes, scowling at her as best he could, then he put the glass down with a clonk and pushed past her, unbothered by whether he was loud enough to wake his father himself. 

  He’d even have slammed the door shut if his mother hadn’t stopped it.

  Severus Apparated out of Cokeworth first. He didn’t have any Muggle money, so the hostel was out of the question anyway. After finding a safe spot—or at least a spot he could make halfway safe with a ward or two, in this case a lonely bus stop—he opened his trunk and counted the coins he had left. Two Galleons and five Sickles. That wouldn’t be enough to rent a room, either Muggle or magical. Not even the Leaky would have him for more than two nights with that, and while two nights would be a start, would buy him some time—literally—to find another solution, it would also leave him broke for good. 

  So he stuffed the money back into his trunk, careful not to disturb the batch of Felix Felicis he was trying to brew. But the small cauldron was safe in its cushioning bubble, charmed against spilling and still good within the two-day rest period before he had to get it back over a fire tomorrow and continue the brewing process if he didn’t want more than four months of work going to waste. 

  Plopping down on the bench, Severus dug his fingers into his hair and groaned. What was he supposed to do? Turn up at Malfoy Manor uninvited? He twisted his face. Lucius might be fine with it, but his father? Mr Malfoy had it in for him. Despite even Lord Voldemort’s interest in him and his abilities, Mr Malfoy always eyed him warily as if he were expecting Severus to nick something the moment he failed to keep an eye on him. As if the whole Manor wasn’t warded like fucking Fort Knox! Severus wouldn’t put it past him to deny him accommodation and talk badly about him in front of Lord Voldemort.

  And that Severus couldn’t risk.

  Staying in the Lord’s and Lucius’s favour was his only way out of Cokeworth, so he had to prove that he was able to provide for himself. That he had his shit together and wasn’t some needy kid anymore who was dependent on getting support left and right. 

  That meant nobody from the Slytherins must know he’d been banking on Lucius to invite him to stay in Malfoy Manor again after the summer ball next week. Not even Mulciber, Severus remembered sullenly, but for another reason. He trusted Mulc not to tell anybody. He probably wouldn’t even think anything of it. They had been too close for him not to know a thing or two about Severus’s background, even more than a glance at his old pants could reveal. 

  But that was it. They had been close. Mulciber had finished with him, he wouldn’t go whining to him of all people. 

  Raising his eyes, Severus fished the slip of parchment that woman had given him out of his pocket. Should he really trust her? Go there? Ask her for a place to stay? She had offered him help … And she’d known a shocking lot about him! Things he’d thought nobody but the involved knew. Was she working with Dumbledore? Or with Potter?

  He sneered. There were only few people who could have told her about how relentlessly Potter and his cronies had chased him round the castle at times. She had to be hand in glove with them, right? 

  Possible … Maybe they were having a good laugh about him right now. 

  But why would someone her age band together with Potter and Black? And why should Potter and Black go to such lengths to pull one over on him? They couldn’t even have known he’d actually need help that quickly! Would they really ask someone like her to wait for him somewhere in Muggle London in the hope that he’d be stupid enough to really turn up there? 

  Or even pay someone to do that? 

  Even to him, that sounded a bit over the top. Yes, they’d had their fun hunting him, but that? 

  He winced when he heard some distant screeching. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and by the time he realised it was just cats fighting, he’d already drawn his wand. 

  Fucking hell … Despite everything, he’d never spent a night outside so far. Did he really want to do that for a week straight? And where was he supposed to get food from? A week without anything was long … Stealing? Or just summoning stuff from a shop? But he was risking being arrested for that—not by the Muggles, but by the bloody Ministry. Groceries floating out the door might be a tad bit too obvious even for Muggles to not take notice of … 

  God, I’m completely fucked. Putting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. 

  He didn’t want to spend a bloody week on the streets! He might be able to charm some place safe, dry, warm, even cushioned, but he would still be homeless for a week. And using magic around Muggles was a risk anyway. Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, however, probably wouldn’t let him linger for a full week either. 

  No, he needed something else. And ‘something else’ encompassed exactly three options: Lucius, Mulciber, or that woman. 

  He groaned. 

  Why had she offered him help? How had she known he’d need it? And was this even about giving him a place to sleep? Or did she only want to have him … work for her or something? She had to want something in exchange, right? There had to be a bloody catch! There always was a bloody catch! Whenever someone had offered him something, they’d wanted something in return. Nothing was for free in his world, he always had to pay, most of the time even doubly. So, what did she want? And why hadn’t he thought about asking her straight away? He wasn’t usually that thick … 

  But she’d caught him off guard. 

  “Bloody bint,” he muttered, whipping his head around when an engine popped somewhere to his right. But whatever car it had been, it didn’t come his way; after starting successfully on the second try, the sounds vanished in the other direction. 

  A couple of minutes later, a bus approached him, and Severus watched it pass him by gloomily. The driver didn’t even cast him a glance, a fact that caused Severus’s lips to curl smugly. Muggle area or not, life is so much easier being allowed to use magic whenever you want …

  But it was not a solution to his predicament. So, Lucius, Mulciber, or that woman?

  He twisted his face. Both of the former would get him in some kind of trouble. That woman might not … Admittedly, that was a huge maybe. He didn’t know anything about her or her motivation. But he could go and listen to what she had to offer before he resorted to Mulciber, right? Might not hurt. As she’d said, she could have long killed or only incapacitated him, so harming him didn’t seem to be her goal. 

  … I hate my life.

  Still, standing up and gripping his trunk, Severus decided to give her a chance. Maybe Jean Cavanagh would surprise him. 

  Bet that isn’t even her real name, he thought and Apparated to the address she’d given him. 

  She was in her pyjamas when she opened the door to find a grumpy-looking Severus in front of it, and released a breath to slump a bit when she recognised him. “Should’ve told you not to come past midnight, I guess,” she muttered.

  “Yeah, well … Can I stay for a couple of days?”

  Her eyebrows twitched. But instead of the scoffed no Severus had expected, she only said, “Sure,” and turned, leaving the door open for him to come in.

  Severus stared after her, perplexed, then he blinked out of his surprise. He heaved his trunk into the flat (the Feather-light Charm was waning) and pushed the door closed with a click. 

  He was standing in a tiny outer room with just enough space for some clothes pegs at one wall, a painting at a second, and the two doors leading out of it. He slipped his shoes off, tossed his cloak over a peg, and followed Cavanagh, who was sleepily waiting for him in a larger room that still wasn’t some kind of room you’d stay in, just another one whose walls were littered with doors.

  “Bathroom is there,” she began, pointing at the first, “living room that way, kitchen is off the living room. This is my room, don’t you dare come in uninvited! That one’s yours. Bedclothes are in the wardrobe, have a good night.” And with that, she was gone, disappeared into her bedroom.

  “But …” Blinking again, Severus looked after her, still carrying his trunk in front of him to hide the holes in his socks from view. It took him what felt like several minutes to get over what had just happened, then he finally went on and warily opened the door to the room she’d assigned him.

  It was simple: bed, nightstand, wardrobe, desk, chair, a picture of a rose on the wall. He wrinkled his nose, but stepped in. The light ignited at a flick of his wand, and leaving his trunk at the door, he went over to flop down on the bed. It was soft, didn’t crack, didn’t squeak.

  Will do.

Chapter Text

“So, what if this really works? What will you do then, eh?”
“Whatever I can. What are you even talking about?”

  Severus got up early the next morning, took one of his books, the darkest book about the darkest magic he owned, and sat down at the kitchen table to wait. It probably was a bit petty, but he was willing to invest an hour or two to give Jean a good scare as soon as she came to get herself a tea or coffee. She owed him some answers.

  In the end, though, he only had to wait for about half an hour, didn’t even manage to read a full chapter; it seemed as if she were just as much an early bird as he was.

  Or so he thought when he heard her open her door, but when she shuffled into the kitchen barefoot, her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her body and her hair a complete mess, she wasn’t even awake enough to notice him.

  Not that he minded … 

  He let the book fall on the table, asking, “What is the catch?” And had to bite his tongue to keep himself from smirking when she positively jumped.

  “Bloody hell!” she cursed and glared at him, one hand pressed against her chest, the other clutching at the edge of the worktop. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Asking questions,” he replied coolly. “So?”

  She huffed, bewildered. Then her gaze fell on the book, and … did she roll her eyes?! He wasn’t sure, she turned her back on him so quickly it could have been all or nothing. “There is no catch,” she muttered and leaned up to get a red box of tea from the cupboard. 

  Twining’s … Look how posh we are … Sneering silently, his gaze—having a mind of its own lately—wandered down her backside, took in the curve of her waist and travelled along her hip, then it jumped over the loosely hanging dressing gown and found her naked calves. He swallowed when his mouth ran dry. “There’s always a catch,” he forced himself to say and looked at her head again, ready to meet her eyes when she glanced at him. “Nothing is for free. So, what is it? Do you want me to work for you? Do you want me to have sex with you?”

  She only snorted a laugh. “Absolutely not.” She took a bag from the box to put it in a cup and pour boiling water from her wand over it. “Want one, too?” she asked, sounding only mildly annoyed, and cast him a glance.

  Severus harrumphed, his brows knitted while he watched her prepare another cup for him. 

  Eventually, she came over and put the cups on the table before she sat down opposite him, crossing one leg over the other, careful to cover her knee with the dressing gown. Briefly, her eyes rested on the book, but as it seemed, she’d chosen to ignore it, because what she said was, “I don’t want anything from you. No money, no work, and certainly no sexual favours.” She swallowed, momentarily dropping her eyes. “I mean, I wouldn’t complain if you help with the chores and not let your dirty laundry lie around everywhere, but I’d call that basic manners, so …” She steeped her tea bag. 

  “What’s in this for you, then? Don’t tell me you’re just doing this for charity’s sake.”

  “I’m doing this because I can. At least for a while.” 

  A while? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her mouth tensed. “I cannot accommodate you forever, I’ll have to leave again. At the end of the year, I guess.” She blinked, then her demeanour became a bit more cheerful again. “But until then, you can stay here and find your way separate from Lucius Malfoy and … Lord Voldemort.”

  “Who says I want that?” Severus sneered and crossed his arms over his chest. “I just needed somewhere to stay for a couple of days. Next week, there’s a summer ball at Malfoy Manor, and I’m positive Lucius will ask me to stay after that.”

  “I see,” she said softly and vanished the bag from her cup, casting him a questioning glance, pointing her wand at his as well. He shrugged indifferently and she vanished it, too. 

  “So, is that the catch?” he probed impatiently. “Do you only let me stay here if I cut ties with Lucius?”

  “No.” She shook her head, smiled non-committally and sipped her tea. Grimacing, she muttered, “I need to get some milk …”

  But Severus clenched his hands into fists. What the hell did all of that mean?! Why would she have him when she didn’t want anything from him? And what were those cryptic warnings regarding Lucius and Lord Voldemort supposed to mean? Grinding his teeth, he pursed his lips and watched her sip her tea as if their conversation were over already.

  And indeed, he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Nothing impolite, that was. She didn’t even confront him about that bloody book! Even Lucius had told him to put that away when he’d seen it on Severus’s desk last summer! The only thing he could do was press his wand tip into her neck again to force some answers from her, but he’d rather not do that. Not yet. “I have things to do,” he muttered instead, shot up, took his tea and his book and disappeared into his room.

  “Have fun!” she had the nerve to call after him.

  He slammed his door shut.

  He hadn’t unpacked his trunk. Not really. He’d only set up his cauldron, ingredients, and tools on the desk and got the book with the recipe out, plus some clothes. He wouldn’t stay for long anyway, so why bother?

  But the Felicis needed tending to, and he regretted it enough already to only have started brewing it so late, he couldn’t afford having to start all over again because of some stupidity. He needed something to convince Lord Voldemort of himself, to prove that he was worthy of being supported and accepted into his circle of followers. Lucius had told him that the Lord was very picky, that he preferred those of pure blood and heritage, and if you didn’t have that, you had to offer something else.

  That last one, Lucius hadn’t said out loud, but it had been there, unspoken. So Severus had decided to offer his talents. Whichever potion Lord Voldemort would need, he could make it. And a vial of Felix Felicis would prove that. 

  If only the bloody potion didn’t need six fucking months to brew!

  Had there ever been a person on earth who’d thought, “Yeah, in six months I could do with some luck! Better start bloody brewing it now!”

  “Stupid potion, most useless invention ever …” Unless, of course, you kept a vial ready at all times, but really, who the hell did that?! 

  Grumbling under his breath, he looked up from the recipe and out the window. It was a lovely day outside, blue sky, warm temperatures; through the open window, he could hear birdsong and the nearby street. Cars driving by, people shouting … It was a mix of sounds he wasn’t used to and had a hard time tuning out. But closing the window with the fire burning underneath the caldron was out of the question, either. 

  He threw his notes on the desk and leaned back in his chair. Maybe he should browse his school books for that spell that would keep the noise out. He knew there was one, he just couldn’t remember the bloody incantation. His brain always led him to Imperturbable, but that only kept sounds from leaving a room, not from entering it. Bollocks … 

  Or he could piece one together. Smirking smugly, he thought about the collection of spells he’d invented. Then his smirk faded. Had caused some unexpected chaos, getting those right. The castle had taken that stoically, but this flat?

  Better not risk it.

  How was it possible Jean knew Muffliato? She’d evaded answering his question in the chippy. Who had shown her? That he should have asked her this morning! Or how she’d known about Potter and his cronies and their relentless pursuit of him. Even he didn’t know how they’d done it! How could she know?! But her nonchalance about his book had thrown him off. He clicked his tongue.

  And felt himself zone out, gaze transfixed at the sky and the clouds drifting by. What strange arrangement he’d landed himself in. There had to be a bloody catch! Nobody took in a stray like him without any ulterior motive! 

  But Jean had even given him food. About half an hour after he’d stormed off from the kitchen, she’d knocked on his door, informing him that breakfast was ready. And that breakfast had been more than some dry slices of toast! It had been a full English but for the blood pudding (thank Merlin!) and the eggs (regrettably).

  “Fancy going to the shops with me?” she’d asked when they’d been done, casually charming the washing-up brush to take care of their dishes.

  “Why? Want me to pay my part?”

  She’d rolled her eyes. “No, muppet! I thought you might want to get some fresh air and choose some things you’d like to eat.” 

  “I’m fine,” he’d mumbled and fled back into his room.

  Another hour or so later, she’d gone out and just left him alone here, as if he were perfectly trustworthy and not at all a safety hazard for even himself.

  He blinked out of his stare and glanced at the potion again. “Boil already,” he grumbled when he found the surface still smooth and unruffled. 

  But it didn’t do him that favour. Not until he heard the front door being opened. Then, of course, the bloody potion began simmering. “Stupid mixture!” he cursed, standing up, hoping against hope that Jean wouldn’t call him to help her with the groceries.

  Naturally, she did.

  “Severus! Could you lend me a hand?”

  “No,” he grouched, but didn’t raise his voice, trying to make her hear him. He had placed that Imperturbable on his room, could do without her storming into his makeshift potions lab because of some minor explosion. 

  So he was standing towering over the cauldron, hot steam brushing his face, and tried to will it to boil with his gaze alone, while the cut-up mix of herbs he had to pour right onto the first huge bubble that would rise from the potion was waiting in the small cup clasped between his fingers. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, and he brushed it away impatiently while Jean called for him again.

  “Bugger off,” he muttered, unable to stop his eyes from twitching to the door and back to the potion.

  A distraction long enough that he almost missed his cue. 

  His heart leapt in his chest, his hand doing a staggering tipping motion, wavering between doing it and not doing it. He clenched his teeth, even baring them in concentration, and released a breath when the herbs landed where they were supposed to go, exactly when they were supposed to go there. 

  The moment he mumbled a relieved, “Bloody hell,” Jean entered his room without knocking. “What the fuck!” he exclaimed, whirling around to her. “Get out!”

  But her eyes were already jumping around his set-up, his face, his open trunk, back to the potion, and landed on him again. Unfortunately, there they stayed. “What are you doing here?” 

  “That’s none of your fucking business! If I’m not allowed to enter your room, you’d better stay out of mine, too!” He stomped over to push her out the door.

  But before he succeeded, she asked, “Why are you brewing Felix Felicis in your bedroom?”

  “Get—out!” She didn’t resist his pushing, and a second later, the door slammed shut. “Bollocks!” he screamed, his face blazing and his heart thumping.

  It took Severus a shockingly long time to ask himself one question: How did she know he was brewing Felix Felicis?

  Considering the stage of brewing he was currently at, the potion looked as nondescript as possible, could just as well be some common pain-relief or boil cure. And no, he didn’t have the book lying open with the page screaming “Felix Felicis” in all caps! To see what exactly he was brewing, she had to know enough about that potion—or potions in general—to take in all of the ingredients and instruments he’d spread on the desk within the blink of an eye. 

  He would have probably been able to get it so quickly, Lily likely not—and she’d been second-best in their year. 

  Who the hell was Jean Cavanagh?!

  He brooded over that question for about an hour, mainly because he was still busy with the potion and couldn’t afford to leave it unattended for more than five minutes, but as soon as it went into another period of rest, he left his room and went looking for her.

  She was sitting in the living room, writing in some kind of journal that she'd propped against her bent legs. She snapped it shut, though, the moment he rounded the corner. 

  “How did you know which potion I’m brewing?” he demanded, stopping near the door.

  She frowned. “I … know how to use my eyes?”

  Rubbish! He turned that word into a hiss before it could leave his mouth; probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do, alienating the one person willing to give him shelter at the moment. “It needs a bit more than eyes to put that together by only seeing my worktable.”

  “Well, seems like I have a brain, too. I’d rather like to know why exactly you’re brewing Felix Felicis on a desk in a Muggle flat in central London.”

  He scrunched up his nose. “Thought you’d know me,” he muttered nastily.

  “I do. That’s why I’m asking. I do not remember you as stupid as that!”

  “Don’t call me stupid!”

  “Then don’t act stupid! You’re lucky I didn’t have the heart to destroy four months of work, because I should have! You’re playing a dangerous game.”

  “I won’t blow up this house, if that’s what you’re afraid of!”

  “You have no idea what I’m afraid of …”

  “Not my fault, I am asking questions, aren’t I?”

  “Merlin, you’re such a brat,” she groaned. “Harry didn’t tell us that …”

  “Who’s Harry?”

  “None of your business.”

  He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

  When Jean exhaled slowly, he glanced at her, though. “Since you aren’t answering my question, I’ll wager a guess. You’re brewing that potion to either give it to Voldemort and show him what you’re able to do, or to take it the day he decides whether he will accept you in his ranks or not.”

  “Why do you care?” he sneered. 

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she muttered and rubbed her forehead. “Well, I hope you’re brewing enough that you can really take a dose the day Voldemort decides about your proposal, it might keep you from making another stupid decision.” She got up, apparently deciding that their little chat was over.

  But to leave the living room, she had to pass Severus by, and he used that opportunity to grasp her arm, just like he had in that chippy. “How am I supposed to make a clever decision when you’re not telling me what you know?” Her hazel eyes met his, so intense a shiver rippled down his spine. 

  And for a moment, she faltered, too. Her pupils dilated and she took a halting breath. Then she regained her composure. “You’re a smart boy, and swearing loyalty to a man you don’t really know is never a clever decision. What else do you want me to tell you?”

  “I’m not a boy!” he spat and all but recoiled from her.

  She smiled a bit pityingly. “You’re not a man either now, are you?” And with that, she left. 

  “Bitch!” he hissed, but only under his breath. 

  Despite his initial anger, though, Severus found himself contemplating why the hell Jean wouldn’t consider him a man, given that he was of age in both worlds and had had to take care of himself since forever. If she knew him so bloody well, she bloody ought to know that, too, right? Or hadn’t Harry told her that? Who the fuck was Harry anyway? And what else was there to being a man? Manhandling women? Then he’d rather not be a man!

  He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his brows furrowed. He was a man, for fuck’s sake! He was more of a man than all his classmates! Wouldn’t ever hear him make immature jokes about a woman’s butt or cleavage! 

  And he would prove that to Jean! Yeah … That was exactly what he would do. Prove it … 

  His furrowed brows drew even tighter together, and the rest of the night found him concocting a plan.

  Which he started putting into action right the next morning by getting up early and making breakfast instead of having her serve it to him as if he were her teenage son. He shuddered at that thought, and in the end, the toast was only a little bit burned and the eggs only a little bit raw.

  Jean ate both, nodding approvingly, but her raised eyebrows gave her true opinion away. “Take it or leave it,” he grumbled, his voice giving an undignified squeak.

  “No, it’s fine,” she assured him, “thank you.”

  He harrumphed at that before immersing himself in a book (not as dark this time, but still not innocuous) while they ate. But he only registered half of what he was reading, his attention too focused on Jean and what she was doing.

  Was it manly to react to the way she was licking some butter from her finger? Damn … Probably not, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. A couple of years ago, his body had randomly decided to betray him on a regular basis, and so far, he hadn’t found a way to force it back into obedience.

  But he tried to prevent any humiliation by blowing off some steam under the shower. Alas, the fact that his brain dragged him back to her dressing gown-wrapped hourglass figure from that first morning and added some hard nipples showing underneath the fabric didn’t exactly help him act cool around her. 

  Gods, being a teenager is a pest … 

  But he gave his best in being his most commendable self regarding his behaviour as a guest, and all in all, acting exactly the opposite of how his father or classmates would. 

  It was probably always a good idea not to act like a raging drunk or bougie ponce. 

  “How do you know Muffliato?” he still couldn’t stop himself from asking, when they were preparing dinner the next evening. 

  She didn’t even falter in her motions, swaying a knife to cut a bunch of parsley. “I cannot tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s too risky.”

  Risky? “Why?!” he repeated like an insolent child. 

  At that, she did stop and looked at him. “Because I cannot trust you yet.”

  He stared at her for two seconds, then he scoffed and dropped the stirring spoon into the pot. “Sure!” he muttered and left the kitchen.

  She didn’t stop him, and he almost slammed his door closed yet again, but that would have been absolutely childish behaviour, right? So he fucking didn’t!

  What did she even mean, she couldn’t trust him?! Did she think he’d run to Lucius or Lord Voldemort about everything that was happening in his bloody life? Like hell he would! 

  Lucius was bored by what he usually said so quickly that Severus almost only answered his questions!

  And the Lord hadn’t even locked eyes with him once! 

  Neither of them was interested in what Severus had to tell! And Severus wasn’t interested in telling anybody that he was living with Jean at the moment! That was why he was here in the fucking first place!

  So what the hell was she hiding that she thought important enough for him to break his secrets to Lucius, and for Lucius to actually listen?

  He was pacing his room while internally screaming at nobody, short of throwing some ingredient jars at the wall just because it would feel good. But he needed those ingredients and the jars. Ugh.

  In the end, he slipped out of the flat silently and wandered around London, browsing through some books at Dillons when he didn’t feel like walking anymore. He blended it seamlessly with the students from London University and got his mind off things until they closed. Unfortunately, he also found three new books on chemistry he’d have loved to buy but couldn’t, so his mood was even more rotten when he returned to the flat and found it deserted.

  A portion of the food they’d prepared earlier was sitting on the table in the kitchen, though, kept warm by a spell. Enjoy your meal! she’d written on a note and put it beside the plate.

  Well, I won’t! What now, eh?

  But that didn’t have anything to do with the pasta. Of course, it tasted fucking delicious. 

  The next afternoon, when Jean was out and about, Severus snooped around the living room, trying to find anything of interest. Anything that would tell him what was going on here, who she was, what she was hiding from him. But there was nothing. The more he browsed, the less he had the impression that this was her flat to begin with. Everything was generic, nondescript, stuff he’d find in one of Malfoy Manor’s guest rooms. The bookshelf only offered the classics and some encyclopedias, most drawers were empty, there were no knick-knacks, no pictures, nothing.

  Why did he only notice that now? 

  Hand on his hips, he looked around the room, contemplating where else he could look. But except for her bedroom, there probably wasn’t much left. And he wasn’t quite there yet. 

  Before he came to another conclusion, though, Jean returned. The front door opened, then it was shoved shut with an unusually loud click. 

  Severus poked his head into the outer room—and arched his eyebrows in surprise. “What have you done?”

  Jean’s eyes snapped up, making even more obvious what he’d long seen. Her right cheek was swollen, her face tear-streaked, her eyes red-rimmed. “Nofing,” she mumbled and pushed past him.

  “Have you been to the dentist?” Severus exclaimed, nonplussed.

  She stopped and exhaled in a huff. 

  “But why?” he proceeded and circled her to have a better view of her misery. “You do know there are charms for that, right?”

  “T’was not ‘bout my teef.”

  “What?” he huffed. “Then why—”

  Another tear rolled down her cheek. “Jus’ leave me alone, ‘kay?” she murmured and ducked into her bedroom, closing the door with a soft click. 

  What the hell …

  He found her later that night, huddled on the couch in the living room, gazing out into the starry night. She hadn’t turned on a light, only the street lamps two storeys beneath dispelled the shadows a bit. The soft glow sat in her thick curls like fairy lights. 

  Blinking, Severus threw the towel he’d brought into the bathroom and went in; he could take a shower later. “Are you all right?” he asked, covertly fidgeting with his now empty fingers.

  She smiled sadly. “No. But it’s okay, I’ll manage.”

  “Want some company?”

  She scrutinised him, contemplating. “Yeah, why not?” Putting her feet on the floor, she made space for him on the couch, and while she rubbed her face—which wasn’t swollen anymore—Severus sat down, his pulse beating harder.

  “I still wonder why you’ve been to the dentist,” he admitted. “Is that a part of what you can’t tell me, because you can’t trust me?”

  Chin in her hands and fingers sprawled over her mouth, she eyed him from the side. “I do trust you,” she whispered. “With everything but that one topic. And there are only a few people I can trust with that, so … it’s not really about you, okay?” 

  “So, you’ll never answer all of my questions?”

  “Yes, I will. At least I hope I can tell you eventually.” She brushed the corner of her eye. “There’s nobody I’d like to tell more …”

  Nobody? His heart skipped a beat. “What’s so special about me?” 

  She clenched her teeth against her answer, sadly shaking her head. “But I can tell you that I went to the dentist, because I wanted to see somebody.” 

  He couldn’t help feeling disappointed at her rejection. But any probing would probably cause her to leave, so he accepted her change in topic. “And seeing that somebody required pulling a tooth?” 

  She quirked another smile, an honest one this time, her gaze roving over his shadowed face.“I might have overdone it a bit with that, yeah …”

  He huffed. “At least you’ve got the right potions to heal it.”

  Jean nodded slowly. “I do …” And for a while, she got lost in her thoughts, allowing silence to rest between them, one of the most comfortable silences Severus had ever experienced. He felt himself relax a bit, putting his elbows on his knees just as she had. Then she blinked. “Fancy telling me where you’ve been yesterday?”

  “Oh, just … wandering around, browsing books at Dillons.”

  “Found anything interesting?”

  “Nah,” he lied. “I mean … it’s Muggle stuff, right?”

  “Right,” she murmured. “Prefer books like the one you’ve been reading the other day?”

  “Which one?”

  “The one you tried to shock me with on your first morning.” She arched an eyebrow.

  Bugger. 

  Jean smirked. “Calm down, I won’t chastise you about it. You can read whatever you want.”

  “Really?” he asked, surprised.

  “Sure. As long as you won’t summon one of those demons here …”

  What the … “You know that book?”

  She grimaced. “Might have glanced into it before, yes.”

  Un-fucking-believable. “Who are you?”

  Jean sighed, brushing her face again, exhaustedly. “Today, just some slightly heartbroken woman with a lot of interests. Is that okay?”

  Severus took a deep breath, utterly unprepared for her raw sincerity. It felt too raw to even look at her. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, and the silence building between them now wasn’t quite as comfortable as the last one. 

  Blushing intensely, he softly bumped his shoulder against hers, a clumsy attempt at cheering her up the way Lily sometimes had with him. Sometimes, it’d even worked.

  And indeed, Jean huffed softly and bumped him back. Then the moment faded, and she crumbled into herself again, leaning against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

  Oh … Should he hug her now? Was that … a non-verbal prompt? Did she … Did she want him to …

  “It’s all right.” I guess … Blushing even harder, Severus pinched his eyes closed and put his arm around her shoulder, fully prepared for her to push him away. 

  But she didn’t. She just exhaled deeply and accepted whatever comfort he, the most uncomforted human being that ever existed, could offer her. 

  They fell asleep like that. Jean first; a warm, sweet-smelling heap of a woman in his arms! 

  Then, when the singularity of this moment began to wear off, he followed suit. 

  It felt like only five minutes or so later when she moved and woke him up by disentangling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, noticing his alert gaze, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  “I don’t mind,” Severus said throatily and rubbed his itching eyes.

  “Still. I mean, thank you for … your company, but … I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

  Sure … “Won’t ever mention it again.” He rose to his feet and passed her by, not angrily or something like that, just … disappointed maybe. 

  When he was lying in his bed a couple of minutes later, he missed the feeling of her close to him.

  Severus tried his best to act as if nothing had happened during the next days, so he focused on his potions, his books, and on doing his share of the chores around the flat instead. 

  Luckily, most of the time, Jean wasn’t at home to notice anything about him anyway. She left the flat regularly but not at set hours, so randomly, in fact, that he wondered what kind of job she might have. Where could you come and go as you pleased? Because he wanted the same kind of job.

  He didn’t bother to ask her about it, though. She wouldn’t answer him anyway, he’d been there, done that, to no avail. But, diffidence or not, he couldn’t deny he felt drawn to her, and staying in his room when he knew she was around was … difficult at best. So he silently joined her, mostly after dinner. Sat down somewhere in her vicinity and feigned to read while she was writing in that journal. 

  What was that about, anyway? Was she keeping some kind of record on him? Was he her guinea pig of sorts? 

  But he couldn’t find that damn thing when she wasn’t at home and he still didn’t dare go into her room. The way she’d disarmed him at the train station suggested she not only knew her way around potions but self-defence and protective wards, too. He wouldn’t mess with her, not when he still wanted to stay here for another couple of days. 

  Anyway, he spent time with her, and sometimes, he caught her observing him. Spotted her pen hovering over the page of her notebook and turned his eyes without moving his head, trying to see if she was watching him. Unfortunately, she did the same ‘not move your head’ thing, so he couldn’t really be sure most of the time. But one time, when he looked at her openly at last, she betrayed herself by quickly looking back down at her journal.

  Ha! Got you!

  He smirked to himself. 

  At what, though, he wasn’t sure. What was so interesting about him? Why did she decide to help him, of all people? Why did she want to trust him when they didn’t even know each other? Why did she know so much about him?

  His thought always circled back to that one question: Who are you? 

  And because he wouldn’t get an answer to that anytime soon, he began leaving the flat more often. Once, he even tried following her when she left, a lousy attempt at finding out where she might be working. He knew there wasn’t much prospect of success with that, wherever she was going, she was most likely Apparating, but he gave it a shot nonetheless. 

  At least it sufficed to show him a safe Apparition spot close to the flat that he then began using to spend some time foraging for ingredients when the Felicis didn’t need tending to. He knew some spots around Cokeworth and could always do with free ingredients.

  Or he passed some time in Diagon Alley. He couldn’t spend any money there either, but browsing some magical books at Flourish and Blotts was a nice pastime, too.

  At least until they kicked him out because, “We’re not a library! Either buy the books or clear off!”

  He really missed the Hogwarts library. 

  Eventually, however, the week passed, and Severus found himself packing up his stuff. He wouldn’t take it to Malfoy Manor, of course, but when Lucius invited him to stay for the summer, he wanted to be prepared and get his trunk as quickly as possible. 

  “Going out?” Jean asked casually when he put on his dress robes, the only posh clothes he owned, sponsored by illegally sold potions and essays round Hogwarts. They were a bit short after his last growth spurt, but a tiny notice-me-not would hopefully take care of that problem.

  “Yeah,” he grumbled, “summer ball. Told you about it.”

  “Ah, right.” She nodded, smiling non-committally. “Have fun.”

  He harrumphed, then he left, albeit with a churning feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  It was that churning that let him cling to his first glass of wine for a much longer time than he usually would have while he strolled through the huge gardens surrounding Malfoy Manor. A house-elf had received him at the entrance and beckoned him to cross the parlour and go outside, where a buffet had been arranged. Soft music was playing, and more house-elves wearing deftly draped black tea towels were carrying trays with hors d’oeuvres through the guests, always keeping their eyes down. When he looked around, he spotted the source of the music, a fucking orchestra, albeit a small one, sitting at one side of a huge dance floor, playing the poshest classical music Severus had ever heard.

  If just a single woman dares ask me for a dance … 

  He wasn’t sure what he would do then, but he knew it wouldn’t be anything good. 

  It wasn’t as if he couldn’t dance; Lucius had put him through several dancing lessons during the first holidays he’d let Severus spend at the Manor, preparing him for the Christmas ball, of fucking course! There was always some stupid ball taking place at Malfoy Manor. Mrs Malfoy’s dearest hobby, as it seemed—organising balls. 

  Anyway, Severus had come through every single ball he’d attended without having to dance even once so far, and he didn’t plan to change anything about that today. The fact that he wasn’t what was deemed conventionally attractive and that he wore his scowl like a medal was helping tremendously with keeping people at a distance. 

  Except for one person … 

  “You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” Mulciber whispered straight into his ear; he was tipsy already, as Severus found when he’d recovered from his scare, a privilege he himself would probably never have—risking to make a mockery of himself from drinking too much in a company like this. 

  But that was just as well; he’d promised himself never to end up like his father anyway.

  “See that siren over there?” Mulciber said then, discreetly pointing at a young girl, maybe thirteen, fourteen years old at best, blonde, pinned-up hair and rosy cheeks. “It’s her first ball. I won’t let her leave it without having a dance with me.”

  “She’s a child, Mulc!” Severus hissed.

  “So? She’d been brought out this year, she’s fair game. Maybe she’ll be my wife in a couple of years. Better get an impression of her so I can object if necessary.” He smiled smugly.

  Ugh! So that’s what I had to be binned for? There were some things that came to Severus’s mind he’d have liked to say to that, but they weren’t at Hogwarts anymore, they were in the real world now. And all around them were ears listening, ears that better did not hear Severus’s honest thoughts about those arranged marriages the pure-blood families still kept alive. “Well, you'd better gain her mother’s benevolence, then,” he said instead, nodding at a stout woman in an atrociously green dress.

  Mulciber huffed. “Later. I’ll give the others the advantage. She’ll remember the last man she danced with the best.”

  Man … A muscle in Severus’s cheek ticked.

  “So long,” Mulciber, however, proceeded and turned Severus around, “May I introduce you to my mother? Mother, this is Severus Snape, I told you about him. Severus, this is my mother.”

  “Ma’am,” he murmured, bowed slightly and gently grasped her presented hand, pretending to kiss it but never actually touching her skin with his lips—as that stupid etiquette guide Lucius had forced him to read during third year had taught him. 

  He’d done it right, as it seemed, for Mrs Mulciber smiled benevolently. “Mr Snape. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

  He smiled, hoping it looked genuine, but considering the courtesies she exchanged with him while her son emptied his probably third glass of wine, he seemed to have played his role convincingly. 

  Still, Severus wasn’t angry about being released from this by the arrival of Lord Voldemort. 

  His breath, like that of most other people present, snagged in his throat when the tall man, clad in an elegant black cloak, his attentive gaze roving across the gathered guests, stepped into the garden, escorted by Abraxas Malfoy. One of those white peacocks that very man was breeding screamed as if bidding them welcome, and Severus thought he saw the hint of a smile ghost over the Lord’s thin lips. 

  He forced himself to exhale and loosen the grip around his glass before it shattered in his hand. What an appearance … Magic surrounded the man Severus had never spoken to personally, so thickly he could almost hear the crackle. It was enough to make the hairs on his arms stand on end, his heart beating erratically. 

  “He is a sight to behold, isn’t he?” 

  Severus winced and turned, finding Lucius standing beside him, just where Mrs Mulciber had been standing until a second ago, bestowing him a calculated smile. “He is,” Severus said, and couldn’t help looking back to the Lord, who was—smiling and nodding generously left and right—striding to a kind of lounge now, that was naturally not accessible for commoners. And for once in his life, Severus didn’t feel like an outcast, because the term commoner was true for most of the gathered people, upper class or not. Lord Voldemort didn’t talk with everybody, only Lucius’s father was allowed to follow him inside for now, and surely he would be the one sitting at the Lord’s right side while he sent house-elves to get the people he chose to speak with tonight.

  Of course, Severus wouldn’t be one of them. He still had some work to do to earn that honour; the brief sight of the man he got just now would most likely be all he’d see from him today. But even that brief glance had been worth coming for.

  “Did you have something to eat already?” Lucius asked and snapped Severus’s attention back to him. “Father ordered the buffet straight from France, it’s exquisite.”

  “Not yet. But it looks delicious indeed.”

  “Take care to indulge yourself, Severus, I’ll go and find Narcissa. We’ll speak again later.”

  “Of course,” Severus said silkily and watched him leave before he put his almost empty glass of wine on one of the trays floating by and got himself some water from the bar.

  A couple of hours later, Lucius had brought Severus and the rest of their circle, as he began calling it, into a huge pavilion hidden deeper in the massive gardens, far enough away that they could be loud without disturbing anybody, but not too far away to not hear what was going on anymore.

  And the mere fact that there was a place in those gardens that was too far away for the people at the ball to notice what was going on here was unfathomable for Severus. This wealth is obscene.

  But he kept that thought to himself while he laughed with the others, clinging to his glass of probably whisky that he kept emptying unobtrusively through the floorboards of the pavilion. He did feel bad about that; it probably was hundreds of Galleons he poured away. But he really couldn’t risk getting drunk and making a fool of himself.

  Mulciber did that well enough on his own already. 

  “An’ then she … she … I swear she told me she wanted … y’know?” He attempted to wiggle his eyebrows, but only his mouth really moved. 

  “Sure, Mulc,” Lucius smiled, “I’ll try to get her family and yours in contact.”

  “Cheers, mate!”

  “Maybe you should cheers a bit less,” Narcissa murmured and shared a knowing look with her husband-to-be. Just as Lucius, she was still sober and well-behaved despite the glass of wine she constantly held in her hand, her hairdo impeccable even after all those hours. 

  Of course, Mulciber didn’t hear her jibe; he’d slumped back in his chair, his glass of whisky dangerously loose in his hand, only just balancing on the armrest. 

  “Where did your sister go?” Severus decided to ask eventually, feigning to nip at his glass while showing them how collected he still was. A drop of alcohol got in his mouth, though. Ew. He hadn’t missed out on anything by pouring away the others … 

  “Oh, you know,” Narcissa replied, raising her chin a bit. “Enjoying the night, I assume.”

  Lucius smirked.

  But it was Avery, who leaned closer and muttered, “What do you think a freshlywed couple might do at a night like this when they sneak away from the event?” He wasn’t entirely sober anymore, either, a waft of alcohol brushed Severus’s nose, but had himself better together than Mulciber. 

  “Right,” Severus mumbled, narrowing his eyes when the others began chuckling.

  “Bella would never do something like that,” Narcissa chimed in, straightening her posture even more, now that it was about defending her sister’s honour.

  “Of course, she wouldn’t,” Lucius said, and the chuckles died abruptly. “I think I heard her say that she and Rudolphus wanted to have a dance over at the ball. I guess spending time with us gets a bit boring for them, now that they have … other obligations.”

  “Not that those wouldn’t involve some …” Avery mumbled under his breath and smirked smugly. Luckily, only Severus heard him. 

  “Hasn’t Barty been able to make it today?” Rabastan asked from the other side of the pavilion, making Severus wince. The dark man participated so rarely in their conversations that it always came as a shock when he did.

  “No,” Lucius sighed, “unfortunately, his family refused to attend this festivity due to the fact that our dear Lord would be here. And since the press is, too, he couldn’t risk coming on his own and finding himself in the Prophet tomorrow. His father might send him straight to Azkaban when he learns about Barty’s political stance.”

  “And they call themselves liberal,” Alecto muttered and took a huge swig of her whisky. 

  “It’s always hard to see your loved ones follow another ideology than you raised them with, I assume,” Lucius ended the first interesting debate they’d had that evening. 

  “What does your mother say about it?” Amycus asked, and Severus’s pulse spiked when he found that the man’s eyes were fastened on him.

  Yet he only slightly hunched his shoulders. “She doesn’t care.” Because she doesn’t know.

  “Best you can do, keep your parents out of your business.” Augustus twitched his eyebrows and emptied his glass. 

  “Another round?” Lucius asked and got up to get the whisky bottle. It was their second one and half-empty again.

  “Actually,” Augustus rose to speak again, smirking, “I brought us a potion. Are you in the mood for some … fun?” 

  Oh no.

  “What kind of potion?” 

  “Try it and find out!” he challenged Lucius, a wicked grin playing around his lips. 

  Lucius narrowed his eyes, still holding the whisky. “You first!”

  And Augustus complied. He poured a bit of the potion into his glass, then he tipped it into his mouth, swirling it around for some seconds, and swallowed, letting out a loud sigh before he sank into his chair, relaxed. 

  Since he hadn’t grown any weird limbs or was doing strange things, everybody leapt at the vial Augustus had put onto the small table in the middle of the pavilion—everybody except Lucius, Narcissa, Severus, and Mulciber. The latter only because he was snoring, though, Severus was sure he would have been the first to grab the vial had he been sober enough. 

  Lucius’s gaze found Severus. “Not interested?” he smirked.

  “Not greedy,” Severus lied. 

  “Childish,” Narcissa decided and actually drank a sip of her wine.

  Severus couldn’t argue with that. And taking that potion was the last thing he wanted to do. So he silently hoped the vial would be empty when it reached him, but—unfortunately—there was a bit left in it when it was pressed into his hand. Bugger! he thought, staring at the stupid thing while most of the others were already high as a kite.

  “Sorry!” Avery, however, smirked and snatched the vial from Severus’s hand before downing the last of the potion. “You’re a killjoy, Snape, this would be wasted on you …”

  Pillock! “I needed a break anyway,” Severus said silkily and put his glass down before he got up. 

  “Don’t get lost,” Lucius chuckled and sat back down again, resting a hand on Narcissa’s leg.

  “Funny,” Severus muttered and hoped he hadn’t heard him when he sauntered in the direction of the bathhouse, because of fucking course did the Malfoys have a bloody bathhouse with a bloody pool outdoors and some hot springs inside! 

  But there was also a loo inside, and the way to the bathhouse was shorter than to the main house, so they all used this one when they were down here. 

  Severus inhaled the warm summer air, clearing his ringing ears with the chirping of crickets while the voices of his friends got softer behind him. He knitted his brows, thinking about how Avery had snatched the potion from his hand. Not about the fact that he had done it, but how he had done it. Arse. But Avery had always looked down on him; he tried to shroud it in humour, always claiming he was just joking, but he wasn’t. Severus knew those blokes. 

  Reaching the bathhouse, he glanced back at the bright spot that was the pavilion and opened the door.

  Only to be greeted by a guttural moan that made him stop dead in his tracks. What the … 

  “Mh, yes, right there!”

  Oh god! He all but slammed the door shut, shuddering when he recognised Bellatrix’s voice. So much for, ‘She would never do that!’ “Disgusting,” Severus muttered and found a tree where he could relieve himself. 

  After cleaning his hands with a quick spell, he returned to the others, finding most of them still sunken into whatever kind of effect the potion had on them. Only Lucius and Narcissa were talking quietly, their backs turned to him. 

  Severus let his gaze wander from one face to the other while he approached them, and when he climbed the few stairs, Lucius smiled at him and opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut short by Mulciber, who suddenly jerked from his sleep, bent over the armrest of his chair, and vomited on the floor right in front of Severus’s feet.

  Narcissa shrieked and skidded closer to Lucius, who mumbled, “Oh my,” and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  Severus, however, only groaned and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, waiting until Mulciber’s retching stopped. “Sorry,” the idiot mumbled and sank back into his chair.

  “Never mind,” Severus ground out and made the puddle disappear with a swift flick of his wand, glaring daggers at his classmate, who’d almost instantly fallen back asleep. 

  “You’re lucky you still were a step down the stairs,” Lucius assessed, grinning.

  “It’s my evening,” Severus sneered and slumped back into his chair.

  “By the way, do you want to stay for the summer?” his friend then asked off-handedly. “You could share a room with Mulc tonight, guess I have to accommodate the muppet, too. We cannot risk his parents seeing him like that, and he seems to need someone to look after him anyway.”

  What the … 

  “Lucius!” Narcissa scolded him before Severus had a chance to react. 

  “What?”

  “Don’t you think it’s impolite to task Severus with taking care of him?” She nodded at Mulciber.

  Thank you!

  “Why? He just proved he’s up to the task, didn’t he? Plus, he’s friends with Mulciber, and I know he wants to stay. Right?” Lucius’s gaze returned to Severus, all but pinning him against the backrest of his chair.

  He ground his teeth, forcing himself not to let out the gust of curses—both profanities and spells—that were damming up behind his closed lips, regardless of how desperately he’d waited for Lucius to finally address that topic.

  Now, however, given the course of the evening, he found that he would rather ask his father for a second chance at being the son he’d always wanted than give Lucius the satisfaction of an agreement. 

  “Actually,” he began in a silky voice, “I have different plans for this summer. But I do appreciate your offer.”

  Lucius’s eyes narrowed again, the cool silver glinting as if he were really short of throwing daggers at him. “Do you now?” he asked conversationally. “What plans?”

  “Oh, you know,” Severus murmured and took a sip of his whisky for real this time, disgusting taste be damned; he needed something to calm his nerves that were screaming at him that he was making the biggest mistake he’d ever made and should apologise at once! “A relative of mine needs some support,” he said instead, “Mother can’t do it, so she asked me.”

  “I see.” But the way Lucius said it suggested that he didn’t see at all how Severus dared to reject his offer. He somehow succeeded in schooling his face into cool neutrality again, though, before he faced his betrothed. “Then a house-elf will have to tend to him, I assume.”

  Bloody hell … What did I do?

  His blood was running cold with dread while Severus tried to keep his composure and digested the fact that he might have found the catch of Jean’s offer after all: having an alternative made him too spiteful for his own good.

Chapter Text

“What if this will kill you right away?”
“What then? We’re fucked anyway, aren’t we?”
“Language!”
 “How much longer do you think I could do this?”
“Long enough, maybe.”

  He tried to be quiet when he returned home later that night, but he wouldn’t have needed to be. Jean was still sitting in the living room, her hair pinned up with her wand and the journal open on the table in front of her. Biro clasped in her hand, she looked up at him. “Had a good night?” 

  “Mh.” He slipped off his shoes, trying to keep both in check, the bubbling anger in his chest and the stinging dread in his eyes.

  “So, will you move to Malfoy Manor, then?”

  His back turned to her, Severus closed his eyes, wishing she would just shut up. “No.”

  “Oh. What happened?”

  You! You happened! It’s all your fucking fault! I’d have never pissed off Lucius if you hadn’t turned up with this bloody alternative I never asked for! Everything would be bloody perfect if it weren’t for you!

  He gulped those words down, though, clamped his lips shut before they could escape him, because he knew that wasn’t what happened. He had festered in the lingering panic of his rash decision for long enough to sort through it, and just like losing Lily, this disaster was a consequence of his own inability to keep his mouth shut and pride in check. 

  Once again, he had nobody else to blame but himself. Fully resistant to learning, as it seems.

  So, when he turned back to face Jean, he shrouded himself in an invisible cloak of indifference and said, “Changed my mind. Or do you want me to leave now?”

  “No.” She shook her head, the softest hint of a smile curving her lips. “You’re always welcome to stay.”

  Thank bloody fuck. But he only nodded, once, and said, “I’m off to bed.”

  Arriving in his room, he leaned against the closed door, allowing the tremble he’d pushed down ever since he’d refused Lucius’s offer to rise and conquer him fully. It was so bad he sank to the floor and buried his head between his arms, trying to muffle his sobs, although Jean couldn’t hear him anyway, while his tired mind was whirling with only one question: What have I done?

  He spent the night mostly sleepless. It had been late when he’d returned to begin with, so sunrise hadn’t been far away anyway, but even those few hours, he couldn’t convince his brain to shut down or the recurrent pangs of regret to stop. They jolted through him every time he thought about that situation again, about Lucius’s gaze and the eeriness of being surrounded by so many people, yet nobody had been aware of what had just happened.

  Why didn’t he just take that stupid potion? Might have spared him all of this.

  Ah, right. Because Avery had been an arse again. Stupid blighter. Why am I even friends with him?

  Around five in the morning, he gave up and began brewing. Not the Felicis; he still had time until that needed his attention again. But some other potions; brewing always helped calm his nerves. And he still had enough ingredients for some basics, maybe he could even sell some of them to get some money, so—

  He balled his hands into fists when another pang of regret sizzled through his body. What have I done, what have I done …

  Stop this!

  He couldn’t do anything about it anyway. Nothing but grovel to Lucius’s feet and beg him for forgiveness, but chances were that wouldn’t change anything either. Hadn’t changed anything about Lily ending their friendship, right?

  No, he had to accept the fact that he’d sacrificed his whole future with one rash decision borne from pure pettiness, because his pride hadn’t been able to swallow the fact that Lucius didn’t respect him as an equal, but only as a protégée he expected to do what he wanted. There would be no apprenticeship paid by the Malfoys, no Potions Master who would help him excel, probably not even the chance to speak to Lord Voldemort and become one of his official followers. 

  Severus scrubbed his face and his stinging eyes, sniffling softly before he focused on his potion again. There wasn’t much he was really good at, and even less society didn’t want to see him in Azkaban for, but potions … He could maybe make a living out of that. And he had a place to stay for another half year or so. It could be worse, right?

  Could be a damn lot better as well, though!

  It was almost eight when there was a knock on his door. “Severus?” Jean’s muffled voice sounded from the other side. “Breakfast is ready.”

  But although his stomach was grumbling, he didn’t answer the door. Didn’t feel like having company at the moment. Plus, he was still wearing his old nightshirt and nothing else. He would just go and grab a bite when Jean had left. 

  Jean, however, didn’t seem willing to accept his plan. A few minutes later, she knocked again. “Severus? Are you all right?”

  “’m great,” he muttered under his breath; the Imperturbable shielding his room made every attempt at answering her question without opening the door futile.

  “Severus?”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “I’ll come in, Severus!”

  “Ugh.” He tilted his head back until all he saw was the white ceiling, but didn’t do anything to stop her.

  “Why aren’t you answering?” she asked when she spotted him at the cauldron.

  “Don’t want to talk.”

  She sighed, but instead of leaving him the fuck alone as it would have been right and proper, she stepped closer until she was standing beside him. “We’ll figure this out,” she said levelly.

  Severus glanced at her from the corner of his eye before he looked down again. “Oh, so you’re telling me there’s a way I’ll get a stipend for an apprenticeship with a first-class Potions Master without the Malfoys?”

  She had the gall to smile lopsidedly. “I’m afraid no.”

  He scoffed.

  “But stipends for first-class Potions Masters aren’t the only way to reach your goals. There are a lot of magical apothecaries scattered all over Great Britain, hospitals, and even the Ministry. All of them offer apprenticeships and pay a decent salary. That might not be as glamorous as having a Malfoy in your back to step in every time something doesn’t go as planned, but I promise you, you’ll come off cheaper if you do it that way. And you’ll have the bonus of being rightfully proud of yourself for achieving that on your own.”

  Severus clenched his teeth while she was speaking, mainly because his eyes began stinging again and a lump grew in his throat, and the last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Jean. “You can talk,” he murmured nevertheless and cast her an angry glance. “I bet life’s always been gracious to you.”

  Something broke in her eyes, yet she smiled. “Maybe. But I’m trying to make good on at least some of the instances life has not been gracious to you, so … Why don’t you come and have breakfast with me while we think about where you could apply as soon as your N.E.W.T. results come in?”

  “No,” he said at once and whipped his head around to look at his potion again. “I’m not hungry, and I’m busy here.”

  Jean nodded, uttering another soft sigh. “Very well. I’ll leave you some scrambled eggs and toast in the kitchen.” She put her hand on his shoulder. Warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his nightshirt, intense enough that he stiffened from the swooping sensation in his stomach. Then she left him alone, and Severus held his breath until the door clicked closed.

  To his surprise, Jean didn’t pester him again after that. Not even the fact that he didn’t leave his room for four days straight when she was around made her address him again. She just went about her day and left him to go about his.

  Not that he was doing anything in those four days apart from simmering in his own self-pity and contemplating writing Lucius a letter apologising profoundly after all. But for one thing, he was still sure it wouldn’t change anything, for another thing, he more and more felt that he didn’t want to do that. A bit of his pride began showing through his regret and self-pity again, and although that bugger had got him into that jam in the first place, he wasn’t exactly inclined to ignore it to grovel to Lucius either. 

  However, it didn’t stop him from hoping that Lucius would invite him again. That the whole thing hadn’t been as serious as Severus thought it had been. That Lucius …

  But after those four days, he couldn’t stand his own smell or the confinement of this room any longer and sneaked into the bathroom to take a much-needed shower when Jean had left for whatever she was spending her days with. Maybe another visit to the dentist, she still had some teeth to spare, right?

  Then he returned to helping her with the chores and cooking as if nothing had happened. He could hope and pray for another invitation while showing at least a bit of appreciation for being allowed to stay here, right? Plus, he enjoyed her company. It was nice to be welcomed as just himself for a change. No need to tone down his working-class upbringing, no need to deny his interest in the dark arts, no need to duck his head to not get an empty bottle thrown after him. 

  Unfortunately, the ‘as if nothing had happened’ part also applied to his feeling attracted to her. At this point, he probably had to admit that it was more than just his treacherous body reacting to a beautiful woman. At this point, he probably had to admit—at least to himself—that he had a crush on her. 

  Because if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t catch himself admiring her eating her meals, worrying her lip when she was writing in that journal, or smiling at him when he lent her a hand, right? If he didn’t have a crush, he wouldn’t sometimes “accidentally” touch her hand when they were cooking and get excited about her reaction. About her wincing and clenching her teeth, pretending like nothing—had—happened!

  “I shouldn’t have let that happen,” she’d said. What she hadn’t said was why. It wasn’t as if they’d done anything inappropriate, right? He’d comforted her when she’d been distressed. Most people would do that, right? And less awkwardly and hesitantly than he had. So why that fuss? 

  What is going on in your mind that that night unsettled you so much?

  And how delusional is it to think it might be the same that’s going on in mine?

  Well, if it was, he found when he scrutinised his almost naked body in the mirror, she had an abysmal taste. There was nothing remotely attractive about him. Okay, his eyes, maybe. But how long could you stare into someone’s eyes and cut out the rest? If “I shouldn’t have let that happen” was the résumé, his eyes probably hadn’t been the initial problem, right?

  It was alarming how excitedly his mind was toying with that thought and all its possibilities. Until he remembered that every other thought fit to toy with contained his ruined future. Then everything made some kind of sense. 

  Anyway! Thoughts were free, right? She’d never know what he was entertaining himself with!

  She might assume, though. He wasn’t the most subtle person on earth, to be honest. Like, leaving his door standing open as a non-verbal invitation for her to keep him company was pretty obvious. He, his inner critic, and the demons he hadn’t summoned but still had to deal with could agree on that.

  Yet she followed his invitation.

  That wasn’t his imagination, right? Right?

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, after a while of them working together, redirecting his attention from her hands back to the situation as a whole so unexpectedly he winced.

  “Um …” Words! I need words! But if his brain had had shoulders, it would have shrugged.

  That was why he missed his cue to add the next ingredient. 

  “Mind out!” she said and grabbed his hand to pull it over the cauldron, where he instinctively released the three dried rowan berries. 

  He stared at Jean, watching her face light up with relief when she noticed the potion had not been ruined. Then she realised she was still grasping his hand, and her eyes, circled by shadows as dark as her breakfast tea, widened before she withdrew as if she’d burned herself. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. Thank you. Excuse me,” he mumbled and all but fled the scene when his stupid prick was acting up again. He’d probably die from mortification if she ever noticed that.

  Yet he couldn’t forget the tiredness that seemed to always be edged into her face. When he shuffled to the loo one night a couple of days later, he even spotted her sitting in the dark living room looking out the window again, covertly brushing her cheeks when she got aware of him.

  He opened his mouth, planning to ask her if she wanted company. His whole body was buzzing to comfort her! But the way she turned her head away was answer enough. She obviously didn’t want to risk a repeat of that other night. So Severus nodded to himself and disappeared into his room again after doing what he’d left it for in the first place.

  He didn’t mention that encounter the next day, but he did brew a batch of Dreamless-Sleep and casually placed a vial at her spot at the kitchen table when he was done.

  “For me?” she asked when she sat down, a look of genuine surprise in her hazel eyes.

  Severus harrumphed.

  “Thank you!” She smiled warmly, even cocked her head, and her tone of voice shot straight into his groin.

  Fucking hell. He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat while he raised the Prophet to hide behind the newspaper. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered and scrunched up his face, trying to will his half-boner back down. How utterly humiliating … 

  But if Jean noticed anything about his predicament, she didn’t let on. 

  When the tock-tock of an owl against his window rose Severus from his slumber in the first week of August, he scrambled out of bed so hastily that he almost toppled to the floor because his feet were tangled in the bedsheet. “Let—go—goddammit!” he muttered and, when he finally tore the window open, the stupid thing lay in a heap on the ground.

  The bedsheet, not the window.

  And neither the owl, which hooted at him disparagingly, sheathing itself in an aura of nobility. It was the exact kind of owl Lucius would use, and Severus’s fingers trembled a bit from how heavily his heart was thumping when he tried to untie the knot holding the letter. 

  Finally, he succeeded (albeit by almost ripping the letter in two), and the owl apparently expected him to write an answer letter, because it sat down on the windowsill and glared at him.

  His heart thumping even heavier now, Severus unrolled the letter and didn’t even read it. His eyes instantly jumped to the signature.

  -Mulc

  He exhaled so deeply that he felt as if he were literally deflating and shrinking a centimetre or two. His disappointment rumbled through his stomach and brought back an echo of the other night, of the uproar of emotions that he’d just wrestled down somewhat. Sniffing, he began reading the short letter.

  Mulciber wanted to meet with him in Diagon Alley today, Avery would come, too. 

  Severus curled his lip. Should he go? After how the two blighters had treated him at the summer ball? He cast a glance at the closed door. 

  But maybe they’d been sent by Lucius. Maybe he wanted them to check how rueful Severus was. Maybe they would tell him to give Severus a second chance if he went and behaved as he was expected to. 

  Bloody upper-class charade … 

  Yet he sat down to write his agreement, a dull sensation sitting in the pit of his stomach. 

  Jean was gone again when Severus set off for Diagon Alley. He hadn’t bothered taking his cloak, it was a hot day in central London, so he had to be careful to hide his wand from curious Muggle eyes until he Disapparated. 

  Diagon Alley was crowded, loud, and even hotter than the tiny alley he’d used to get there. Sweat was blossoming on his face and his back; luckily, he’d chosen a black t-shirt, at least it wouldn’t show his sweat stains. 

  And it would hopefully be the right amount of defiance to serve his purpose. Lucius would doubtlessly have expected him to wear a shirt, maybe even a bloody cloak, to make the upper-class look complete. But he wasn’t meeting with Lucius, he was meeting with his minions. A t-shirt would have to do!

  He found them at Florean Fortescue’s ice-cream parlour, and of course, they were wearing exactly that kind of attire Severus had just thought about, probably made bearable by a myriad of cooling charms. He scoffed to himself and was about to head to them when he noticed something. 

  They seemed suspiciously withdrawn and self-engrossed. Severus stopped to watch them for a moment before they became aware of his presence. Usually, Mulciber and Avery were talking all the time; he and Theodore, the fourth man in their dorm, had often joked (or groused) that even sleep had a hard time making them shut up. But now Mulciber was staring at the tabletop and whatever beverage he’d ordered, while Avery was bobbing his leg, watching the people passing by.

  Suspicious.

  And even more suspicious was the fact that both their faces lit up when Severus came closer. Not like usually when they got aware of him, but falsely, like plastered on. “Hey,” Severus muttered warily and sat down. “What’s wrong with you?”

  They exchanged a glance. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with us.”

  “We were just worried you might be stuck with your relative and leave us high and dry,” Avery added, smirking smugly. He’d fallen back to his old spirit quickly.

  Mulciber, however, was still struggling. He swallowed uneasily.

  They’re in. The thought crossed his mind all of a sudden. Lord Voldemort had welcomed them into his circle. That was the only explanation for it. Or they’d just had a quickie in the loo, but Avery was as straight as one could be, so that couldn’t be it. They had to be in. 

  But pressing the matter would bring him nowhere, not with Avery. Avery had always been a harder nut to crack, and he’d always enjoyed leading Severus on. “If you say so,” he, therefore, decided to let it go. He probably had a better chance to get something out of Mulciber when they were alone for a second. “Well, what are you having?” He nodded at the two cups.

  “Coffee,” they replied in unison, but Avery huffed mockingly at Mulciber. “You have milk with a side of coffee, wimp!”

  “Oh, shut it!” He punched his friend in the side and aimed at Severus, he said, “Take tea! The coffee’s awful!”

  With that, everything was back to normal.

  And it stayed normal the whole time they joked around in the parlour, obnoxious enough to have Florean Fortescue himself throwing them out at last. Avery—being the cocky idiot he was—gave the angry man a laughably high tip while Severus tried to hide the fact that he didn’t possess more money than he had to pay. The few potions he succeeded in selling had only sufficed to buy new ingredients, mostly the ones he needed to complete the Felicis. 

  So he followed his friends with his head lowered, hiding behind his curtain of hair, and contemplated how he might get a second alone with Mulc. 

  It was only when they came across Flourish and Blotts and their brash display of some newly released book that he acted. “Look at that!” he said and poked his elbow into Mulciber’s ribs to make him aware of a less brash display showing a book about the Dark Arts that did look promising. 

  “Ugh,” Avery groaned when he noticed them making their way towards the shop, “you’re such insufferable swots!”

  “Stop nagging,” Mulciber shot back. “Don’t you have to be headed home for something anyway? Don’t be late, Jonathan!” he mimicked what was probably meant to be his mother’s voice.

  “Wanker,” Avery muttered. “But fine! Do nothing I wouldn’t do!” Then—as Severus had hoped—he trotted off to the Apparition points.

  Perfect. “Let’s go inside,” Severus suggested, and Mulciber followed him.

  “Do you even have enough money for a book?”

  “Don’t need money to see if it’s worth it, do I?”

  Mulciber smirked.

  They meandered their way through the crowded shop, heading for the section about the Dark Arts that was located in the far back, as always. 

  “That’s why I prefer Knockturn Alley,” Mulciber muttered when he stepped aside for a group of children to pass by. 

  “Want to go there instead?”

  “Nah. We’re here now, aren’t we?”

  Severus shrugged his eyebrows and went on. And when they’d finally reached the right section, he whipped out his wand and cast both a Muffliato and a Notice-Me-Not.

  Mulciber looked at Severus smugly. “Having plans?” he asked and approached him, effectively backing Severus up against a shelf to get back to what they’d been doing frequently in Hogwarts’s library—snogging and groping, noses filled with dust, the smell of centuries old books, and their mutual arousal, muffling their moans with hands pressed against mouths until they spilled their highs into each others’ hands. 

  But despite an interested twitch of his cock, Severus put his hands on the other boy’s chest to stop him. “No. You said we had to stop because of your arranged marriage stuff, now deal with it.”

  “I’m not married yet …”

  “So? You had your chance.”

  “Ugh, fine! What’s this about then?” 

  “I want to know what happened.”

  Mulciber’s face fell and—“Dunno what you mean.”—he turned to a shelf as if he were really interested in the bloody book.

  “Don’t play dumb! Something changed since the summer ball, and it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you vomited at my feet.”

  He flicked him a glance. “I didn’t mean to, ‘kay?”

  “What is it?” Severus pressed and stepped closer, forcing his friend to look at him. “You’re in, aren’t you? In Lord Voldemort’s circle?”

  Mulciber tried to look unaffected, but he swallowed compulsively. “I cannot talk about that.”

  “But you are, right? Mr Malfoy introduced you?” Severus was short of climbing the bookshelf just to get Mulciber to finally spill his secrets, his heart jittering in his chest.

  And eventually, Mulc nodded jerkily, casting around nervous glances.

  “Wicked,” Severus breathed. “How was it?”

  Mulciber gulped again. “Fine?” It sounded like a question.

  “Yeah, that’s convincing!” he hissed. “Don’t let me worm everything out of you, muppet! Tell me!”

  “I can’t!” he repeated, his face paler than only seconds before. “The Lord made that explicitly clear! We’re not to tell anybody!” 

  Sinking back on his feet, Severus stared at him, his eyes probably as huge as saucers and in his stomach, a sinking feeling. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” he murmured. “By rejecting Lucius’s offer. I ruined everything.”

  “Well, it wasn’t a clever decision, that’s for sure! What were you thinking?”

  Backing up, Severus flung his hands in the air. “He was a git, as usual! Wanted me to play house-elf for you and clean up after you that night.”

  Mulciber groaned. “That’s it? Some stupid charms you couldn’t be bothered to cast? Who’s that relative that makes you go all stupid?”

  “She’s nobody!” Severus hissed.

  Probably a second too quickly, because Mulciber faltered and arched his eyebrows at him. “Is she now?”

  “Oh, stuff it! D’you think you can get me back into the game? Or your father? I’m still brewing that Felicis! I can really be useful! I just need a chance to show him!”

  “My father’s not nearly as important as Mr Malfoy, Sev!”

  Fuck. He dug his hands in his hair. “And Lucius? Do you think you can put in a word for me? Maybe he’ll …”

  “I don’t know. He’s cross with me, too, since the ball. You’re not the only one who fucked up. I’m sure it was the Lord himself who wanted to see me.”

  His breath snagged in Severus’s throat. The Lord himself … “I need to get a second chance!”

  “I hope you do! This is huge, Severus!”

  “I know!” he all but whined.

  Pursing his lips, Mulciber looked around again to check they were alone. “I really shouldn’t show you this, but …”

  “What?”

  He huffed and unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve, then shoved it up. A black image, like a tattoo, became visible. A skull and a snake crawling out of its mouth. It looked so real Severus thought it was moving for a second.

  “What is that?” he murmured and reached out to touch it, unable to suppress that impulse.

  But Mulc withdrew. “It’s his sign. He calls us with it.”

  Severus gulped, struggling to tear his gaze away from it and look his friend back in the eyes. Mulciber had gone pale again, even paler than before. He actually looked as if he were short of throwing up while he balled his hand into a fist. “That’s … great, isn’t it?” Severus probed carefully.

  “Yeah! I mean … look at it!” Mulciber smiled falsely. Then he quickly pulled down his sleeve again. “Well, I’ve got to go. Don’t tell anybody I showed you this, understood?”

  Severus nodded.

  “D’you want that book? I could get it for you.”

  “No.”

  “Fine.” He swallowed. “I’ll see what I can do for you with Lucius, all right? But don’t get your hopes up, he’s an absolute prick with that.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Mulciber nodded, more to himself, and he was already turning to leave when he stopped again, mumbled a breathy, “’m sorry,” and grasped Severus’s face to kiss him after all. It was a hard, desperate, almost painful kiss that ended too quickly and left them both panting. “Needed that,” he murmured and smiled again. “Just one last time. See you!” Then he was gone.

  Severus slumped against the front door after shoving it closed, his t-shirt sticking to his back. The scent of brand-new books still seemed to cling to him, at least, he still could smell it, as he could smell Mulciber’s aftershave. 

  He flinched from his reverie when Jean poked her head into the outer room. “Hey!” she said. 

  Ugh. 

  “Fancy joining me in the kitchen? I’m cooking.”

  “No,” he muttered and pushed off the door. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Okay … Did you eat already?”

  He scowled at her. “That’s none of your business, now is it?”

  She raised her hands placatingly. “Didn’t mean to stick my nose into your business. I just wanted to know if I should cook only for myself or if you want something later.”

  Fuck. “I’m fine,” he murmured, “need nothing.” He wanted to turn and leave, slink back into his room to tend to the Felicis and get his uproar of hormones back in check, but Jean grasped his shoulder.

  Severus flinched, at once turning out of her touch and pointing his wand at her before he knew what he was doing. Her eyes widened while his world felt like it was tilting, dipping his head into some murky waters that made it impossible for him to breathe.

  “I’m sorry!”

  He sucked in a greedy breath and forced himself to lower his wand. “Don’t do that,” he whispered.

  She swallowed thickly. “Won’t ever again.”

  Brushing his hand down his face, Severus tried to will his pulse into obedience, to clear his mind and get it back out of that suffocating water that was seeping down his back. “What do you want?”

  She cocked her head. “I … just wanted to ask if you’re all right. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Really? He huffed. “Not a ghost,” he mumbled before he could think better of it.

  “But?”

  “Nothing,” he said in a clipped voice. “I just met with some classmates, I’m fine.”

  Jean knitted her brows and narrowed her eyes. “They showed you their Dark Mark, didn’t they?” Her voice sounded different when she asked that, as if her world had tilted as well to dip her head into some murky waters that made it impossible for her to breathe. The colour was draining from her face, just as it had drained from Mulciber’s when he’d shown him that sign. 

  “What?” Severus whispered.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.” Now she attempted to turn and leave, now he grasped her shoulder.

  Well, he tried to, but she was too quick, and so he only got hold of her wrist. Soft warm skin pressed against his fingers, he could reach around it fully, his thumb and middle finger met. 

  Jean whipped her head around, her eyes wide. “Let me go,” she said, trying to sound calm, but her troubled gaze betrayed her. He knew that look, that display of outer calmness while on the inside, a storm was roaring.

  He pulled back, clenching his teeth. There was an apology pressing against them, demanding to be let out, but he took those words and rearranged their meaning until he could ask, “How do you know about that?”

  She rubbed her wrist as if it were hurting. But it couldn’t be, not because of him. Then she smiled, only with half her mouth and in her eyes shimmered a trace of disdain, maybe sadness, when she said, “That’s none of your business, now is it?” And just like Mulciber, she left, leaving him standing there like an utter idiot.

  Severus found himself observing Jean even more closely after that, wondering once again who she was and where she’d come from. How did she know about that tattoo? Because that was what she’d meant with the Dark Mark, right? How many more marks could there be? And he had to admit that it hadn’t looked exactly cheerful … 

  But no matter how closely he observed her, he could conclude absolutely nothing about her. Two days later, he even checked her door, investigating the wards she’d used to protect it, but there weren’t any. Only the same simple Imperturbable he’d used, and for a moment, he seriously considered taking advantage of her trust and looking through her room; maybe he’d even find that journal she kept writing, or at least something else that gave him a clue about what the hell she was hiding. 

  In the end, he didn’t do it, though. It felt too … cheap and undeserved. 

  And she’d more or less presented him with the prospect of answers when she was sure she could trust him, right? He just had to earn that trust. And that wouldn’t happen by snooping around her room, that much was for sure. But maybe by … showing her he wasn’t hiding anything? 

  It was the best he could come up with, given the circumstances, so he began leaving his door standing open again while he was brewing potions. And he topped up her Dreamless-Sleep stash. 

  It was a cheap potion to brew, no fancy ingredients needed, most of which he could harvest himself. So he was confused when, one morning he’d refused to get up early and stumbled into the kitchen when Jean had already left, he found some coins lying on his spot at the table, along with a slip of paper saying, Thank you! 

  Swallowing thickly, Severus stared at her dainty script, grateful for the fact that he was alone, because his body did some strange things being confronted with that. Some hot shivers and another swooping sensation in his stomach, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was he becoming sick? Or hungry? Or horny? Or everything at once?

  He didn’t know, but he took it all, the money and the note, and put the latter in one of his books so he wouldn't lose it. He wanted to keep at least this one after he’d just disregarded her first one, telling him to enjoy his meal. He’d never got something like a thank-you note and didn’t expect to ever get one again, so he’d better not lose it, right?

  But he couldn’t deny that the whole situation still frustrated him. Not only because he didn’t know anything about Jean (and still had a bloody crush on her, as if there weren’t enough going on in his life at the moment), but also because Lucius was a resentful bitch and every passing day made it more obvious that he would have to make the decision to apply for another job. 

  His N.E.W.T. results came about a week after meeting with Mulc and Avery, and as Severus had expected, he had Os all over. Principally, all doors should have been open to him. Practically, none was.

  At least none he really wanted to pass through, and so he kept delaying searching for another job. 

  Making one bloody decision against what Lucius fucking Malfoy expected him to do just couldn’t be enough to ruin his whole future, okay?! He had to be worth more than blind obedience for Lucius! For fuck’s sake!

  The only good thing happening within the following two weeks was that he finished the Felicis, and it was perfect. Absolutely pristine, sporting a rich gold colour, a masterpiece. 

  Jean was with him when he finished it, handing him whatever he needed before he said a single word, and when he met her eyes after admiring the golden liquid in his cauldron for at least a minute straight, she beamed at him. “You don’t need an overpaid Master to teach you, you already are one yourself. Somebody just has to attest to that.” Then her hand jerked, almost as if she were yearning to touch him, but stopped herself last second. What she couldn’t stop, though, was her eyes twitching to his mouth. It was only a split second, but Severus had seen Mulc doing that too often not to recognise it. 

  She wanted to kiss him.

  His mouth ran dry, completely robbing him of the ability to speak. Instead, he just stared at her like an imbecile and prayed that his jeans would hide the swelling of his member. Tension grew between them, thick enough that Severus held his breath and the hairs on his arms stood on end, and he quarrelled with his desire to lean closer, to try his luck and push her boundaries. 

  But then Jean blinked and averted her eyes. “Gosh, it’s getting late. I’ll go and make dinner.” Whirling around, she fled from his room, and with her, the tension disappeared.

  He exhaled in a huff. She really wouldn’t let that happen again … 

  Severus’s fingers were trembling when he got two vials to bottle the potion, and when he was finished, he looked at them lying on his desk, shimmering in the sunlight filtering in. Two doses. One he would take to present to Lord Voldemort, the other he would take himself before he went in to meet him. Maybe. If he ever invited him, that was. And if he decided to go. 

  Which he would!

  Absolutely!

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to stop his brain from repeating what Jean had just said. You don’t need an overpaid Master to teach you … 

  Maybe having his brain not work would have been better.

  The next owl picking at his window pane, however, did carry a letter coming from Malfoy Manor. Not from Lucius, mind, but his father. 

  Of course, it was written in fucking French! An oh-so-subtle reference to the Malfoys’ ancestry. Aristocratic ponces. But he’d taught himself enough French to understand the letter. As long as nobody asked him to speak, he was halfway fine.

  Anyway, it was an invitation to a soiree next week, so formal clothing was required, and ended with an elegantly curved “RSVP”. Severus read through the invitation again, and his heart skipped a beat. It was not a private thing, as it seemed, it was an invitation as you got made in larger quantities. 

  Lips taut, he contemplated what would be the best way to deal with this. Respond as soon as possible to appreciate the second chance and show that he would do better this time? Wait for another day or two to not seem needy? He was worrying his lip so badly he eventually tasted blood and huffed.

  Tomorrow. He would wait until tomorrow, then he would write his response. Just twenty-four hours. He could do that … 

  But in the end, he did something else entirely the following day. 

  Before Severus even got to sit down and write his reply to Mr Malfoy’s invitation, there was a knock on the front door that trickled through his body like ice. 

  During the almost eight weeks he was living here with Jean now, nobody had ever knocked on the front door. Not even a neighbour to complain about something because they were both quiet and knew how to behave around Muggles. 

  So he went to stare at the door, puzzled about what to do.

  Before he’d come to a conclusion, Jean passed him by and opened the door a crack to peek outside, wand in her hand so whoever it was couldn’t see it.

  Severus’s hand twitched to draw his wand, too, but then she relaxed.

  “Professor Dumbledore …”

  Severus sucked in a breath. Dumbledore?! What the hell did the headmaster want? Was he here because of him? His fingers itched to grasp his wand after all, eyes wide and head spinning.

  But Jean didn’t seem to be worried at all. She stepped aside and let the man in. “Miss Cavanagh,” he said and hearing his dark, level voice made Severus tense up even harder.

  “I demand your silence, Mr Snape. Not a single word to anybody. Did I make myself clear?”

  Dumbledore stepped into the flat, not wearing one of his extravagant robes for once but a rather bland Muggle outfit that made him look like a librarian, and at spotting Severus, a moment of surprise flitted over his face. “Mr Snape. I didn’t expect to see you here.” His blue eyes wandered to Jean.

  “He needed a place to stay,” she said in a clipped voice and shoved the door shut. “What can I do for you? I thought we’d discussed everything.”

  Dumbledore’s eyes flicked Severus another glance. “I’d rather talk about that under four eyes.”

  I bet you do! Severus’s hands balled into fists at his sides. And when Jean looked his way, he clenched his teeth as well.

  She scrutinised him, so intensely that he felt like being exposed to roentgen rays and had to fight the urge to cross his arms defiantly. “That won’t be necessary,” she finally decided, and while Severus exhaled in a silent huff, she directed Dumbledore into the living room.

  The headmaster looked at Severus again contemplatively. Severus had never seen him like that before, displaying an array of emotions on his usually composed and cheerful to all but Slytherins face. 

  And of course, Severus couldn’t stop himself from shrugging his eyebrows. First time you don’t know what’s going on, eh? That he himself didn’t know what was going on either, didn’t dampen his glee.

  “Very well,” Dumbledore conceded at last and preceded them into the living room.

  “Keep quiet,” Jean instructed Severus in a whisper, and Severus curled his lips. 

  Keep quiet … Sure! What else?! “What is he even doing here?” he whispered back.

  “We’ll find out, I guess.” She arched her eyebrows and followed the headmaster.

  Severus glowered at her back. But he wouldn’t risk his chance at getting to know something, so he followed them and chose a spot near the door to lean against the wall, his arms crossed. 

  “Tea?” Jean offered the headmaster.

  “No, thank you. I won’t keep you for long, I hope.”

  She nodded and sat down opposite him. “So, how can I help you?” She didn’t sound exactly friendly either, probably the only reason Severus succeeded in keeping his feelings of betrayal at bay.

  She was working with fucking Dumbledore? How dare she?! With him of all people!

  Was that the reason she’d been at Hogwarts? To meet with Dumbledore? Had he been missing at breakfast because of her? And why hadn’t he thought about that earlier? He’d have never come here when—

  Dumbledore cast Severus another wary glance, effectively cutting off his every thought. Maybe he was still trying to figure out what Severus’s presence meant. 

  Me too, old man, me too …

  “You can speak openly,” Jean assured him.

  Dumbledore’s eyes fastened on her. “Are you sure he can be … trusted?”

  Her hazel eyes burned on Severus’s face. “Yes, I am.”

  You … what? … oh. Swallowing thickly, he nodded at her once. He wouldn’t disappoint her, not her, too.

  The headmaster didn’t seem convinced, but whatever had brought him here seemed to be more pressing than his need to talk in privacy. “Well, I’m afraid the Wizengamot refuses to believe me,” he began reluctantly, “I need more evidence.”

  Jean huffed. “I gave you all I had. More evidence would be the memories of the victims.”

  Victims?

  “They won’t make a case from what you gave me.”

  “Well, then you have to stop him in another way!” she exclaimed. “I told you choosing the official way might not work, he has his people everywhere. But you also know what will happen if you don’t stop him. Now!” She was breathing heavily, upset in a way Severus hadn’t seen her so far. She scrubbed her face, mumbling, “I’d do it if I could but …”

  Do what? What are you talking about?

  Dumbledore took a deep breath. “Even if I wanted to pursue that way, I didn’t manage to get them all yet. The diary …”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled, “we knew that’d be difficult to get.”

  “It is, indeed. So, the official way is the only one we have at the moment, and I need more to make it work.”

  “I don’t have more! I told you all the people he murdered—“

  Murder? Who murdered whom?

  “—told you how he did it, told you when he did it … I very well couldn’t bring the evidence, right? You need to get that on your own, Dumbledore!”

  “Who murdered whom?” Severus broke his promise to stay quiet within the first two minutes of giving it. Jean and Dumbledore looked at him.

  The headmaster’s face was composed and cool as always, but Jean swallowed as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Voldemort,” she eventually said and made him suck in a breath. 

  “Miss Cavanagh …”

  She ignored Dumbledore. “Voldemort killed five people to create powerful magical objects that would keep him alive even if he were to die. And he intends to kill more people. I know, you probably won’t believe me, but I can give you all the names, all the places, all the dates. You can look it up yourself.” Her eyes swayed back to Dumbledore, totally ignoring the fact that Severus felt like falling.

  Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at him before he focused back on Jean. “I don’t think you should have told him.”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Headmaster.”

  Severus blocked out their conversation while he tried to fit what Jean had just told him into what he knew about Lord Voldemort. Killed? He’d killed people to … what?! 

  Staring at the floor that seemed to sway before his eyes, he tried to keep his breakfast down while everything he’d heard and witnessed whirled through his mind. Lord Voldemort’s appearance, his calculated smile, the Dark Mark on Mulciber’s arm, his reluctance to tell him more, the way he’d paled thinking about his initiation into Voldemort’s circle, the fact that Barty couldn’t attend the summer ball because his father … his father was working for the Ministry and … 

  Severus gulped and looked back at Jean. Watched her argue with Dumbledore, who stayed infuriatingly calm while she was so obviously short of losing her composure and burst into tears that Severus’s fingers itched with the need to touch her. She’d gone pale, unbridled desperation mirroring on her face, her hair a mess from how often she carded her fingers through it. 

  The official way … the Wizengamot refuses to believe me … 

  Dumbledore was trying to get Lord Voldemort sentenced. Was trying to get the Aurors to arrest him and send him to Azkaban, but the Wizengamot wouldn’t have it because … because about a third of them were associated with Lord Voldemort and following his lead. Severus had seen them at Malfoy Manor, had heard them speculate how long it might still take them to sway enough people to make Lord Voldemort the next Minister of Magic.

  And he intends to kill more people.

  Oh god … 

  Jean brushed her cheeks. He only saw it from the corner of his eyes, but it snapped him back into the here and now. The same motion as that night Severus had caught her crying in the living room. The sight jolted through his body.

  I cannot talk about that. We’re not to tell anybody.

  His scalp prickled when all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. … fuck.

  That was why Jean tried so adamantly to dissuade him from following Lord Voldemort! That was why she’d offered him an alternative. That was why … He swallowed again. 

  Fuck!

  “Tell me what else I am supposed to do,” Dumbledore said then, “and I will do it. I know what will happen, knew it even before you showed me, and I want to prevent that just as much as you do, Miss Cavanagh. I just need to know how.”

  “I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “Get the Order and storm Malfoy Manor to get that diary and kill him if you must!”

  Storm Malfoy Manor to get the diary? “You can’t do that,” Severus mumbled, even surprising himself. Both heads whipped around to him again. “The Manor is warded, heavily. You can’t get in without an invite.”

  “I know,” Dumbledore said and looked back at Jean. “I did try to get someone into the Manor, even disguised as personnel. There are wards keeping everybody in line, no chance to get to the diary without a major fight the Order won’t be able to win.”

  “Perfect,” she murmured, half laughing, half crying, and hid her face behind her hands. “So it’ll just happen again …”

  Again? Severus pinched his eyes closed, trying to make sense of that, but he found he couldn’t. It made absolutely no sense. But considering that Dumbledore didn’t seem confused, he just seemed to be still missing some information. 

  “There’s nothing else I could do?” Dumbledore asked gently.

  Jean shook her head. “No. I gave you everything I had, every piece of knowledge. When we can’t get into Malfoy Manor—” She stopped and looked at Severus. “And don’t you even think about it!”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered. He wasn’t suicidal, after all!

  She nodded. “No. Besides getting the diary to destroy it and make him mortal again, there is no other way. I mean … you could ambush him and keep him captive somewhere nobody will find him, but …”

  “He hasn’t shown himself in public for months,” Dumbledore demurred.

  “And you think he would if he were persecuted by Aurors?” Severus sneered. 

  Dumbledore’s eyes fastened on him. “If we had a whole department to keep an eye on him, yes, I think we would find him. Not even Abraxas Malfoy will keep him hidden if we freeze his assets.”

  “Then the Aurors are the only chance, and they will only do something—” 

  “—if the Wizengamot agrees, yes.”

  She groaned softly. “I don’t know how we could convince them.”

  Severus frowned. Because that wasn’t true, was it? There was something they certainly hadn’t tried. And Jean knew about that. She’d helped him brew it, the Felix Felicis. The only potion that might be able to show Dumbledore a way to convince the Wizengamot and pull enough people onto his side. 

  Why didn’t she address that? Had she forgotten?

  No way.

  Then why … 

  He gulped when the realisation trickled into his brain. She wouldn’t demand that of him. Whoever Jean Cavanagh was, wherever she came from, whatever her motives were … She’d only ever offered him options, she’d never told him he needed her, never ordered him around, never forbade him anything, never demanded anything. 

  (Something he couldn’t say about Lucius …)

  She left it up to him whether he wanted to … Yeah, what? Switch sides? Change his loyalty? Was it really that dire? Were they choosing sides?

  (Had they ever not?)

  Grimacing, Severus averted his eyes. It seemed as if he indeed had to choose a side. Again. And he didn’t like the fact that switching meant choosing Dumbledore’s side. That man was a self-righteous prick who constantly favoured his bloody Gryffindors and gave a damn about Slytherin. Severus could think of at least half a dozen people who wouldn’t have followed Lord Voldemort so readily, if Dumbledore had given only one damn about them, off the top of his head! 

  But if Jean was right, Lord Voldemort maybe wasn’t the saviour they all hoped he was, either. Or if he was for the other people following him, he at least wasn’t for Severus. He didn’t want anything to do with killing people, he just wanted … 

  He just wanted a fucking chance! For once in his bloody life, he wanted a chance to not come last. A chance to make something out of his life. He hadn’t studied like a madman for years to … 

  Scrubbing his face furiously, he ducked out of the living room, leaving the oppressive silence behind. Fuck! Why was everything made so hard for him? Why couldn’t he have something good for himself for once? Why were strings attached to every fucking friendship he built? Why did he always have to pay one way or another for every favour given to him?

  He was halfway down the hall when he had to admit that wasn’t true. Jean had never demanded he pay for anything, on the contrary. She’d paid him for providing her with that Dreamless-Sleep, and Merlin knew she wouldn’t have needed to do that, not after she’d been feeding him for almost two months!

  Jean had also told him there were options for him that excluded any Malfoy. Options to become a Potions Master that might be less glamorous but accessible in his own right.

  She’d shown him an alternative, in more than one way. 

  But what if she was wrong? What if Lord Voldemort wasn’t … wasn’t a murderer? What if she was trying to sabotage and hoodwink them all? What if she wanted to manipulate Severus into betraying Lord Voldemort?

  Well, then … then even the official way would lead nowhere, right? The Ministry, even if Dumbledore succeeded in making them investigate, wouldn’t sentence an innocent man, right? 

  And after another moment or two of contemplation, his hot forehead pressed against the smooth surface of his closed door, he made a decision.

  Dumbledore looked at him incredulously when he returned seconds later and gave him one of the vials of Felix Felicis. “Try this,” he said, meeting the blue eyes of the man who’d dismissed and wronged him for years. It was one of the bitterest pills he’d ever had to swallow, aligning himself with him of all people! But deep down—and it was a very deep down, one Severus could only reach by sneering at Dumbledore as he’d never sneered at someone ever before—he knew it was the right thing to do. Doing the right thing fucking sucks! But who knew, maybe in the end, he would gain some kind of satisfaction and moral high ground from the fact that he, of all people, was the one helping the headmaster now. I'd better fucking do!

  “Felix Felicis,” Dumbledore murmured, carefully taking the vial. “Where did you get this?”

  “I brewed it,” Severus snarled and raised his chin, looking down the length of his nose at the sitting man.

  The blue eyes twitched. “You wanted to get Voldemort’s attention.”

  A muscle in Severus’s cheek ticked. “Yes. Now you might get the Wizengamot’s attention.”

  Dumbledore’s gaze ghosted over Severus’s face as if he were seeing him for the first time, and Severus’s features hardened. Be careful what you say, old man, or I might change my mind! 

  Eventually, the mistrust—something that had always been edged into Dumbledore’s face whenever he’d had to deal with Severus—vanished almost completely, and he huffed softly. “Maybe we Sort too soon,” he murmured and rose to his feet. 

  Fuck’s sake?

  “I’ll keep you updated,” Dumbledore promised and nodded Jean and him goodbye before he left as unexpectedly as he’d come.

  “Headmaster,” she mumbled, baffled, and didn’t even get up to see him to the door. 

  “Bloody idiot,” Severus muttered after the door had clicked shut behind the old man.

  “Severus,” Jean chided him, but there was no noteworthy emphasis in her word.

  “What? You know I’m right! What the hell was that supposed to mean, Maybe we Sort too soon? Does he think just because I’m a Slytherin I have no morals?”

  She huffed a tiny laugh, but quelled it by pressing a hand to her mouth. She was still pale, still desperate, still short of falling apart, and he assumed she still wouldn’t like being held together by him, so he didn’t even offer it. 

  But eventually, she looked at him again. “That was very generous of you.”

  He shrugged. 

  “Why did you give him the Felicis?” 

  Because I’m a stupid idiot. Because ruining the best for me is what I always do. Because I wanted you to stop crying. “I do have morals,” he said in the end. “If Lord Voldemort really killed people …”

  “He did. Moaning Myrtle was his first victim, actually.”

  “Myrtle?” he echoed incredulously.

  She nodded. 

  “How the …” He didn’t bother completing his question. Chances were she wouldn’t answer them anyway. 

  But to his surprise, Jean said, “I guess you deserve some answers …”

Chapter Text

“There’s no safety anymore, nowhere. Nobody will come to save me.”
“Maybe you will save yourself.”

  Severus couldn’t help but sneer a bit at that. “So, you do trust me now? Why? Because I gave him the potion?”

  But his reaction didn’t seem to bother her. “Actually, I have trusted you since we ran into each other at Hogwarts, I … just needed to be sure you’d trust me enough as well. Enough to not go and warn Voldemort.”

  He looked away, unable to deny that until a few weeks ago, he’d have done just that. Well, he would’ve told Lucius, but only because the Lord wouldn’t talk to him. 

  Jean brushed her face and tried to smooth her wild curls. “I guess this demands tea,” she murmured and got up.

  Severus followed her. “What if Dumbledore fails even with the Felicis?”

  “You’re fucked,” she said bluntly, not turning to look at him.

  “I? What about you?”

  Another tiny laugh that vanished quickly while she put tea bags into the pot. “Should Dumbledore fail, I’ll be in the lucky position to no longer be here to witness it.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She didn’t reply, just rubbed her teeth against each other and filled the pot with steaming water from her wand. 

  When it was full, Severus grasped her shoulder and made her look at him. “What is that supposed to mean?” he repeated. “Or are there still questions you don’t trust me enough to answer?”

  Her eyes were shining with tears when she looked up at him. “Give me a second, okay? This isn’t an easy story to tell.” 

  Severus faltered, shocked by her emotionality, and nodded, while his heart skipped a beat over how serious this seemed to be. “I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

  “Thank you.”

  She needed a couple of minutes, which he spent standing at the window, his arms tightly crossed, while tapping his foot against the floor. When she finally followed him, she levitated a tray with tea ahead of her. She didn’t need to ask him how he drank his tea, just as he wouldn’t have needed to ask her. Living together, tea habits were the first you picked up. “Ta,” he mumbled when she put down his cup at his place, and he jerkily rounded the table to sit down beside her. 

  Neither of them touched their tea, though. Jean just put her elbows on her knees and exhaled slowly, the vein on her neck pulsing quickly. “I … don’t belong here,” she eventually began. “I arrived two months ago, only days before we first met, and I did so in the Department of Mysteries. Which is where I used to … work—in the year 2011.” She gulped, her clasped hands trembling, before she flicked him a glance.

  Severus didn’t know what kind of reaction she expected from him, he didn’t even know what kind of reaction he expected from himself. But that he was only staring at her, his mind completely blank and feeling as if his train of thought hadn’t only derailed but vanished from existence, certainly hadn’t been it. “Excuse me?” he croaked after a shockingly long time had passed.

  Jean smiled lopsidedly. “I’m from the future, Severus. I will be born next year, in September 1979.”

  A borderline hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat. “You must be kiddin’ me,” he breathed, still unable to tear his eyes away from her.

  “I am not.”

  “But that’s impossible! There are no means to … to go so far back into the past! There are only Time-Turners and they bring you back a couple of hours, not … not 33 years!”

  She took a deep breath. “There were only Time-Turners,” she explained calmly. “As I said, I’ve been working in the Department of Mysteries, and my … goal was to find out if there is another means to go back in time.” She hunched her shoulders. “I was successful.”

  “But why? And how?”

  “Why? Well, Voldemort … and everything that followed.” She pursed her lips. “But I’m not allowed to talk about the how. Not even the DoM knows how I did it.”

  He barked a mirthless laugh again, carding his fingers through his hair. Bloody hell … Was she really telling the truth or … or was he watching her lose her mind? 

  But Dumbledore hadn’t seemed sceptical of her or of what she’d said. And the whole conversation he’d just attended made a lot more sense, accepting what she was telling him. It was a piece of information that perfectly fitted into the holes his mental picture was still sporting. 

  And at the same time, it was absolutely bonkers. 

  When he looked at Jean again, she was worrying her lip, watching him digest what she’d just said. “Do you believe me?” she asked softly.

  Severus gulped. Did he? It went against everything he thought he knew, turned the whole magical theory Hogwarts had taught him over the last seven years upside down. The theory that said that it was impossible to go back in time for more than a couple of hours and that even then, your influence was limited. That what had happened would happen, and there was nothing you could do about it, because there was only one timeline and whatever you would do after going back had already happened the first time you lived through that time, even if you hadn’t been aware of your involvement in it. 

  But that was obviously not what was happening here. Jean had talked about things happening again if Dumbledore couldn’t prevent them from happening. She was trying to change what happened. Was trying to change everything.

  “How is that possible?” he breathed instead of answering her question.

  “I’m not sure it is,” she said. “So far, I might have changed nothing. At this point, everything could go down as it has in my timeline. I just hope it won’t …” Her voice trembled at that, and she brushed her cheek although he hadn’t seen a tear leak from her eye.

  “What happened in your timeline?” Severus asked, his voice barely more than a whisper and his eyes trying to pin her down so she wouldn’t escape and leave him with nothing again. 

  Her beautiful face twisted in pain, creases of a hard life digging deep into her skin that he assumed would be soft underneath his fingers if he ever got the chance to touch it. “I really have no idea where to start …”

  “But it was bad.”

  She nodded slowly. “It was. Bad enough we … decided to risk it and send me back.”

  Bad enough … “Can you tell me more?”

  “I don’t know if I should.”

  “But you told Dumbledore.”

  “I did.”

  “So you could.”

  She smiled that lopsided smile again. “Yes. There’s no kind of magic preventing me from telling you what happened. Just my worry that it might … hurt you.”

  His pulse quickened. “I became one of Lord Voldemort’s followers?”

  She looked at him for several seconds, unmoving. Then she whispered, “Yes.”

  Severus nodded, unsure what to think about that. Receiving that honour had been his goal for so long that he had a hard time dismissing it now, even knowing everything he’d learned this afternoon. Another version of him had made it. Had succeeded in what he’d just thrown away by helping Albus fucking Dumbledore. Had not chickened out of going through with his ambitions.

  “But the version of you I got to know wasn’t happy about that for long,” Jean said into his thoughts, causing him to whip his head back round to her.

  The version of me she got to know … He quickly did the maths. “I was almost twenty years older in your time.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you get to know me?”

  She huffed almost wistfully. “You’ve been my teacher.”

  He choked on his own saliva, bursting into some heavy coughs that made her chuckle while she patted him on the back. “Your teacher?” he echoed, bewildered. “How the hell did I end up teaching?”

  Her amusement faded, leaving her as stricken as before. “That’s a long story … And not a happy one, I’m afraid.”

  “I figured that!” Severus spat. Like hell would he ever teach voluntarily! 

  “A long story,” Jean repeated, “that began with you becoming a Death Eater.”

  “A what?”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Oh, you don’t know what Voldemort’s followers are called?”

  “No?”

  “Well, there you have it. Death Eater. Charming, isn’t it?”

  “Ridiculous, if you ask me,” he muttered. Death Eaters. That didn’t make the least bit of sense. How were they supposed to eat death? And why?

  “Yeah … It wasn’t for us.” She brushed her hair from her face again and finally took a sip of her tea. 

  Severus watched her. Watched her lips purse and touch the rim of her cup, watched her swallow, watched her briefly close her eyes when the flavour of the tea spread on her tongue. “Did I … have some kind of important role in the Lord’s ascent?” he finally asked.

  “No,” Jean said.

  “Why are you helping me then? Why are you even interacting with me? Aren’t there rules attached to travelling through time? To not change too much because you never know what comes of it?”

  She actually blushed a bit. “Yeah, well … I don’t give a damn about that.”

  Severus snorted. “So you weren’t supposed to help me.”

  “I didn’t get any specific advice about that,” she said off-handedly and shrugged.

  “Why did you do it then? Did you like me in your timeline?”

  “Not exactly …”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Did I like you?”

  “Oh god, no!” she laughed. “I’m pretty sure you hated everything about me.”

  Hard to believe. “Then why?”

  She got serious again, and when her gaze settled on him, a rush of goosebumps shot along his arms and back. “I just … wanted you to have a chance,” she said. “I wanted you to have a better life than the one you had in my timeline, wanted you to get out of this mess unscathed and with a future ahead of you you never had before. I couldn’t stand the thought that you might have just taken the Dark Mark when Voldemort is stopped, leaving you branded yet again.” Tears were welling in her eyes, and for a brief moment, Severus wondered what kind of life he’d had in her timeline apart from him ending up as a teacher and a Death Eater, as it seemed. 

  “But you didn’t stop me either,” he murmured.

  She smiled mirthlessly. “No. I wanted it to be your decision. I mean, I might have rather stupefied you than let you go back to Voldemort if push came to shove, but first and foremost, I wanted you to have a real alternative.” She hesitated for a moment, then she cupped his face with her hand and softly added, “Nobody ever gave you a chance, so if I was going back to change the world, why not change yours, too, I thought. You deserved that I’d at least try …” There was warmth in her eyes when she said that, warmth Severus had never seen in anybody’s eyes when they were looking at him. 

  I want to kiss you. 

  “Why?” he breathed instead, and when Jean withdrew her hand, he leaned closer. Not intentionally, it just happened, as if his body was drawn to hers. But she didn’t stop him. Either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. “If I didn’t like you, and you didn’t like me … Why did you even bother?”

  Her gaze jumped back and forth between his eyes (and once to his lips). “Because I … wished more than once I’d bothered when I could have.”

  Severus sucked in a breath as something swelled in his chest, something that seemed to rip him open, that left him light-headed and his fingers yearning to touch. He wished he could look away, just for a second, because holding her gaze was so intense that he had trouble breathing. But he was afraid the moment he looked away, he’d rob himself of another chance. One, he wasn’t quite as fine with seeing pass him by. “I see,” he, therefore, murmured, and swallowed drily. “And … has it been worth it? Taking that risk, I mean.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. “I’d do it again any time.”

  Sweet Circe … “Well, that doesn’t sound as if you’d not like me, Miss Cavanagh,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow cheekily.

  “Oh god,” she muttered and chuckled a laugh.

  “Getting flashbacks?” he grinned.

  “No. But also, yes.”

  Got you. “Jean Cavanagh is not your real name, is it?”

  She gulped and got serious again. “No. Well … not entirely.”

  “What is your name, then?”

  She lowered her eyes, taking a moment to contemplate what to do. “Jean is … my middle name.”

  “And your first name? Let me know who gave me another option.”

  She swallowed again, closed her eyes. “Hermione,” she whispered at last and met his eyes. “My first name is Hermione.”

  “Hermione,” Severus repeated, letting the syllables roll off his tongue as if they had a taste and as if that taste was the best he’d ever experienced. “It’s beautiful. It suits you.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  Before she could brush it away herself, Severus reached up and did it for her, prompting their eyes to meet again. For some seconds, the world seemed to hold its breath.

  Then Hermione withdrew from his touch. “We shouldn’t go there,” she murmured, fiddling with her fingers.

  “Why?” 

  “Everything about this is wrong. I’m thirteen years older than you right now, for a start.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Obviously,” she smiled sadly. “But this isn’t right. It’ll mess you up forever …”

  “I already am, then,” he said and scooted another inch closer. “I already want you,” he added, wishing his face wouldn’t burn from embarrassment, admitting that. But she must have long noticed anyway, he hadn’t exactly been subtle.

  “That’s not the same. It’s something different to have a … a crush on an older person when you’re young than having some kind of … muddled affair.”

  “Well, to me it sounded as if—no matter how I’ll end up—I probably will have a better life than the one you got me out of.”

  Hermione looked at him again. “You have no idea, Severus,” she murmured.

  “Then explain it to me.”

  She huffed a mirthless laugh and put her face in her hands, scrubbing it fiercely. “This was not supposed to happen …”

  Severus sighed silently, waiting for her to get over stage one of whatever she was grieving and trying to keep his hope down. She seemed to reciprocate his attraction, his feelings, at least to an extent, but that didn’t mean she would give in to them. Still, he at least hoped she would tell him why she wouldn’t. And he hoped it was a better reason than ‘You’re too young’.

  He was no fucking child anymore! He’d proven that! 

  Eventually, she returned from behind her hands, her eyes reddened and her lips taut. “There is something else you need to know.”

  “What?” he grumbled. “Don’t tell me I’m your father.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He smirked. “Sure, you’re telling me you’ll be born next year and I’m the one being ridiculous …”

  “Oh, shut up.” But she smiled as well, fleetingly but still. “The fact that I’ll be born next year is the problem, though.” She swallowed thickly. “I told you I can’t stay past Christmas. The reason for that is that … my mother … will fall pregnant with me around Christmas and … I can only exist once, so …” She pursed her lips, trying to get her tears back in check.

  Severus, however, felt like he’d been punched in the gut. No. The air left his lungs in a wheeze, and he struggled to get fresh in. Nonono. “You’ll die?” he choked.

  “I don’t know. I’m the first one attempting this, nobody knows what will happen with me. But everybody—myself included—was quite sure about the fact that my existing twice will create a paradox that the … magic will correct.” 

  “Correct …” he echoed. And clinging to a sliver of hope, he said, “Well, maybe your mother won’t fall pregnant with you, but with another child? Maybe that’s the magic’s way of correcting this!”

  “That would only create another paradox,” Hermione reminded him sadly, “making me a person who was never born. No matter how you turn it, I’ll end up a paradox.”

  He stared at her, his mind empty, disbelieving really, because what did she mean, she would be gone in a couple of months?! She’d been … She’d been the first … 

  He scooted away from her, turning his head in the opposite direction, grinding his teeth so hard it hurt and finding a moment of clarity in that pain. He had to get a grip!

  “I’m so sorry,” Hermione whispered and reached out to touch his shoulder, but Severus twisted away from it and leapt to his feet.

  “Don’t,” he hissed, glaring at her for good measure, then he whirled around and left. Initially, he’d planned to hide in his room, but the front door came into his sight first, and the idea of being trapped in his four walls was sickening, so he chose that and banged it shut behind him.

  He spent several hours wandering around London, his shoulders hunched and his hair hiding his face because he couldn’t stop some stubborn tears from leaving his eyes. There was a chasm gaping in his chest, one that had been ripped open once already, deep and screaming like a banshee. It’d cost him the better part of a year to stitch it back closed the first time round, now he was back to square one and had no idea what to do about it. 

  How dare she?!

  How dare she intrude on his life, his perfectly planned out life, and make him trust her, like her, only to then tell him she would fucking die?

  He angrily wiped at his eyes. Yes, she’d told him she could only stay until Christmas, but not being able to stay was something else than dying, right?! 

  How dare she … 

  And why had he been—

  “Watch out!”

  A hard grip around his arm yanked Severus back, and the next moment, a honking bus drove by, only inches away from his feet. He stumbled back, bumped into a lamppost, stared around wide-eyed.

  “Don’t you have eyes?” a middle-aged man, probably the same who had pulled him back from the street, blustered, his face pale.

  “I’m sorry,” Severus murmured, pressing his back harder against the lamppost because his legs felt like rubber and as if they wouldn’t carry him. “I wasn’t looking …”

  “Obviously! For goodness’ sake …” He brushed his hand down his face.

  Severus gulped, uneasily glancing around the small cluster of people watching them. “I’m sorry, okay?” he repeated, gnashing his teeth. “I’ll take better care next time. Thank you for … this!” He gestured at the roadside, then he ducked away and stumbled back to where he’d come from, trying to ignore the murmur behind him. 

  His breath was hitching in his throat, thick like glue, and when he found a small alley, he dove into it, out of sight from passers-by, and rammed his fist against the wall. The pain ripped through him like a whiplash, and suddenly, he could breathe again. Greedily, he sucked air into his lungs, leaned against the wall and cradled his hurting hand against his chest.

  Fuck! Wailing softly, he sank to the ground, squeezing his stinging eyes closed as if that would stop the chasm in his chest from opening wider and spilling hot tears into him until they ran down his cheeks. He hid his face behind his arms and cried, letting the noise of central London wash past him.

  Jean—no, Hermione—was pacing the living room when Severus returned at last. The sun was setting already, his hand had doubled in size, and the fact that it was his wand hand made it impossible for him to even hide his stupidity from her.

  “Severus!” she gasped when he slipped through the door.

  Fuck. 

  And a second later, she was with him, her eye roaming over his face and body until she spotted his hand. She clicked her tongue, grimacing. “Oh my …” she murmured and stopped herself from touching it. 

  But despite her visible distress, she didn’t ask him what had happened. Was probably too clever for that, putting two and two together wasn’t that hard, was it?

  “I was worried about you,” she said instead.

  “’m fine.”

  She hummed softly. “May I still help you with that, or do you want me to leave you alone?”

  He clenched his teeth and eyes closed. If only she would stop being so fucking kind for one second! A storm was raging inside of him, and he would give his left leg to find an outlet for that. To have her ask one only slightly intrusive question, make only one accusation, push him only a millimetre too far, so he could get that out of him! 

  But instead, she was Miss Bloody Perfect, offering him alternatives and options and respecting his fucking wishes!

  God, I hate her … 

  Only that by hate he meant love, because how could he not, right?! There had never been a person in his life who had treated him the way she did, and pathetic as he was, he had to fall for her. Gratefulness wasn’t enough, his all-or-nothing mentality needed the extremes. But love was painful and prone to leave him wrecked, and he’d gone through that once, he couldn’t do that again, so he would rather hate her. 

  If only I could.

  “I still want you,” he croaked instead of answering her question. 

  She lowered her eyes, sighing. “Severus …”

  “Don’t Severus me. I’m not stupid and not a child either. You waltzed into my life and turned everything upside down. You wanted me to trust you and accept what you were offering me without asking questions. Don’t you dare Severus me now! I’m not stupid, okay?”

  She gulped. “Okay.”

  He took a hitching breath, back still pressed against the front door like he’d pressed it against the lamppost earlier today, and … What would she have done if that man hadn’t saved him? What would she have done after travelling back in time, 33 fucking years, and giving up her life to better all of theirs—and his in particular!—only to then find out he’d died in a stupid accident? 

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “but I want you. I know you’ll die in a couple of months, but I want you, I’m sorry.” He leaned closer, hesitatingly, but Hermione didn’t back off, and so he kissed her. Captured her lips and kept still, waiting for her to react, to do something in return, to push him off or draw him closer. 

  And finally, she gave in. Opened her lips for him and kissed him back.

  His eyes began stinging again, but Severus just kept them closed and angled his head into the kiss, tasting, probing, exploring. 

  Until he mindlessly grasped her waist to pull her closer and was reminded of his earlier stupidity.

  “Mhh!” he groaned and pulled back. “Fuck.”

  She clicked her tongue, face flushed and lips deep red. “Let’s heal that, shall we?” she suggested hoarsely and beckoned him into the living room.

  His heart still thumping wildly—had they really just kissed?!—Severus sat down on the couch, watching as Hermione pulled the armchair closer and took her wand. 

  “Show me your hand.”

  He held it out for her. It was swollen, discoloured, scuffed. Dried blood was sticking to his skin, had flown into the lines and was smeared in other places. 

  “Tergeo!” Hermione murmured, and the blood and some dirt vanished. Then she murmured a spell Severus didn’t recognise. Probably a diagnostic spell since some shimmering analysis appeared over his hand. “It’s not broken, at least,” she assessed, her forehead furrowed.

  “Hurts like it was,” he muttered.

  She met his gaze along the spell text. “I imagine it does. Episkey!” 

  The pain vanished, as did the swelling and the bruises. Only the scuffed knuckles remained.

  She softly brushed her thumb over it. “I have some dittany in the bathroom.” She wanted to get up and fetch it, but Severus grasped her hand.

  “It’s fine.”

  Swallowing, she sank back down again. “It was a mistake. We shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Says who?”

  “I. I say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because …” She closed her eyes, but interestingly didn’t pull her hand from his grasp. “Because it’s wrong. All about this is wrong, I shouldn’t exploit you like that and—”

  “You’re not. I want it, too.” He brushed his thumb along her knuckles in return, prompting her to take a deep breath. “And it’s not as if you have a say in what will happen with me in the future, right? You won’t be there to see it. It’s my prerogative to fuck up my life if I want to. And if fucking up my life means being with you for as long as possible, that is exactly what I want.”

  “But I wanted to stop you from fucking up your life,” she murmured faintly.

  “You did. I guess. In a way. But judging by what I saw so far, life itself will fuck you up at some point anyway. And you can’t stop me from living. Even if you say no I will probably find someone else to fuck me up. Fucked myself up before, too. I’m afraid I’m a lost case, so forgive me when I won't give up wanting you.” He leaned in to try and shut her up with another kiss, both because he didn’t want to hear any more objections and because every cell in his body was screaming to touch her again.

  She didn’t stop him. 

  Instead, she leaned back a bit, exposing her neck to him, and Severus got up and put his hands on the armrests of her chair to follow her. To nibble on her lips, pepper her jaw line and neck with more kisses, and hear her moan in a way nobody had ever moaned into his ear because his only sexual experiences had been with Mulciber.

  It made him swell and fill out his trousers in no time, of course it did. It had been two months of admiring her from … Well, maybe not afar, but from a reasonable distance. He’d imagined scenarios like this countless times, had come to them just as often, and now reality turned out to be even better. 

  Hermione slumped into the armchair, her hands digging into his hair. Her scent filled his nostrils, and her nails scratching his scalp did nothing to calm his bodily reactions down. His cock was rock-hard and pressing against the seam of his trousers, he could feel the stickiness of pre-cum leaking into the fabric, and every tone Hermione made prompted his balls to tighten and his cock to twitch. 

  He was on his way to having his first sexual experience with a woman, and chances were he would spaff in his pants before he even got his member out.

  Bloody perfect.

  But that his body was lacking self-control didn’t mean Hermione would have to miss out, right? He wouldn’t ruin this for her, wouldn’t risk turning her away from him for good. 

  Severus withdrew a bit and kneeled down in front of the armchair, her legs left and right of his. “May I?” he murmured and motioned to open her trousers.

  She blushed beautifully. “Oh, you—you sure? You don’t have to, we can—”

  “Wouldn’t last,” he admitted in a soft voice, his cheeks burning like a beacon. 

  “Oh god,” she moaned, and Severus wondered what thought had prompted that adoration of a deity neither of them was really attuned on—his being still so inexperienced that his cock was going haywire just because a woman moaned into his ear, reminding her of how young he was, or an unexpected jolt of arousal caused by the idea of him desiring her so much he would spoil his pants. 

  For once in his life, he decided to focus on option number two, because if it were option number one, he would lose his mind. 

  “Well?” He arched an eyebrow, his hands still resting on her fly.

  She nodded, biting down hard on her lip. “Okay,” she murmured.

  And when he’d opened her trousers, she lifted her bottom so he could pull down both her trousers and her knickers. 

  Severus moaned gutturally when the thick smell of her musky arousal hit his nostrils, almost came from that alone. “Delicious,” he said, making her blush deepen, and impatiently fumbled her legs out of her clothes until she sat naked from the waist down before him, her triangle of dark curls beckoning him closer. 

  Hermione’s breath was going fast, her eyes hooded and glistening from something else than tears for the first time since he met her. She reached out to brush her fingers along his face. “I’m afraid I fell for you, too, may Merlin forgive me,” she whispered.

  “I’d rather thank him for that,” he replied cheekily and encouraged her to spread her legs and slide a bit deeper.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, but did what he wanted. Put her legs over the armrests and exposed her beautiful folds to him. They opened like a blossom, emitting the same kind of alluring scent to which Severus felt himself drawn like a stupid bee. He inhaled deeply, and at this point, he was so turned on that his cock hurt from how urgently he needed to come! So, when he leaned down to lick a woman’s soft, warm centre for the first time in his life, he spread his own legs a bit, too, and grabbed himself through the fabric of his trousers. 

  Uhhgnn! 

  It was the culmination of everything, how intense his own touch felt on his member, Hermione’s taste exploding on his tongue, and her muffled shriek from his first lick, starting at the entrance of her vagina and leading up to her clit to circle the little nub and spread her salty juices all over her. 

  His hips bucked uncontrollably when he pushed his nose deeper into her curls and closed his lips around her clit, making her legs shudder beside his head. Fuck, she tasted amazing … He travelled further down again, pushing the tip of his tongue into her hot centre.

  “Oh!” Hermione yelped. “Severus!”

  He groaned and massaged himself harder. He couldn’t take that any longer, needed some relief, some outlet for the immense pressure that was building in his lower abdomen. He reached up his free hand and looped it around her thigh, pulling it closer until her soft flesh was pressed against his scorching face, his panting breaths and hitching moans probably telling her exactly what he was doing, or at least what he was experiencing, and when Hermione tangled her hand into his hair and pressed his mouth harder against her mound, he toppled over the edge and let out a mighty moan against her hot flesh.

  “Mmhh, yes!” she half-moaned, half-cried, and he could feel her inner muscles twitch around his tongue while he tumbled through his orgasm and pumped spurts of come into his pants. 

  When his head cleared a bit, he blinked up at her. “Tell me you didn’t come,” he mumbled.

  “I-I didn’t,” she said, “it just felt so good …”

  “Thank fuck,” he muttered and went back to licking her, because he’d have hated it when this would have been over already and blurred from his own arousal and neediness. There was a good chance this would be the only time she’d let him do this, or be intimate with him in any way, he wanted to remember every little detail about this. 

  So, while his cock deflated slowly, his mind clear of any muddying lust for at least ten minutes, Severus began exploring her folds with his tongue, licking up her juices and savouring her moans and squirms. He kept his eyes closed, let her hand guide him a bit, and found that his classmates had all been jerks and total idiots, considering that they’d always hated going down on their girlfriends and behaved stupidly on purpose so they wouldn’t have to do it again.

  He would gladly do this for the rest of his life and die a happy man. 

  Hermione’s responses grew more intense by the second, her grip in his hair tightened, and she began moving her pelvis, meeting the tentative thrusts of his tongue until he moved back to her clit and began circling and sucking at it again.

  “Mh, yes! That’s it!” she panted, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her flushed face contorted in the most beautiful way he’d ever seen. It was enough to make his cock stir again, albeit exhaustedly. 

  Intensifying his efforts, Severus put his everything into this, licking and sucking and moaning against her, assuming she liked the vibration of his voice since every single one of his moans got a reply from her. 

  And eventually, when he flicked his tongue over her clit a few more times, Hermione stiffened underneath him, her breath snagging in her throat and her fingers gripping his hair so hard it hurt. He circled her clit a bit more carefully while she tumbled through her high, exactly how he imagined he’d like it best, receiving a blowjob. 

  When she relaxed at last, releasing her breath with a drawn-out moan, he licked the fresh wave of juices from her entrance and eventually sat back. Most of his face was covered in her lust and he used his t-shirt to wipe it off. “You all right?” he asked huskily.

  Hermione huffed an exhausted laugh. “Better, actually … It was amazing. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand anytime soon, though.”

  He smirked smugly. 

  She put her legs down and leaned forward, grasping his face to kiss him. “Thank you,” she breathed when she withdrew. “I hope you enjoyed yourself, too?”

  “You better believe I did.”

  She smiled. Then she kissed his forehead, a gesture so tender it made him gasp in surprise and caused the reality of what she’d told him earlier today to rush back into his mind. 

  He would lose her. 

  She wouldn’t stay with him.

  She would die soon.

  He gulped all of that down and struggled to smile at her.

  “It’s late,” she assessed, “let’s go to bed.”

  “Mh,” he hummed. “To our own or …” 

  “Cheeky,” she huffed. But then her expression softened. “You can sleep in mine.”

  He didn’t struggle with his next smile anymore.