autumn | severus snape

eight | occlumency

She took a deep, sceptical breath and then closed her eyes. She couldn't really understand how someone simply thinks about nothing, and she wondered what Snape was thinking. She opened one eye to sneak a glance at him, but his eyes were wide open and staring at her. She quickly closed it again.

"I saw that," he said.

"No, you didn't."

Snape sighed, "focus, Delisle."

"I'm trying," she defended herself.

"Try harder."

Ophelia sat up straighter, took another deep breath and tried to clear her mind. But then she wondered what would happen when her father came home, and what the consequences would be for her leaving dinner yesterday.

"You're thinking," he was irritated now. "Close off your mind!" He told her again.

"You know, just because you say it over and over again, doesn't make it any easier!" She snapped.

Snape sighed and tried to calm down, this wasn't getting them anywhere.

"Let's try again," he said, softer this time. "Close your eyes and make your mind blank and calm, control your emotions, let the thoughts flow out of your mind and do not try to stop them."

Ophelia noticed when Snape tried to enter her mind this time. The force was not that powerful, and she managed to shield herself from it. At first.

"Concentrate," Snape ordered, sensing her shakiness.

"I'm fucking trying, alright?" She bit back. And then pictures flashed before her eyes.

He was in her mind, exposing her every thought, every memory. For Ophelia, it was a new experience to see herself outside of her own body, watching in on her own life. She was used to Snape reading her thoughts, but not her memories.

She was four years old, learning how to cast her first spell. Then she was six, crying because the curse her father had taught her killed her bunny. And then Peter holding her, comforting her. Building a treehouse together, swimming together, laughing together. At eight years old, she was dueling her brother for the first time. She won. Afterwards, she helped clean his wounds, whispering apologies as she washed the gash on Peter's forehead. Meeting Vincent at ten, first kiss, first drink, first cigarette, talking to Peter about sex, first sex. Vincent proposing at fifteen, saying yes at sixteen. Peter smiling wide. It was every memory she had imprinted in her mind, good and bad.

Snape was trapped inside her mind, and he didn't know how to get out. If it was by his own curiosity or something else, he had no clue. But she was older now, sixteen and then some. Dancing and drinking, silky sheets and sweaty bodies pressed against each other. Smoke and skinny dipping. Moans and cries of pleasure, it made his body go rigid. His heart beat faster as he watched her life flash before his eyes.

There were specks of blue and pink, the only thing he could make out was the rolled up paper and the white line, slowly disappearing up her nose. His hearing became muffled and his vision blurry. She was seventeen, about to turn eighteen, and the face of her brother was the only thing he could see.

Ophelia finally managed to shield her mind, disarming Snape as he fell away from her, slowly comprehending reality again. Ophelia slowed her breathing, composing herself, and then slowly stood up, trying to blink away the tears.

"You lost control," was all he said.

Asshole, she thought.

She licked her lips and glared at him, wanting to scream. But the pasta she had for breakfast came up instead.

"Ophelia!" His voice was full of panic as he launched for her.

But all she could think about was how it was the first time he'd ever called her by her first name, and how she never wanted him to stop. He gathered her hair in his hands, stroking her back in soothing patterns as she heaved. Immediately feeling better, and embarrassed beyond belief, she tried to apologize.

"Snape-"

He hushed her, "it's alright, we're alright."

He helped her sit down against a tree, facing the lake. Snape sat down in front of her, grabbing her head on both sides and started massaging her temples. She closed her eyes and sighed in content. The embarrassment was temporary, tomorrow they'd be onto another thing, another fight, probably.

"We should get you home," Snape broke the silence, carefully pushing her hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ears.

He stood up then, extending a hand for her to take. But instead of pushing herself up, she pulled him down again.

"Wait," she licked her lips. "I need you to know that I don't do that stuff anymore," she looked at him pleadingly.

"You did yesterday," he said cautiously.

"That wasn't.." she said quickly, but then trailed off. "That wasn't intentional," she whispered.

His eyes darken as they fix on hers, his voice dangerously low, "who did that to you, Ophelia?"

Ophelia. They way he said her name, like it was sacred, it got into her bones and made her intoxicated.

"Well, technically no one," she said, heat rising to her cheeks, "it was a probability thing."

Snape frowned, "how do you mean?"

"It was a game, alright?" Ophelia said, slightly annoyed.

"And you participated?" He asked, the sympathy in his eyes long gone.

Ophelia rolled her eyes, "whatever, forget I said anything."

Snape scowled.

"Let's just go."

They walked in silence.