Chapter 156: Two-Year Agreement

"Cough, Cough..."

Severus Snape choked on his drink, having guzzled the liquor all too quickly. Not accustomed to heavy drinking, Snape's complexion changed from pallid to noticeably flushed. Sherlock had never previously seen Snape indulge in any tipple, be it at Hogwarts banquets or other staff gatherings. Meanwhile, he himself enjoyed his whisky leisurely, contrary to Snape's attempt at quick self-inundation.

"I deserve it," came Snape's muffled, resigned admission. His voice was weighed down, reflecting the guilt he harbored in his heart. "Even back then she was already brilliant.  She saw right through me, she knew I was undeserving of her forgiveness. Everything happened as she predicted, I joined Voldemort, was branded with the Dark Mark and became one of his most devoted and trusted followers."

During this unwinding confession, Sherlock held his silence. All Snape craved in the moment was an audience more than he did conversation. Snape refilled his glass, his trembling hand causing the liquor to splash haphazardly on the table. "She should have cut contact with me in the fourth year. When I tried to convince her to become like me, to delve into Dark Magic and blood theory, I was already lost. I was drowning in the darkness and tried to pull her down with me."

The bitterness, now apparent in his words, revealed another side of Snape, "When Lily and James pledged their vows, my heart wasn't just filled for hatred for him, I even resented her somewhat. I blamed her because she forgave James and his friends for the cruelty they had subjected me to, yet didn't forgive me. I felt like she didn't cherish the years of friendship we shared, and for that, I despised her - for choosing that arrogant, hypocritical bastard over me."

"I claimed to Voldemort that Potter was absent from my thoughts. I proclaimed there were far better women than Lily out there for me to chase... But in truth, I was more obsessed than ever, I dreamed of hunting down James.. I wanted to return his bullying a hundredfold, I wanted to torture him until eventually Lily.. kindhearted Lily.. would step in and beg for me to stop... as long as she spoke up, I would.. graciously let him go.."

His high intake of whisky had taken hold of Snape now. The fog of alcohol dulled his senses, but simultaneously laid bare his deeply suppressed emotions. A wave of sadness swept over him, a grief not witnessed in Hogwarts' hallowed halls, leading him to weep silently. "Because... It is her that I still loved. I will.. always love her.. I could never forget her."

Sherlock's eyes rested on Snape. He relived his first memories of Snape, when he first joined Hogwarts, reflecting on the movies he had heard about in his past life and judging the bridge between the good and evil within him. Perhaps he could comprehend Snape a little better now. If Lily had not come into Snape's life, he would inherently remain the villain. His company of pure-blood worshiping students extended from when he first joined Slytherin. As early as his fourth year, he delved into dark magic, keeping the company of rogues like Lucius Malfoy, eventually joining the Death Eaters upon graduating. Lily understood his true nature, and the cruel usage of the term "mudblood" was the final nail in the coffin, severing their relationship completely. 

Snape's future was marked by extreme notoriety. Joining the Death Eaters and accepting the Dark Mark, he soon earned a seat in Voldemort's inner circle, which incidentally gave a fair idea of the malicious acts he must have committed to rise up the ranks so swiftly. In any other circumstances, Snape could have followed the path of Bellatrix Lestrange, maybe even exceeding her unwavering loyalty towards Voldemort. Yet, human complexities often dictate unpredictable turns, and Snape's love for Lilly and her ill-fated death served as a turning point in his destiny.

Although Snape's affection for Lily remained unaltered, Sherlock grappled with the puzzling question as to why Snape, despite his enduring love for Lily, harbored such animosity towards Harry. Could this bitterness stem simply because he bore the name of his hated bully, Potter, or was it due to his House, Gryffindor? As Snape swayed, steeped in inebriation, Sherlock probed the issue, "If your love for Lily is so profound, why this relentless harshness towards Harry? Is it because he's James' son?"

Snape, now clutching the bottle like a lifeline, buried his face into his crooked elbow and mumbled through his sobs, "Dumbledore and I had an agreement... He prophesized that Lord Voldemort would regain his strength and return... and when he did, Harry would be his prime target... I must feign hatred towards Harry, only then, on his return..."

"Could you further garner his trust, successfully infiltrating his ranks?" Sherlock Forester's voice echoed within the dimly lit room of the pub.

Severus Snape, his black eyes softening, murmured, "He's Lily's boy... I fear for his safety... Lily... she sacrificed herself for him... It's my duty to protect him... I owe it to Lily... I can't let her down again..." 

His words became nothing more than a slurred whisper until silence enveloped him. Overcome by the spirits, Snape rested his head on the wooden table, succumbing to sleep. It was widely known that Snape had a notably low tolerance for alcohol. After two glasses, he was entirely inebriated. As his confidant on this evening, Sherlock listened intently, sipping at his own liquor. Could this truly be the reason why Snape exhibited such animosity towards Harry? He pondered whether Albus Dumbledore was aware of this too but chose not to get involved in this to deeply, besides divulging something a drunken Snape told him in confidence would break his trust forever. To his introspection, it became apparent that Snape was priming himself to be a spy within Voldemort's Death Eaters, a veritable source of information for Dumbledore, because he believed it was the best way to honor Lily.

Sherlock examined the potions master, now hunched over the worn-out table, a new insight into his character fresh in his mind. Complicated in nature though Snape might have been, his intentions were surprisingly pure. With a sigh, Sherlock called the barkeep over to assist the incapacitated man to a guest room upstairs. He remained alone on the ground floor, silently formulating a plan. 

As the clock chimed past three in the darkest hour of the night, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor retired to his room. The following morning, precisely at ten o'clock, a somewhat bleary-eyed Snape descended from the pub's upper floor, greeted by the sight of Sherlock seated by a window, munching away on a fresh loaf of bread.

"Care for a bite? Perhaps a cup of warm milk to soothe your head, after the previous night's revels?" Sherlock queried, addressing the hungover man, who now sat opposite him. 

He hailed the barkeep to bring another serving to join his already established breakfast spread. Snape's visage, now recapturing its characteristic stony expression most frequently observed within the halls of Hogwarts, questioned, "What did I tell you last night?" His eyes, looking as hollow as a vacant soul, awaited a response.

Ready with a perfunctory reply, Sherlock responded in a calm tone, "You revealed a few bits of your past, nothing more. We should fill our bellies first." The meal proceeded in silence, with only the occasional scrape of cutlery interrupting the quietude.

It wasn't until they had finished their repast that Sherlock, donning a serious face, inquired, "And now, Severus, what comes next?"

Snape's gaze was transfixed on the pub's chimney, painting black clouds against the sky, indicating an internal dialogue. He responded almost soundlessly, "She'll never forgive me, but I must save her."

Sherlock was not taken aback by Snape's resolve. He expected no less from the man. Furthering the discussion, he posited, "And then? Have you formulated a plan? How exactly would you save her? What's your intended method? And I'm sure you have thought of all possible unintended consequences too?"

Snape fell into silence. Recalling his encounter with Lily the previous evening reminded him she was unlikely to believe him, let alone follow his instructions. Taking her away was certainly an option, but to what end? Would he consider giving her a love potion, forcing her attachment to him? Snape wasn't capable of such an abhorrent act. He saw Lily as far more than just a body; he loved her for the person she was. If carnal desire had been his primary motivation, he'd have acted back in their Hogwarts days.

Contemplating the conundrum, Sherlock asked, "Any other ideas? How about instead of saving her, you defeat Voldemort? It would definitely keep her safe, no? Only problem is that he's not called the Dark Lord for nothing, even Dumbledore couldn't kill him..."

Sherlock could see the uncertainty clouding Snape's mind. Nodding empathetically, he lightly drummed his fingers on the tabletop to snap Snape out of his introspection. "Why don't you let me help you?" he suggested lightly.

His question seemed to startle Snape, "What are you suggesting?" he managed to stammer. 

"Well, we could draw up a simple agreement first," Sherlock returned Snape's baffled stare. "As it stands, the year is 1977, meaning we have three years until the prophecy about the Chosen One is fulfilled. Let's agree that, if we can't find a way to get me back to our original timeline within two years, I have to help you in any way I can to save Lily."

Following Sherlock's finger motion, Snape's eyes drifted to the pendant box still draped around the former's neck. He recognized it as the talisman that had inexplicably transported them to their current predicament. "Time reversal exists, but no contraption has been invented capable of voyaging to the future," Snape remarked. 

Sherlock briefly glanced outside the window, the city hidden beneath the suffocating grey cloudscape. "I am aware the probability of returning is minute, next to zero. But certain things are worth an attempt, just as you deem saving Lily, despite the odds. Correct?" 

Once more, Snape lapsed into thoughtful silence, his mind a whirlpool of thoughts, unable to decide anything beyond acquiescence. Sherlock allowed him this pause, as he patiently watched the overcast canopy, waiting patiently for a response. Finally, Snape found his voice, his tone measured, and unhurried, "What are you planning to do in these two years?"

Sherlock, registering Snape's implicit agreement, rose from his chair. "Admittedly, I have no concrete plans. Our immediate priority, however, should be to secure long-term accommodations."