Severus Snape decided to pay a visit to the Hog's Head pub.
Not for any particular reason—if he had to blame something, it would be Voldemort turning the wizarding world into utter chaos.
In the original timeline, the mortality rate of his generation was far too high.
Lily, himself, Regulus Black, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Barty Crouch Jr., Bellatrix Lestrange… Nearly everyone on both sides ended up dead.
Even that sham fraud of a student, Gilderoy Lockhart, had wound up in St. Mungo's, now sharing a ward with Frank and Alice Longbottom.
Strangely enough, it seemed like the only family that managed to come through it all unscathed—despite not being able to muster a single full wand between them—was the Malfoys.
As a lifelong fan of the Harry Potter books in his previous life, Snape couldn't bring himself to stand idly by.
How could he possibly come all this way, into such a grand and turbulent world, only to fade quietly into the background? No—he was here to stir things up, to jam a lightning cable straight into the socket labeled "Tom Riddle" and overload the whole system.
It wasn't time to cut ties with the Death Eaters just yet. Aside from the ring buried in the ruins of the Gaunt Shack and the diadem hidden in the Room of Requirement, he still had no idea where the other Horcruxes were.
Turning onto a narrow path beside the post office, Snape spotted a small pub.
A weathered wooden sign swung from a rusted bracket above the door.
The sign bore the image of a severed boar's head, blood seeping through the white cloth that covered it.
Every gust of wind made the sign creak and groan.
Snape pushed open the door. A thick beam of dusty sunlight split the room in two.
But the light vanished just as quickly as the door creaked shut behind him.
His pupils dilated, adjusting to the gloom:
The place was cramped and dim, with thick grime coating the few convex windows. Barely any light seeped in. Half-melted candle stubs flickered on the rough wooden tables.
The whole pub reeked of mutton fat.
Except for a few Hogwarts students gathered at the table furthest from the bar, most patrons had their hoods drawn low.
Avery, Mulciber, Regulus, and young Crouch were all present.
Snape had once gifted the Death Eaters the *Muffliato* spell like it was some prized heirloom.
Thanks to that, even in the Hog's Head, they didn't need to worry about being overheard.
As soon as Snape entered, the muffled hum of voices around the wooden table stopped abruptly.
Seated in the center, surrounded by the others, was a hooded woman who raised her chin with a languid air, draped like a queen upon her worn armchair.
"You dare show your face here?"
"I came for our shared cause."
"You've got some nerve."
The woman curled her lip with contempt, eyelids half-lowered in disdain.
"And how should I take that, Bellatrix?"
"'How should I take that?'" she repeated mockingly in a high, sharp voice, then suddenly burst out laughing.
Bellatrix sprang to her feet and stalked over to Snape, staring him down.
"Little Sev," she said mockingly, "I've heard from your little friends that you seem to have a… preference. For those filthy little Mudbloods."
"Compared to the stink of everything else here… yes. Including them."
Snape let his eyes drift over Bellatrix's face with deliberate amusement.
"I only just realized there are finer, purer things in this world—things I might prefer—"
Her wild laughter cut him off. She doubled over, shaking uncontrollably.
"Oh… little Sev." She swept a lock of her sleek black hair behind her ear and wiped the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand.
"You're too late, though, aren't you? Didn't Lucius tell you? Rodolphus and I married months ago."
Snape gave a tight-lipped smile. "Yes, I heard. I'm quite regretful."
Bellatrix scoffed, sneering. In a voice barely above a whisper, she muttered, "Why bring up that idiot?"
"I'm glad we agree on *that* point."
Snape let out a low, dry chuckle, his voice hoarse:
"But still, I must admit—I envy his luck far more than his idiocy."
"Do you now?" she said slowly. "Well, that's a shame. Compared to a Lestrange, what you lack is far more than luck, Snape."
She pronounced his name with cold precision, her tongue lightly tracing her lips as she fixed her gaze on him.
"You've changed… how surprising…"
All at once, Snape felt her piercing gaze dig into his soul like an icy drill. It was as if a viper was flicking its tongue at him, testing him, searching for prey.
But oddly enough, he felt detached—as though a transparent veil separated him from her. He had the strange sense that he could *choose* what thoughts she saw.
Images flickered through his mind like scenes in a film:
The Marauders' ambush, the choking humiliation, Lily's scornful stare, strands of hair falling before a mirror, Bellatrix's beautiful face, a flash of desperate longing…
"Enough!" Snape snapped, staggering backward and knocking over a chair.
"Enough, Bellatrix!"
"How dare you… how *could* you…" he murmured, voice shaking as he looked away from her burning gaze.
"Silence, Severus."
Bellatrix had returned to her languid pose in the armchair.
"Sit down. And keep your filthy little fantasies to yourself.
"Serve our master loyally, and you'll be rewarded with gifts most wizards can't even dream of."
She glanced around the room. "The same goes for all of you. The Dark Lord does not forget his faithful.
"And to help you better serve him in the future… today's lesson will lay the groundwork for your sixth-year studies.
"Let's begin with the three Unforgivable Curses. You'll need to practice them on your own later."
The candles on the table burned lower and lower, their flames shifting from yellow to deep orange.
By the time the gathering ended, Snape intentionally lingered behind.
"About the Dark Lord's rewards, Bellatrix," he said carefully. "I've heard he sometimes gives special gifts to his most loyal followers."
His voice was a mix of fear and barely veiled greed.
"Do you know what these gifts actually are?"
Bellatrix flinched as if his words struck a nerve. Her ears flushed pink, and her voice rose in pitch:
"The Dark Lord *knows*! I *am* his most loyal and devoted servant!"
"As a proud and noble Black, your loyalty has never been in question."
Snape quickly offered a respectful bow and turned to leave the pub.
Thank Merlin for Bellatrix's obsession with blood purity—otherwise, that might've gone *very* badly.
One day, he swore, that madwoman would kneel at his feet.
Unfortunately, the night's risk hadn't yielded much of a reward.
The Hufflepuff Cup, he was now fairly certain, hadn't yet been placed in the Lestrange vault.
He walked back to the castle and had dinner in the Great Hall before returning to his dormitory.
Freshly laundered robes had been neatly folded and laid at the foot of his bed.