2 Bump

Emerging from painful darkness again, Rowan lets out a groan as she rolls to her side and touches the throbbing left side of her head. She instinctively frowns at feeling a sticky, wet metallic substance at her fingertips. Through blurry eyes, she sees rivets of dark blood running down her hand. "Here," said a gloomy but familiar voice that carefully handed Rowan a wet cloth.

Rowan automatically accepts and dabs the cloth to her aching head, wincing as the cloth touches the still bleeding wound. "You didn't have to interfere, Rowan, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," the young boy rebutted.

Rowan's midnight black, indigo eyes flash wide open to see a gloomy boy with long, stringy black hair and a straight, unbroken nose. "Severus Snape?" Rowan whispered in disbelief.

"Did father hit you that hard, Rowan?" Severus worriedly asked with a frown.

A pain in her stomach causes Rowan to instantly leap to her feet and rush across the dusty floor. Rowan slams the door open revealing a dirty toilet and sink with a mirror loom insight. Unable to reach the toilet, she hovers over the sink. Countless streams of memories flash through Rowan's mind causing her to heave the contents of her entire stomach into the dirty sink.

The painfully heaving leaves a burning sensation in Rowan's nose and throat. Trying to breathe in and out, Rowan finds that the memories of this body settle down, while the memories of another life in another dimensional plane fade away into nothing. Yet traces remain like broken glass fragments holding important past and future knowledge.

Rowan wipes her nose and mouth with her patched sleeve, before turning on the faucet as yellow like water emerges and washes the grimy sink. She glances up to gaze into the grim-covered mirror to see long raven unruly hair to her waist so dark that it is tinted indigo. The girl in the mirror is thin with less sharp features than Severus manifesting into rather androgynous features.

Rowan grimaces as her firm lips make her seem that much more masculine than she would like. Her midnight black indigo-colored eyes flutter sullenly. Her androgynous appearance would likely begin to change as she began to physically grow. However, on the left side of her head, there is a gaping wound that is still faintly bleeding, and that will no doubt leave a scar.

Rowan's eyes flicker at seeing a reflection behind her in the mirror. She turns around to face Severus and finds that she is just a tad taller if not just as slender as her younger twin brother. Feeling the throbbing ache in her head, Rowan says, "Sorry, but what is the exact date today?"

"It's June 11th, 1971. We're on summer break," Severus replied in evident concern.

"Ah, you're right," Rowan wryly answered, and as if in thought glances down at her left arm. Severus frowns at the silence and waits for a reply, but instead, she gently rolls up her sleeve to see a familiar leaf birthmark on her upper wrist.

Reassured, Rowan swiftly rolls the sleeve back down and says, "Why don't I cook us something to eat?"

"Father must have hit your head pretty hard," Severus warily concluded. "There isn't anything in the fridge to eat."

"Hmm, that's right," Rowan faintly murmured as her head feels like it is going to split open as she struggles to recall, where she had hidden five pounds away. After a minute, a dizzying image comes to mind, and she swiftly scurries back to the previous room.

Rowan kneels onto the dirty, creaky old floor and carefully pries a loose wooden floorboard. With care, she reaches into the opening and pulls out a crumpled up five-pound bill. Slamming the board back into place and shoves the five pounds into Severus's hand. "Go and buy some food before father comes back," Rowan tiredly instructed.

Severus stares at Rowan with disbelief, but a firm shooing motion causes Severus to hurry away. Rowan dizzily sits back down in the patchy, worn velvet lime green armchair and grabs an old torn phone book and pencil from the chipped lampstand. She furrows her brows trying to ignore the pounding in her head that continues to throb as she tries to recall everything she can about the world. Ignoring the aching pain in her head, she begins to jot everything in rather messy handwriting.

After a minute, Rowan lets out a pained sigh as she massages her temples and flinches at touching the sticky bump on the side of her head. "F*ck!" Rowan roared out loud as if expressing all the bottled-up emotions felt inside.

Taking a deep breath, Rowan glances back down at the messily written timeline. The good news was that technically the worst of the war would not take place during the next seven years from 1971 to 1978. However, sides were chosen during Hogwarts which would determine who fought on what side of the war. By 1978, many of those same students would die, and in the following years until 1981 when the war ended with the defeat of he-who-must-not-be named.

Rowan throws herself back into her seat and winces as her head begins to throb anew. Ignoring the pain, she begins to methodically list the pros and cons of being the twin sister of Severus Snape.

"This is a similar but not an identical world to the one known to me. Secondly, if this is indeed a parallel plane mirroring then there is no guarantee that the future will unfold in an identical manner. Thirdly, future information may not necessarily be relevant as there are scarce details in the present. But most importantly, what caused Voldemort to win in this timeline?"

"Of course, there is doubly the concern that any changes made in the present will change the known timeline. A paradox so to speak to maintain the present timeline, however, in doing so daring to risk a repeat of the known future. In other words, I am right back to where I started," Rowan sighed in frustration, before taking a deep breath to accept her complicated reality.

Stretching gently, Rowan rises to her feet lest her head begins to pound anew as the pain is now a dull ache. She knew from experience that moping about never solved anything. She bravely rolls up her sleeves and searches through the house for a mop and broom. All that she finds is a very old broom and a very stringy, dirty mop, but even so, it was better than nothing.

With a determined expression in her eyes, Rowan begins to sweep and mop the floors. Cleaning though tedious always served to clear her mind. And it was better than sulking in the worn lime green armchair.