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Chapter 85: A Breach and a Revelation
Elian sat calmly in the high-backed chair, his posture relaxed but his awareness razor-sharp. Across from him, Severus Snape was a study in glacial intensity. The Potions Master's dark eyes held a flicker of something beyond his usual contemptāa cold, keen curiosity. Dumbledore's fascination, Voldemort's apprehensionā¦ both centred on this anomaly of a boy. Snape, the consummate spy, longed to know why. He wanted to peel back the layers of Elian Throne's mind and see the truth at its core.
He understood the power of Legilimency. It was more than reading surface thoughts; it was an invasion, a forced tour through another's most private self. Secrets were laid bare as easily as turning a page. For the first time in years, Snape felt a thrill that was not born of bitterness or duty, but of pure, intellectual hunger.
Yet, the boy before him was unnervingly calm. His grey eyes met Snape's without fear, without defiance, simply with an expectant readiness that was somehow more intimidating than any challenge.
"Shall we begin, Professor? It is getting late," Elian prompted, his voice even.
Snape's lip curled. The boy was eager? Or arrogantly confident? He would see. He stepped closer, raising his wand slowly, its tip aimed directly between Elian's eyes.
"Legilimens."
The spell was cast, a whisper of invasive power. But instead of the expected plunge into a stream of memories and emotions, Severus Snape's world dissolved into pure, blindingĀ light.
He was floating, untethered, in a formless void of brilliant white. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through him. He tried to move, to grasp his wand, to speak a counter-charm, but his limbs were unresponsive, his voice silent.
What is this?Ā His mind reeled. This was not a memory. This was not the psychic landscape of a teenage wizard. Had the spell rebounded? Had Throne's mind somehowā¦Ā consumedĀ the intrusion?
Before he could formulate another thought, the light shifted. Not into images, but into a rapid, overwhelmingĀ rushĀ of sensation and soundānot his own, but a distorted, echoing cascade. He felt a jumble of impressions that were not his: a cold London street, the smell of old books, the hum of alien magic, a fierce protective warmth that felt like Hermione Granger, the cold calculus of a system's missionā¦ and beneath it all, a terrifying, structuredĀ powerĀ that dwarfed any magical core he had ever sensed.
And then, worse, he felt hisĀ ownĀ memories being pulled to the surface, not by his will, but by an external force. It was a violation far deeper than any he had ever perpetrated. Fragments flashed byāa young girl with red hair laughing by a lake, the devastating green light, the bitter taste of regret, the acrid smell of the Dark Mark's summoning, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes full of pity and demand, the constant, exhausting double-gameā¦
"NO!"
The scream was silent in the void, but it tore through his soul. He was laid bare, his deepest shame, his driving obsession, his fragile coverāall being examined by the very anomaly he had sought to probe.
The light receded as suddenly as it had come. Snape stumbled, his physical senses crashing back. He was in his office, his wand still raised in the casting gesture. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated his skin. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Across from him, Elian Throne sat with his eyes closed, a faint, serene expression on his face, as if in deep meditation.
It hadn't been an illusion. The violation had been real. The boy hadn't just defended; he hadĀ counter-attackedĀ on a psychic level Snape could not comprehend.
Snape's hand trembled slightly. The shock morphed into a hot, corrosive fury, laced with a primal fear. His secretsāhis love, his guilt, his true loyaltyāhad been exposed. He lowered his wand slowly, his eyes fixed on Elian with a murderous intensity.
Elian's eyes opened. They met Snape's gaze, and in that instant, Snape felt it againānot a spell, but aĀ pressure, an aura of immense, ancient power that seemed to fill the room, pressing down on him, threatening to unmoor him completely. It was the psychic echo of the power he'd glimpsed in the void.
"You saw," Snape whispered, the words scraping from his throat. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation and a plea.
His knuckles were white around his wand. It was the only thing anchoring him.
Elian regarded him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The crushing pressure eased, not disappearing, but receding like a tide.
"Professor Snape," Elian said, his voice cool and detached. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The lie was impeccable. It offered a lifelineāa fiction they could both cling to. Snape's grip on his wand loosened infinitesimally. He took a shuddering, controlled breath, forcing his Occlumency shields, battered as they were, back into place. The spy reasserted itself over the shattered man.
"You areā¦ remarkable, Throne," Snape managed, his voice regaining some of its customary silkiness, though it was frayed at the edges. "No wonder the Headmaster holds you in suchā¦ singular esteem." He turned abruptly, his robes swirling, and strode from his own office without another word, leaving Elian alone.
Elian waited a moment, then let out a slow breath he hadn't realised he was holding. The confrontation had been risky. Using his astral awareness and the System's mental disciplines to reflect and scramble the Legilimency probe, then to skim the surface of Snape's own turbulent mindā¦ it had been a desperate, instinctive move. He had seen flashesāMalfoy Manor, the escaped Death Eaters, Voldemort's interest, and the deep, tragic core of Severus Snape: a love so profound and poisoned by guilt that it had shaped and broken his entire life.
The man was a fanatic, yes. But his fanaticism was for a ghost, and it drove him to walk a razor's edge in her memory. Elian felt an unexpected pang of pity.
Snape never returned. Elian eventually left the office, the encounter weighing heavily on him. That night, lying in his dormitory bed, the Time-Turner a cool circle on his chest, he replayed the fragmented visions from Snape's mind. The locations, the namesā¦ it was valuable intelligence, tainted by the raw sorrow it was wrapped in.
The next morning, students streamed towards the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade station, luggage in tow. The Hogwarts Express waited, steaming in the crisp winter air.
Elian found a compartment, stowing his trunk. Later, he heard familiar voices passing in the corridor and cracked the door.
In a nearby compartment, Ron was talking, his voice tinged with disappointment. "Hermione, I thought you were coming to the Burrow straight away? You said you might!"
Hermione, already in Muggle jeans and a warm jumper, was gazing out at the snowy landscape rushing by. She turned, offering Ron a faint smile that didn't reach her preoccupied eyes. "I changed my mind, Ron. I need to spend Christmas Eve and morning with my parents. It'sā¦ important."
Her eyes flickered past Ron, meeting Elian's gaze through the gap in the door for just a second. A flush of pink touched her cheeks before she looked back out the window. Ron shrugged, accepting her explanation with typical good humour, and launched into a debate about Chudley Cannon tactics with Harry.
Elian closed the door and smiled slightly to himself. Her change of plans had nothing to do with her parents and everything to do with a conversation about holiday invitations and a stolen kiss in a dark corridor. The Christmas dilemma, it seemed, was resolving itself.
The train carried them south, away from the fortified castle, towards a holiday that promised not peace, but a different kind of storm.
(End of Chapter)
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