Scotland, August 31, 1994 - Under the influence
Scotland, August 31, 1994 - Under the influence
The echo of the professor's footsteps resonated against the cold dungeon walls, a sound interrupted only by the distant murmur of the wind filtering through the upper corridors. Snape rather liked that professors were required to arrive at Hogwarts a day early; it was one of the few times he could roam the fortress in complete silence—without the students' clamour, without unnecessary interruptions. Yet, not even within the solitude of those stone walls did he find solace. The peace he usually found in the castle's dimly lit corridors eluded him that night. And he knew why.
He advanced, his cloak billowing behind him, another shadow among the darkness, his face impassive, betraying nothing of the unease gnawing at him from within. His mind, far from remaining composed, was a whirlwind of thoughts revolving around a single person: Katya Borislova.
Two days earlier, Dumbledore had appeared at Spinner’s End, intruding upon his refuge with the same calm with which he always faced a storm. He had not knocked, nor had he announced his arrival. He had simply appeared while Severus was reading Katya’s notebook. His sudden presence had startled him enough to make him raise his wand, while the old man merely adjusted his violet robes with ease, his twinkling eyes peering at him through the lenses of his half-moon spectacles.
"Severus, I thought this information might be of use to you, dear boy" he had said, handing him a parchment bearing the Ministry’s seal while Snape attempted to recover from his initial shock.
Snape took it, still irritated, and as he unfolded it, his gaze immediately swept over the lines with growing interest. It was a family tree, detailed and meticulously drawn, listing names that, even to him, were familiar. Illustrious, powerful, dangerous.
Katya Borislova, born on 4th July 1970 in Moscow, daughter of Pyotr Borislov and Svetlana Borislova, both pure-bloods.
The Borislovs were not merely an influential wizarding family; they were a symbol of blood purity and strategy within the Russian magical community. Their lineage had been built upon centuries of alliances forged with other magical families across Eastern Europe, marriages designed with mathematical precision to strengthen their legacy. But what unsettled Snape most was not her magical heritage—it was her ties to the Muggle world. Grisha Borislov, Katya’s grandfather, had cemented the family’s empire by investing in the pharmaceutical and military sectors during the Cold War. Over time, their wealth and network of contacts had spread across Europe and Asia, establishing the Borislovs as one of the continent’s most powerful families.
"Katya is not just an accountant, Severus." Dumbledore had warned him, with that piercing blue gaze that seemed to bore into his very thoughts. "Something tells me she is a piece on a much larger board."
Snape had nodded, accepting the information with his usual impassivity, without displaying so much as a flicker of emotion. He would not give Dumbledore the satisfaction of knowing that, deep down, those words rekindled a doubt he had long attempted to bury.
Hours later, alone, he had reread the document over and over again, as if somewhere within its lines he might find an answer to ease his unease. Was it possible that Katya had never truly shown him her real face? Had it all been a game to her? He found the thought unfair. Since the moment he had met her, Katya had never hidden the truth about her family, particularly about her father. She had warned him that he was a dangerous man, had told him she had fled from him. She had never deceived him about that.
But then why did the discovery of her lineage make him doubt her so much? Perhaps—just perhaps—a part of him, the part that had once joined the Death Eaters, did not feel worthy of her interest and was searching for something that would shatter the fascination he held for the witch.
The notebook he had found among her things was what unsettled him most. Its pages were filled with detailed records—names, locations, movements of people in London. Information meticulously arranged, as if Katya were watching everyone, all the time. What had her father asked of her? What was she looking for?
Snape had spent hours translating documents from Russian to English, ensuring that nowhere was his own name mentioned, that not a single line compromised his role in the complex game that was unfolding. But as he did so, he could not help but wonder: what was Katya’s true purpose? Where did the woman he knew end, and the spy begin?
Severus chose to attempt sleep that night. After all, the following day would not only mark the beginning of a new year at Hogwarts but would also bring the arrival of students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. As was customary every five years, the Triwizard Tournament would be held, and this time, for the first time in three decades, Hogwarts was the host.
Dumbledore, in his boundless eccentricity, had accepted the challenge with enthusiasm—a decision Severus found, at the very least, reckless. At times, he suspected the old headmaster teetered on the edge of senility.
Now, the corridors buzzed not only with the usual ceaseless chatter of students but also with foreign accents and flashes of colourful uniforms. From his usual spot at the edge of the Great Hall, Severus watched the young witches and wizards interact with his characteristic displeasure. It did not take long for him to notice the exchanged glances of silent challenge between the delegations, the simmering tension foreshadowing conflicts even before the tournament had begun. He knew this year would bring more trouble than usual.
That day, in his first class in the dungeons, however, the atmosphere remained unchanged. The dim torchlight cast eerie shadows across the stone walls, while the air was thick with the unmistakable scent of magical ingredients. Severus strode to the front of the classroom, his black cloak billowing behind him with the familiarity of a well-rehearsed ritual.
"Today, we will be brewing a Stimulant Draught," he announced firmly, cutting through the murmurs in the room. "A mixture designed to restore physical energy. Of course, in your hands, it will likely do the opposite."
The sound of knives striking chopping boards and ladles stirring thick liquids filled the classroom instantly. Severus moved between the cauldrons, his sharp gaze capturing every mistake, every clumsy movement of his students. He stopped behind Harry Potter, observing with a mixture of irritation and amusement as the boy’s cauldron looked dangerously close to overflowing.
"If you keep adding ginkgo frost, Potter, you’ll end up with a potion to induce sleep rather than prevent it."
Harry tensed but did not reply. The nearby Slytherins stifled malicious laughter. Severus paid them little mind; his interest remained on Potter’s reaction—that silent, defiant stare that so strongly reminded him of James and, at the same time, of Lily.
Hermione Granger, of course, had her mixture nearly perfect, but in her eagerness to help Longbottom, she neglected it for just a moment, causing the potion to take on a faint blue tint—an unmistakable sign of error.
"Five points from Gryffindor, Granger. You should not have neglected your own potion to assist others."
Time slipped by slowly until the lesson came to an end. The students hurried out, eager to escape to their next class. Severus had begun tidying up the classroom when he saw Potter, still seated, absently moving his quill back and forth across his notebook. Snape watched him linger for a moment, hurriedly copying Granger’s notes, until the boy met his gaze.
"Potter, do you wish to be late for your next class?" Snape asked.
The boy frowned and stared at him. Severus couldn’t quite tell whether he was truly unaware of his tardiness or simply feigning ignorance, but as he watched him leave the classroom in silence, his thoughts lingered on those eyes—the eyes that reminded him of Lily—and he sighed heavily.
Seeing Lily’s eyes in that boy always made him feel sick to his stomach. Not only because they brought back memories of his lost friend, but because they were a constant reminder of his greatest mistake. Every time he looked into them, the weight of his failure pressed against his chest like a frozen dagger. Those green eyes, identical to those of the young woman he had once loved, forced him to relive, again and again, the moment he had sealed her fate. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that everything he did now was for her; the guilt remained—suffocating, inescapable. Because every time he looked at Potter, he didn’t see James’s son. He saw the life he had condemned the boy to live through his own choices. And that, more than any other punishment, was something he would never be able to forgive himself for.
Snape remained in the classroom, surrounded by steaming cauldrons and shelves lined with ingredients, feeling a growing unease settle in his chest. It wasn’t just about Potter or Lily Evans. There was something in the air, something that reached beyond the walls of Hogwarts. He could sense danger looming—not just in Scotland, but in London, in Moscow. He felt it closing in on everything he had ever loved.
His thoughts drifted back to Katya, to the Borislovs, to the secrets he had yet to fully understand. Dumbledore might insist that the tournament would bring great challenges, but Severus knew better: the real danger wasn’t in the tournament. It was in the shadows, in the past, in the silent movements of pieces on a chessboard he had yet to fully see.
On the other hand, Katya started her days early, following a discipline ingrained in her since childhood. Thanks to her newly approved Apparition licence, she could easily transport herself to Gringotts, where she spent hours reviewing accounts, balancing transactions, and ensuring every figure was in its rightful place. But her work didn’t end there; after fulfilling her responsibilities at the bank, she dedicated time to appraising Malfoy properties and auditing accounts in Muggle banks. This routine not only kept her occupied but also allowed her to immerse herself in the vibrant pulse of London.
When the workday ended, Katya made the most of her free time by exploring the city. She lost herself in the grandeur of the British Museum, absorbed the history of the National Gallery, and found inspiration at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Bookshops were her refuge—Hatchards, with its air of tradition and elegance; Foyles, a chaotic paradise for book lovers; and Daunt Books, with its wooden shelves and exquisite selection of literature. Yet, no matter how many distractions London offered, her thoughts inevitably returned to him.
It had been two weeks since they had last seen each other, and though Katya tried to convince herself it didn’t matter, Severus’s absence weighed on her more than she cared to admit. It wasn’t just that he had left her flat so abruptly that morning, waking her with an uncharacteristic gentleness but an evident urgency. It was the way he had looked at her—as if he wanted to say something, and yet, at the same time, as if he was afraid to.
"I have to go. Something has… come up." he had told her, his voice carrying its usual enigmatic tone.
When Katya asked him if everything was alright or if she could help with anything, Severus simply shook his head and, with the same coldness with which he usually concealed his feelings, disappeared without offering further explanation.
Since then, Katya had written him two letters—simple and direct—professing that she wished to see him again, but Snape had not replied. The first letter had been sent to Spinner’s End, so Katya, upon reviewing the dates, realised that he was already working at the school. Because of this, she sent the second letter to Hogwarts, but it too went unanswered. His silence was an echo she recognised from previous exchanges, a barrier she knew well. And, although every part of her being screamed at her to stop insisting, to not expose herself once more to a relationship laden with uncertainty, another part—the part that still missed him—refused to give up.
That afternoon, with the firm resolve to disconnect from everything, Katya allowed herself a small luxury. She prepared a special dinner: a dish of roast lamb with herbs and a side of spiced pumpkin purée, a recipe her nyanya used to make when she was little. She uncorked a bottle of red wine, a recent vintage Merlot she had bought at a Muggle wine shop near Trafalgar Square, and allowed herself to be enveloped by its warmth, hoping it would calm the storm in her mind. She had decided to go all out, so she also lit some jasmine-scented candles, bought from a small shop in Diagon Alley.
She sat down at the table, ready to enjoy her own efforts, but as the aroma of the food mingled with the fragrance of the candles, her mind quickly began to wander. No matter how hard she tried to distract herself, her thoughts always returned to him. To his silence. To his absence. To the habit he had of disappearing just when it seemed he might be ready to stay. Why did she insist on thinking about someone who clearly didn’t think about her? Why send letters when he didn’t bother to reply? Perhaps it wasn’t so much him, but the way she could lose herself in him to avoid confronting her own fears. Perhaps writing to him was easier than admitting the weight she carried on her shoulders—the responsibility her father had placed on her since childhood, the fear of failure.
She sighed, resigned, and without thinking too much about it, sat down in front of the parchment. Her quill glided naturally over the paper, and before she could stop herself, another letter was being placed in the beak of Inna, her eagle.
At Hogwarts, while having coffee to keep going with the remaining papers to mark, Severus heard a persistent tapping at the window of his office. Looking up, he saw Inna, Katya’s eagle, watching him with her penetrating golden eyes, a letter firmly gripped in her claws. Severus muttered a curse under his breath. He didn’t want to be cruel to the young woman, but he was still confused about her and didn’t want to feel pressured.
He rose slowly, opened the window, and took the letter. Inna flapped her wings but did not fly away; instead, she looked at him expectantly, clearly waiting for a response for her owner. With a resigned sigh, Severus took a piece of dried meat from his desk and offered it to her. It was a silent agreement he had with the bird, given the number of times she had flown from Moscow to Scotland. Inna caught it with skill but remained on the windowsill, staring intently at him as he unfolded the letter.
He read the letter slowly. Katya had been direct, as always. She expressed her uncertainty and asked, in few words, that he not be indifferent to her, that he owed her at least that for their friendship. Severus let out a heavy sigh. The young woman had a knack for finding the right words, and without thinking too much about it, he took his quill and scribbled a brief, precise reply. There were no promises, no explanations, just a tacit agreement that he would see her. When he finished, he folded the letter and firmly placed it in Inna’s claws, who, satisfied, took flight towards London.
Severus glanced at his watch and hurried to get dressed. He didn’t want to be delayed any longer than necessary. As he stepped into the school corridors, the sound of firm, determined footsteps made him look up. He immediately recognised the echo of Minerva’s boots, and for a split second, he felt like a student caught out of bed after curfew.
"Severus," he heard the witch's voice, cheerful. "Will you join the teachers' game night?" she asked with an amused smile as she passed by his side.
Severus stopped for a moment, considering his response. He couldn’t just say he had a date, but he didn’t want to prolong the conversation either.
"Actually… I’m going to Hogsmeade," he replied in a neutral tone.
Minerva raised an eyebrow.
"Hogsmeade?" she repeated, now intrigued.
"Yes, I need… something to help me sleep," he lied naturally.
She crossed her arms and scrutinised him with an inquisitive look.
"Severus, dear, I can recognise an excuse when I hear one," she said playfully. "And since when does the Potions Master need a drink to sleep?" Her tone was light, but her eyes gleamed mischievously.
"Well..." Severus always needed a potion to sleep, whether he was a Master of Potions or not. "Since Hogwarts has become a circus with students from all over the world, fluttering about the halls," he replied dryly.
Minerva let out a brief chuckle.
"We missed you at game night, Severus. It would be fascinating to see how you try to beat me at Ludo again," she said with a warm smile.
"I prefer to keep my dignity intact," he replied, recalling how she had crushed him in their last game.
"Dignity... sure, sure. I just hope that whoever is making you break your impeccable routine, appreciates it," Minerva added casually before turning on her heels and continuing her way.
Severus frowned. The professor was too perceptive for his liking. Without another word, he adjusted his cloak and left the school, heading towards Hogsmeade.
Severus walked with firm steps towards The Three Broomsticks Inn, his boots echoing against the damp cobblestones of Hogsmeade. The night air carried the scent of burnt wood and spices from within the inn. It wasn't his usual place, nor the kind of encounter he usually allowed himself, but here he was, ahead of his own thoughts, ordering a whisky at the bar while he waited.
The bartender, a man with long hair and tattoos on his forearms, watched him with a mixture of curiosity and recognition. Severus paid him little mind, focusing on the amber liquid in his glass. He swirled it between his fingers, watching how the light from the lamps reflected on the surface. What the hell was he doing here?
He told himself it was just a conversation, that it meant nothing, but something inside him didn’t quite believe it. Almost an hour later, the door opened, and he saw her.
Katya entered, wrapped in a black overcoat that covered her entirely, her figure barely visible beneath the heavy fabric. Her cheeks were flushed, but Severus immediately noticed it wasn’t just from the cold. She walked with determination, but with a slight wobble in her steps, and when she sat next to him at the bar, she miscalculated slightly, awkwardly grabbing the edge.
"Hello," she greeted him with a crooked smile, trying to maintain composure.
Severus watched her with a mix of amusement and suspicion. It couldn’t be...
"I’m sorry I’m late," Katya continued, trying to settle into the chair with dignity. But when she made an effort to cross her legs, she briefly lost her balance. A stifled laugh escaped her lips. "Sorry..."
He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly.
"Kat... are you drunk?"
She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress another laugh.
"I... I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d respond to my letter, and well... I got carried away with a bottle of Merlot."
Severus put his glass down on the bar and turned his body slightly towards her, resting his elbow on the wood.
"I didn’t know I was encouraging you to drink, Kat."
Katya sighed, looking down with feigned resignation.
"It’s not that," she replied, dragging a finger along the counter. "I don’t usually drink, at least not that much, but... I got scared, you know?" She fixed her hair. "I thought you were going to end things, so... well."
Severus watched her intently, processing her words. Had she really been so affected by his silence? The idea confused him. He wasn’t good at emotional closeness, and he didn’t understand Katya’s insistence on treating him with such familiarity. But there she was, her pupils dilated from the alcohol, trying in vain to pretend she didn’t care about what he might say.
Without thinking too much, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her towards him effortlessly.
"Do I really have that effect on you?" he murmured, almost amused.
Katya blinked, surprised by the closeness, and for a moment her uninhibited attitude faded.
"I want you to tell me the truth, Kat," Severus continued, his tone becoming more serious. "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to see you," she answered without hesitation.
He narrowed his eyes.
"No. I mean, why are you in London?"
Katya tilted her head, observing him with some caution before letting out a sigh and taking a sip from her glass.
"Oh, that..." she said. "Well, my father wants to conquer the world, and he sent me here to investigate the British and the witches with the most power in the country."
Severus looked at her incredulously. Did she think all this was a joke?
"Is that a joke?"
Katya raised a finger and passed it over her lips.
"Not entirely."
He scoffed, running a hand over his face.
"Merlin, Kat, I’m not sure whether I should be alarmed or keep serving you whisky."
"Definitely the latter," she said with a theatrical gesture, taking off the overcoat with some clumsiness. The movement revealed a dark green velvet dress that hugged her figure. Severus didn’t ask more about the dress to avoid losing his composure. The young woman tried to adjust herself in the chair, but as she did, she slightly slipped to one side.
Severus caught her by the arm just before she could fall, and she leaned against his shoulder with a brief laugh.
"Alright," he murmured. "You’d better not go back to Mayfair alone."
Katya looked up, her gaze darkened by the alcohol.
"What do you suggest, then?"
Severus took a moment before answering. The logical thing would be to escort her to the apartment and disappear, pretend this had never happened. But logic had never been his strong suit when it came to Katya. Even less so when she was wearing that tight green dress.
"The Three Broomsticks has rooms."
She raised an eyebrow with feigned innocence.
"Is that an invitation?"
He sighed, rolling his eyes before standing up and extending his hand.
"Well... Consider it more of an act of survival. I don’t want you to end up unconscious in the snow."
Katya took his hand with a dramatic sigh.
"If you insist, Professor," she said in a seductive voice, but Severus could only smile.
When Snape intertwined his fingers with hers and began to walk toward the stairs, he felt something inside him give way, like a rope that had been tense for too long—exactly two weeks. Maybe it was the whisky. Maybe it was the way Katya looked at him. Maybe, just maybe, he was tired of pretending he didn’t miss her, and with that thought, the door to the room closed behind them.