Lionhearts | hp. ✓

FINAL BONUS CHAPTER 7 | Adventures Forevermore [DAVINA]

He planned the day out perfectly. He would walk through the meadow in the park where he first met her. He would reminisce there for a couple of hours, and then he would head to the Leaky Cauldron and buy the most expensive bourbon on the shelf. Then, after he becomes numb to his very bones and the blood in his veins runs warm with liquor, he would go home and take his wand to his heart. An avada would do it – quick and painless, just like falling asleep.

The stroll lasted many hours but not enough to change his mind. He found himself taking the Muggle streets towards the Leaky Cauldron. His steps were heavy and his heels draggwd against the broken sidewalk as if he was delaying his plan. He silently entered the pub with the hood of his cloak drawn up. He pulled up a seat on the far left of the counter and took a quick look around the pub. A group of goblins were gambling in a corner booth, a few feet away a bug-eyed woman with frizzy hair sat drinking some gin, and an aged man with white hair and a beard long enough to tuck into his belt leaned over a goblet of firewhiskey. Severus didn't need to see his face to know that the man was the great Albus Dumbledore – the pomposity and righteousness rolled over of him in irritating waves. He eyed Severus distastefully and Severus felt his gaze flicker to his forearm where his inky Dark Mark hid beneath his sleeve. It was almost like he could see through the dark fabric.

Tom the bartender walked behind the counter and wiped it off with a wet rag, all while looking questioningly at him. "What can I get ya?"

He produced ten sickles and placed them on the counter. "Bourbon on the rocks."

Tom, whose salt and pepper hair was already whitening with age, slyly took the money and got right to pouring his drink.

In the background, the goblins shouted indignantly at the winner of the gambling round.

Severus glanced back at them and then waved at Tom. "Drinks on me for these despicable losers,"

He received his drink before Tom ambled off to tend to them. He stared down at the crisp-golden liquid resting in his glass and sighed as he remembered the last decent conversation he had with Lily. It was three weeks after their Hogwarts graduation when he had just told her he was going to join the Dark Lord's cause. She was livid and frightened for him because she knew she couldn't convince him otherwise.

Oh Lily, if only you would've asked me to stay, if only you would've been selfish. But you never were...

And so there he sat, three years later, with no one by his side and nothing going for him. He was, of course, rising through the ranks of Deatheaters in the Dark Lords occult, but what good was that if he has nothing to motivate him further? He was running on sheer hope that Lily would change her mind or maybe, hopefully, that James Potter would spontaneously drop dead. His hopes were in vain. There was no going back now — for either of them.

He took a generous gulp of the cold liquor and crunched on an ice cube to block out the obnoxious hollers from the goblins in the back. The woman near him was no better with the way she hummed into her goblet and airly waved her arms around. But the worst was Albus Dumbledore, who made it a point to shoot the hooded figure crude glances every other minute. Dumbledore was instated as headmaster of Hogwarts not so long ago, and Severus wondered why he wasn't busying himself with more important matters than slumping over the bar counter. But then again, the man appeared to be very much sober and alert.

Tom was refilling Severus's glass when the buggy woman behind him twitched noticeably. Severus ignores her and watches Tom walk into the back room for more ice. Maybe this'll be my last drink– the woman's goblet clatters to the floor as she hunches over in her seat. This goes unnoticed by the goblins in back who are so loud, they wouldn't be able to hear a dragon roar if it was looming right over their heads. He cranes his head to see Albus walk over to her with concern. The woman – Sybil Trelawney – snaps her head up and stares out with glazed eyes. When she speaks, her voice is much deeper than her humming and she speaks with an eerie and almost hollow lilt. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and–"