London. Charing Cross Road.
A three-storey purple bus erupted into existence on a reasonably busy street with a violent gust of displaced air, missed a lamppost by a margin that should not have been survivable, and somehow stopped.
"Here we are, young man!" the driver announced with great cheer, swinging the door open for a very pale Severus. "Don't worry, it passes quickly the first time!"
"Right. Thank you." Severus stepped down, swallowing carefully as his stomach continued to make its opinion known, and swore on the spot never to use that particular instrument of suffering again. Not until this body was in considerably better shape. Possibly not ever.
He drew a long breath of London air, which was not clean, but was at least stationary, and heard only the old man's wheezing laughter behind him. The bus lurched forward, bore down on the building at the end of the street with absolute conviction, hit it at an angle that made Severus's back teeth ache in sympathy, then somehow twisted, skidded, and disappeared around the corner as though the road had simply made room.
Whoever authorised that vehicle is completely unhinged.
"Don't get any ideas about mixing that with Muggle technology," said a contemptuous voice beside him.
Severus had clocked the young man a moment ago and filed him away, keeping him in the edge of his awareness without giving anything away.
"Who are you?" He turned toward him, studying the face with a slight frown.
"I'm already in my fifth year at Hogwarts, same house as you," the boy said, chin up, the displeasure on his face entirely unconcealed. He wore plain robes, but something in the way he held himself made them look like a uniform: spine straight, chin lifted, the particular stiffness of someone who had been told since birth that slouching was a moral failing. "I'm a Black. Regulus Black."
"Sirius Black's little brother," Severus said, and a half-second later it clicked why the resemblance had nagged at him.
"Don't call him my brother! He's a traitor!"
"Ah. So that's how it stands." Severus looked at him with something that might charitably have been described as a smile. "I have a feeling we're going to get on." He clapped a hand on the startled Slytherin's shoulder and steered him toward the bar with a cheerful firmness that left very little room for argument. "Come on, then. Tell me everything."
"Tell you what, exactly?!" Regulus managed, eyes wide.
"Every single one of Sirius's faults, obviously!" The words were out before Regulus could stop them, and the smile that followed was bright enough to be alarming. He looked immediately as though he regretted both.
The Leaky Cauldron was small, dim, and largely unremarkable. It had the specific atmosphere of a place where people came to eat something cheap, ask no questions, and be asked none in return: hunched figures in worn cloaks, men with the kind of beards that happened rather than were chosen, witches with stained sleeves and lowered eyes, faces half turned away as though everyone inside had either something to fear or something to hide.
It really is exactly like walking into one of the taverns back home. Dark, battered, floor sticky with old ale, a faint undertow of alcohol, and everyone quietly getting on with their own business. If a brawl broke out, I'd probably feel right at home. Severus thought, with a dry, private amusement.
He steered Regulus through the room, but the moment they were through the next door, Regulus got free.
"Sorry," Severus said, entirely without contrition. "I needed to get through there without attracting attention, and you were convenient."
He crossed to the brick wall from memory, tapped the right sequence, and the bricks shifted and separated, opening into an archway. Practical. Just secretive enough to appeal to the wizarding instinct for theatre.
"Why are you on your own?" he asked, not looking back. "I'd have thought the old families would have guards everywhere in times like these, not their heirs wandering about by themselves."
"That's none of your business!"
Did you run away? And you still haven't told me a single thing about your brother. Where are you going?
"Leave me alone!"
Regulus wrenched free of Severus's orbit, turned the corner, and disappeared into a small crowd gathered outside a shop window.
The best way to get rid of someone who won't leave you alone is to become more annoying than they are first. Severus smiled faintly, recalling the old advice, and turned the other way. But it's quiet in here.
Unnervingly quiet, compared to what he'd expected. The bright signs and bustling crowds he'd inherited from Severus's memories of Diagon Alley were simply gone. Most of the shutters were down. The few windows still lit sat in the grey street like embers: isolated, watchful. A couple of dozen shops at most were still open, and the people moving between them were few, mostly in pairs or threes, wrapped in dark robes with their hoods drawn. Even the conversations he caught sounded muffled, as though the alley itself was listening and they knew it.
War. And of course it had to start now, when I've just arrived and have nothing to show for it yet. Couldn't they have given it another five years?
A few minutes later he reached a small pastry shop. A silver-haired man was already there, waiting outside: a long black coat to the knee, white shirt beneath it, dark trousers, shoes polished to a mirror finish.
Lucius Malfoy looked exactly like what he was: a man who had never once doubted his own right to take up space. Arrogant, controlled, the sort who could smile at you warmly while filing away every weakness you'd shown, and who could walk over anyone if it served a purpose and sleep perfectly well afterwards. He was also one of the few people Severus had genuinely considered a friend. He'd respected Lucius, even used him as a kind of model: it had been Lucius who'd first drawn him toward the Dark Arts and introduced him to the circles that actually mattered in Slytherin. For a half-blood in that house, allies weren't a luxury. Lucius had been one, for his own reasons, and that had counted.
"Hope I'm not late," Severus said, taking the seat across from him with an easy smile. "I didn't know you had a sweet tooth, Lucius."
"They told me you'd changed." Lucius's eyes narrowed fractionally, his fingers tightening on his cane. "But I have the strong impression that I'm sitting across from an entirely different person."
"You've always been sharp." Severus took out a needle and turned it into his wand. "I swear by my magic that I am Severus Snape, and no one else."
Light flared above the wand tip. Something in Lucius's shoulders eased, slightly.
"There's a reason for the changes, but I won't be going into it," Severus continued. "Let's say I woke up from a long sleep and decided to start from scratch."
"I see. Have you given any more thought to my proposal?"
"Joining you?"
"Yes."
"No. It's too dangerous."
That drew a genuine frown.
"We've talked about this at length, and you were close to yes. Surely —"
Severus shook his head. A small flick of the wand, and a transparent dome settled over their table, cutting off every sound from outside.
"No. And I'm not joining Dumbledore either," he said, keeping his voice quiet. "I have no interest in dying because someone decides a half-blood makes a useful example. You know what he does to people who aren't pure. Don't tell me it hasn't happened."
Lucius didn't answer, but his eyes confirmed it.
"I value my life," Severus went on. "But I also don't want to lose our friendship. So I'm willing to do you one favour."
"A favour."
"Yes. I can relieve you of a problem on your left arm."
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