Zayn decided to go to the Hog's Head.
Not because he wanted to.
He blamed Voldemort. Blamed the state the Dark Lord had left the wizarding world in—a smog-choked ruin of blood, betrayal, and fear.
In the original timeline, the death toll for their generation was obscene.
Lily. Himself. Regulus Black. Remus Lupin. Sirius Black. James Potter. Peter Pettigrew. Barty Crouch Jr. Bellatrix Lestrange... nearly everyone on both sides had ended up dead.
Even Gilderoy Lockhart, that fraud of a lower-year, had wound up in St. Mungo's, brain-melted alongside the tortured Longbottoms.
Only the Malfoys—who couldn't scrape together a full wand's worth of courage between them—had slithered out of the war intact.
As a lifelong Potterhead in his past life, Zayn refused to stand idle.
He wasn't just here to loiter and observe. No. He was here to flip the table. To jam a charger into Tom Riddle's cursed socket and overload the whole system.
Why bother reincarnating into this sprawling, mythic world if you're going to play it safe?
But this wasn't the time to burn bridges—not yet. Apart from the ring buried in the ruins of the Gaunt Shack and the diadem hidden in the Room of Requirement, he didn't know the locations of the remaining Horcruxes.
He slipped into an alley near the Owl Post and spotted the inn.
The Hog's Head.
A battered wooden sign hung from a rusted iron bracket above the door. It showed the severed head of a wild boar, blood seeping through the cloth wrapped around it.
The sign creaked eerily in the wind.
Zayn pushed open the door.
A thick shaft of dusty light cut the room in two—then vanished as the door groaned shut behind him.
His pupils widened quickly, trying to adjust.
The interior was dim and cramped. Thick grime coated the bulging windows; barely any light filtered through. Pools of wax slumped off half-burnt candles on rough-hewn wooden tables.
The air reeked of mutton grease and spilled firewhisky.
Most patrons kept their hoods up.
At the farthest table, clustered together, sat several familiar figures: Avery, Mulciber, Regulus Black, young Barty Crouch Jr.—the future dark flock.
Zayn had once presented Muffliato to the Death Eaters like a ceremonial offering. Now they could meet here without fear of being overheard.
The low, murmuring hum stopped the moment he arrived.
At the center of the group, lounging like a queen in a crumbling throne, sat a hooded woman with her chin raised and eyes half-lidded in a smirk.
"Why are you here?"
"I came for our shared cause."
"And you still dare show your face?"
Bellatrix Lestrange's voice curled with contempt, her lips twisted in an amused sneer.
"What am I supposed to make of that, Bellatrix?"
"What am I supposed to make of that?"
She mimicked him with a shrill laugh, rising suddenly and stalking toward him.
She stood toe to toe with Zayn, eyes burning into his.
"Sweet little Sev," she cooed mockingly, "Your friends tell me you've taken quite a liking to the stinking little Mudbloods."
"Well, compared to everything else that stinks, including the two of them—obviously."
Zayn smiled thinly, scanning her face with interest.
"I suppose I've only just realized that the world offers… finer, purer, more desirable things—"
Bellatrix interrupted with a bark of mad laughter. She laughed so hard she nearly doubled over.
"Oh… little Sev." She tucked a lock of inky black hair behind her ear, wiping at her eye.
"Didn't expect you'd fancy your big sister, did I? Pity you're late to the party."
"Yes, quite the pity. Lucius told me you married Rodolphus a few months ago."
She snorted, sneering. "Why bring up that imbecile?" she whispered.
"I'm glad we agree on that."
Zayn chuckled, voice gravelly and low.
"But compared to his idiocy, what I truly envy is his luck."
"Is that so? Well, Snape, if you want to compete with a Lestrange, it'll take more than envy."
She hissed his name slowly, lips curling like a cat savoring a kill.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared straight into his eyes.
"You've changed. It's… surprising."
And suddenly Zayn felt her presence like a dagger behind the iris, her stare coiling into him like a viper probing for a weak spot.
But something had shifted.
A veil now hung between his thoughts and her gaze.
He could choose what to show her.
Images flickered through his mind like a film reel: The Marauders' ambush. Humiliation thick as smoke. Lily's contemptuous glance. Hair falling in the mirror. Bellatrix's sculpted face. A twinge of desire…
"Enough!"
Zayn growled and staggered backward, knocking over a chair.
"Enough, Bellatrix!"
"How dare you… How could you…"
He took a deep breath, voice trembling as he turned away from her gaze.
"Silence, Severus."
She reclined once more in her chair, lazily regaining her poise.
"Sit. And tuck those filthy little thoughts away.
"Loyalty to the Dark Lord earns rewards most wizards can't even dream of."
She swept her gaze around the room.
"You all as well—He does not forget his faithful.
"Now, let us return to tonight's purpose.
"You've all finished your fifth year. I'm here to lay some groundwork for your sixth. Tonight, we begin with the Unforgivable Curses. Practice will be your responsibility…"
The candles on the table burned lower, flames shifting from gold to deep orange.
By the end of the session, Zayn deliberately lagged behind.
"For the Dark Lord's rewards, Bellatrix…" he asked slowly, "I've heard that truly loyal followers sometimes receive… special gifts."
There was a note of hunger buried in the hesitation.
Bellatrix's nostrils flared. A flush crept up her ears. She snapped, louder than before:
"The Dark Lord knows I am his most loyal servant! None can compare!"
"As a noble Black, your devotion is unquestioned."
Zayn bowed slightly, retreating without another word.
Outside, the night smelled of stale ale and old blood.
Thank Merlin for her pure-blood mania—otherwise, tonight could've gone very, very badly.
One day, he would make her kneel at his feet.
But for now, the mission had yielded no good news.
The Hufflepuff cup, if timeline memory served, had not yet been transferred to the Lestrange family vault.
He walked back to the castle under darkening skies, dined quietly in the Great Hall, then returned to the dormitory.
His freshly laundered robes were folded neatly at the foot of his bed.