I'm pleased to say that it has not taken me six months to post a new chapter, but I won't put a timeframe as to when the next one will be ready / Hopefully not too long.

As always, thanks to Metamorphmagus Lupin!

Enjoy!

– CHAPTER TWO –

DREAMS, PUBS, AND TEASHOPS

'Please…don't kill me…"

'The Muggle doesn't want to die,' Bellatrix Lestrange responded in a mocking sing-song voice.

'Make her beg for death, Bella,' laughed Rodolphus.

Soon her deranged cackles were drowned out by the tortured screams of the Muggle woman, writhing in pain as she suffered the Cruciatus Curse. Shards of glass from the broken windows of her house littered the ground, slicing through her exposed skin as she thrashed about, only fuelling Bellatrix and her husband's bloodlust.

Severus stood, silently watching, the crumpled bodies of other unfortunate Muggles lying motionless at his feet. He had his wand clutched in his hand, ready to defend himself against Aurors or the Order should they attack.

When the madness in Bellatrix's eyes reached a climax, she lowered her wand and cackled even louder. The woman lay on the ground sobbing pitifully, but the Lestranges were not finished with her yet…

...Suddenly the scene changed, and Severus was in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor. The fire roared, candles glowed softly, and Death Eaters encircled their master, just as they had on the night of his initiation. He stood with them this time, hooded and masked. The tortured screams began again, and he looked down at the figure on the floor, their body contorting with pain, but it was no longer a nameless Muggle, it was Deirdre.

'How much pain are you willing to endure for me?' said a hiss-like voice.

'Stop…please…no more.'

'You disappoint me, Deirdre.' Voldemort's red eyes looked upon her without mercy. He was going to make her suffer unimaginable pain. 'Crucio!'

Her screams ripped through Severus, turning the blood in his veins to ice.

He tried to move, but he couldn't; his arms and legs refused to obey him, intensifying his desperation.

The Dark Lord lowered his wand, his cold laughter resounding through the room. But all Severus could hear was the pounding of his own heart as he stared helplessly at Deirdre curled on the floor, her whole body shaking from the agony of the Cruciatus Curse.

'I grow bored now,' Voldemort spoke as he circled her. 'Severus, you promised me a loyal servant, but what you brought me is weak and pathetic.'

Severus opened his mouth to plead with him, but he could not form any words.

'I have no use for weakness.' Voldemort raised his wand again. 'Avada –'

Severus was jolted from the nightmare before Voldemort could finish the incantation. His chest heaved as he stared into the blackness of his room. On instinct, he reached for his wand. "Lumos!"

Light flooded his room, and he swept his arm in a broad arc, checking every corner to make sure he was alone. His pulse slowly settled as he conceded it had been a dream, albeit a frighteningly real one. He had not had a nightmare for years, not since Lily had refused to forgive him. All that summer after fifth year, the Levicorpus incident had haunted his dreams, and every morning he had awakened to the comfortless reality that there was nothing he could do to change what had happened.

He climbed out of bed, and as his feet touched the cold, bare floorboards it further reassured him he wasn't in Malfoy Manor; only thick, plush carpets were good enough for Lucius. Crossing to a window, he opened it, and the sound of night-time traffic invaded the silence of his room.

Going into the bathroom, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His black hair hung limp and greasy around his face. It always did look worse after he had been brewing. An anti-bruising poultice was the latest addition to his growing collection of potions; it was still stewing in a cauldron in the kitchen. Turning on a tap, he let the water run cold before splashing some of it on his face. As he did, he caught sight of the now-faded outline of the Dark Mark on his arm; last night, it had burnt black, standing in stark contrast to his pale skin.

Deirdre's tortured scream echoed in his mind, and he felt it to the pit of his stomach. But he refused to dwell on it; instead, he turned away from the mirror and re-entered his bedroom. He stood by the open window, the faded and frayed curtains fluttering in the brisk night breeze. Resting his palms on the sill, he stared out at the Fulham streets that didn't quite feel like home.

The squeal of brakes drew his attention to the road two storeys below his flat. He watched as three Muggles climbed out of a black taxi. One of them staggered onto the footpath, oblivious to the bin bags that had been piled up for collection. He fell over them with a string of loud profanities, raising a chorus of laughter from his friends. Severus sneered, bitterness rising in his throat like bile. Some nights his father had come home from the pub so drunk he had tripped over the bins sitting by the back door; of course, he blamed Severus's mother; he said she'd put them there on purpose.

The distraction didn't last for long; soon, the taxi drove away, and the Muggles went into a house. The scream resounded through his mind again, stabbing at him. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. The dream wasn't real, he told himself; it never happened.

But you're still going to bring her to Voldemort, despite knowing what he's capable of doing to her.

A muscle jerked in his jaw, feeling the sting of his conscience's rebuke. But he was unwilling to yield to it. The Dark Lord would not kill her; she was strong-willed and would not break as she had done in the dream. Besides, he had to bring her to Voldemort, if he did not, he would fail to complete his task. It was something he was not prepared to do. His master had already shown him dark magic he would never find in any book. And there was so much more he had to teach him, but only if he brought Deirdre to him.

Are you so selfish you would make her suffer so you can get what you want?

Severus wanted to reach into his mind and rip out his conscience. He was not selfish; Deirdre loved the Dark Arts as much as he did. Isn't that the reason why she found herself in trouble with one of her tutors at St Mungo's? Wasn't it the reason why her friends in Ravenclaw were reluctant to partner with her in Defence Against the Dark Arts, not just in sixth and seventh year, but all through school? They thought her interest in dark magic was dangerous – so much for Ravenclaw open-mindedness. It was one of the reasons, too, why they fell so naturally into a friendship: they understood one another in a way others did not.

When he let her glimpse some of what he had learned, she would come to see that only by following Voldemort could she truly understand the mysteries of the Dark Arts. She would put aside her lofty convictions that violence against Muggles was wrong, which, in any case, were born out of anger towards her father's treatment of her. But she was no longer living under his iron rule, and it would only be a matter of time before her misplaced sense of sympathy for Muggles disappeared.

Are you certain? She studies the Dark Arts to understand them, not to use them against others. It's what her friends could never grasp: how someone could be interested in dark magic yet not want to use it to harm others. And it's also what YOU can't understand. Don't you remember how she reacted when you told her about Sectumsempra?

With a growl, he pushed himself away from the window and went into the kitchen. Opening a cupboard, he took out a bottle of sleeping potion. He had to go to work in a few hours and did not want pointless arguments to rob him of any more sleep. Taking a measured mouthful of the potion, he returned to his room and lay down on his bed, the heaviness bearing down on him lifting as he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

••••••

Deirdre drummed her fingers restlessly on the table. The door to Madam Prissy's teashop opened, and her stomach tensed, but two elderly witches shuffled in, and a waitress showed them to a seat beside a wall decorated with bright pink and gold flock wallpaper. Her parents had said to meet at two o'clock, but it was now ten minutes past that time. Part of her wondered if they had changed their mind about coming. But why would they; the fact her mother had come down off her high hippogriff and wrote her a letter was reason enough to believe they were serious about meeting her.

Sighing, she glanced down at the bejewelled silver wristwatch her parents had bought for her seventeenth birthday. She had not slept much the previous night; instead, she'd lain awake mentally preparing herself for whatever arguments her parents might throw at her. It was at times like this that she wished she had a better relationship with her brother. Cillian was eight years her senior, and he had a way of persuading their father to do what he wanted. But he was never very interested in building a relationship with her. Then there was the fact that he lived in America - he held a senior position in the Ministry of Magic's embassy located within the MACUSA. In any case, her father had probably already written to him, and no doubt, he had taken their parents' side in the whole matter.

Since leaving home, she'd told herself she didn't care what her parents thought of her, but she did, and every day the pain of their rejection grew a little more. They wanted her to be someone she wasn't and someone she would never be. Her mother might have desired to be the wife of an aristocratic pureblood, but that kind of life would suffocate her; she wanted to be challenged, to solve problems, interrogate data and put theory into action, and becoming a Healer would offer her all those things. It was something her parents couldn't understand - or refused to understand.

The door to Madam Prissy's opened again, drawing Deirdre from her thoughts, and this time it was her parents who entered. Their gazes swept the room, spotting her almost immediately by the window. Deirdre steeled herself, refusing to allow any of the tension she felt inside to show on her face.

A waitress rushed over to her parents, almost colliding with her colleague to be the first to greet such finely-dressed customers. Her mother gave the waitress a curt nod, while her father barely registered her existence. It didn't seem to bother the young witch, though, who smiled and bubbled with sycophantic laughter at something her mother said.

"We can see ourselves to the table," her mother stated firmly. "Bring us a pot of tea and three scones with jam and cream. Make certain they are fresh; we do not want yesterday's leftovers."

"Yes, of course," the waitress replied, then hurried off to the kitchen.

Deirdre eyed them apprehensively as they made their way to where she sat. She was glad she had chosen not to meet them at Throckmorton House because, for all their aloofness, she could tell they were as uncomfortable as she was. It put them on equal footing and made it less likely her father would create a scene.

"Deirdre," her mother crooned, sitting down on a chair opposite her. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

Her father sat down stiffly beside her mother, glowering at the garish décor of the café from beneath his well-groomed eyebrows. His ideal meeting place would have been somewhere with dark panelled walls and the air thick with pipe smoke, counterpoised by the woody aroma of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Dierdre's gaze met his, but she did not want to be the first to speak, and, it seemed, neither did he.

The waitress approached their table, a tray of tea and scones floating behind her. When it had all been laid out on the white linen tablecloth, her mother dismissed the young witch with an impatient wave of her hand.

"You're looking well," her mother commented, selecting a fruit scone.

Deirdre picked up a teacup. "You sound surprised."

"Well, almost a month has passed, and we've heard nothing from you."

She shot an accusatory look at her father. "Whose fault is that?"

He threw a napkin onto the table and stood up. "I told you this would be a waste of time, Gertrude. We might as well leave."

"For Merlin's sake, Fergal, sit down," ordered her mother firmly. "We're not going anywhere until we've told our daughter what we came here to say."

Deirdre stared at her mother over the rim of her teacup, astonished by how brazenly she'd spoken to him – it was a tone she reserved for the house-elves. Her father appeared equally taken aback, and he slowly sat down without argument, but she guessed it was because several curious heads had turned in their direction, rather than because his wife had told him to do so.

"What do you have to say to me?" Deirdre asked.

"Your Healer training –"

Deirdre set her teacup onto the saucer with more force than she intended to. "I'm not going to give it up, Mother."

"We are aware of how stubborn you can be," her father remarked matter-of-factly.

Deirdre ignored his comment, refusing to get drawn in an argument with him.

Her mother scraped a thin layer of butter onto her scone. "Your father and I are prepared to allow you to live at home while you complete your training."

Frowning, Deirdre said, "I don't understand, a few weeks ago you demanded I drop out of the course."

"Letting you move back home does not mean we agree with your becoming a Healer, it merely means we are willing to tolerate it," her father clarified, in a very ministerial manner.

Her mother rested her hand on top of Deirdre's. "You belong at home with us –"

"And," her father interjected, "we are also prepared to forgo whatever embarrassment your decision to work might bring on us."

She pulled her hand away from her mother's in disgust. "This is what you came here to tell me?"

Her mother blinked in confusion. "We thought you'd be happy we're allowing you to move home."

"I'm happy where I am."

Her father snorted derisively. "With my worthless brother."

Deirdre stared defiantly at him. "Uncle Ciaran works hard for what he has, and he doesn't see any shame in me working hard either."

A low growl rumbled in his throat. "I knew he would poison you against us."

"This has nothing to do with Uncle Ciaran; I made my decision to become a Healer before he ever offered to let me live in his house. If he hadn't asked me, I was going to ask Severus if I could share a flat with him."

Horror exploded on her mother's face. "Merlin save us!"

Her father's countenance darkened. "I've told you before I don't like that boy."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, Severus is not particularly fond of you either."

His nostrils flared, but the waitress appeared at their table, enquiring if they wanted more tea and scones. Deirdre saw an opportunity to escape and decided to take it.

"I've had enough, thank you," she said to the waitress, then looked at her parents. "I'm leaving."

"We're not done here yet."

"I've said everything I need to, Father," Deirdre replied calmly.

"Perhaps we can arrange another meeting soon, and talk things over again," her mother suggested.

"What good will it do?"

"You'll have had time to consider what we've said today."

Deirdre heaved a sigh. "Mother, I'm not playing out some silly schoolgirl dream that I'll be bored of in sixth months; this is what I want to do with my life, it's important to me. And unless you're prepared to support me in this, then there is nothing more to be discussed."

"If you don't do as we ask, then I'll –"

"You'll do what? Threaten me all you want, Father, but you'll only end up seeing just how stubborn I can be."

A muscle in his jaw jerked, but he said nothing.

"I won't be controlled by you or by anyone."

She pushed her chair back, stood up and walked out of the teashop without looking back.

••••••

Severus set a jar of pickled murtlap onto the counter, anticipating that the sonsy witch with the lime-green feather boa made from Fwooper plumage would have something to say about it. She had bustled into the apothecary ten minutes ago and repeatedly dinged the bell on the counter for attention, despite the fact he was dealing with another customer – Gastrell had gone to Gringotts, leaving him to manage the shop alone.

She frowned, pursing her rouged lips. "That's not one of the ingredients in a Digory Pontins's all-purpose healing paste. Are you unable to read the list I gave you?"

Severus regarded her coolly. "Murtlap is a much better choice than snakeroot."

"I've been using Digory Pontin's potion book for ten years. Surely you know who Digory Pontins is? He lists snakeroot as the active healing ingredient, not murtlap."

"Snakeroot is an adequate choice, but using murtlap instead means the paste can also be used to heal minor jinxes and curses."

She pointed a manicured finger at him, her long, blood-red nail resembling a harpy's talon. "I've got knickers in my top drawer that are older than you; what makes you think you know better than Digory Pontins?"

He counted his breaths, controlling each one. "Murtlap is imbued with magical properties, which is why is it more effective."

"It's also a galleon dearer."

"Due to its potent qualities."

"Fine," she huffed impatiently. "I'll take the murtlap, but you can be certain I will be straight back here if it turns out you've swindled me."

After she left, Severus noticed Gastrell standing in the doorway of the staffroom; he must have come in through the back entrance. He lumbered into the main shop and sank wearily onto a chair, grunting as he did so. His limp was more pronounced today, and the walk to Gringotts and back had not helped.

"Bloody goblins," Gastrell rumbled, "the nonsense they make us go through to lodge money into our accounts. You'd think they'd be more concerned about people taking money out of an account."

Severus had never had a Gringotts account, so he could only guess at what a lodgement entailed. "Indeed."

"Any problems while I was gone?"

"No, sir."

"I see you had your first encounter with Desdemona Bulstrode."

"Yes, she makes it difficult for you to avoid her."

Gastrell gave a short laugh. "I overheard what you said; I'm impressed."

"Thank you, sir."

Gastrell waved a hand dismissively. "Enough with the 'sir', Snape; I'm not your bloody school teacher."

Severus nodded as he cleaned the spot on the counter where some of the pickling solution from the murtlap jar had spilt.

"It was certainly a lot better than Wednesday's fiasco."

"I suppose so."

"My wife said I should have fired you."

A muscle tightened in Severus's jaw at the thought of Gastrell discussing the incident with his wife.

"I told her, though," Gastrell continued, "that I've never met an eighteen-year-old who knows as much about potion-making as you do. And you're a hard worker; I can trust you to get things done. It would have been a mistake to fire you."

At his words, something dormant inside Severus stirred. "I appreciate you giving me another chance."

"Well, you can show your appreciation by extracting venom from the doxies; we're almost out of it," Gastrell said, motioning to the cage suspended from the ceiling near the door. "Use a strong Knockback Jinx; I don't want any of those nasty little buggers tearing the shop apart."

"Yes, Mr Gastrell."

"Oh, and I forget to tell you, I'm closing the shop half an hour earlier today."

"Why?"

"The Wasps are playing this afternoon." Gastrell punched a fist into his palm. "And they're going to crush the Harpies."

Severus disagreed, but he thought his employer would fire him if he criticised the Wasps' sloppy goalkeeping, poor flying and general lack of skill in passing the Quaffle.

An hour later, the doxies milked for their venom, and with minimal damage to his fingers, Severus pointed his wand at the front window. The shutters closed, their locks snapping into place. He then slipped his wand up his sleeve, eager to leave so he could meet Deirdre in the White Wyvern.

The bell above the door jingled, and a long-limbed witch, wearing slightly crumpled clothes and looking rather windswept entered the shop. She ran a hand through her tousled walnut-brown hair, a gold wedding band glinting as it caught light from a candle.

"The shop's closing," Severus told her.

She smiled at him, her appearance oddly familiar. "So, you must be Severus."

"Yes, I am, but who –"

"Mae," Gastrell called as he limped out of the staffroom with his travelling cloak and Wimbourne Wasps scarf draped over his arm. "Where's Rufus and the boys?"

"They're going to meet us at the stadium, Dad. I came here straight from work. It was madness this afternoon; there was an incident of accidental underage magic in West Bromwich; we had to Obliviate four Muggles."

"Bloody hell!" Gastrell rested his walking stick against the counter so he could put on his travelling cloak and scarf. "Do you have the tickets?"

She patted a pocket on her coat. "I managed to get us seats in the centre stands, three rows from the front."

"That's my girl!" Gastrell removed a chunky bronze key from his pocket. "Right, out the door, both of you; the Portkey to Bodmin Moor leaves in five minutes, and I don't want to miss it."

"We're going, Dad, there's no need to herd us out." Mae turned to Severus and whispered, "Don't let him boss you about, just tell him what's what."

Severus wasn't sure how to respond, but she strode on ahead of him before he could think of a reply.

"I'll see you at eight o'clock sharp on Monday, Snape," Gastrell stated as he put the key into the lock.

"Yes, Mr Gastrell."

"It was nice to meet you, Severus," Mae called to him as he walked away.

Severus nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing in return as he turned in the direction of the White Wyvern. Gastrell never struck him as the fatherly type but watching the interaction with his daughter had caused a wave of envy to crash down on him. He didn't completely understand why. Perhaps it was because Tobias acted like he wished he didn't have a son, never mind taking him to a sporting event. All his father was interested in was drinking beer at the local pub and picking a fight with his mother.

Anger swelled in his chest at thoughts of his father – if he even deserved that title. Severus still remembered the first time his father realised his son was a wizard; he was four, and Tobias was yelling at his mother for something he couldn't now recall. But as his aggression towards her escalated, the bottle of beer in his hand had exploded, pieces of glass cutting open the skin on his palm. The neighbours probably heard Tobias's shouts, but Eileen merely smiled knowingly at her son, her eyes glowing with pride that his magic was growing stronger, becoming more focused. That was when his father rounded on him, blood dripping onto the white floor tiles, staining them red.

'You did this,' he roared. 'You're a freak, just like her.'

His mother had pulled him protectively behind her, her hand trembling on his arm. She was a witch, a Prince no less, but his father had hollowed her out, making her believe she was powerless to stand up to him.

'Please, Tobias, it was an accident; he didn't know what he was doing,' she pleaded with him. 'Let me see your hand –'

'I'll see to it myself,' he bit back, 'I'm not having you wave that hocus-pocus stick anywhere near me. Get out of the kitchen and take that freak of yours with you!'

The pain of rejection had cut deep into Severus – it still did. Such a display of magic should have been celebrated, even if it did cause harm, but instead, Tobias had scorned him. It was all because he was a Muggle, and Severus hated him for it.

As he walked up the wooden stairs to the White Wyvern, he pushed all thoughts of his father from his mind, unwilling to let them overshadow his afternoon with Deirdre. When he entered the dingy, one-roomed pub, he ducked to avoid hitting his head on a solid oak support beam and made his way to the bar. He did not have to wait long to order, and soon the barman set a pint of ale onto the counter. After handing over three sickles, Severus lifted his pint, taking a drink of it as he scanned the room for Deirdre in case she had arrived before him. He spotted her at a table in the far right-hand corner, but she wasn't alone. The wizard sitting opposite her had his back to the bar, but he held himself in an overbearing manner.

His fingers tightened around the glass.

She hadn't told him she was meeting someone else.

Leaving the bar, he made his way to her table, his black eyes boring into the back of the unknown wizard's head. She saw him approach and smiled, causing the man to turn around. The resentment churning inside him melted away as Aodhán Harper locked his gaze onto him, the Irish-born wizard regarding him haughtily.

Severus saw Aodhán's eyes narrow as Deirdre moved across one seat so he could sit beside her.

He set his pint onto the table and sat down. "Harper."

"Snape," Aodhán responded, then took a slow sip of his fire whiskey. "Since when have you and Deirdre been friends?"

She shot her cousin an annoyed look. "It's none of your business. Anyway, aren't you having afternoon tea with your wife at three o'clock?"

Aodhán sneered as he downed the rest of his drink. "How do you know that?"

"Persephone sent me a letter; you encouraged us to write to each other if you remember."

Aodhán's lips thinned. "I've since changed my mind; your father told me all about your disobedience and the shame it's brought him. But my wife knows her place, and I intend to keep it that way, so you will cease writing to her. I do not want you filling her head with ideas."

She stared back at him, unfazed. "I'm not some vanguard of the revolution, Aodhan."

Severus took a sip of his ale, concealing a smirk.

Her cousin glared at her. "Do not contact my wife again; if you wish to speak with her, you will do so through me."

With that, he stood abruptly and stalked out of the pub.

Severus raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm surprised you arranged to meet him."

"I didn't, he was already here when I arrived, and he invited himself to sit with me."

"You could have asked him to move."

She rolled her eyes. "I've had enough arguments with my family today already, and I wasn't in the mood for another one."

"I take it the meeting with your parents didn't go well."

She took a long drink of her gin and tonic. "They still hate that I've gone against their wishes, but they're prepared to let me move back home and bear whatever embarrassment my becoming a Healer might cause them."

"How generous of them."

She huffed indignantly. "My parents think if I move back home, they'll be able to convince me to drop out of the course; it's always about what they want, not what anyone else wants."

Severus felt the sharp sting of his conscience, and he clenched the hand resting on his lap. "What did they say when you refused their proposal?" he asked smoothly.

"My father threatened me, as usual, but I told him I wasn't going to be controlled by him or anyone."

His conscience rebuked him again. "I see."

She frowned. "You don't agree with what I said?"

He realised he had let his annoyance with his conscience seep through into his voice, so he replied softly, "Of course I do; you were right to stand up to him."

Seemingly convinced by his response, she said, "I have a feeling they're going to want to meet up with me in another few weeks again."

"They don't give up easily, do they?"

She then laughed bitterly. "No, my father, especially; even when I'm fifty, he'll still think he has a right to control my life."

His mouth flattened into a grim line at what she said, confronting him with the fact that Fergal Harper's desire to control his daughter was still as strong now as it was before she left home - and so, too, was Deirdre's resentment of his treatment of her.

••••••

On Monday, Deirdre sat in the back row of the lecture theatre, paying little attention to her Muggle Studies tutor, Healer Grayling. While everyone else furiously scribbled down everything he said, she let her mind drift to other things – she only needed to pass this class, which was doable by merely reading the textbook, although she had yet to purchase it. She replayed the look on Severus's face seconds before Aodhán turned around over and over in her head. The resentment in his eyes was unmistakable, disappearing the moment he saw it was her cousin sitting with her. But she questioned whether it was Aodhan he had directed his resentment at; maybe she had imagined it. Or perhaps she just wanted to believe that Severus was jealous because he thought she had met another wizard for a drink.

For weeks after her final practical potions exam, she had wrestled with the revelation that she had feelings for Severus beyond friendship. At first, she convinced herself she'd wrongly brewed the Amortentia potion, but when her NEWT results arrived, and she achieved an O in Potions, the wrestling started all over again. Severus was her best friend, and she cared about him deeply – but was she in love with him? That question had run riot in her mind and heart, almost driving her to distraction, until finally, she conceded that she was in love with him. There were times when she almost told him how she felt, but something inside her always held her back. Was it because she didn't want to ruin their friendship or was she afraid he'd say he was still in love with Lily Evans? Perhaps it was both those reasons.

Turning her attention to the lecture, she attempted to listen to Grayling, but he was, in her opinion, making very tenuous statements on the similarities between wizards and Muggles. She quickly lost interest in what he was saying and let her thoughts drift back to Severus again. After he sat down at the table, he didn't greet Aodhán as someone he hadn't seen in years; instead, there was a familiarity in the way they spoke and glanced at each other. If he had renewed his association with her cousin, that was none of her business, he wasn't obliged to tell her, but she couldn't deny she was wary about it.

While she had no proof her cousin was a Death Eater, she'd overheard him telling her father things he could only know if he had become one himself. And even though he claimed Voldemort practised dark magic he wouldn't touch, it didn't mean he was opposed to others using it. Severus, on the other hand, was obsessed with the Dark Arts, and she worried if Aodhán was a Death Eater, he might use that to lure him closer to Voldemort. The thought terrified her and sickened her to the pit of her stomach. But she had to believe he would never cross that line and commit himself to follow such a dark wizard, for the Severus she knew wasn't a murderer. Yes, he invented a spell that could inflict life-threatening injuries on others, but he had not used Sectumsempra on anyone – not on even James Potter or Sirius Black. Then there was Tobias Snape; he despised his Muggle father, and although the desire to harm him sometimes almost consumed him, Severus had never acted on his feelings.

"Deirdre, can you give an example to the class?"

Snapped from her thoughts, she saw Grayling staring at her, along with several other trainees who had swivelled round to look at her. Heat crept up her neck – she hadn't heard a word he'd said in the last five minutes.

She cleared her throat. "Sorry, could you repeat the question."

"Can you give me examples of pureblood families who integrated themselves with Muggles before the Statute of Secrecy?"

Deirdre frowned. "Purebloods may have lived among Muggles, but they did not integrate themselves with them."

Grayling smiled patronisingly, and someone sniggered.

"Let's have some other answers."

Three hands went up.

He pointed at a wizard. "Yes, Magnus."

Magnus sat up straight as if gearing up for a long-winded speech. "The Malfoys are a prime example of purebloods who integrated themselves with Muggles. There is ample evidence that the first Lucius Malfoy was a courtier of Queen Elizabeth I, and even sought her hand in marriage." Magnus then glanced in her direction. "Equally, the Harpers, like the Malfoys, enjoyed socialising with high-born Muggles and were initially opposed to the Statute of Secrecy because they would have to give up that lifestyle and –"

"Thank you, Magnus," interrupted Grayling. "You certainly know your history. Now, moving on…"

Magnus smirked smugly at her then turned his attention to the front of the room.

Grayling began to drone on about something else to do with the Statute of Secrecy, but she was too annoyed to listen to him. Where had Magnus gotten that information? None of the books in her father's library at Throckmorton House mentioned anything about purebloods integrating with Muggles, never mind enjoying socialising with them. On the contrary, she had read that Muggles were thieves; they had stolen wizarding culture and inventions, twisting and debasing them. Only purebloods had seen Muggles for what they really were, ignorant, cruel and violent, but the rest of wizardkind had not heeded their warnings until it was too late.

By the end of the lecture, she was still unsettled by what Magnus and Grayling had said, and so decided she would ask Severus his views when he came for dinner on Thursday; he always was more interested in history than she was.

••••••

Severus sat down at the kitchen table in Ciaran Harper's house. He was off travelling again, to Egypt this time. His absence also meant there was no house-elf, and as Deirdre was still learning to cook for herself, and the best he could offer was a greasy fry-up, he went to the White Wyvern after work and bought hot food to take out.

When their meal of steak pie and chips was finished, he sat back in his chair, enjoying her uncle's supply of Hobgoblin Ale. He noticed a family photograph on the wall and recognised Deirdre's father in it. Although he was a lot younger, he was as stern-looking then as he was now. But there was a gap between Fergal Harper and a wizard who shared similar features to him; Severus guessed it was either Ciaran or Aodhán's father. If it was Ciaran, some might assume the distance between them was symbolic of their strained relationship, but it appeared to him that someone had been purposely removed.

"Is someone missing from that photograph?" he asked.

Deirdre turned around, looking at it briefly. "Yes, my great-uncle, Turlough Harper."

"Why was he removed from it?"

She took the cap off another bottle of ale. "He shamed the family decades ago, but no one's forgotten about it, as you can see by his absence from the photograph."

He raised an eyebrow. "What did your great-uncle do?"

"Turlough and a friend of his were arrested in Germany sometime in the late 1930s; they were at one of Grindelwald's gatherings. However, the Ministry arranged for them to be extradited to Britain to stand trial, and they both got two years in Azkaban."

He frowned. "Not life?"

"No. At their trial, the Wizengamot discovered they went with the intent of joining Grindelwald, but there was no evidence they had committed any crimes in his name. I suspect the Wizengamot gave them a prison sentence because they wanted to deter other wizards from leaving Britain to join Grindelwald."

"I take your family disassociated themselves with your great-uncle because he was incarcerated, not because he sought to join Grindelwald."

She nodded. "Yes, but what sent them over the edge was when the Ministry decided to investigate the entire family. The whole thing was in the Prophet for weeks, but it took years for my grandfather to wash off the stain his brother had left on the Harper name."

"Where's your great-uncle now?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I've no idea; I don't even know if he's still alive or not."

Something niggled at the back of his mind, remembering a conversation he had with Gastrell in the apothecary staffroom one morning last week. He said he once knew a member of the Harper family.

"What happened to his friend?"

"I don't think anyone in my family cared enough even to find out his name."

"I see."

Deirdre then leaned back in her chair. "Not to abruptly change the topic or anything, but can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

She rubbed the back of her neck as she spoke, "Is it true pureblood families like mine integrated themselves with Muggles before the Statute of Secrecy?"

He sneered. "Was that what your Muggle Studies lecture was about on Monday?"

There was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "Part of it."

Severus realised she hadn't brought up her Muggle Studies class to mock it; she wanted a serious answer from him. He traced a finger around his mouth as he thought about how best to respond. "Our kind had to integrate with Muggles to a certain degree before the Statute of Secrecy as they were under their laws. And even if wizards wished to live in concealment, they would have had to first purchase land from Muggles, which would have meant using their money and going through their legal systems."

She paused as she reached for a biscuit on the plate in the middle of the table. "So, you're saying it's true, that purebloods did integrate with Muggles?"

"Yes, but it was necessary to ensure their survival in a hostile environment – they were 'fighting the war', as one wizarding historian I read put it. Not only that, many pureblood families would not be so wealthy if they did not integrate with Muggles in some way."

She snapped a biscuit in half, dunking part of it into her tea. "What about claims that some purebloods enjoyed socialising with high-born Muggles, and that they were initially against the Statute?"

He scoffed. "The Malfoys have insisted for centuries that those claims are merely rumours designed to discredit them. Not every wizarding family was as shrewd in their dealings with Muggles as the Malfoys, or the Harpers were, and there have always been wizards who begrudge their wealth and influence."

She rubbed the back of her neck again, thinking over what he said. "I suppose what you're saying makes sense."

Severus nodded. "I've got some history books Lucius Malfoy gave to me when I was in first year. I think you'll find them enlightening. And, if you have any more questions, I'm willing to discuss them with you."

He knew how that mind of hers worked and knew she would have more questions, but he would prefer if she talked to him and not to her Muggle Studies tutor. She had never had much contact with Muggles beyond passing by them on her way to platform nine and three-quarters, and a blood-traitor like her tutor would only give her a distorted interpretation of Muggles-Wizard relations.

She smiled. "Thank you."

"Have you got work to do this evening?" he asked.

"A bit, but there's something in the parlour I want to show you first."

Curious, he stood up too and followed her into the front room, where she went straight to the cabinet tucked in the corner.

"Isn't that warded?"

She took out her wand. "It is, but I spoke to my uncle and asked him if I could read the books in here, and he agreed to it. He showed me how to lower the wards, though he's warned me that if anything goes missing, he'll hold me responsible."

Severus glanced at the cabinet, anticipation rising inside of him as she finished the incantation to bring down the wards. "Why did you ask him? You didn't seem overly interested in reading them when I was here last week."

She opened the glass-fronted door and took out one of the books. "I'm still not interested in reading them. I like developing my understanding of the Dark Arts, but knowing my uncle as I do, these books are probably full of descriptions and pictures I'd rather not read or see."

His eyes widened slightly. "You did this for me?"

She held out the book to him. "Yes, I did."

He took it from her, running a long finger down the spine of the book where the title Curses Most Foul was embossed. A ripple of excitement rolled up his spine as he sat down on the armchair by the window.

"I'm going to my room to get the reading I need to do for tomorrow's seminar; I'll be back in a moment."

He nodded, not lifting his gaze from the first page, which had a detailed drawing of a human body, annotated with what curses caused the most damage to various limbs and organs. Some of the curses he had never heard of before, and he wondered what other mysteries this book and the other five still in the cabinet would reveal to him.

"Interesting?" Deirdre asked when she returned to the room a few minutes later.

"Very."

She sat down on the sofa opposite him, tucking her legs under her body, and started to read a thick book entitled Identifying and Curing Common Ailments. For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, but Severus flinched, gritting his teeth when he felt the Dark Mark on his arm burn. He glanced up at Deirdre, but she was still engrossed in her reading and hadn't noticed. His insides twisted into a tight knot; his master would punish him for not Apparating immediately to his side. But he could not just leave without an explanation. It wasn't their first evening together he had cut short because Voldemort summoned him, and so he would need yet another credible excuse. The heat blazing on the surface of his skin intensified, prompting him into action.

Closing the book, he stood up, and this time he caught Deirdre's attention.

She smiled at him. "If you want another ale, there's more in the cellar."

"I have to go."

"What?" She frowned. "Is something wrong?"

He thought quickly. "No. I arranged to meet an old school friend at nine."

"Oh…"

A muscle jerked in his jaw. "I'm sorry; I should have told you before now."

She untucked her legs and stood up too, fixing her gaze on his. "It's fine, I understand, but you would tell me if there was something wrong?"

His insides twisted even tighter. "Of course I would."

She smiled at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes like it usually did. "Well, you had better go, or you'll be late."

He handed her uncle's book to her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Severus."

He strode out of the room, down the hallway and out the front door. Standing on the top step, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. For the first time since taking the Dark Mark, he decided to use Occlumency in his master's presence, fearing that if Voldemort scoured the surface of his mind, he would sense his conflicted emotions. He told himself it was because he did not want the Dark Lord to think he was weak, that he was incapable of completing his task.

Opening his eyes again, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.