Who: Lucien Prince & Atticus Drake What: During an Occlumency lesson, Atticus discovers more about Lucien than he bargained for Where: Atticus’s apartment in South Bronx, NYC When: Sunday, January 1st, 2017 Warnings: Hostile Slytherins, non-graphic references to sex. Status: Complete
Lucien had stopped hating breaks from school as much as he used to. It still meant that there was a sudden and very unpleasant halt in his studies for a handful of weeks, but for one, he had once again negotiated his way out of coming home for the entire month that he had off from school. Instead he had only come home for Christmas, because if he didn’t he would upset his mother. Not that Lucien was entirely convinced that she would be utterly devastated without him, but she was the sort of woman who liked things a certain way, and couldn’t function outside of her own expectations, and Lucien was incapable of disappointing her. No matter how angry and resentful he had been with her initially for keeping the secret of his real father from him all those years, he would always forgive her in the end. She was still his mother, after all.
Secondly, since he and Francis had started spending time together fairly regularly, that was all the reason Lucien really needed to stick around town longer. He barely even spent any time at his own apartment anymore, except when he actually needed to concentrate on his studies without the very persuasive distraction that Francis typically was, or when he needed to work on a chemistry or potions project. It wasn’t impossible to transport all his equipment to Francis’s if he really wanted to, with magic he had his ways, but Lucien never did. It was a hassell, and also an imposition. He was already imposing enough by constantly being over there, and for keeping his dog there even on the days when he couldn’t make it over. Not that Francis had complained. Lucien honestly thought he would have by now, but the man had started buying Percival cute outfits, which wasn't exactly an indication of someone getting fed up with his living arrangement.
For Lucien, he was pretty content at the moment not to bring it up, unless Francis did first. It was fairly convenient, not to mention pretty nice for him, and for the canine, for various reasons. It meant that whenever Lucien wanted to see Francis, his dog was already there too, though honestly Percival (or Percy, as Francis insisted as a convenient short name) was almost their dog now. Lucien thought he was just as fond of Francis as he was of Lucien, which he didn't mind. It was a nice little arrangement they had, that now included occasionally reading to Francis from his coveted young adult books when they weren't having a drink, playing with the dog or having enthusiastic, rough sex. Mostly good natured, aside from that one time Lucien had initiated something a little darker even for their tastes, after having a particularly bad night.
These days Lucien tried hard not to think about that night. Not because he didn’t like to remember what they did - what Francis had done to him. He’d asked for it, after all. It certainly hadn’t been healthy sex, by any means, but Lucien had enjoyed it, from where he’d been positioned, specifically because he’d wanted to be hurt. The reason he tried not to think about it now was because of the events that had taken place earlier in the night that had drove him to seek out Francis in the heat of his anger in the first place. He’d had a fight with Matthias, after finding out that the older man had been scouting him for the Resistance without telling him. He didn’t like to think about that night because Matthias was gone now. Dead, thanks to that virus, and it took all of Lucien’s energy just to not dwell on all the moments he’d wasted. The days he’d let pass him by in anger and silence before finally making amends with him. He and Matthias had been completely fine by the time he’d died, of course, but that was the thing about death.
It brought out all manner of regrets.
He’d arguably been distracted, lately, given everything that had happened. Matthias’s death had upset Lucien more than a little, though of course his feelings about the tragic event paled in comparison to what Jim must be going through. Lucien hadn’t seen or heard from his superior much since it happened, except to pass along another assignment. For the most part, Lucien had been left mostly to his own devices, which meant that he had a lot more free time on his hands than he was comfortable with, considering he was trying to keep himself busy enough that he didn’t just spend all day sulking over his dead friend. He missed Matthias’s company, which wasn’t a feeling that Lucien was used to, and he didn’t know what to do with it other than get angry, or distract himself. Since Francis was still upset over Rachel’s death, and the deaths of so many of the kids who used to frequent his place, Lucien was trying to do less of the former. There had been more kids in the club last night for New Years than there had been since the virus ravaged the reincarnate community, but it hadn’t seemed to improve Francis’s mood much.
Another good thing about breaks from school was having more time for Occlumency lessons with Atticus. Lucien had been going over there regularly since school had let out for winter break, though not as regularly as he went over to Francis’s club, but still often enough. He was learning a lot from Atticus, and he genuinely appreciated the man’s lessons. He was every bit as instructive to Lucien as Professor Snape had been to Draco, and more, and Lucien always paid close attention. Except for lately, after what happened to Matthias, Lucien had understandably been a little more distracted than usual. He still showed up to every instruction and gave it his best, but Lucien was afraid that it was perhaps even obvious to his mentor that he was a little off his game. He still pretended as if that weren’t true, though, and Atticus wouldn’t know any different since Lucien hadn’t spoken a word about Matthias to him. As soon as he arrived at Atticus’s that day, Lucien was prepared and determined to excel at today’s lesson.
A cough had settled deep into Atticus's chest by the time the virus turned to some sort of bizarre and, from what he could determine, shared fever dream, but by the time he woke from it, he'd almost wished that he'd died.
No, he didn't agree that he was being overly dramatic in the least.
By anyone else's standards, Atticus imagined that his other life, in that dream, wouldn't have seemed half bad. There was the threat of execution hanging over his head, of course, the fact that he was up to his nose in illegal activities, but in spite of that, the experience ought to have been... pleasant. He'd been working for himself, doing something that he enjoyed. He'd had a lover, and not only that, but an attractive, intelligent lover. Atticus wasn't in the habit of imagining himself involved in some sort of romance, but he could have done worse, when it came to fantasy lovers, than a clever, kind, handsome man who was willing to risk his own execution to come to Atticus's side for every stolen moment they could grasp.
The problem, of course, was that said fantasy lover happened to be someone that he knew, back in the waking world. Knew, and was forced into continued association with, because it wasn't like he could refuse Ro... Stark the Wolfsbane Potion. Not without cutting off his nose to spite his face. It was humiliation, or having an unsedated werewolf running about on a monthly basis, and while it was a difficult choice to make, in the end Atticus had decided that it was more important to make certain that the werewolf was tamed than making certain that he never had to speak to, or look at, Rowan Stark again. Not that he thought that the other man would taunt him about it. No, Atticus knew far better than that. If it had been Turner, or, Merlin forbid, Schwartz that had featured in his fantasy, they'd have mocked him relentlessly, after it was done.
Stark would be sympathetic, and that, he thought, was possibly even worse. Atticus hadn't given him room for it, yet. Not room to discuss it at all. He didn't know if Stark remembered it at all, much less in the vivid detail that Atticus did, but he didn't want to know. He didn't want to hear it, to hear whatever it was that Stark would come up with to placate him. He was well aware that he was, by no means, fantasy material for Stark. If he recalled correctly, Stark had a boyfriend (who wasn't Schwartz, much to Atticus's surprise); clearly that meant that this, whatever this was, landed squarely on Atticus's shoulders. It was Atticus's... subconscious, or whatever it was that had summoned these particular dreams out of the aether to torment them, that had decided he needed a lover, and that the lover ought to be Rowan Stark, instead of some handsome, insipid stranger.
His subconscious had also decided that Atticus needed drugs. That was less of a surprise. Oh, the fantasy drugs were different than the ones that he'd cooked and sold. Better. They didn't have any side effects, something that not even magic could make possible. He had still fallen back into their embrace, the blissful dulling of the senses, the way it seemed to uncoil something inside him that was, for the rest of his existence, so tightly wound. It wasn't a surprise, that his fantasy included being what he could only assume was the fantasy realm equivalent of a pothead. It was only a surprise that it hadn't been something harder, instead of just enough to relax him.
Or maybe that was the sex that he and Stark had been sneaking every time that Stark had been able to slip away, relaxing him.
Needless to say, Atticus's mood, since he'd awoken, had been less than pleasant, with even fewer exceptions to the norm than usual.
Yes, he was entirely aware that there were those who had suffered more. There were those who had died. There were those who had lost someone, in the virus that had preceded what Atticus had come to think of as one of the most fucked up trips that he'd ever had. That didn't make him any less enraged about the absolute bullshit that his own mind, and whatever magic had thrust them all into the bizarre shared fantasy world, had thought was necessary for him to be happy.
He did not need a lover to be happy. He didn't need to be touched. He most certainly didn't need to be loved.
And yet, there was still Lucien, and their Occlumency lessons, to be considered. Atticus wasn't about to call the bloody things off, just because his own mind was far less calm than it truly needed to be, to perfect the art. Severus could guide him well enough to perform, if not impressively, then at least well enough that Lucien would likely never know the difference. He was a beginner, after all. There was a reason that Atticus was the one teaching him. It would look even more suspicious, him calling off the lessons, the sort of suspicious that would lead a clever, curious boy like Lucien to look for the reason behind it. Atticus couldn't risk that. Not any more than he could risk Lucien getting a look inside his mind, and the newest secrets that he would keep, until the grave if he could.
He would simply have to make certain that didn't happen. It sounded like a tall order, but Severus was a master Occlumens. Atticus would keep his mind shut.
Lucien had been given the passwords that would allow him through Atticus's locks and spells long ago, near the beginning of his training. Atticus had barely hesitated, in spite of the fact that he didn't know the boy at all. This was Draco, and of course he was welcome, any time that he wanted to come. Atticus hadn't told him that, but he thought it could be assumed from the fact that he'd given Lucien complete access to his apartment. He could get inside, even if Atticus didn't happen to be home. He barely acknowledged Lucien's arrival... except by looking directly into the younger man's eyes and casting a quick Legilimens.
Lucien had lost count of the number of times that he’d been in Atticus’s apartment, now. It didn’t feel strange at all, despite the fact that he still didn’t know very much about the man aside from the fact that he lived alone, worked in a pharmacy, and he also happened to be the reincarnate of Severus Snape. That was how they’d met, after all, in an extremely hostile and awkward confrontation outside of Atticus’s place of work when he’d caught Lucien using magic on an unsuspecting muggle. They’d gotten off to a rocky start, but once Lucien knew who he was, everything changed. The man had his unconditional respect, for being Draco’s former professor and head of Slytherin House, and respect wasn’t exactly something that Lucien or Draco ever just gave out voluntarily. You had to earn it, but in the case of Severus Snape and by association, Atticus Drake, they already had their respect just for being who they were.
Their lessons were a bright spot in Lucien’s day, when he could manage to schedule the time. During the school year was harder, because of the demands of Lucien’s workload, so it was almost a relief to have the time now. A first, for Lucien, since he usually loathed being forced to take breaks from school. School had always been a healthy outlet for his intellectual competitiveness, but once he’d become a reincarnate, he’d been able to find other suitable outlets for his incessant drive to succeed. Magic was just another thing he strove to be the best at, and with Atticus’s help, he’d been improving greatly on all fronts, but especially with this.
Draco had always picked up on things extraordinarily fast. Granger might have been known for her bookishness, but Draco’s grades were just as good, if not better than hers, so people’s fascination with her intelligence had always been annoying. He’d mastered the Polyjuice Potion too, figured out how to make the Vanishing Cabinet all on his own, not to mention he’d always been an expert flyer and exceptional at Potions, among other things. Lucien had never had cause to make use of something like the Vanishing Cabinet and he hadn’t bothered with Quidditch, but he was great at Potions. Having the background of a chemistry major had only helped him in that area, and Lucien had already made one successful Polyjuice Potion.
He was secretly grateful that Atticus was taking the time to teach him Occlumency and that it hadn’t been Draco’s aunt who had taken it upon herself to give him those lessons a second time. Bellatrix was family, but there was no getting around it, she made most people in a room uncomfortable. Her reincarnate was no exception, and Lucien had already met Adrienne enough times to know that he should be grateful she wasn’t the one teaching him. He highly doubted that Atticus would be as willing to teach him any of the Unforgiveable Curses, though, so there were still some things that he might have to go to her for. That is unless he wanted to just go straight to daddy dearest, but that was a thought that still made him squirm a little.
Anyone else might have been taken back by the way Lucien was greeted, but by now he was used to the older man’s lack of hospitality and desire to get straight down to business. They’d been through enough of these lessons now that Lucien had mastered the more rudimentary skill of simply clearing his mind, making it a completely blank slate so that when Atticus cast his silent Legilimens (non-verbal magic was another thing that Lucien desired to master eventually, but he was trying to exercise some patience and work on the other things he needed to first), he wouldn’t be able to perceive any of Lucien’s thoughts or emotions. Lucien was ready for that, and did so immediately the moment he felt Atticus trying to intrude on his mind.
The real test, of course, would come when Atticus had him attempt to perform some of the more advanced Occlumency skills that they’d been trying out, such as only suppressing what the Occlumens didn’t want the Legilimens to find and therefore tricking the intruder into believing that Occlumency wasn’t actually being used. That was a skill Lucien was still only just beginning to master. Once Lucien was sure his mind was completely empty, he stepped further into the room with a small, wry smirk. “Is that how you greet all your house guests or am I just special?”
For it to have been his standard greeting for house guests, it would have required that Atticus have house guests other than Lucien, something that he was not at all interested in. It didn't count, Stark coming for his potion. Stark was less a guest, and more a matter of business, whether he was paying Atticus for his services or not. Technically, Atticus supposed, he was paying in silence, though that excuse was wearing thing, given that Turner knew about Severus now, too. He wasn't certain why he was withholding the information from Schwartz, still, except purely out of spite, for the times that the man had made it his mission to discover precisely who was lurking inside Atticus's skull. That, and the man had been enough of a pain in his ass without knowing about Severus, before Turner had stepped in and kept him in line—clearly for Schwartz's own sake, to keep him out of trouble, not for Atticus's benefit. It would be worse, after.
He supposed, if he wanted to consider the books truly balanced, he could tell himself that Stark was paying him by not turning into a ravening beast once a month and trying to rip his throat out. If Atticus was honest with himself, he wasn't altogether worried about that, near result of Lupin skipping a dose or no. As much as it infuriated him, as much as it made him grit his teeth, he trusted Stark. Implicitly. He'd proven himself worthy of it, keeping his mouth shut. It had been Atticus that gave his own secrets away, every time, without any assistance from Stark whatsoever. It wasn't as if he wanted to trust him, but Atticus was a reasonable man. He couldn't deny that someone had earned that honor forever. That was why it had been Stark who...
That was precisely what he needed to avoid thinking about, if he were to keep Lucien securely out of his own mind, in return. He'd not push too deeply into Lucien's. Not like Severus had, with Potter. He had no desire to embarrass Lucien, by any means, nor did he have any desire to see anything that the boy might have been getting up to, as far as extracurricular activities were concerned. He didn't know if there was a man in the picture or not, and nor did he need to. Unless, of course, Lucien had some need for Atticus to assist him in taking care of any problems resulting from having a man in the picture, in which case he'd do so and then consider Obliviating himself so he never had to think about it again.
For the moment, though, it was himself and Lucien, and familiar lessons, something that Atticus could take some measure of comfort in. In the midst of all the things that he didn't want to face, or consider, Lucien's company was nearly restful. Pulling himself together in order to be the teacher, the mentor, that Lucien deserved had always been easier than being that man for himself, from the very moment that Atticus had found out about Draco. Yes, Severus and Draco had their spats, their own problems, but they'd been close for far longer, the closest thing to a child of his own that Severus would ever have, Atticus thought. He refused to think of Lucien the same way, considering that the difference in their ages wasn't nearly enough to warrant that, but the fondness remained.
He returned the small smile with one of his own. "You don't want me to start quoting Moody, do you?" Clearly Lucien had been expecting it, prepared for it, though his defense hadn't been the most elegant. He'd cleared his mind quickly enough, and that was the key. Of course, he might not have fared so well, if the attack had come somewhere other than Atticus's apartment, or in some circumstance other than preparing for his Occlumency lessons. If he wasn't expecting the attack at all, would Lucien be able to counter it quickly enough? Atticus spent more time worrying about that than he cared to admit, time that wasn't supposed to be devoted to Lucien's lessons. Someone might say it had something to do with his lack of a social life. Atticus preferred to think that, as a teacher, he was simply devoted to his student's needs.
Only one student's. The rest of the little bastards could go rot, the ones that he saw acting like idiots on the boards, drawing far too much attention to themselves. Azalea, he supposed, he'd look out for a little more than the rest of them. For her sister's sake. And the Potter boy, for Lily's, if he ever happened to run into him. Not because he felt responsible for them. Not because he particularly cared about whether they were alright. No one had asked him to look out for them, for either of them. It was simply out of... respect. That was all. "Again. Clear your mind."
Lucien had been more than a little hesitant about these lessons, at first. Not because attempting to learn Occlumency itself was intimidating, but because he didn't necessarily like the idea of Atticus accidentally seeing something in Lucien's thoughts that he shouldn't. Not because he didn't trust him, obviously. Lucien trusted Atticus more than he trusted most people he'd known for years, and Lucien wasn't very trusting to begin with. There was always going to be an exception to the rule, and Atticus was clearly one of them, but still. Everyone had their limits. It wasn't really because of Snape either, though Draco wasn't exactly crazy about his former (and their current) professor and mentor seeing some of the more personal things in Lucien's head. Some things that were explicitly private, and meant for no one's eyes but his and Francis's.
It didn’t matter how comfortable Lucien had become with Francis over the months they’d known each other. The very thought of someone looking at him and recognizing him for what he was, or someone accidentally seeing him in a private, affectionate moment with another man, it nearly sent Lucien into a full blown panic attack every time. He doubted that Atticus would even care who Lucien slept with, but it wasn’t exactly something that Lucien was all that rational about. It was also something that Francis completely respected, he had never pressured Lucien to be more open about himself in public, but that didn’t make the younger man any more at ease. Maybe it was simply that after spending so many years trying so hard to hide a part of yourself, it felt impossible to stop. Lucien didn’t know how to not care if others knew him, knew him for who he really was, that he was just another angry gay kid in the closet.
So far he hadn’t actually run into this problem of Atticus getting too far into his mind and stumbling on things he shouldn’t. Lucien didn’t know if that was on purpose or not, but knowing how hard Professor Snape had been on his students, it was difficult to imagine that he would be trying not to push Lucien too far unless it was on purpose. It worked out well on one hand, because there was more than just sex with men that Lucien wanted to avoid Atticus seeing inside his head, he was also pretty keen on his mentor not getting a look at what sort of activities he’d been getting up to with the Resistance. Lucien had a sneaking suspicion that Atticus wouldn’t be thrilled, a notion that he was conscious of every time they met for a lesson. Lucien hadn’t regretted his decision to join the Resistance for an instant, but he wasn’t sure Atticus would understand. It was just better for both of them if he didn’t find out.
However, the downside to Atticus potentially keeping his distance intentionally was that after a certain point, there was no real challenge. Lucien wouldn’t be able to get as good as he wanted to be at this, if Atticus wasn’t constantly pushing him. Mastering Occlumency would only help Lucien do better when it came to his job in the Resistance, when it came to guarding his mind from potential threats and enemies who might try to take a peek inside. It was a sticky situation, one that Lucien didn’t have any of the answers to, but he didn’t want to stop coming, and he didn’t want to ask Atticus to be harder on him. That invited too many scenarios where Atticus could end up learning a lot of Lucien’s dirty secrets, and in some cases, that would mean more serious things for Lucien than being mortified at the knowledge that someone else knew he liked to have sex with men, even if it was also very likely that the other man already knew. He wasn’t presuming Atticus was stupid, after all, it was just that Lucien had never told him explicitly.
Jim, on the other hand, wouldn’t be at all pleased if he knew that Lucien was regularly allowing someone outside of reconnaissance and not affiliated at all with their organization to look inside his head. An understatement, actually, Jim would probably kill him, or have him killed if he didn’t want to do it himself. The man who ran the department Lucien worked in was for the most part a mystery, Lucien only knew what he’d observed, and from what little Matthias had told him. But he didn’t have to know Jim well to know that the man would absolutely want him killed if he knew what Lucien was doing with Atticus, and what a potential security breach it was. And since Matthias was no longer around to stop him.... Well, Lucien was done for if Jim ever found out.
Thoughts turning unexpectedly to Matthias, it threw Lucien a little before he managed to recover a few seconds later with a small frown, taking a seat in a nearby chair as he forcibly wiped those particular thoughts from his mind before Atticus could take them from him, making himself once again an empty vessel. With a renewed determination and some lingering raw emotion as Lucien felt a bit like he was still licking some wounds, he made steady eye contact with Atticus from where he sat and attempted to let some harmless thoughts trickle back into his mind. Nothing incriminating, but he tried to keep thoughts about Matthias and everything else that he wanted a secret locked away in another part of his mind where he didn’t want them to be found. He let thoughts about his walk to Atticus’s apartment and the food he’d had for breakfast slip through his mind like he was laying a honey trap, waiting to see if Atticus would push for more.
It was a delicate balance, between pushing Lucien far enough to develop his skills and not pushing so hard that Atticus would break into his mind and see something that neither of them had any interest in Atticus seeing. Delicate enough that, given his current state of imbalance, he'd likely have been better off leaving it alone entirely, insisting that they put off their lessons until he was feeling more... in control of himself. It was difficult for Atticus to admit it, that he wasn't in control. It was a state that he did his best to avoid, whenever possible. Being out of control meant slipping. Meant going back for another hit, or at least the craving for the warm embrace, the soothing lie of peace, of drugs. Meant being far more like his father than he'd like to admit, that he couldn't maintain control over his emotions, be cool, be cold. Perhaps the drugs were his mother's legacy, but the inability to separate logic from emotion, that was a sign that Atticus was his father's son that he couldn't seem to rid himself of, no matter how very hard he'd tried.
Atticus couldn't inform Lucien that he was in no fit state for the sort of work that they were doing. For many reasons. The foremost, and most important, being that this was the time that they had to work on Lucien's skills, to really push them, develop them, more rapidly than they could when Lucien needed to focus on his schoolwork. As little as Atticus had appreciated his own education, Severus was a professor, no matter how much he had disliked it, for the most part. They both understood that Lucien's school, that his grades, came first. Lucien would be better than Atticus, would end up with a better fate than pushing prescription drugs across the counter to idiots who would inevitably use them incorrectly, or stop taking them before they'd finished off all the pills and be back for the same bloody thing in just a few weeks' time. It had always been Severus's hope, that Draco would somehow end up better off than himself.
And so they had to take advantage of his school breaks to do most of their work on important skills, like Occlumency, that wouldn't be a part of his exams. Atticus would be a poor teacher if he allowed his personal issues to intrude upon the only intensive practice that the two of them would be able to manage until, at the very least, spring break. Possibly not until summer, if Lucien happened to have a particularly heavy load of assignments to complete during his spring break. Atticus was an adult; they both were, technically, but Atticus had enough years' advantage on Lucien that he felt qualified to position himself as the adult in the situation by that merit alone. As the adult in the situation, he was entirely obligated to pull himself together enough to manage to follow through on the promise he had made to teach the younger man.
Lucien, of course, was prepared, this time, for Atticus's attempt to infiltrate his mind. His next attempt was met with mundane surface thoughts, the sort of thing that could easily be on the surface of someone's mind... if they happened to be the most boring person in the world. Still, it was a start on the more complicated form of Occlumency, and Atticus would give him credit for that. He didn't get a break, though, particularly not when he was proving himself prepared for more of a push. Atticus honed in, focused on pushing further, past the surface thoughts. He imagined that Lucien's barriers would hold up to the initial testing prod of Atticus's mind, easily. The boy was a quick student, and Atticus had drilled him in this much, already. More times than he could count, over the time that they had been working together. Occlumency was an easy concept to grasp, but the mastery...
The mastery was another thing altogether. The mastery of the art of Occlumency required diligent practice. Constant practice, even, to perfect it seamlessly. Atticus couldn't even claim ownership of mastery, not without Severus's very explicit assistance. Really, not without Severus stepping in and performing the correct shielding, for him. He was ahead of Lucien, in the practice, but not by as much as Lucien likely assumed. It had been, at the very least, the push to pursue his own practices with even more fervor than he ever had before. It hadn't been much of a concern, while he was still pretending to be no one of any great importance, staying out of sight and out of mind as much as he could manage. Now, with Lucien to teach, and with his own cover... compromised, thanks to his encounter with the likely reincarnate of Bellatrix Lestrange, it was becoming vastly more important.
His next probe, past the memories of the mundane activities of Lucien's life, was far more precise. Far more pointed. There would be a weakness in Lucien's mental defenses. There always was, even in the best of them, it was simply a matter of whether the weakest spot in one's defenses was stronger than the most brutal press of the wizard attempting to invade your mind. Atticus was... better than most, already. He wasn't near Severus's level, but he was certainly above Lucien's. He wasn't certain, of course, whether he was above Draco's. Draco might have improved, since the last time that Severus had been alive to speak to him. He'd had a full life to live, after all, long past when Severus would have known him. Still, Atticus imagined that he could, if pressed, break through any attempt to occlude that Lucien made.
Unfortunately for Lucien, he wasn’t yet at an age where he was nearly aware enough yet of his real limits. Or more accurately, he was still young enough that he often chose to willfully ignore them. Legally, he was an adult, yes, but that didn’t always coincide with things like common sense. Lucien was an extremely intelligent person, no one could really argue with that. If you’ve seen his academic record that alone speaks for itself, apart from his fairly advanced vocabulary and his natural talent for science and academia in general. Still, being intelligent and being intuitive were not the same thing, especially when you were still young enough to lack experience in certain areas. Lucien was still young enough that he could easily convince himself of what he could handle, no matter how unrealistic the limit he ended up setting for himself actually was.
Were he a bit wiser, Lucien would have decided against these lessons, at least until he had more practice, enough that he felt more confident about successfully keeping Atticus out of his mind. Except that he had no alternative when it came to being taught Occlumency. Not unless he wanted to ask his biological father or his extremist lieutenant, both of which being options that Lucien felt less than stellar about. He still didn’t know what to make of his surprise bio dad being the head of the entire Resistance and also the reincarnate of Voldemort, something else that Lucien had been keeping from Atticus, mostly because he knew that the news wouldn’t be well received on Severus’s part. He had a suspicion that Robert wouldn’t care to learn of Atticus’s existence either, which is why Lucien hadn’t said a word about his mentor to his estranged, biological father, and had no plans to no matter how loyal he’d become to his father’s organization. Which meant that he’d need to get better at this in case Robert himself ever decided to try and invade his head, so despite his misgivings and lack of real options, Lucien had to continue learning from Atticus, even if he was still risking a lot in doing so.
Of course, because Lucien was still young enough to be reckless even when he knew that he shouldn’t, he created a situation for himself where he was essentially daring Atticus to test his limits. Atticus and Severus Snape were not the sort of teachers that went easy on their students, even Atticus who had no real experience at being a teacher in his own life, so it was foolish of Lucien to invite that sort of thing right now. If it weren’t for his damn pride and the fact that he was also inherently distracted at the same time, maybe he would have actually thought twice about letting this happen, but it was too late now. If only he could get his concentration back, then maybe he would have had a better chance at actually succeeding in keeping Atticus out.
After all the time he spent boasting, he really should be proving himself instead of letting his guard down, but for the life of him, Lucien couldn’t push Matthias completely out of his head when it mattered the most. Thoughts of his dead friend kept almost slipping past the barriers he'd so carefully set up, Lucien could feel it, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't free himself entirely of Matthias. Maybe because a part of him didn't want to, the part of him that was still grieving, still too raw from the loss that hadn't even happened all that long ago. Lucien couldn't say any of this to Atticus, couldn't even begin to figure out how to explain his relationship to Matthias without also mentioning the Resistance, and he'd never felt all that comfortable talking about his feeling anyway. He preferred to fuck them out, but that was Francis's job.
No, he just had to stop letting his guarded thoughts keep drifting to Matthias for two seconds and make sure Atticus didn't blow past his defenses. An easy enough task for someone else, maybe. Someone more experienced, or at the very least someone more on their game than Lucien was. He was like a wounded animal, his weak spots easily accessible. He was hurting, still bleeding out and exposed. Lucien missed his friend, and he didn't know what to do with those feelings except bury them and avoid them until he couldn't. This had been a bad idea, him coming here, because every second that Lucien imagined Atticus getting closer to the thoughts he was trying so desperately to keep locked away, he could practically feel himself tensing. Too late to back out now.
It happened too quickly. Lucien suddenly felt Atticus press more intently into a certain part of his mind and Lucien sat in horror as he realized that while he'd been unfocused, Atticus's will had started to push past one of the walls Lucien had put up specifically for this lesson. Lucien panicked, he could sense Draco start to panic, and then they both reacted in the same moment on instinct. With more force than Lucien actually meant to, with Draco’s help they were both pushing back against Atticus's mind, hard enough that Lucien didn't think he was imagining that he had started to actual slip into the cracks of Atticus's mental stronghold before he could stop himself.
It was easy, all too easy, to find the cracks in Lucien's defenses. Not surprising; Atticus had always been excellent at finding someone's weak points. His weapon had been words, before he'd become a reincarnate, and he'd been excellent at using them to rip someone to shreds. In a way, it was still words that were his weapon, or at least one word, in this face. Words and the strength of his mind, two things that Atticus had always been able to rely on, for almost as long as he could remember. There was a reason, he thought, that he'd taken to spellcasting so easily, once Severus had been satisfied that he could be trusted with a wand, that the drugs were far enough out of his system that he wasn't going to manage to kill them both through sheer stupidity. His brain had always been his best weapon, and this, spellwork, potions, was a very logical extension of that. If Atticus had been the romantic sort, given to flights of fancy, he might have decided that he'd simply been waiting for magic to become a part of his life, as naturally as it, or at least certain parts of it, had come to him once he began to study, soaking up every piece of information that Severus could give him about spellcasting.
The discipline of the mind hadn't been as easily won as some aspects of magic, but Atticus had found that he was better at Legilimency than Occlumency, more prone to attack than to defend. He pressed his advantage, pressed as hard, as far, as he could, and then... Lucien reacted. Lucien pushed him, with more force than Atticus had thought that he'd be capable of. If he'd been less startled by it, he would have recognized that it was a force born of panic, not of any kind of practice, or any sort of intention. He'd not been expecting it, hadn't been prepared for it. If he'd been working with the boy who was Potter's reincarnate, he'd have been braced for it, for that attempt to push back, to break his way into Atticus's own mind. Potter had tried far too hard to do just that, the brat, to break into Severus's mind, Severus's secrets. Severus might have been doing the same to him, but it was different. He was supposed to be teaching. Potter was just a brat.
If Atticus had been more prepared, or more practiced, himself, he might have immediately caught Lucien's mind as it started invading his, caught it and held fast, his own shields impossible to penetrate. It would have been a better demonstration of his skills, if he'd been able to stop Lucien without even flinching, without showing him that he was panicked, or bothered by Lucien's push against his mind at all. It was what he'd intended to do, when he thought ahead of time how he might respond if Lucien had chosen to intentionally try to push against Atticus's own control. The mind, however, was more vulnerable, in the midst of Legilimency. It was impossible to truly defend, when one was attacking. It was necessary to lower your guard to be able to press your advantage at all. If Atticus had been more practiced, he might have switched flawlessly, seamlessly, between the two.
Atticus was not practiced, and Lucien's mind crashed into his, into barriers fragile from his own extension into the younger man's mind. He'd been focusing on nothing in particular, no thoughts that he might have wanted to hide from Lucien, but they immediately starting surging to the forefront, an immediate panicked reaction of his own to the thought of what Lucien might find, if he delved too deeply into Atticus's mind, what he secrets might be there for his perusal. The addiction. The fact that, as much as Atticus pretended to be as much of a master as Severus, he still had a far longer way to go than he liked to admit, than he liked to show. Mostly, though... mostly, his mind went to Rowan, to that fumbled encounter in Atticus's storeroom in the fairytale that they'd found themselves in. The kisses, the petting, the fucking yearning for touch that Atticus could still almost feel. That, more than anything, he wanted to keep private.
He slammed back into Lucien's mind with even greater force than the younger man's panicked reaction, his own more practiced mind crashing through the barriers that he had already weakened, chiseling away at the weak spots in them. They crumbled, this time, Lucien's focus entirely lost in the wake of what, if it had been any other sort of art, was the type of unmitigated disaster in practice that might have led to something exploding. There were no explosions, in the art of Occlumency. Fortunate for them, because Atticus had never been involved in any bigger fuck up than this, than his undignified crash into Lucien's head.
If he'd been more practiced, more prepared, he might have pulled up short before he saw anything embarrassing, still, left it at a demonstration of force, of the fact that he could overwhelm Lucien and still maintain enough control to not do any more than that. As it was, he was plunging, unstoppable, headfirst, into the very midst of what Lucien was thinking of. Of the very last thing that he would possibly have wanted Atticus to see. It came in flashes, little bits that didn't make as much sense as they ought to have, in the turmoil of panic and reaction. He didn't have the time, the presence of mind, to make sense of them while he was still inside Lucien's head. While he was still invading with Legilimency the most private spaces that Lucien had. It wasn't until after he'd jerked away, withdrawn with a gasp, that he began making any kind of sense of them. And then... then, he couldn't decide if he wished he'd done this sooner, or wished he'd never seen it at all.
Lucien hadn't meant to push as hard as he did. It had been pure instinct, not so much stemming from any sort of real discipline or finesse. It felt sort of like when you were a kid and you got caught doing something you shouldn’t, like you were sticking your hand into the cookie jar right as your parents walked in. Lucien’s real parents had certainly never been around enough to ever catch him in much of anything, even when his mother had been around she’d never been particularly present or very mindful of him, but Lucien was still familiar with the feeling. Atticus was also certainly not his father, Lucien already had more than enough father figures both pseudo and biological to go around without adding another one to the list, but he was still a disciplinary figure of sorts. He was Lucien’s mentor, and the man in his head had been Draco’s in more ways than one, so in that moment, it really felt like he’d just been caught red handed.
There were no excuses he could make, if Atticus actually succeeded in seeing anything truly worthwhile in his head. There were no lies that Lucien could tell, nothing he could argue with when someone was seeing directly into your mind. He felt trapped, like a wild animal, with nowhere to go while someone was succeeding in slowly intruding on your most private thoughts. It wasn’t as if Lucien hadn’t known the risks, hadn’t thought many times that there was every possibility that it could happen, if Atticus pushed him too far before he was ready. Since they’d started these lessons and Lucien had slowly gotten deeper and deeper with the Resistance, he knew that he was risking a lot by continuing to come here. Maybe risking too much, now that he had the advantage of foresight. The problem with foresight was that usually you were only able to gain it after it was already too late, that is unless you were some sort of psychic, but like a lot of witches and wizards, Divination had never been their strong suit.
People weren't exaggerating when they said that the moment you really shouldn't be thinking about something, it was all you could think about, because that’s what happened to Lucien. As soon as he felt Atticus’s mind creeping around the already fraying edges of his mental walls, the only things he could think about in that moment were the very things that he most desperately wanted to keep away from his teacher. Matthias, and who he was to Lucien. Francis, and virtually anything revolving around the two of them, mostly out of a horrified sense that he really didn’t want Atticus to get any glimpses into the private time that they spent together, but also because like almost everything else in his life lately, Francis was connected to the Resistance. Which just led straight back to Lucien’s involvement in it, something he’d succeeded in keeping from Atticus entirely, a fact that he’d been proud of until this moment.
As hard as Lucien tried not to think about them, it felt impossible now, like suddenly he never had any other thoughts in his head. Which was ridiculous. He thought about lots of things that had nothing to do with Francis, Matthias, or the Resistance, all the time. The fact that his mind suddenly couldn’t handle the pressure and seemed to be under the impression that these were the only things going on in his life and in his mind was insanity, after all he still had school. But school was hardly as demanding as Lucien wanted, and nothing about it was anything he’d want to hide from Atticus, which obviously meant that it was the one thing that wasn’t currently trying its best to break through the walls Lucien had so painstakingly put into place and let Atticus find them, which just made Lucien extremely frustrated and even more panicked.
So he’d pushed. Hard. Much harder than he’d meant to, in a desperate move that unexpectedly gave him a momentary advantage that he didn’t take advantage of like he should have, like he might have had Atticus been literally anyone else. Lucien was in shock, but he was still aware of who he was in this room with, and Atticus wouldn’t appreciate it if Lucien had intentionally tried to force his way into Atticus’s mind like that. It had been on accident, but it was over as quickly as it started, Lucien not in his mind for long enough to really get anything more than a brief flash of vague images that were fuzzy around the edges, nothing that made sense to Lucien’s mind after the fact. And then, before he knew it, the tables were being turned on him and Atticus was pushing back, much harder than Lucien had been pushing. What happened next was inevitable.
In a matter of seconds, Atticus had broken through completely, and Lucien could practically feel the walls around his mind come crashing down while everything he’d been previously thinking about was very suddenly at the mercy of Atticus’s consciousness. It was the most helpless Lucien had ever felt, knowing and feeling his mind being invaded like that, unable to stop it. He was too off his game to forcibly push Atticus back out, but luckily, Atticus did that for him, and as Atticus jerked away, their mental connection very abruptly terminated, Lucien lurched back in his chair so hard from the force of the disconnect that it toppled over. He barely caught himself, only able to stop his fall and simply stumble backwards to his feet, breathing hard and angrily demanding answers, cheeks flushed pink from the unexpected encounter. “And just what the hell was that?”
There were times when Atticus regretted not growing his hair out as long as Severus's had been. There were reasons, of course, the primary one being that it was vastly more practical to have hair that wouldn't get in the way quite so often. It could still get in his eyes, if he didn't tuck it back securely, of course, but there was far less risk of it getting into substances that shouldn't come into contact with human hair, when he was making potions. It meant he didn't need to adopt some ridiculous sort of man bun, either, if he wanted to keep it tucked out of his way, a stylistic choice that he absolutely refused to cave to for the sake of practicality. With no Lucius Malfoy and his long, flowing locks to impress, it had seemed vastly less important to Atticus, trying to maintain the length of his own hair. And, as much as Severus claimed that he simply didn't have the time to bother with the charms it took to keep it neatly trimmed, Atticus was entirely certain that it had far more to do with the fact that it was a very pureblood sort of thing to do, in his generation, keeping one's hair long instead of cutting it off in a more modern, Muggle fashion.
The benefit that Atticus missed, at the moment, was being able to use it to mask his face as he thought. Tilting his head forward didn't give him a curtain of hair to hide behind, just a few strands escaping from where they were tucked behind his ears to tickle against his cheeks. It was better than nothing, though, as was the angle that made it more difficult to read any expression that might escape the iron control he was trying to exert over his own reactions. The walls around his mind were clamped down tightly, solid as iron, no pretense even at hiding behind a veil of mundane thoughts. Lucien wouldn't break through them, even if he tried. He'd never be able to discern the panic lurking on the other side of them as the bits and pieces that Atticus had found himself tangled in, inside Lucien's mind, began to arrange themselves like puzzle pieces, creating a picture that left him cold.
The Resistance. The man who was the reincarnate of the Dark Lord. Someone that Lucien was mourning, who he had felt more affection toward than Atticus had known he was capable of. A young man with an iron grip and a wicked smile. All of it tied in together, into a pretty package. He'd not gotten the whole of it, but he'd gotten enough. Lucien had involved himself in something that he shouldn't have, had thrown his lot in with a psychopath, when Atticus had been hoping... he'd hoped that Lucien would have learned from Draco's mistakes, but perhaps Lucien hadn't seen them as mistakes at all. Atticus had known that he'd not been fond of Camelot, or of the Agency, but he'd thought that Lucien was at least clever enough to know what an awful fucking idea it was to throw his lot in, once more, with the Dark Lord. It hadn't ended well for them the first time, for Draco and Severus. Severus, more specifically, but Severus had hoped...
Enough. There was no point in thinking about what Severus had hoped. That he'd thought that, perhaps, Draco would have learned, and grown, and the next time a tyrant had come calling he'd have gotten as far away as he could. It was the man, the one that he was mourning, Atticus thought. Or the young, handsome one, the one that he'd seen far more of than he'd wished to, just as he'd been afraid of if he'd happened to dip too far into Lucien's mind. Now, Atticus was wishing that an assignation with a young man was the most of what he'd seen. That it had been all there was to see, in Lucien's mind. Atticus could have handled that, as little as he'd have liked to. As unpleasant as it was to be reminded of hands on bodies, kisses, heat, especially those things in relation to a young man that he had absolutely no desire to see in a sexual light.
It left Atticus with options, that influx of knowledge, and he wished that he had the ability to freeze time so that he could think them through. They were accustomed to thinking on their feet, but this wasn't precisely the sort of information that was easy to digest, or the choice that was easy to make, with the pressure of Lucien's presence squeezing in on them. He could confront him, of course. Let him know that he'd seen enough to show him what, precisely, it was that Lucien was up to. What he'd gotten himself tangled in. He could offer Lucien a way out, offer to do whatever it took to free him from the influence of the Resistance and its insane leader... but Lucien wasn't horrified by it, by their means. That was fair. Atticus wasn't precisely horrified by the means that they were willing to use to achieve their ends. It was nothing of a surprise. Lucien, though... he felt some affection. Some loyalty, to whatever cause had drawn him to the Resistance to begin with.
He could pretend that he'd seen only a portion of the thoughts that had been flooding Lucien's mind, that he'd withdrawn before he'd seen anything that was incriminating, anything that would give away the most dangerous secrets that Lucien was keeping. Keep those parts to himself, until he'd had the chance to decide what to do about them (as if he didn't know, as if he wasn't just trying to pretend that he had other options than to turn to the enemies of his enemy to try to buy some safety for the boy). Lucien would never believe that he'd seen nothing at all. Not with Atticus's sudden withdrawal. Not with the reaction he hadn't been able to bite back. The most innocuous of Lucien's secrets, then. The one that was embarrassing, but not dangerous. Atticus cleared his throat, allowed a little discomfort to cross his face. "Mr. Prince, I would appreciate if you could tear your mind away from your love life long enough to focus on more important things."
It felt a little like whiplash, the way their mental connection suddenly broke. Like Atticus was physically ripping his mind from Lucien’s, and Lucien was left off balance and reeling from it. It was an unpleasant feeling, though not nearly as unpleasant as the sudden and rapidly growing feeling in his gut that Atticus had just seen too much. After Lucien had been so careful in all of their past sessions (at least the ones that had taken place after Lucien had started regularly participating in things that he didn’t want his mentor to accidentally find out about), it was truly unfortunate that he’d let himself slip like this, because he couldn’t do something as simple as maintain concentration. All other things aside, it was a hit to his pride, that he’d made such a stupid mistake. Lucien was usually so careful about his discretion, and the one time it really mattered, he hadn’t been careful enough. It wasn’t just horrifying, it was embarrassing.
Strangely, in the moment he was more embarrassed by that then by what Atticus could have possibly seen. Normally that wouldn’t be the case, considering just how deeply Lucien still lived in the closet. As much as it would be infinitely more terrible for the older man to find out about Lucien’s involvement with the Resistance, and all that entailed, there was a time where he still would have been more concerned about his sexual preference being revealed. Not that he assumed Atticus was some kind of idiot. Lucien had never admitted as much to him, but it was just as possible that Atticus had sniffed it out of Lucien on his own, the way Matthias had. After all, he’d spent enough time with both of them for that to be entirely plausible at this point.
There was a time where a realization like that would have sent Lucien into a tailspin, feeling like he’d been found out. Even when he’d realized that Matthias had made his own (and naturally, correct) assumptions, there had been a momentary, mostly internal panic. Maybe the only reason he hadn’t completely come undone is because he’d been with Francis at the time, and entirely preoccupied with the possibility of an illicit hookup, which ended up happening not even twenty minutes later. All things considered, not one of the things Lucien ended up regretting, but his easy acceptance of Matthias knowing his secret wasn’t the life changing turning point that it maybe should have been. Maybe because Matthias already had his trust, despite their minor set back after Lucien discovered the truth about what Matthias had been doing with him, or maybe it was easier to accept it when you knew the man who found you out was just as gay as you were.
Lucien was still just as in the closet as ever, and now Matthias was dead. In some ways it almost felt like any personal progress Lucien made had died with him, he was still just as closed off, just as damaged. That never seemed to bother Francis, so Lucien was even less inclined to do something like actually change. He was who he was, and Francis was who he was. They fit, the two of them, maybe because they were both damaged, but Lucien never spent too much time wondering why exactly they fit together so well. He was content in their arrangement, but he was still in the closet. Had today been any other day, in any other situation, Lucien would have immediately spiraled at the prospect that Atticus had figured out his big gay secret, but in the moment it only phased him enough that when asked to keep his love life to himself, Lucien’s cheeks flushed a deep scarlet color and for once in his life, he was completely speechless.
He should have been able to come up with something. Anything. Part of Lucien was just mortified that Atticus and Severus had seen him with Francis, and considering the sort of things he and Francis usually did together, it was highly unlikely that it’d been anything approaching tame, whatever Atticus had seen. Another part of Lucien almost couldn’t believe that it was the only thing Atticus had seen, though it would make his life a lot easier if that were true. Being naturally paranoid and untrusting, Lucien was skeptical that it could be that easy. Of all the things that Lucien had been so relentlessly guarding inside his head, that was the only thing Atticus had seen when he’d blown right by Lucien’s mental walls? It was almost too good to be true, but he wasn’t stupid enough to draw attention to the fact that there had been more to see.
As much as a more self-destructive part of Lucien wanted to grill Atticus about what exactly he’d seen, he held back, mostly out of self-preservation than anything else. Instead he avoided the subject entirely, and simply regained some composure, the color in his cheeks fading to a light pink as he straightened up in his posture and held his chin high, almost in defiance before he stubbornly bowed his head briefly in a sign of respect. “Sorry, sir,” Lucien apologized stiffly. “It won’t happen again.” And it definitely wouldn’t, if Lucien had anything to say about it.
Atticus hadn't been certain if Lucien would accept his pretense, or not, but... perhaps Lucien was accepting it because he wanted it to be the truth. That seemed just as likely as him actually believing that Atticus had only seen that one small sliver of information. Of course, Atticus would have to be very, very careful, in the future, since he imagined Lucien would be looking for any sign that he had, in fact, caught more. Atticus would be, at least, if he were in Lucien's position. At the moment... Atticus would assume that Lucien most likely wanted to believe that he'd only seen the embarrassing bits, not the dangerous ones. If he knew how much Atticus had seen...
As much as he'd like to, Atticus didn't flatter himself enough to think that Lucien would choose to remain loyal to him over the Resistance, when it came to the consequences of Atticus having full knowledge of what it was that Lucien was doing for them. If it became obvious that Atticus knew that Lucien was a member of the Resistance, particularly gathering intelligence for the Resistance, it was a near certainty that Atticus would be dead. It was still possible, given the circumstances, that Lucien would decide that he was better off being safe and taking care of the problem before anyone else even knew that there was a potential problem at all. Atticus didn't think so. Draco hadn't been a killer, as much as he'd wanted to pretend that he was. He didn't think that Lucien was any more bloodthirsty than Draco, when it came to it.
To give them both a moment to regain their composure, after that, Atticus cast a quick, silent accio to fetch his cigarettes and lighter. He could have, of course, lit the cigarette with his wand, and been much quicker about it. The familiar ritual of lighting it the Muggle way, though, gave him a moment longer to pretend as if he were concentrating on anything other than the unwelcome facts he had discovered about Lucien.
He would have to take precautions, now. He couldn't remove Lucien from his wards. That would give away far too much; there was no reason to remove Lucien from his wards simply because he knew the younger man preferred to engage in rather rough sex with other men. Well. Unless he played the part of the homophobe, but he'd already considered that it was likely that Lucien realized that Atticus was queer, as well, and while there were self-hating homosexuals, that was not a stereotype that Atticus preferred to embrace even for the sake of a cover. That would be the fastest way to ensure that Lucien pulled away from him, as well, acting as if he were somehow uncomfortable, or unhappy, about the boy's sexuality.
Changes in them, however, to wake and alert him the moment that Lucien crossed them, even if he happened to be asleep, that was entirely different. No one else was welcome in without knocking on the door so that Atticus could take them down and let them inside, anyhow. It would be a simple matter to change the alert from something general to something more... alarming. And then... and then, he would have to find the sort of allies that could help him. That could help Lucien, if Atticus could gently persuade him that the Resistance's goals weren't worth the price that Lucien would, inevitably, be asked to pay. Then, he would have to make a deal of his own.
Atticus took a long, slow drag, held his breath a moment before exhaling the smoke in an equally long, slow stream. For now, it was important that he continue as if nothing had happened, as if nothing were wrong but a but of embarrassment. It was the only way to save himself, and to keep Lucien close enough that Atticus might have a chance at saving him, too. "Again."