December 1985, London.
Just over four years had passed since the Dark Lord's defeat. The time of constant fear was over, yet the scars remained and the grief over the lost ones lingered. British witches and wizards remembered nights filled with screams and flashing lights of curses, and the Dark Mark shining in the sky with its emerald green skull marking their latest victim. No one knew if their next step would be their last.
The unexpected, but no less liberating, fall of Lord Voldemort lifted a heavy weight from the Wizarding World. Many of his followers, the Death Eaters, were caught—some were trialled, some claimed they had been under his control, a few sought to make amends. Healing had begun, though it was slow. Most witches and wizards believed the worst was behind them, yet quiet voices here and there whispered doubts and the fear Lord Voldemort had left behind hadn't entirely disappeared.
In a quiet neighbourhood on the outskirts of London, not far from Wimbledon Park, a cold wind blew through the empty street, carrying the scent of burned wood and the sharp bite of winter. The cloudless sky was almost black, and only moonlight fell on the snow-covered roofs of the small houses lining the road, reflecting off the snow and covering the street in a dim glow.
At the far end stood a modest house, half hidden behind an overgrown garden. Frosted bushes and tangled vines surrounded it, and a wooden fence marked the edge of the property. Despite the late hour, warm light glowed in the windows. The house looked ordinary, nothing to suggest that a wizarding family lived here, tucked away behind wild plants and a magical barrier. Despite the wind moving through the trees, everything seemed unnaturally still.
A soft pop broke the silence, and a man appeared in front of the house. He wore a long black cloak, his outlines barely visible in the shadows. His features were thin and sharp, deep-set eyes and a hooked nose gave his face a harsh edge. Black hair fell to his shoulders beneath the hood, and his face gave nothing away.
He moved slowly towards the house and paused at the door. For the blink of an eye, as if he were weighing his options, he hesitated—only to raise his hand and knock on the wooden door. The sound echoed into the night. A few seconds passed. Then soft footsteps could be heard inside, a shadow moving behind the curtain was seen. Slowly, the door opened.
A young woman stood in the doorway with her hand raised, pointing her wand at him.
Her features were fine and noble, typical for the ancient house she came from; softer, however, than her brothers'. Light blonde hair framed her face in loose strands, the rest in a long braid down her back.
Even in the dim light, her beauty was unmistakable. Shadows under her eyes, however, betrayed sleepless nights. Though she looked tired, her pale, jade-green eyes were watchful, and her gaze was so sharp it made him shiver.
"Severus."
She said his name like someone who had known him for years—and she had.
"Lucinda," he replied.
Years had passed since they had last spoken to each other. In what seemed like another life, they had been in the same house and year at Hogwarts. Both had difficult relationships with their fathers, a shared pain that had brought them closer together in their early years, creating a common ground and a kind of trust between them.
Furthermore, both shared a fondness for Potions, though Severus had always been a little more advanced, of course. Their mutual respect for each other's skills had formed another bond, as did their mutual thirst for knowledge and early fascination with the Dark Arts, influenced by their circumstances and upbringing. While Lucinda had approached it with caution, convinced that dark magic should never be used, only studied, Severus had been drawn to the power it promised. His sympathies with the Dark Lord ultimately ended their friendship.
Lucinda held her wand raised in her hand, still pointing it at him. Her eyes were fixed on him as she watched him closely, obviously trying to understand the purpose of his visit.
He couldn't blame her; they hadn't spoken for years—not since finishing Hogwarts, when he joined the Dark Lord. He had only seen her once since then, during the trial in which Dumbledore cleared his name, preventing his imprisonment. Afterwards, however, she hadn't sought to speak to him.
It took a few more moments before she lowered the wand; her grip relaxed subtly. She remained cautious, but the distrust faded slightly.
"It's late," she said. "Why are you here?"
Severus held her gaze for a moment, his dark eyes locked onto her piercingly bright ones, before he answered without taking his eyes off.
"Dumbledore sent me," he said firmly, without taking his eyes off her.
Even back then, when she was younger, her gaze carried a weight that made most people uneasy, radiating a quiet authority, one that had softened little with ageing—quite the contrary.
For a moment, neither moved. She continued to look at him, and it took just another moment before she gave him a slight nod. Her hand dropped further.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time," she said quietly.
She stepped aside to let him in, closing the door softly behind him. He had expected her to be more wary, but her calm and controlled reaction took him by surprise. She indicated for him to move towards another door opposite the entrance he had just entered, following close behind him.
Passing down the sitting room, he let his eyes move across the room as if trying to understand more about the life lived here. The room was simply arranged yet inviting and cosy. The matt polished wooden floor reflected the warm light from the crimson fire coming from the other side; one large armchair and a small couch placed in front of it. A few tasteful paintings were hung on the walls and lit softly by the fire. Light curtains framed the windows, shielding the room from the darkness outside.
It was clear to him that she didn't value the luxury she had grown up with before being disowned by her family; this small, modest house contrasted sharply with the huge, imposing mansion that Severus himself had visited a few times, and knowing Lucinda, he was certain that this was no coincidence.
"Betty is asleep," she said, gently pushing open the creaking door, leading into the kitchen. "I'd rather not wake her."
When Lucinda mentioned her daughter, something stirred in him. Betty. The name meant little to him, but he remembered Dumbledore saying it when he was sent here. The headmaster had spoken briefly about the girl and her mother's situation, though Severus hadn't listened closely at the time. Still, the name had stayed with him, like many of the small details Dumbledore dropped into the conversation before sending him off. He couldn't bring himself to care much about the child. The girl was simply the daughter of... Black.
The thought of associating that man with a child stirred an involuntary sense of disgust. Sirius Black. A man who embodied everything Severus despised—recklessness, arrogance, a leader without a sense of consequences. Severus had spent his youth in the presence of that man, painfully, and he couldn't count how many times he had seen the hunger for chaos and disruption in his eyes. Black had always been a constant source of irritation.
The idea that this man, who had learned so little from his own mistakes, had left behind a child disturbed Severus in a way he could not fully explain. Elizabeth Black. Another legacy of Sirius Black, likely carrying the same flaws and rebellious nature. To Severus, Black had left behind nothing but damage, pain and betrayal. Now imprisoned in Azkaban for murder and treason, he had merely continued what he had started at school.
Severus couldn't help but wonder how much of that man lived on in his child. It was hard for him to imagine that anything good could come from such a man. He hoped the girl took more after her mother, that Lucinda's ambition and intellect would outweigh the rest.
Yet he couldn't ignore that Lucinda herself had once chosen to run off with that reckless fool. She had turned her back on her family, who had branded Black a blood traitor and disowned her for her choice. Her loyalty and willingness to fight for what she believed in had put her in an impossible and dangerous position. All just for him.
Severus found himself wondering whether their daughter had inherited those same traits.
"Can I offer you a drink?"
Lucinda's voice broke into his thoughts as they entered the kitchen. Severus gave a short nod as he took the seat offered to him by the fire.
The kitchen was simple, but functional. Dark wooden cupboards and the rustic counter looked like something from another time. In the centre stood a solid wooden table, surrounded by worn chairs; another fireplace sat at the far side of the room. The kettle on the stove hummed softly above it.
"Tea, if that's alright," Lucinda said, flicking her wand towards the kettle.
It floated towards them through the air, followed by two cups, filling themselves with the hot liquid, and gently settled on the table in front of each of them.
"I assume you're not here with ill intent, or you wouldn't have knocked so openly," she added, casting him a sharp look.
Severus looked at her, but he didn't answer yet.
Her expression turned seriously as she continued, "Dumbledore trusts you. A man like him does not give trust easily, Severus. Or even help a suspicious Death Eater to freedom."
She held his gaze, letting the silence speak for her. He knew her trust was not given lightly and certainly not to him, after the choices he had made. His suspicion that she knew more than she was letting on troubled him.
Lucinda wouldn't trust anyone easily—not even Albus Dumbledore.
"My house is protected by strong wards. They are more than capable of detecting and repelling intruders with hostile intent. You don't need to worry. Your presence didn't trigger them," she concluded as if to answer his unsaid questions.
Severus looked at her, observing her more closely as she stood before him with her usual straight posture, her eyes never leaving his.
He knew her well enough to realise that those wards couldn't be ordinary ones, but rather those that weren't entirely accepted, illegal even, making him wonder how much dark magic they contained. It was exactly the kind of measure someone like Lucinda wouldn't hesitate to take when protecting something she loved.
"And yet you greeted me with your wand pointing at me," Severus stated.
Lucinda didn't blink. "One can never be too cautious."
They stared at each other for a while before she sat down on the chair opposite of him.
"So? What does Albus want from me?"
"He needs information, Lucinda," Severus replied calmly. "The Ministry has little to offer, and you are one of the few who still have access to other sources."
It wasn't a full answer, but it wasn't a lie either. Severus had a sense that Dumbledore's interest in her ran deeper than the old wizard had admitted. He was told that Lucinda had started working at the Ministry shortly after Voldemort's downfall. Her ambition, her skill with foreign languages, and her diplomatic talents had helped her rise quickly in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Beyond that, she had made many connections with people all over the world.
Lucinda's gaze sharpened slightly, her mouth twitched. "Rather than coming to me himself ... he sent you?"
Severus stiffened. He knew exactly, she wasn't questioning Dumbledore—she was prompting him to question.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"As you can see, he indeed has," he replied through clenched teeth.
She nodded slowly. They looked at each other as if they recognised what they both knew: that Dumbledore never acted without reason.
"And what sort of information does Dumbledore believe I have?" she asked, her eyes fixed on him.
The way she looked at him had always sent a chill through him. Those bright, almost transparent eyes, a gaze that pierce right into his soul—though he knew that was impossible.
Severus answered without flinching. "Information about the Dark Lord. Where he might be hiding. And who is searching for him."
Lucinda didn't break eye contact as she asked calmly, "And what does Dumbledore believe I know that he doesn't already?" She paused. "The only rumours I've heard, are that the Dark Lord is in Albania. But that's not exactly new."
Severus raised an eyebrow. "But what do you think?"
"Most in the Ministry believe the Dark Lord is dead. And… if he's alive, he's covered his tracks well," she said slowly. "But… it would be naive to think he's simply gone. After everything he's done. After trying to kill a baby. As if a small child could stop him. Not someone so obsessed with power."
Of course she had doubts. Of course, she wasn't naive. She questioned, doubted, investigated. This was a trait he had always valued in her.
"And you think he made preparations?" Severus asked sharply.
Of course, he himself had also considered such a possibility, yet he hadn't come to a satisfyingly conclusion.
Lucinda nodded slowly. "He was too power-hungry to just let himself be killed. He must have protected himself somehow. Something involving Dark Magic. You—as a former follower—don't know anything about that?"
She paused, lowering her voice noticeably, penetrating her eyes with his. "A baby boy surviving the Killing Curse must have meant something. Don't you think?"
Severus had always considered it an advantage that Lucinda was smarter than most, that she saw deeper where others only skimmed the surface. He watched her without showing emotion himself.
His eyes narrowed briefly. "If such protections exist, they are well hidden. No one has found any sign. At least, nothing I have seen or know of."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. He hadn't known exactly what the Dark Lord had planned in the end. No one had. But hearing Lucinda suggest it with such certainty unsettled him more than he expected. The fact that she had suspected it too reinforced his own suspicions.
She gave a slight nod, and neither said a word. The silence stretched between them.
She reached for the cup in front of him and took a sip. Without saying anything, she looked at him as if she were weighing things up. The crease between her eyebrows wrinkled almost imperceptibly, something she had always done when she was deep in thought.
Following her example, he took the cup without taking his eyes off her.
"I know what Dumbledore believes," Lucinda said eventually, her voice lowered.
Her expression had changed slightly, the initial scepticism had given way to something more serious. It was no longer analytical, no longer focused on theories or past allegiances. It carried something else now.
Severus watched her carefully. Lucinda rarely revealed what she felt, but when she did, it was never accidental. But the initial expression had now given way to an expression of sorrow and pain.
A pain he knew himself so well. A pain over a loss that had haunted him for years and still did. After all, she had been her friend too. Not in the beginning.
There had been years where neither Lucinda nor she had spoken to each other, let alone trusted one another, and Severus had never bothered to introduce them to each other. The daughter of a pureblood aristocrat who was known to hate everything Muggle-related, and the Muggleborn girl, he had grown up with.
But back when he had stopped being friend to both of them, they had found something in each other, and became friends. He had watched it happen from a distance.
He said nothing. He didn't have to.
Lucinda didn't speak either. But her fingers tightened slightly around the handle of her cup, and her eyes remained fixed on a point just beyond him.
"I know old magic was involved," she said, suddenly. "Magic we rarely know of—at least not in Britain. I know Dumbledore used it to create the wards to keep him safe." Her gaze drifted back to him. "So why do such things, if the Dark Lord was truly gone?"
Severus didn't move.
Lucinda hesitated, then said in a calm but firm voice, "I have visited him—Harry."
She quickly added, "Not directly, of course. Arabella Figg, a friend of Dumbledore's, was sent to live nearby and keeps an eye on him. But I have doubts about whether his Uncle and Aunt are really good for him."
She lowered her gaze, then said more to herself than to him. " I feel responsible. I should've taken Harry in. It was my duty."
Severus grimaced.
"The boy is his child. Potter's," he spat. "That's not my problem."
"He is her child too," Lucinda said firmly, yet a flicker in her eyes betrayed her. "I know how much you loved her. And I know how much she hated your decisions. Just like I did."
Severus remained silent and motionless. With that, she had spoken the words he had never confessed to anyone. No one except Dumbledore. Inside him a sharp pain he usually kept buried deeply. It was easier to push it away than to confront it.
Of course, he knew that she must have always suspected it, even though he had never mentioned it in her presence. And yet he felt exposed, a feeling he despised deeply.
Did she know he had begged Dumbledore to protect Lily? That he had changed sides for her?
He wouldn't be surprised if she did or at least suspected it. The thought unsettled him yet again; and an urgent feeling of wanting to leave. He tried to push the feeling aside, keeping his face blank, to reveal nothing of what was going on inside him, but he could hardly prevent the old pain from resurfacing.
"You've built a wall around you, Sev," she whispered, her voice softer, a sad smile appearing on her lips.
He turned his head away at the sound of a name he had last heard an eternity ago. From another life.
He pushed his chair back. He wanted to get away from here as quickly as possible.
Lucinda cleared her throat. "Tell Dumbledore that I am sorry I cannot give him any information," she said firmly, as if that brief moment of weakness had never happened.
She rose from her chair, pushing it back to the table and rested her hands on the backrest.
Severus himself was just about to rise, to finally get away from this suffocating enviroment, when he noticed a slight movement behind Lucinda by the door.
The door that had creaked loudly when they entered the kitchen now opened silently. He could sense a subtle change in the air, a tension he immediately noticed. His eyes narrowed, and he watched more closely.
Just beside the door, he saw a blurred movement, a shadow moving silently towards the kitchen counter. A glass of water slowly shifted and turned, then floated in the direction of the blurry movement.
"I believe," he said sharply, "we have an uninvited visitor."
Without another word, he raised his wand.
"Finite Incantatem."
The shadow that had been hidden until then, suddenly came into view. A young girl, no older than six or seven, stood frozen just a few steps from the counter. Her attempt to go unnoticed had failed. She stared at Severus with wide, watchful eyes.
Lucinda turned and blinked in surprise when she saw the girl standing there, frozen. Her gaze immediately softened, even if only slightly, but it held a warmth Severus had never seen in her.
"Betty, dear," she said softly, stepping over to her. "You should be upstairs in bed, sleeping."
She knelt before the girl and gently brushed her daughter's tousled hair back from her face. Her eyes flicked briefly to Severus before returning to the girl.
"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.
"I'm thirsty," the girl whispered, her eyes still fixed on Severus. "I heard you talking."
A sharp, almost mocking tone slipped his lips. "And I thought we had a particularly shy ghost here."
He hadn't seen many talented students over the years, a child that young casting a Disillusionment Charm—unconsciously, yet with intent—was rare. Even for adult wizards, this was a difficult spell to master.
Too young, too precise. Although not perfect. He wondered if Dumbledore knew… most likely.
Lucinda straightened, her hand still resting lightly on the girl's shoulder. "You could've called me. Or Mimi."
Betty was silent for a moment, then said softly, "I didn't want to disturb."
Her voice was calm for a child that was caught sneaking around. But that wasn't what unsettled Severus. It was the way she spoke, the way she looked at him, as if she had already taken in the entire situation and weighed it carefully.
He studied her more closely. Barefoot on the cold wooden floor, her nightgown slightly slipping off one shoulder, a stuffed toy—a worn black dog—clutched under her arm. Her light brown, wavy hair stuck out wildly in all directions as if she had just woken from a deep sleep. Everything about her seemed ordinary. He let his gaze sweep over her face, searching for traces of her parents. Her face was still soft and round, but her dark eyes and the shape of her face, framed by soft curls that would darken with age, involuntarily reminded him of Black. Yet the way she held herself and the expression on her face—the quiet, watchful gaze that made him feel uneasy—was just like Lucinda's. The way she looked at him, without blinking, with a gaze that seemed to pierce his thoughts, even worse than Lucinda's, and it made his skin crawl.
"Have a drink and go back to bed," Lucinda said, gently guiding her out of the kitchen.
But the girl didn't move. She stood still, her eyes still fixed on Severus, as if waiting for something he wouldn't say. He stared back, hoping she would eventually let go. Yet the more he hardened his expression and narrowed his eyes to slits, the more curious she seemed to become.
Most students feared him, exactly as he had intended. Usually, just one look was enough to make them lower their gaze. But not this child. She watched him like a small predator, entirely unbothered by his growing tension.
"Betty," Lucinda urged, but the girl remained still.
She seemed to be weighing something, as if she saw something that—
Then he felt it.
"You're different," the girl said finally in a quiet but firm voice. "There's something inside you. Something you don't show."
She kept staring at him, her brow slightly furrowed, as if trying to solve a puzzle. As if she could sense the weight of something he kept sealed away, rather than the thing itself. The moment was brief, but he felt her pushing gently against his intended barriers. It wasn't a forceful intrusion, more like a soft knocking. But he noticed it. And it made him feel increasingly uncomfortable than he already had before the girl had appeared.
It was clear by now that she was trying to read him, to enter his mind. And that—even if he had perfected his barriers—the girl could sense something, he was eager to hide for no one to see. That unsettled him the most. His whole body tensed up and he clenched his teeth.
Suddenly, a soft pop echoed through the kitchen, and a small figure wrapped in a clean dish towel appeared.
"Forgive me, Mistress Lucinda," a thin voice squeaked.
A house elf, bowed hastily and gave Lucinda a nervous glance.
"Mimi was not paying attention, very inattentive. Miss Betty should be asleep already."
She hurried over to the girl, gently took her hand, and looked up at Lucinda with a guilty expression.
"Please don't be angry, Mistress. Mimi will take Miss Betty to bed right away."
But the girl still didn't make any motions. She was still looking at Severus. "I can make it weaker."
Severus raised an eyebrow, just slightly.
"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.
The girl glanced once more at Severus, then murmured, "If it's too strong, I can make it weaker—your hurt."
She stretched out her hand in Severus' direction.
And even though she had been trying to enter his thoughts intrusively, he could tell she meant no harm. Her concern was real, though ridiculously naive.
"Stop sneaking around in other people's minds, girl," he snapped.
Like father, like daughter, he thought with disgust. Always sticking their noses where they don't belong.
She kept her gaze at him, tilting her head slightly, then lowered her hand. Without another word, she let the house elf lead her out of the kitchen.
What remained was a long silence. Just a child's words. But as the elf closed the door behind them, the echo of her gaze lingered in his mind. He wanted out—away from this house, this child, this intrusion into his carefully guarded self. It disgusted him and yet he couldn't deny the rising curiosity. He had perfected his Occlumency over the years, deceiving the Dark Lord, who would have felt the resistance and noticed something missing—interpreting it as disloyalty—yet never guessed the truth behind it. And here was this little girl, apparently perceived exactly that?
Lucinda sat back down at the table and slowly poured herself another cup of tea. Then she looked at him directly.
"She's a born Legilimens."
He was still staring at the spot where the girl had been standing a moment ago, pressing his lips together.
"Obviously."
The girl had never actually seen his thoughts. Nevertheless, she had sensed the absence of it. I can take your hurt away. Had she really been able to sense the pain he hid behind his barriers, or had that simply been her conclusion? And then there was still that matter with the Disillusionment Charm.
"Severus. She didn't mean to intrude. She just noticed that you—"
"I don't need your analysis, Lucinda," he cut in sharply.
The woman nodded thoughtfully. "You noticed it yourself. She's not like other children," she hesitated as if she was weighing whether to keep speaking only to continue, "Her connection to magic is unusual strong. She already uses it instinctively. Most children her age only show accidental signs of early magic, but Betty is already using hers deliberately."
Severus turned slowly toward her. He had seen it himself, and it let his curiosity grow even more, although he loathed it. "Since when?"
"Since... she was a toddler," Lucinda began hesitantly, "since... since he—her father—left, her magic has grown stronger. Out of grief, she created illusions of him and... spoke to them."
She paused, studying him for a long moment, as if weighing how much she could reveal.
"Her magic is closely tied to her emotions, which worries me," she continued finally. "The feelings of those around her affect her as well. And... she doesn't need to make eye contact to sense others' emotions."
Her gaze shifted slightly away, and her right thumb traced the delicate silver ring on her finger, a gesture she had always made in tense moments. In the firelight, the shadows under her eyes seemed darker, making her appear even more tired, despite her impeccable posture.
Severus realised she was struggling more than she admitted and must be in a difficult, even desperate, position.
The fact the girl needed no eye contact was indeed concerning. Most Legilimens needed it to see directly into the other eyes to view thoughts or emotions clearly. If that girl could do it without, her connection ran deeper than it should. That made her unpredictable and vulnerable. And dangerous in the wrong hands. And Lucinda seemed to be aware of that.
"She can soothe people's pain. Not just physical but also mental pain. That's what she tried to do to you."
Severus let out a barely audible sound, drawing Lucinda's gaze back to him.
Lucinda was silent for a moment. She tensed slightly, and Severus noticed a slight tremor in her lower lip, before regaining her composure.
"Last summer she had a magic outbreak she ended up hurting a boy," she said in an astonishingly steady voice. "It was obviously an accident, but it frightens her. You know what happens to children who suppress their magic?"
Severus understood the consequences when magical children, who had yet to learn how to control their magic, suppressed their abilities.
Magical children who hadn't yet learned to control their abilities could experience magical reactions triggered by strong emotions, such as anger or fear. This was normal, and in some children, it could be more or less pronounced. But attempting to suppress that magic didn't make it disappear—quite the opposite. Obscurials were proof of that. The magic twisted into something dark and dangerous. In Britain, children weren't formally introduced to magic until they turned eleven.
Severus now grasped the full seriousness of Lucinda's situation. And yet he still didn't fully understand why this had anything to do with him and why he had been sent here.
"She has to learn to control her powers as quickly as possible," he said. "In the worst case, they would consume her—and everything around her. Waiting until she enters Hogwarts might be too late."
"I know," Lucinda confirmed wearily. "I've already found someone to teach her. A friend from the Ministry, Zuberi Bakari. He's also a professor at Uagadou."
Severus raised an eyebrow. "What makes him qualified?"
"I've known him a long time", she replied. "I trust him. Dumbledore trusts him. He's experienced with children like Betty. I have no reason to doubt him."
"We ran into Lucius in Diagon Alley recently."
Severus looked up. He knew the complicated relationship between Lucinda and her older brother all too well. As children they had drifted apart, chosen different paths.
"He really tried to smooth things over," Lucinda said at last. "He acted like nothing ever happened between us. Like he never joined the Dark Lord. Like our father never threatened me."
She gave a humourless laugh, resignation in her eyes. "He told me he had no choice. That he was trapped and manipulated. Like he was some innocent victim. Betty had stayed right by my side the whole time. She is an open minded child, a little shy, but always curious about the world. Once he had walked away, she said, "'He is lying. He wasn't forced.'"
Lucinda's voice shook as she continued. "It was frightening, Severus. She is not supposed to know those truths. What if those people find out she knows more than she should?"
As Lucinda spoke, slowly, everything seemed to make sense. Dumbledore had known all along; had planned it all along. The old wizard never wanted new information about the Dark Lord. But he had sent Severus here to witness it with his own eyes, judge for himself, and understand the necessity of intervention.
Under the table, he clenched his hand into a fist, angry that he had allowed himself to be drawn into this.
Nonetheless, Lucinda's concern was more than motherly instinct. She knew the girl was more than just an unusually sensitive child. That girl had powers that could be dangerous not only for herself but for others.
"The girl needs to learn to close her mind," Severus said firmly. "The sooner the better. But that won't be enough. She must learn when and how to enter other minds intentionally. That will help her not get distracted by other people's feelings."
Lucinda looked up. "I know."
"Occlumency is not easy," he continued. "It takes discipline. She must learn to control her own thoughts before she can block others. And above all, she must have emotional stability. If her magic is influenced by fear or anger, control is impossible. It only makes learning harder."
"That's why you're here," she concluded.
Severus made a face, like the idea of dealing with such a young child disgusted him. However, he couldn't deny that curiosity had got the better of him. And that was what he hated most.
"Why me?" His voice was sharp. "Surely there are others more suitable."
He knew the excuse was weak but said it, nonetheless.
"You know why. Albus said it during your trial. You successfully deceived the Dark Lord, one of the most powerful Legilimens of our time. Who if not you."
Severus began to understand more and more why Dumbledore had send him here; he had to take care of the mental discipline, while the other focused on the emotions.
"Don't expect me to be gentle," he warned with narrowed eyes, "I'll teach her what she needs to know, but I expect discipline. No childish behaviour. If she can't handle it, she won't get far."
"That's what I expect from you," Lucinda said firmly.
She stood up and accompanied him to the door, her posture revealing the same determination that Severus knew all too well.
Severus nodded and turned to leave. "Don't expect quick progress. Occlumency takes years to master."
"I know," Lucinda said softly as she closed the door behind him.
Severus walked into the night. Cold air cut his face as his thoughts turned to the young girl. The child who, at only seven years old, could use a Disillusionment Charm that would make many adults envious. It would be clear soon enough if the child was just the chaotic legacy of Sirius Black or something else.
But to Severus, it was clear—chaos was the legacy he expected.