Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of paper long since forgotten echoed through the attic, which held within its walls many, many sins. The small boy with thin arms and legs, pale skin, and dark slick hair, sat on the dusty wood floor, entranced by a book beyond its time. With yellow pages and a ripped cover, a relic, a survivor of the 'purge' that was once held in his household. One of the few things the boy's mother was able to save.

She could not save many things from her husband's wrath, the boy noted sadly. Among those were her most precious wand, several books, her potion kit, and other magical items. Memories of a better life, dare he thought, all burned and destroyed. Nothing survived except this book and her legacy, which his father could never erase.

The boy, a five-year-old who, though he tried, could not understand much of the book in his hands. He wanted to read, he wanted to learn. He earned the right to know, no matter what his father thought. And his mother, his dear mother, was forbidden to share much of anything though she tried. So, young and naive Severus Snape sat alone in the freezing October night up in the attic, reading a book about old magical folklore, while not understanding a thing and looking at the gory and scary pictures.

He wasn't scared, though. You know what to expect from monsters such as these. Huge claws and teeth, the bodily harm that comes with the animals they are.

No, no. The real monsters are the ones we can't distinguish between us. The ones we look at and see nothing to be afraid of, or what they could do. The ones with the animals within, ready to claw their way out and hurt anyone around.

His father was like that. His monster liked to get out and play after a few drinks.

Severus was startled out of his thoughts by a soft thud. He looked up to see the figure of his mother making her way amidst the cardboard boxes, tidying up the one she let fall. She looked at him with a soft smile, one she reserves for him every time he asks about the magical world or anything of that matter.

She sat by his side without saying a word, staring at the book in his hands with such longing Severus had to look away. His eyes trailed down to her bruised arms, now more prominent than ever, and flinched guiltily.

His father had just taken a number on her over something Severus said. He wanted to go out trick or treating with the neighbourhood kids this year—they invited him, even. But Tobias, his father, wanted nothing of it.

"You let him go with those kids now, Eileen, and soon enough he'll come back with a scoundrel in one arm and an impregnated harlot in the other."

"How could you say that?" Eileen asked in complete and utter shock. "He's only five! They’re all just kids!"

"You run away from home fairly young, did you not, dear?" He sneered.

"To marry you—!"

"To take advantage of me! My life, my money, that oh so-called freedom! Using excuses to hold me in, do you remember? Coming crying to me with a hernia claiming to be a child—!"

"You put him there!" She screamed in outrage.

"Don't throw that on me! You were the one to open your legs, you whore—"

And the rest was history.

He fled to the attic before it could escalate back to him.

She looked at his troubled expression, and her smile softened even more. Severus didn't know how his mother could do it, especially after another beating. Severus himself only stopped crying with the pain quite recently to not instigate Tobias further.

Eileen leaned down, grabbed the corners of the book from his hands and placed it in her outstretched legs, giving an angle so Severus could see the pages as well.

"Ah, yes. I remember this one," she said softly. "Father used to read some of these stories to me when I was your age. Imagine going to sleep after hearing about a cannibal woman living on a chicken legs house, or a black hound that guards cemeteries," She chuckled. "I had nightmares until the day I left the house." Severus giggled at that.

She flipped the pages trying to find something specific by the looks of it, coming to a full stop somewhere in the middle. He peered at the drawings and frowned. For all the terrifying images previously seen, these were cartoonish in comparison. A cloaked figure with a scythe held on their shoulder; a man smiling; some wolf-thing, not quite a werewolf. All in a children's book style, which was odd.

"This one was my favourite growing up." She adjusted herself more comfortably on the floor. "Know by muggle culture by many names. Reaper, Shinigami, Yanluo, Memitim, angel of death... creatures sent by death itself to harvest the soul of the ones whose time has come, terrorizing muggles for centuries with the lure of death. But to us, magical folk, they are known as Shadow Walkers.

"They aren't quite what the muggles think they are. They don't just appear out of nowhere to take someone's soul away because Death said so, no. They are the ones lurking in the corners, looking to extract the souls of the living to satisfy their endless chase for a soul to keep, only to be hollowed again. Travelling by the shadows, their victims, without their souls, becomes Shadow Walkers just as well."

The pool of his mother's gentle voice, even though voicing terrifying tales of monsters in the shadows, could not make Severus happier. She loved reading to him, and he loved hearing her narrate.

"The Shadow Walkers are known to change into anything they desire—from your worst fear to a friendly cat and a monster consecutively, all in the hopes to get to you. But fret not," she looked at her son with a small grin, as if comforting him from the danger. "For Shadow Walkers have a distinctive feel to their magic that alerts any magical folk of their presence. One easily recognisable."

Severus had a glint in his eyes that told of excitement. "What feeling?" He whispered.

"I don't know," his mother whispered back, smiling. "I never met a Shadow Walker, and the book only says: you will know when you met one, which is ridiculous if you ask me. How should I know? And why should I care? It's just a book of old tales, not one to depict real magical creatures."

His eyes dulled. "It's not real?"

His mother smiled. "No. You see these drawings?” She showed the cartoons he had noticed earlier. “They are drawn this way because there's no Shadow Walker to base from. After all, they don’t exist. Just a story someone invented and got out of hand, I suppose. The author must have seen a Dementor and wrote from there."

Severus peeked up at the mentioned Dementor with another interested glint and Eileen laughed wholeheartedly before explaining the existence of the foul creature.

Severus wasn't afraid, sitting on the attic floor, hiding from his father, with his mother by his side, reading to him.

He took on his mother's words as gospel and never doubted, then and there, now and never, that she was lying.

Growing up he learned to deal with the danger in the shadows. It was never a Dementor or a Shadow Walker, the ones who would instigate fear. They were always humans.

He learned to stopper fear, bottle up emotions, to hide behind a mask. All in the hopes to survive another day, another time.

Severus would always remember his mother's words when paranoia was too much to bear. It's not real, just a story.

History is written by the victors, and Severus wished for the longest time he could turn the misery in his life into a story, just like those his mother used to read. At least then, he would know he won. Just then, it would be just a story.

But alas, Severus could not, for his story had come to an end, after all.

Green eyes stared down at him.

To Severus, who always thought he would meet his demise by a well-planned Avada Kedavra, this was the next best thing, the emerald green.

He gave away his memories, a testimony of his actions and a tale of his story to the boy, then. He couldn't linger any longer to know what would be by the end. If there was victory on the horizon. He could only send silent prayers that he would be allowed rest, for once.

Severus closed his eyes on the deprecated shack's dusty floor, just like the one from his childhood attic, hoping for peace to finally welcome him.

Only to open them a second later to an all-white place that had absolutely nothing as far as his eyes could see.

He was lost. Lost of words, lost of being, maybe even lost to the world, he couldn't tell. He knew he died, just not where death would lead him.

For the very first time since he was five, he wanted to cry.

"Those are very depressing thoughts, Severus." A voice easily recognisable ceased his attention.

Severus turned abruptly, the type of movement that would crack his joints had he been alive, though now he felt nothing. No pain, at all. And right there, just a few meters away, casually standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, stood Harry Potter.

"Harry—" Severus' voice cracked. What was Harry doing in the afterlife? Had something happened after he passed away?

"Easy, easy," he drawled. "I'm not the same Harry you know, from your world. The one who watched you die. No, no," he shook his head. "I'm the original one, the first if you will. Well..." Harry kicked his feet as if tossing gravel around. "The first to become what I am, anyway."

Severus processed that. "Become what?"

Harry smiled. "The Master of Death, of course."

Severus stared, wide-eyed. He opened and closed his mouth but no sound ever came forth.

"Don't worry, Severus," Harry smirked, and oh, was it peculiar to hear the boy calling him by his giving name. "You're not in the afterlife. Well, not yet at least. I wanted to talk to you first, toss some ideas around, and see what you think before sending you on your merry way."

Severus stared some more before relating, composing himself the only way he knew. Square shoulders, imposing figure, blank face. Harry's smile turned a shade fond at that, which threw Severus on a whole new down spiral, though his expression didn't show.

"Relax, Severus. I'm just happy to see you again." Admitted Harry, smiling like the sun. "Last I've been to the world of the living; you were dead a long time ago."

Severus hummed, uncomfortable. "You said this isn't the 'afterlife', as you say. Then, where am I?"

"The Between," Harry's face was as serious as it could get while still looking like a seventeen-year-old. "Or at least, I call it that. It's the place, like the name says, between the world of the living and the dead. It used to not have a name though, so it just let me name it."

"'It' let you?"

"Death, yeah. Surreal, I know, but it is what it is." He shrugged nonchalantly.

Severus' face took on a pained expression without his permission. "Harry—"

He grinned. "Hey, don't worry about me. I'm much older than you could fathom, and although I admit having a hard time accepting the title in the past, now it's just who I am, nothing less, and nothing more." He clapped his hands suddenly, startling Severus. "But this isn't about me; it's about you, yeah? Come, have a sit." He waved his hand in a direction where a small coffee-shop round table and two chairs appeared. On top of it, a tea set and some ginger biscuits waited.

They sat facing each other. Harry in his green-checkered vest, a white button-up shirt with long sleeves and a pair of silver cufflinks, adding excessive amounts of sugar cubes to his poor tea. And Severus, hands flat on the table, not taking his eyes away from the boy, or eldritch being, or Death personified in front of him.

"It's rude to stare, you know? Also, take some tea, would you?" Harry commented.

"Whatever you've done to your tea is also rude in my book, but that's beyond the point," Severus shoots back. "Be done with it. I want to rest."

Harry tutted, not disapprovingly though, almost fondly, and it made Severus' eyebrow twitch in annoyance. "Tut tut, Severus. Everything comes to him who waits, don't you think?"

"I'm dead, Potter. There's no waiting."

"You're dead, Severus. And yet, here we are," he smiled. "There's no 'getting rid’ of souls, sending them to rot away on an illusionary paradise, the muggle way of thinking. You know what I mean," he stated. "The world is all about recycling. Souls from different timelines jump from here and there, bringing new life and ending others," he nibbled on a biscuit. "It's up to the person they once were if they want to keep being dead or move on to a new adventure. And even if they stay, the option to go still exists."

Severus frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm just informing you, there's no rest, as you said. Just a moment to not live, maybe converse with other souls while at it, though you won't remember anything once you're alive again. I'm the only one who can remember completely. Well..." He looked to the side. "Sometimes a pesky soul remembers a bit of who they were, but that's only because someone—" he said to the room. "Get things mixed up, sometimes." He smiled innocently as if he didn't just jab at someone else's work.

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Someone—?" But he could not finish his sentence. A presence, colder than any winter yet warmer than a thousand suns, dreadful, the feeling of death—and he would know since he died, after all—crawling at your skin, stealing all you have to live for, suddenly befell over their heads. Severus shivered violently. He could not help it. All in him, himself even, rejected that feeling like oil to water.

Harry had the gall to smile broader, showing too many teeth. "Someone." That was all he had to say.

However, he understood. Harry was talking about Death itself.

"My old friend can't get to us here, in the between, but it sure tries whenever it wants to," he sipped his tea. "Don't worry, Severus. Death already took you. It has no reason to get to you once more. Breathe a bit, and take your tea."

"Breathe a bit,” Severus repeated shakingly. “The irony of a dead man breathing, least fearing for his life.”

Harry chuckled. “Indeed.”

They waited for a few minutes. Severus prepared himself a cuppa to occupy his mind out of the sensation of Death hovering above his head. He tried with no sugar, before almost gagging with the taste of dead leaves. Guess they don’t have good taste in the afterlife, after all. He added two sugar cubes to be reasonable, though, in the end, it tasted the same. Harry just smirked the whole time, the bastard.

“So,” Harry started. "Are you ready to talk?" Severus motioned with his hand for him to continue, a motion that said 'about time' in bright bold letters. Harry chuckled again before sobering. "I have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?" Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"It's about your life, the world and the people you left behind, besides a task, of sorts, that needs tending to. And before you think I'm prying into your life, for the record, there's nothing about you I don't know already. Even the things you don't remember, yourself. It's one of the perks of being the Master of Death, there's no soul I don't know about."

Severus felt both relief and dread coiling in his stomach. He already knew he wouldn't like the 'proposition' Potter would offer.

"Humor me."

"I want you to go back in time and fix some things for me in that world you left behind," Harry said bluntly.

"No," Severus deadpanned.

"I haven't finished yet," Harry chuckled while Severus huffed. "Do you know, Severus, what dark and light magic mean?"

"Dark Magic involves corruptive spells, potions and rituals to cause harm, excel control over, or kill an individual." He said without losing a beat, in his professor's voice. A rehearsal of words he had to say time and time again in both mind and body, for himself or his students. "Light magic resumes to anything else, in that regard. What does this matter?"

"You see, Severus," Harry ignored his question. "That's quite not true."

Harry got up from his chair and started pacing behind it, a hand to his chin. "Those nomenclatures of 'dark' and 'light' were translated from the old language, one taught to humanity once they were allowed magic when the first witchzards were born. Those humans learned what magic was, and what it wanted to be, and taught their children, and grandchildren, and the cycle never ended." He stopped, looking at Severus. "What they learned back then changed with the flow of time.

Harry approached the table once more, leaning in both hands. "What happened, Severus is that empires were built and fell. Languages were invented and lost. Witchzards, once hunters, were hunted and then they hid from the world for good. We grew in our knowledge of magic and, in turn, turned a blind eye to what magic is. Magical folk twisted what magic was supposed to be to fit their new reality.

“There is no 'dark' and 'light' magic." He finished expectantly.

Severus absorbed that information. Could it be his obsession with the supposed 'dark arts' when he was younger wasn't unreasonable, after all? As childish as it looked?

Harry smiled a knowing smile at him. "You loved magic above all, not only the ones 'dark'. That passion and unadulterated will to learn and accept any kind of magic that made me choose you to sit for tea and hear me, in the end."

"But... if we learned it wrong..."

"What were spells and such supposed to be classified as?" Severus nodded. "Good question." Harry sat back in his chair. "Magic was once labelled relying on where it derived from. For example, a spell that used the magic around its caster—let's say, an Aguamenti where it absorbs the moisture in the air—was known as Nadidus. Na from Nature—nature—and didus from Candidus—white or light. Also known as magic of the world." Harry explained, smiling to himself with the glint in Severus' eyes. Even as an adult, almost forty-year-old, he never lost his inane love for magic. "While, as in spells which relied on the caster’s own magical core, their souls, intent, and or memories—the Patronus charm, for example—were known as Intenebre. In from intus—within—and tenebre from tenebris—darkness." He chuckled. "There laid the mistranslation, I suppose."

"The light of nature and the... darkness within?" Severus queried intrigued.

“Purity of nature and the tinted desire within,” Harry replied. “Magic wasn't easy to bend to our will back then. The only reason we can control it better now is thanks to the millennium of years we've had it since. In my case, because of Death." He downed his tea, refiling it right after.

Severus sneered in disgust at the tea. "And whatever have I to do with all of this?"

Harry sipped his tea. "Everything," he said. “It’s required information for the task ahead of you.”

“You’ve spoken of this... task,” Severus mused. “But have not explained it.”

“I have! You said no to my face.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You told me of going back and fixing things like a child who cannot deal with their own problems, and you expected me to agree?” He glared.

Harry dared smile sheepishly. “No. But you gave me no time to explain.”

“Explain it, then!” Severus exclaimed.

Harry laughed. “Ay, ay captain.” He sipped his tea once more. “The world you came from is ending. Well, dying would be more precise.”

Severus stared blankly.

“There’s a fine balance between Intenebre and Nadidus magic, you see? The magic of the world and the magic of the rest of us residing in it. In a perfect world, people care not for the type of magic they use, as long as it is magic they are dealing with, which satisfies the balance just fine. However, as you can guess when people ban and prohibit certain practices due to prejudice—with no reason apparent, mind—and twist the true nature of spells, potions and the lot, all in a feeble attempt to control the magic witchzards can use... it’s not hard to speculate the magnitude of the problem.”

“What? People can’t use a couple of spells and suddenly the world is ending?” Severus scoffed.

Harry smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, is much more than that.” He placed his cup back on the saucer. “Cleansing rituals to rid the mind and body of diseases such as cancer; spells and practices rooted in nature and the nirvana itself, bringing prosperity to the people and lands; entire ecosystems codependent of witchzards maintenance, and don’t even get me started on the eradication of the ‘outlandish’ branches of magic that ‘deviate' from its originality. Pah!” Harry scoffed. “Atlantis didn’t deserve to drown because of techno-magic, damn it!” Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply to calm down. “Anyway. We were rid of a huge part of what brings magic to our world. Intenebre or Nadidus, it never mattered to those wishing to supervise and control the use of magic. Not only in Britain but the whole wide world. It just so happens, out of all places, the British Isles are, considerably one of the worst.” Harry messages his temples. “It's just... so much misinformation.”

Severus felt uneasiness in the bottom of his stomach, then. “Harry... what are you asking of me?” He could not quite stop the dread from sipping into his words.

Harry looked up. “Relax, I’m not asking you to bring back all of those practices and spells. You're only one man, and that would be impossible.” Severus relaxed slightly at that. “I am, though, asking you to return a few years in the past, not long ago, somewhere in your teenager years, so you can take care of a problem.”

He tensed anew. “What?”

Harry smiled apologetically, sitting back in his chair. “Do you know what Voldermort did to keep himself immortal?”

Yes, Severus knew. He was never told, however. Hints by the Dark Lord himself, Dumbledore's game with the boy's life, and later, the man's memories were more than enough to comprise. He threw himself into his research after the old cot’s bold words about Harry's sacrifice, seething from head to toe, to find a single word.

“Horcruxes.” He said simply.

Harry shivered. “Indeed. The git parted his soul into little pieces and attached a good chunk of himself to a bunch of items across Britain. He messed with a domain he shouldn’t have—our domain, souls in general—and that just isn’t acceptable.” He sighed. “The point is: can you see how this is harmful to the magic and the world?”

Could he? “You're failing me.”

“A mortal playing God, in the land of the living, whose goal revolved around extinguishing all muggles, embedded in prejudice and misery.” Harry sipped his tea as if discussing the weather. “That would destroy magic.

Severus opened his mouth, but Harry beat him to it. “Magic is sentient. Ever heard of Lady Magic? Though she does not exist, magic in itself is alive. Everything has magic, even muggles, even animals and plants. All is magic. The world is magic. And you tell me, Severus, how would magic react if such tragedy as the extinguishing of all muggles were to succeed?”

“Did he win? The Dark Lord, I mean.” Severus asked suddenly.

“Not in my timeline. Not in yours either.” Harry replied honestly.

That caught Severus off guard. “T-then why—?”

“The after that worries me.” Harry knocked on the table two times, demanding attention. “Dark Lord defeated, Death Eaters on the run, the ‘light side' won. What’s next?”

“I have a feeling you'll tell me.” Severus deadpanned.

Harry smiled. “The Purge happened.”

That word, one simple word and Severus understood. He experienced once, in his childhood home, when magic was no longer welcomed—not that it ever was. The burning, the breaking, the erasing.

“Indeed,” said Harry sadly as if reading Severus’ mind, and maybe he was considering the conversation so far. “Magic deemed not fit to witchzardkind was rid of and made forbidden. Creatures all over the world—humans such as werewolves, and endangered species such as basilisks—were killed left and right with excuses of peace. Eventually, it escalated to war against all muggles.” He shook his head. “We had no tyrant, but his legacy remained.

“Nadidus prevail, as many of the spells still allowed were of that sort. Intenebre suffered greatly with the abandonment of its people. The darkness that enhanced the light ceased to exist at some point, you could say, and with the death of muggles and witchzards alike during the war, the scale tipped too far and caused magic to collapse in itself. And, since everything has magic, and the world is magic, the world died with it.”

Severus sat processing all of what Harry just said. Staring at the boy-eldrich-being, drinking dead-leaf tea. “And you want to send me back, before his defeat, to make sure he dies earlier? Is that what this is?”

“Well....” Harry drawled. “Yes, in a way. The next generation, sorry, my generation can keep the peace without being influenced by Voldemort's war. However, I fail to see how said generation would learn the ways of the ancient magic by themselves in such a scenario...” He trailed off, sipping loudly while staring at Severus.

Then it clicked. “You want me to teach them?” He asked incredulously. “You want me to be the second coming of bloody Dumbledore!?”

Harry quickly threw his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t say that. Dumbledore, just like anyone else, doesn’t know about magic as I explained to you. He was as prejudiced against dark magic as purebloods are with muggle-born.” He defended quickly. “I need you to be an important figure to pass on your knowledge, not a manipulative, self-sacrificial git.”

“Oh, but that’s great,” Severus said sarcastically, sneering in rage. “You just want me to be the fucking messiah of your divine task!”

“I’m no God, so no, technically.” Harry tried.

“What's next, after I finish establishing the balance between your light and dark, huh?” Severus threw himself up, knocking the chair over. “Fasting for forty days in the desert!?”

Harry recoiled back on his chair, smiling nervously. “...That wasn’t the messiah; that was Jesus.” He said slowly.

“Who cares!? No, I won’t do as you ask. I refuse to be used again!”

“All right, so be it, then,” Harry switched to a calm expression on a heartbeat, refilling his tea.

Severus froze. “What?”

“It's your choice, Severus, not mine. If you don’t want to, I won’t force you.” He smiled reassuringly.

Severus heard the telltale of his chair flipping back up by itself, and sat heavily. The man sighed in relief.

“Though I am surprised you didn’t jump to the opportunity to go back, all things considered.”

Severus pinched his nose. “And why, pray tell, would I ‘jump to the opportunity', as you say?”

“Lily,” Harry said without losing a beat, sipping his tea once again.

Anger bloomed in Severus’ heart. “For someone who called Albus Dumbledore a, and I quote: manipulative git, you sure don’t deviate much.” He said through clenched teeth. “What, you want me to watch Lily die again?”

“I'm asking you to go back so you can stop exactly that, did you know? If you kill Voldemort earlier, he will never kill Lily. If you become an influential person, you could rival Dumbledore. Heck, kill him if you want, as long as the magic is balanced and you're happy, all is fair in love and war.”

“So, that’s it? You think I'll accept this proposition just to save Lily?”

“You? Yes,” Harry pointed out and Severus felt annoyed that he couldn’t oppose that statement. “You haven’t accepted yet because of the ‘catch.’ Bloody Slytherin to the soul.” He smiled fondly. “I’m not lying, Severus. Reestablish the balance, share your knowledge of ancient magic, and you can be whatever you want. Be the next Dark Lord if you want. Be a different lord altogether. Your only requirement is to not exterminate life on earth, otherwise, it’s counterproductive, don't you think?”

“You keep talking about this knowledge that I need to share with the world, but how one does that when they, themselves, have no clue what the hell that is!”

Harry grinned. “You see, if you wish to accept my offer, the process to send you back won’t be instantaneous. It takes time to rewind... time” He chuckled. “From which you can revive some moments of your life or choose to ignore it all while it happens. Let’s say, I put you back a little bit more than twenty years past when you were a teenager. Twenty years is not much for me, but mortals such as yourself? That’s a lot. While we wait, I could show you all about the ancient magic, and magic in general—the ones long since forgotten.”

Severus hummed. He felt tired, defeated like never before. Balancing the magic of the world? Becoming a beacon of knowledge long forgotten? It’s too much. He’s only one man, a broken one at that. A selfish one, who wished Lily had survived that Halloween night instead of her son. A bad man, who shunned said child for looking too much like his father. A coward, even, who joined headfirst into the waiting arms of the Dark Lord when life became too complicated to bear. Jokes on him, though. Severus only started to fall after taking on the mark.

Harry's eyes softened. “If you go back, you can change all of that. Call it whatever you want, Severus. Divine quest, Lily's rescue... in the end, it’s your second chance. No matter who you were, you can always do differently if you try. I choose you, Severus Snape because throughout my first and then later lives, I always regarded you as one of the bravest men I’ve ever known. I trust you with this because I know you can.”

Severus tried to reject the idea altogether. Going back and redoing everything he has been through? All the misery and pain? Watching as he fails once again and everything crumbles around him? Who in their right mind would do such a thing with a life like his?

And yet...

Yet, the retrospect of seeing Lily again, alive, well, happy. Of being friends once again, his family, his sister... of seeing his mother again, maybe even saving her from his father's wrath. Thinking about all the families he could save from Voldemort, all the people. Saving a world.

Shit, he’s already accepting it. Severus will have to save the world.

Damn it, all!

Harry laughed warmly with Severus’ inner acceptance, receiving a glare for his troubles. He clapped his hands again, the cufflinks on his sleeves glowing eerily. “Well, since we're on the same page, there’s no need to delay our twenty-or-so years rewinding your life, shall we?”

“Wait!” Severus called before Harry could move. Those green eyes settled on him once more. “Do I have any advantages or you'll just throw me to the wolves?”

Harry blinked. “You could always ask for help from your fellow humans, I should say. Recruit some people, make an army if you want, etc.” Harry said. At Severus’ annoyed expression he added. “But, yes, you have some tricks up your sleeves. Or will have them when I’m done with you. And I’m not referring to the ancient knowledge either, though you'll have that going on for you, as well.”

Severus arched an eyebrow suspiciously. “What tricks, exactly?”

“Oh, you know, the basics to someone going back in time—and alive—to fix some errands. Mage Sight, so you can monitor magic closely. A slight change to your magic and magical core since you died...” Harry went silent for a while, just staring at Severus. Severus, for his part, grew uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “...and, might I add, by following through with my request, you’re tieing yourself to me, and consequently to my employer, Death.” He stated. “That comes with its own set of benefits.”

“Which are?” Severus asked, trepidation curling around him.

Harry grinned like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse. “Like, for example, becoming one of its Shadow Walkers!”

Severus' eyes went wide. “Death’s what!?”

“Too late, you already agreed!” Harry clapped his hands more forcefully, cufflinks glowing brighter until they could not see anything else other than the light.

“Potter!”

Too late, indeed as the once-boy-now-eldritch-being-turned-master-of-death yanked him into a frenzy of memories and pain. Everything went to shit in the blink of an eye.

Severus thought getting the mark felt like selling his soul to the Devil, once. He was wrong. This! This is selling your soul to the Devil. Literally!

Chapter Text

Severus slowly opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling atop, running his eyes over the bricks and their cavities, noting their dampness and the slowly but surely creeping algae that spoke of nearby water. He found himself plotted down on a comfortable poster bed, under a cotton blanket. The curtains were drawn shut, painting his surrounding in soft green hues as he heard quietly snoring around him.

He breathed deeply, storing as much air in his lungs as possible, before releasing it with a soft, almost silent, sigh. He repeated the process until he became lightheaded, before sitting up. It seems everything's in order with his teenage body, though it would take a while before it could fit his soul entirely.

He was finally here, after years of watching his own life rewind. He was back at Hogwarts, his dormitory. As a student, no less.

He clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling the muscles and his death-touched magic thrilling under his skin. He could just about see, through the sight of a mage, the dark emerald green tendrils flowing at his will. He felt human for the first time in a long while though, technically, he was human no longer.

His soul—the one of a Shadow Walker's—pulsed, and he breathed again. He had a long time to get used to the idea of who, or rather what, he is. At this point, he's more accustomed to the feeling of Death than anything else.

However, being alive again was exhilarating, he would admit.

First things first, Severus grabbed his wand from under his pillow—because even then, in the past before the war, Severus had reasons to keep himself guarded—and cast a silent Tempus.

The numbers floated above his head, revealing ten past six, a little too early to be awake if memory doesn’t fail him, but no bother, he could use the time to get acclimated.

Tempus, a simple spell to show the time, is a Nadidus type. Upon activation, it would identify the time zone around the caster to then reveal said time shortly after. Such an intricate spell, yet one of the easiest, Severus mused. However, the true beauty of a spell capable of studying time zones comes from all other information it can provide, or rather, how far a spell such as this can go to present different pieces of information.

He narrowed his eyes, fighting the headache threatening to worsen in his temples, and commended the magic around him, gathering them to enforce the Tempus spell. That’s a neat trick Harry taught him, but, of course, it’s no easy ride. Just so you have an idea, to do that and command magic manually, you need Mage Sight first which comes rarely to witchzards throughout history, and complex knowledge over magic control, second.

The enforced spell, then, shook numbers and letters violently with each of Severus’ demands. What time is it? What day is it? The date? The year? And so on, until Severus had a complete picture of when he was, exactly.

Severus found himself in his fifth year as a Hogwarts student, two weeks short of the end of terms, Saturday morning, which means he's finished with his O.W.L.’s exams already. The last days of school for all fifth-year students are all about reviews, which means most take the time to relax or dread their grades.

For Severus, being so close to the end of his fifth year meant differently.

He held his head with both hands, staring at his lap. “Shit,” He whispered. His fifth year was the year things went from bad to worst in his life. The Marauders' Levicorpus prank, the werewolf encounter, calling Lily a Mudblood, and her rejection of him from then after. Things he wished he could change, but alas, even back in time; he could not erase all of his sins.

Harry made sure to drill in his head he shouldn’t feel guilty for things that never happened, that he wasn’t a burden nor should he feels like one. But what about the ones that happened already?

Severus sighed. There’s absolutely nothing he can do about that, now. And if there’s one thing he learned in both his life and the twenty years under Harry's tutelage is that if there’s no help, don’t dwell on It. He had to; otherwise, Severus would lose himself in the grief of his life flashing through his eyes, accompanied by all things he learned about humanity and magic. All the history tinted in blood and dust of the dead and forgotten.

Severus shook his head, banishing those thoughts. He would not break down ten minutes after arriving back in time. He refused to!

With another sigh, Severus summoned his school robes, trousers, tie and a long-sleeved shirt—he doesn’t have many other garments, thanks to his poverty—and walked to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, he emerged fully clothed and hair washed—already dried thanks to a wandless drying spell. Once again, thanks to his lack of money, he had no shampoo or anything to clean himself comfortably, which he, unfortunately, will have to do for now. Severus already had plans to acquire a good sum of money soon, so he wasn’t worried at the moment.

He grabbed his wand and felt wronged for a second. Severus never had a wand holster while at Hogwarts—too expensive—so, he carried his wand in his trouser pockets all the time. It’s one of the reasons he was slow in his reaction time against the Marauders' spells and fell victim to an embarrassing amount of them.

He huffed with the still fresh memories of his torments well after his fifth year, the ones he was forced to see again, of James Potter and his friends making his life hell. At least Harry had the decency to strain him with tons of work to rid his mind of them for a while.

And now, he’s about to start yet another day as their classmate.

“Bugger,” he mumbled, pocketing his wand before stepping out of his dormitory, passing the still empty common room with longing in his eyes, and out of the dungeons in quick and long steps. His destination? The seventh floor, to the room of requirements.

Severus did know about the room’s existence before, but he never much cared. The only reason he became interested in it came from Harry's explanation of the Horcruxes—locations and possessed items. He isn’t nearly as prepared to deal with the diadem yet, but the concept of a room of hidden things full of junk he could use for free was much to be desired. It sparked in him the idea that maybe, in between the furniture; there might be a spare wand holster somewhere, and many other items he could take advantage of, thanks to his newfound knowledge of magic and magical practices.

He arrived at the seventh floor after a long stair ride, located the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and walked past it three times thinking of the room of hidden things. Soon, a door appeared before his eyes, and without further ado, he entered.

His eyes trailed over the room—or what he could see of said room, considering the piles upon piles of rubbish obscuring his vision. He did not venture further into the room, however. Severus wished not to lose himself amidst the mess, and although he could find his way back if so, he was under no impression that the room was small. A little walk to retrieve an item lost in the piles and suddenly it’s afternoon. He couldn’t allow the luxury to lose himself in time. Not again.

With the goods at his disposal, Severus muttered a quietly Accio wand holster, hoping to find one decent right wrist holster that would fit on his slender arm. What he did not expect was the ten upon hundreds of holsters rapidly making their way to his hand. He had to duck out of the way and sidestep some cheeky bastards coming from odd ways, to avoid being crushed by the number of them. And this wasn’t even all of them! Severus didn’t outstretch his reach too far to avoid exactly that. In the end, he had a pile of holsters higher them himself; smelling nauseatingly thanks to bacterially infected leather, dust all over his robes from where the items sailed past him, and a sour expression.

Alas, Severus got to work.

Two hours had passed. Severus, at some point, decided to quickly Accio a wristwatch for himself to avoid casting a Tempus every time he needed to tell the time. It just doesn’t do to announce to everyone you’re looking at the time with bold, shiny numbers floating above your head. Imagine his surprise when, among many other less exciting accessories, a 1950s all-black dial and silver edges Breitling, Navitimer flew to his hands. Now, Severus has never been a watch enthusiast, but once you hear Lucius Malfoy speaking so highly about said watch for hours on end, because they were vintage and waterproof, it sticks with you. (Though, let it be known, Lucius was scammed. The watch not only was muggle made but not as expensive as he paid for it). A skilful Reparo and a quick Tempus later, and the watch was fixed, time adjusted and attached to his left wrist.

Which left Severus with the task to organize the holsters.

By the end of it all, only three candidates remained: 1. A brownish, cracked as if under the sun for too long, piece of common animal hide with ripped straps and brass buckles. 2. An inferior wrist holster model not designed for quickdraws, but in good quality and made of dragonhide—he thinks—and last but not least; 3. An unknown black hide with green highlights when the light catches it right, good quality and silver buckles, though fit for a longer wand instead of his eleven and a half inches one.

In the end, Severus chose the third one, simply because he could adjust the holster's size to fit his wand. Magic just works like that for you, sometimes. Not only that, but he made some adjustments to enhance the older model, allowing for a ‘flick-wrist' quick draw, and a ‘finger-flick' quick sheath, which he felt worked wonders.

A quick look at his newly restored watch showed it was almost nine in the morning. Breakfast was about to end.

If he ran, he could still snatch something from the table, Severus calculated. However, he did not even think about getting to the Great Hall. He didn’t feel ready to see some faces yet, and just thinking about everything that already happened in this timeline, and all that needs to be fixed, makes him sick.

So, Severus left the room of hidden things and walked in the direction of the kitchen itself to grab a bite. He can deal with some excited house elves better than people, after all.

And isn’t that a good thought to be heard by the oh-so-claimed future saviour of the world, the supposed new messiah for the people?

Laughable, really.

He arrived at the basement corridor past nine since he didn’t run, walking up to the painting with the bowl of fruits. He tickled the pear and the door swung open. Inside, the sound of kitchenware and the taps of small feet suddenly stopped as all house elves turned to stare at him. Severus didn’t know why such a reaction. During his time as a professor, many students knew of the kitchen, most of all Hufflepuff since said kitchen is literally a few doors away from their common room. He could only hope the elves wouldn’t just stop to stare every single time someone gets inside.

A house elf wearing a rag pillowcase with the Hogwarts crest on it finally approached. “I be Winny. What can Winny do for young master?”

“I'm Severus Snape,” he introduced. “I slept late today and lost breakfast. Could I grab something to eat? It wouldn’t do for me to starve until launch.”

Her eyes brightened. “Of course, young master Snape. What would master want?”

“A full Irish would fill me nicely, if you may?”

She nodded her head enthusiastically. “Winny be prepare master breakfast. Master waits here.” She pointed before moving on to prepare his food.

At first, Severus did as he was told and stood by the door, waiting. He wasn’t about to anger the elf feeding him, now was he? But no later than five minutes, he heard a small ‘pst' coming from beside him, where, after he looked down, he noticed a scrawny and small elf by his side mumbling something. Severus crouched to hear the poor creature, whose eyes went wide with his mannerisms before he caught what the elf was saying to him.

“Young master can wait in table. Us not mad.” The elf gestured around, receiving nods from the other elves.

Severus felt quite stupid. He blushed embarrassingly before nodding and sitting at the nearby table. Winny came back with sausages, eggs, tomatoes, bacon and bread on a plate, and although Severus felt it was too much for his thin body, he eat as much as he could. The cuppa she placed for him after the first few bites was delightful in that it didn’t taste like dead leaves like what Harry used to offer. He almost cried, and the elves must have picked up on that because soon they came cooing over him for anything else he wanted. He just felt even more embarrassed.

“Thank you for the food, Winny. It was delicious.” Severus thanked her good-heartedly. He could not eat everything, but a good chunk went down, and now he feels more ready for the day ahead of him.

Winny's ears started flapping with her excitement. “I be happy to help kind young master Snape!” She announced. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed other elves nodding.

He smiled, something small but no less real. “And I’m happy to meet you. In fact, I'm happy to meet all of you.” He said to the room. “Thank you for your service to Hogwarts. You were all good company.”

Several ears started flapping while other elves hid behind them, some smiled brightly while others looked down. All in all, they seemed pretty happy to be acknowledged. Severus nodded to them all and stepped out of the kitchen.

What a weird, but surprisingly wholesome exchange.

Satisfied with his food, Severus decided a stroll to the library was in commence.

It had been ions since he held an actual book in his hands—with the way Harry taught by directly injecting the information into your soul—and he felt quite nostalgic. The magic around him shimmered and danced with his good mood, making it seem as if he had little green fireflies flying aimlessly, following him around, and playing between themselves. The mental image successfully boosted Severus’ serotonin levels even higher, which in turn had him skipping towards the first floor, and over the library’s door.

His eyes first landed on the high shelves covered in books he probably doesn’t need to read any longer—for he understands magic better than anyone else alive at this point—then at the few students studying in the corners—one of which, Irma Pince herself, a Ravenclaw, obviously—before he turned his attention to the librarian.

Madam Greta Bickerton was an old lady. She had wrinkles and aged white hair tied on a firm bun above her head, a single silver hairpin keeping it together. She was covered head to toe in black robes and adornment, obscuring every inch of skin including her neck and hands. She—as far as Severus remembered—wasn’t as restricted as her successor, but she held her books to such high standards no human could ever dare touch, which, at this point, Severus wondered if it was a requirement for the Hogwarts librarian position.

Severus remembered her from his time at Hogwarts as both a student and professor before she passed away. He could admit, considering she was the only person supportive of his pursuit of all things magical—dark magic included—without ever tattling on him to Dumbledore, Severus quite liked her.

She was mending an old, yellow page sort of book, which had its pages unstuck from the cover. With old bony fingers hidden behind silky fine gloves, she dabbed glue on the side and meticulously laid the pages back in their original place, all by hand, as she does.

Madam Bickerton was the only magical person Severus knew who forbade using magic first when attending to her work. Need a specific book? Madam Bickerton will tell you where it is and send you to retrieve it instead of uttering a spell. Need to reorganize the books because someone put them on the wrong shelf? Do it by hand. And so on.

Looking at her now through the sight of a mage, he could tell why.

Her magic was so dense it could choke someone, but as it stands, tucked tightly to her person with a herculean effort yet delicate control, it would never harm anyone or her precious books.

And Madam Bickerton cares about her books greatly, that’s for sure.

He approached the reception once she had finished glueing the pages—not wanting to interrupt her work—and greeted her.

“Good morning, Madam. I see you’re salvaging tomes this morning.” He smiled at her. He seems to be smiling a lot lately. Maybe it’s the euphoria of being alive again or a byproduct of his good mood, who knows?

“Ah, Mr Snape. Hello, you,” she greeted. “What can I do for you today?”

He shook his head. “Oh, I’m not looking for anything specific, really. O.W.L's over and the end of term is soon approaching. There’s nothing to concern myself with, for now.” He smiled at her questioning gaze. “I'm here to see how you’re doing.”

She slightly arched her thin, nearly visible, eyebrow at him. “And what prompted such need, I wonder?”

“Boredom.” He replied easily.

She sighed. “Very well. You can hide here, but do yourself useful and help me with these salvagings.” Severus nodded, not bothering to correct her assumption, before hopping on a stool by her right and getting to work.

You see, Madam Bickerton knew about his tormentors. She caught the marauders bullying Severus at the library once in his second year, and though Dumbledore talked her down from banishing them from her library, she never forgave them. Were they inside the library, her eyes would follow their every move like a hawk, ever since.

She never pitied him, and just like now, would make him work for his stay. She was stern but fair and a good listener. Severus had tea with her only once in his past life, when he was a professor, and he found he quite liked her company. When she passed, Severus admitted to missing her sincerely.

He can’t change her outcome—she passed peacefully from old age—but he damn sure can try being nicer to her, maybe even repaying her kindness one day.

Just by sitting here, helping her morning salvaging routine, he’s already doing more than previously, he supposed.

About an hour later, Severus found himself being bodily shoved out of the library with a book in hand by one pleased-looking librarian with a warning to ‘go get some sun, child. Today is Saturday and you’re too pale.’ Though, she smiled at him the whole time and thanked him profoundly for his help.

The book—Arthur Conan Doyle's A Study in Scarlet—not the original, mind, but a hardcover print, was entrusted into his hands as an afterthought. He had repaired the damaged cover himself, after all, and Madam Bickerton is known—at least by him—as someone who rewards good behaviour with nice novels. He accepted the sign of trust with good faith, though he had read the story, already.

However, later, what amused him the most came as a surprise inside said book.

Severus had relocated to the courtyard, trying to catch some fresh air in his newly expendable lungs and watch the greenery. He sat on a nook to avoid attention and watched, transfixed, as magic danced with the wind, over the trees’ canopy and back, like a child playing catch.

It swooped and turned, blending its white speckles with the leaves’ summer green, breathing fresh air much like himself. It embedded itself in the tree’s trunk, following the path of a red squirrel climbing into a hole, and then abruptly turned left and hovered over a lonely flower.

It reminded Severus of Christmas, the lights painting the courtyard in soft glows. He craved some chocolate panettone, right there, and felt a little silly since he had eaten an hour ago. He smiled, nonetheless. Severus wasn’t heartless enough to not appreciate magic's beauty.

His eyes carried through the scenery until they landed on the book in his lap. He noticed, while walking through the corridors, that the book seemed to be marked on a page.

Madam Bickerton hadn’t said anything. She just handed him the novel when he stood to leave and refused it back when he offered. Severus just assumed it was one of her personal novels instead of the library's, though he had to restore the cover earlier. It made sense to be hers since it looked well-loved, worn in a way that told of been read over and over for years, and Greta Bickerton seemed to be the only magical person he could imagine reading a muggle story so many times.

It still puzzled him as to why she would allow him one of her beloved books after only about an hour of assisting her in the library—no physical labour, as well—but Severus digressed. Perhaps she believed his excuse of boredom and decided to hand him a good read, besides.

Severus sighed. Musing the reason to be gifted a book won’t get him anywhere, so, he decided on the next best course of action and opened said book on the marked page.

He was stunned silly by what he found.

Flattened in the middle of the page laid a pair of silky black gloves, exactly like the ones Madam Bickerton wears. On top of them, a small piece of parchment with the words ‘A little mitty for your little skivvy' scribbled on it.

Severus snorted in amiable amusement. “Who says skivvy, nowadays?” He said, however, fighting the tears.

He couldn’t fathom why she felt compelled to gift him. Never in his past life had she ever given him a pair of gloves, even though he helped her plenty even them.

Perhaps he had made a great job salvaging those books today, enough to impress her, apparently. But no matter. Never had Severus received a gift from someone other than Lily while at Hogwarts—his mother had no way of sending him anything, though she tried many times—thus, Severus decided he would treat the gloves with the utmost respect, by not only wearing but amending them to his needs.

He first started by enlarging them since his fingers were longer than Madam Bickerton's. He made them marry his hand just right, after he tried them on, and decided they were perfect.

Of course, he couldn’t do much as it stands for his lack of materials (re: thread and needle) but he could plan the runes he would need to sew on the silk, soon. He would start by fire and waterproofing them before moving on to protective runes. And although he could, technically, charm the gloves, Severus wasn’t about to take the risk. Runes embedded on the fabric itself would hold the magic upon them more comfortably for his liking.

He stored them for now in his robes breast pocket, one he swore to enlarge soon, for safekeeping, thinking about how to repay Madam Bickerton once he had some money to his name.

He checked the time after seeing some students heading out of the courtyard—his wristwatch read almost noon. Severus still wasn’t feeling brave enough to face some people who, undoubtedly, would be there having lunch, nor did he want to wait until said people came out of the hall towards the courtyard themselves.

So, stealing a last glance towards the trees and their magic, Severus fled.

He didn’t wander very far.

In fact, he went from the greenery in the courtyard to Hogwarts grounds, where he sat on one of the steps leading towards Hagrid's Hut, hidden behind a boulder, where he cloud-watched.

Severus intended to venture into the Forbidden Forest—though not today—to collect potion ingredients he needed before the end of terms, more specifically, the ones too expensive for him to afford. He had muggle money hidden back home—inside his mattress, to be more precise—that he would need to buy himself some potion equipment he hadn't yet. Together with his still function potion kit, he hoped to brew decent potions, enough for a little bit of profit.

He needn’t worry about Tobias. Yes, he couldn't use his wand because of the trace, but if there’s one thing Severus is, is proficient in anything magical, wandless and wordless magic, included. And since the trace is embedded in wands, not on people, he was more than prepared. He hoped to instigate just enough fear into the man to acquire himself some peace.

Moreover, if possible, convince his mother to leave said man, though he wasn’t optimistic. She hadn’t left him before, even when Severus pleaded with her, which, looking back now, just shows how broken his mother had truly been in her last days...

A huff interrupted his thoughts.

Severus looked down from the pear-shaped cloud he was admiring to see into the eyes of a massive Neapolitan Mastiff sitting on the lower step, staring back at him. They locked eyes and the hound's muscly tail started to wiggle.

Severus blinked once, twice before asking, “Watcha doing, boy?” He smiled when the dog dipped its head in greeting with a sneeze.

Severus thought Hagrid barbaric and crude, but he would admit the man's dogs were always well trained, or at least, more polite than the man himself, though a bit idle.

Case in point, the old massive hound got up from its spot, trotted towards him, and plotted down on Severus’ right side, head on Severus' lap for a quick nap.

Severus, for his part, only chuckled before petting the dog. “Sap,” he admonished amiably. “Old man, you are. I hope you haven’t exhausted yourself with that lil' walk of yours.”

The dog huffed again, sounding annoyed if possible, and Severus laughed. “You and me both, pal. You and me both.”

The day was shaping to be calm, Severus noted merrily. Something he would later regret thinking.

He strolled around Hogwarts' grounds with Tooth right on his tail—that’s the hound's name based on its collar—before sitting down on a nearby stone bench-and-table combo to rest his feet. He was startled when, not a minute later, a plate of roasted beef and potatoes combined with boiled carrots and peas, popped on the table right in front of him.

He hesitated for about a second before his stomach growled, which in turn had Tooth growling at the invisible threat, as well. Severus calmed the dog with a piece of his beef before digging in, himself.

It seems like Winny or any of the house elves are monitoring him. Well, that’s a new thing to get used to, surely, however not unpleasant, he thought as much. He ate with gusto until the last bite this time.

After a muttered ‘thanks Winny and co.’, the plate popped away and he sent Tooth back to Hagrid's hut before heading to the castle, leaving the afternoon sky behind.

Severus jinxed his good luck.

He wished he could kick himself, for later, a few paces ahead of himself, standing tall and confident as Severus remembered him, was none other than James Potter.

Chapter Text

It all started because Severus was distracted.

He was walking aimlessly by the corridors thinking about a magical modification to his muggle watch. A rune work, supposed to be carved in the backplate, to warn Severus of bad intentions toward his person. His favourite detection rune of the bunch. Versatile in that, the rune would heat up depending on the level of malicious intent—slightly warm from petty hate, and downright burning from murderous thoughts. It would do nicely to have a warning whenever someone sneaked on him, or if he, let’s say, ‘pissed someone off.’”

Severus had yet to familiarize himself with Hogwarts' magic. A kaleidoscope of blues, greens, yellows and reds, in all the hues known to man, cocooning him in a warm and welcomed embrace. He blamed his less-than-stellar state of mind for not noticing he wasn’t alone.

The telltale of a spell coming his way interrupted his thoughts. He could tell thanks to Mage Sight, but also years of experience. The way the hair on his neck would stand up, and his adrenaline would kick even before he met the danger, something that kept him alive for longer than he should have.

Thus, dealing with an unknown spell rapidly approaching his back, he did what instincts told him to do, and sidestepped-turned to see who was the perpetrator, wand drawn and raised in the blink of an eye.

There, by the corridor's crossing as if he flared a spell as soon as he noticed Severus walking alone, stood James bloody Potter. He wore no robes, casually supporting his tie around the shoulders instead of properly tied, looking more roughed up than he needed to be with his birdnest of hair and round spectacles.

His eyes went wide as he did not expect Severus to dodge his spell. Severus, for his part, only glared.

They stood there in a standoff-ish, but Severus’ mind was elsewhere.

James Potter, the bane of his existence. The one man who singlehandedly made his life miserable at Hogwarts and stole Severus’ only family left in the world away from him. The one who humiliated him, who made him feel fear, dread, and anger all at once, with just his presence. The one who forced a Life-Dept upon him caused by the stupidity of the man's own friends…

But also, Harry's father. The one Harry never met while alive.

Lily's husband. The man she devoted her love and life to.

The man who died so Lily could escape with their son.

James Potter.

During Severus’ twenty-or-so years of learning and rewinding, he thought about what to do with James Potter. He knew he would see the man again—now a teenager, which is worst—so, he spent a good chunk of his ‘spare time' planning.

While musing, Severus concluded he would end up killing the man if he couldn’t come to peace with his past, and Harry agreed. There came years of strengthening his Occlumency shields, reaching a level above the one of a master, in other to keep himself at bay. Hours of therapy—because a man as old as Harry must keep himself sane in some way—to finally put an end to his sufferings.

By the end, while watching his seventh and sixth years at Hogwarts rewind backwards in time, he knew he couldn’t interfere with James and Lily's relationship, less Harry wouldn’t exist. And he owed the man who taught and trained him thoroughly, the chance to live a normal wizard's life with his parents by his side. If not for the eldritch-being-master-of-death, then for the seventeen-year-old he left behind when he died.

It's the least he could do after how horrible of a person he was to the boy.

Not interfering and yet getting Lily back in his life means tolerating her husband (aka. Potter). Which entails acting civilized, in that regard.

Therefore, after a long fucking time, Severus learned to forgive.

He would never forget said humiliation, fear, dread, nor anger, but that was okay.

He forgave, but he would never forget.

Now, this James isn’t the man Severus swore his forgiveness to, and if Severus had any say in it, he would never be quite as bad. Severus would make sure James would never feel the need to act as bad anymore.

And so, Severus breathed deeply, erecting his mental shields and forcing himself to calm down. He did not lower his wand—for he wasn’t stupid—but he did position it closer to his chest, pointing sideways in a mock-casual pose.

Never during all of this had he lowered his eyes from James', though he did not dare try Legilimency.

“What do you want, Potter?” Severus said, and he was proud of how his voice sounded steady despite his inner turmoil.

James smirked. “Hey there, Snivellus,” Ah, that dreadful nickname. Had Severus not enforced his mental shields, he would’ve done something regretful then and there. “Finally decided to leave your cave, eh?”

Cave? Severus frowned slightly. Was young Severus in hiding from Potter? He must have, considering the events throughout the year. Probably at the library or the Slytherin common room.

James must’ve been startled upon seeing Severus just walking down a corridor after so long in hiding and decided to fire a spell first, ask second, the paranoid idiot.

Severus snorted at the mental image of James Potter raising his wand clumsily upon the sight of himself. James, for his part, bristled in annoyance at Severus' amusement.

“What’s so funny, git?” James narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Severus replied smoothly. “I didn’t know you missed me, Potter. Is all.”

Severus’ voice was yet to deepen to his lower octaves, but he could make it do by calmly rolling his tongue smoothly as if in serene grace. He learned long ago what a silver tongue, smooth manner of speech and a deep voice could do to people. You either instigate fear by sounding intimidating or relax people to the point of sleep by being gentle. And that, Severus mused, was a power on its own. One even the Dark Lord would take advantage of.

James’ face scrunched up in disgust. “You wish, slimy. I give no fucks to your whereabouts.”

“Language, Potter. This is a civilized conversation.” Severus admonished, internally smirking.

“At wand point?” James pointed out, a smirk back on his face. “Why, are you scared, Snivellus?”

Severus chuckled low in his throat. “Not in the slightest.”

James’ face twitched, and his eyes showed confusion. Ah, he’s not used to the banter. Young Severus would’ve cursed him to hell and back by now, especially after a clear confrontational shoot such as the spell thrown his way seconds ago. Severus thought it satisfactory to pull the rug from under James' feet, for once.

“Do you need anything? If not, I'll be on my way.” Severus said.

“Who the fuck are you?” James asked incredulously.

That took Severus aback. “Excuse me?” He arched an eyebrow in question.

“Why are you impersonating the slimy git? Snivellus doesn’t act like—“ he pointed at all of Severus with his wand. “That!”

Severus felt highly amused by James' confusion. “…you think I'm—“ he smirks involuntarily. “An imposter? Polyjuiced, perhaps?”

James glared. “Well, what other explanation there is? Snivellus would never—“

Severus could not contain himself; he burst out laughing. He doubled over, clutching his sides, swaying sideways as he tried to compose himself once more.

Throughout the years, to Severus, James was the bogeyman. A boy who lived to make his life miserable and later, a man—an Auror—who stole his sister away. Someone hardened enough by war to take Severus’ life without a second thought had they met on the battlefield.

Severus had forgotten how goofy James could be in his youth before war washed his innocence away.

When he could breathe again, he looked up to see James' shocked expression and felt himself giggling at the sight. “Blimey!” He exclaimed between laughter. “You're so stupid.”

James sobered up quickly at that. “What did you call me?” He raised his wand back up—since it had lowered in his shock.

“Why would anyone pretend to be me? If you haven’t noticed, my life isn’t the brightest, on the contrary, I would say—though, you should be aware of that already since you’re the instigator of most of my daily misery. If you don’t, then I can only assume you're dense or half-arsed, even.” Severus rented.

“Don’t play the victim!” James exclaimed. “You’re vicious as us all combined, if not more!”

Severus’ mood turned a hundred and eighty—Occlumency vibrating with the force of his emotions—glaring at James in outrage. “You damn right, I am! If not, how am I to defend myself against four blokes throwing spells left and right at me? I won't play nice to people trying to Hex me!”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a slimy git—“

“How dare you insinuate this is my fault!” Severus roared, interrupting James. “I’m not the one ganging up on a lone fellow because of what? His clothes? His hair? I’m not the one planning oh-so-called pranks that are, in its reality, harmful to everyone involved but me. I’m not the one luring someone else to be mauled to death, Potter!

“You!” He pointed a finger at James. “And your friends, however, did and still do exactly that!”

James tightened his grip on his wand. “Don’t speak ill of my friends!”

Severus laughed without joy at that, shaking his head as if batting away James' words. “Jumping in to protect your friends’ honour Potter? Why, do you believe yourself a hero?”

James said nothing to that, squaring his shoulders as if waiting for the inevitable spell to come his way. For someone so eager to start a fight minutes ago, he was yet to cast another spell.

Severus stared at him, seeing right through his hazel eyes. “You’re not a hero, Potter.” He said with forced calm, though his voice turned husky from laughing and screaming. “You think you are because you share with heroes the ‘good traits' of a noble one, or so you told yourself.” Severus stepped in James’ direction, keeping a slow pace as he approached. “Light-driven, good looking, adventurous, a friend of the people. You think you have it all, that you've achieved the level of prestige that it takes to be considered a hero. But, oh Potter, you’re so wrong.”

Severus stopped right in front of James, then. The tip of James' mahogany wand dug into his torso where it aimed. “Heroes aren’t born or made from hollow ideologies such as this fairy tale nonsense you read about in children’s books,” his voice was stern as he stared at the slightly shorter tanned boy. “They are hardened by battles, corrupted by rage, shaped by war. They kill to avoid being killed, they watch death do its job be it an ally or a foe. They stumble out of battle alive, however, broken inside. And you, Potter, are none of that.”

Severus slowly reached with his left hand to grab the shaft of James’ wand. James tried to jerk back, but Severus held his ground, moving the tip down slightly to point at his heart. “You’re a prat,” he insulted to his face. “An entitled boy who thinks the world turns around him, who justifies his misbehaviour with lies and prejudice, thinking himself above rules and the law. You’re a few years short of turning into an adult, yet, still, live with the mentality of a child. You, James Potter, are not a hero. You’re just an oafish dunderhead bully!”

Severus waited. With the wand directly pointing at his heart, especially after insulting James to his face, Severus expected to be hit by a spell. However, none came. Perhaps the boy felt noble enough to not blandly attack someone when they seem easy prey, or he was too stunned to process the situation.

Considering his gaping mouth and wide eyes, wand hand going slack, held up by the strength of Severus’ own grip alone, he thought it was the latter.

Severus released him, making Potter stumble back a few steps before letting his arms fall to his sides in defeat or perhaps shook. “Good day, Potter,” Severus said before turning slowly and walking away in the direction of the dungeons.

His day was going so well. Curse James Potter for ruining his peace.

But hey, considering everything—his emotional exhaustion notwithstanding—that conversation went relatively well. I mean, Severus not once fired a spell, and he avoided the fight James was so obviously pushing towards, all with his words. Though, he would be man enough to admit losing his composure somewhere along the way. He didn’t mean to snap as he did, but when James accused him of being the reason they bullied him because he was a ‘slimy git'… no saint on earth would tolerate such prejudice badly disguised as reason.

Severus felt wrong-footed. It seems no matter how high his Occlumency shields were, James bloody Potter would force his way through them like a fucking wrecking ball.

And the worst part: it was all Severus' fault for allowing the boy in.

He arrived at a lively Slytherin common room minutes later, taking in the sight of all his classmates sitting idly around, reading, playing, and chatting between themselves without a single fear in the world. That, other than bad grades, he supposed.

The room had large windows to view the underwater of the Black Lake at all times, a circular table in the middle with chairs all around it for study and several armchairs by the walls to accommodate the students.

The black leather settees with green cushions were facing each other by the fireplace, separated by a cushioned coffee table in the middle. Seated by the fire, Severus spotted the seventh-year seniors, among them, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black, soon to be Malfoy, and her sisters—Bellatrix and Andromeda, having a conversation, though Andromeda looked uncomfortable. Regulus was intruding into the space by Narcissa's left, but he seemed lost in thoughts instead of engaging.

Severus wished he could talk to Regulus, but alas, he couldn’t. As it is during his fifth year, they were just acquaintances through Narcissa, whom Severus viewed as the closest person to a friend he had in Slytherin at the moment. Not to mention, Lucius barely tolerated Severus’ presence since the Dark Lord coveted him. He didn’t want to engage in an uncomfortable conversation right now, especially after the roller-coaster he went through with James.

Severus wanted to save Regulus. He knew, as his friend and later as a spy, that the young Black wanted not to become a Death Eater. He was forced by the pressure upon him, as heir of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black—though neither noble nor the most ancient house there is, Severus mused—and his mother's demands (re: torture).

He needed time to prepare a way to spare him the dark mark, in addition to a way to keep Regulus safe from his family if he's ever found out. Severus wasn’t about to risk Regulus' life for the locket, either. He would find another way.

By Merlin, Severus thought. I have so much work ahead of me.

Severus sighed heavily and walked in the direction of the stairs up to his dormitory. He stopped in his tracks, however, by a cackle of laughter followed by a singsonged “Severus~” Coming from behind. He turned to see Bellatrix waving him over the settee, patting the spot next to her with a malicious smile on her face. “Come here, come here.” She called again.

Ah, Severus forgot. The deranged bitch would do anything to please the Dark Lord; including socializing with the filthy half-blood—such as himself—that Voldemort had his eyes on. If memory served him right, she was the one who presented Severus to Voldemort, as well.

He never loathed someone so strongly—not that anyone would notice for his mental barriers were up and running, keeping his emotions at bay.

Instead, he smiled politely, the type of smile that never reaches the eye but seems reasonable enough for formal gatherings and walked forward.

“Black,” he greeted, turning his head to nod to all Black family members before turning to Lucius, leaving him last purposely. “Malfoy,” he nodded again.

Lucius pursed his lips in a thin line, clearly disapproving of him. “Snape.”

When in a meeting with members from different families, the one greeted last is regarded by the newcomer as the house of less importance, in pureblood etiquette. In this case, Severus could be excused since there are only two families, but he wouldn’t dare greet a Malfoy before a Black.

“Aw, Sev. I’m just Black to you, again? I remember you calling me Bellatrix just yesterday.” She announced dumbly, pouting.

Be not mistaken. Bellatrix is no fool.

She likes to play the role of a foolish girl to elude her foes with a false sense of security. She became so delusional in the future after Azkaban that the persona merged with her true self, creating the cruel woman who murdered Sirius Black.

She’s an artist, Bellatrix. Had her mind not been fucked over by the dementors, she could’ve ruled over the Death Eaters in Voldemort’s stead.

Severus had no ounce of pity for her. She was, after all, unhinged since young.

Besides, the only ones allowed to refer to her by her given name were allies and family. Severus was neither.

“Apologies, it must have escaped my notice.” He replied smoothly. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Her eyes hardened on him for a split second, before she returned to her nonchalant ease. “Is that so? If so, I won’t call you Sev, anymore.”

“That’s acceptable.” He stared, silently challenging her to forsake her claim.

“Come, have a seat with us, Snape.” She didn’t ask, she ordered, and it wouldn’t do to have a feud with Bellatrix so soon after his return. Severus elegantly sat by her side.

“Where was I again? Oh, yes, so…” Bellatrix then proceeded to spat nonsense about pureblood supremacy—as she usually does—with such conviction and animosity as if someone among her peers needed to understand her words even though every person seated around her thought the same as her. Of course, except for himself.

That, paired with Andromeda's hunched position, on the verge of tears, trying her best to look smaller than she was, hinted to Severus towards the reason for Bellatrix's rant.

Firstly, she was directing the conversation towards the topic of marriage, more specifically, the role of a pureblood woman to her husband and wizarding society. Secondly, most, if not all of Bellatrix's disdain was targeting Andromeda—with Bellatrix's ‘what do you think, Andy?’ and ‘We all know that, right Andy?’ and so on.

Severus concluded, then, that Bellatrix must be aware of Andromeda's affair with Edward Tonks, the muggle-born, or at least, suspect it as much.

His eyes trailed around until they found Narcissa's. She must’ve noticed the disapproval radiating from his hardened eyes and shook her head slightly in an attempt to stop him. She was a good friend of his, after all, and it would hurt her greatly to see Severus under a Cruciatus Curse. Especially one of Bellatrix's.

However, Severus learned throughout his life—and watching it rewind backwards—staying quiet and letting things play out isn’t the way to change the course of time. He stood quietly on the sidelines once, as his sister was murdered. He accepted silently to murder Dumbledore because it wasn't Severus' choice. Except, it was. He could've done more for the people he cared about, but he wasn’t allowed to.

Severus was quiet for so long that when he finally dare speak, he wasn’t heard. And he paid the price with his own life for that.

Now, on the topic of Andromeda, Severus wasn’t needed. She would eventually—probably this summer—elope with Tonks and leave her pureblood life behind. She needn't help in that regard for she did just fine in his previous life.

Despite that, Severus felt his blood boil as Bellatrix's speech kept going on and on. He had to intensify his Occlumency shields just to look adequate.

“A witch's responsibility is to marry into a respectable pureblood family and bear the next generation of pureblood wizards,” Bellatrix was saying. “It’s the reason why families such as ours, care and nurture their witch's so thoroughly. Do you understand why, Andy?” She asked Andromeda, making the poor girl flinch. “So, the witch's offspring will be magically strong. If, say, someone, decided to have a child with a Mudblood-“ she sneered. “Then the child will be worthless, simple as that.”

What a fucked up way of thinking.

For Bellatrix—and most pureblood supremacists out there—a relationship's worth is as valuable as the children they produce. A magically weak or squib child will be looked down upon and seen as a failure by society. Similarly, the parents will be pressured to reconcile with the ‘wizarding world'—cough purebloods cough—by producing a better, as they say, child in the future.

Nay, Severus wouldn’t stand for that mentality, nor would he tolerate Andromeda's humiliation any longer.

He would be safe. After all, Bellatrix wasn’t allowed to touch the only other person coveted so highly by the Dark Lord. And if Severus was honest with himself, he was probably the only person who could talk back to Bellatrix at this time.

“I have a question, if I may, Black?” She studied him for a second, probably ascertaining if he was worthy of her time. She must have found what she was looking for since she nodded to him to speak. “Thank you. You said something interesting. You said a witch's responsibility is to marry into a respectable pureblood family, correct?” She nodded again. “I was wondering, what counts as a respectable pureblood family? I’ve heard my fair share of pureblood families throughout the years at Hogwarts, but am yet to understand which families are considered the respectable ones, and which ones to avoid, so to speak.” He asked diplomatically.

Bellatrix smiled all teeth at that. “Great question, Snape! That’s why you’re my favourite.” She cooed sarcastically. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Regulus eye-rolling. “The only respectable Houses in the wizarding world, Snape, are the Sacred twenty-eight, except for those blood traitors, the Wesleys. Don’t mingle with them.” She snarled. “But, if we're talking about someone of your… status—“ She waved a hand up and down his direction. “Then, any pureblood family will do, be assured.” She mocked.

“Ah,” he nodded, unfazed by her taunt, pretending to understand her words. “I see. Does that entail all witches from noble and ancient families, such as yours, have the responsibility, as you said it, to engage with wizards from other sorts of noble Pureblood families to keep the tradition, then?”

“Yes, yes. You got it right, Snape.” She praised annoyingly.

“Interesting,” he tapped a finger to his chin. “If more than one witch is born to a respectable family, do both girls need to follow the tradition?”

“Yes,” she was getting frustrated. “As you said—all witches.”

“Hm,” Severus hummed. “Then,” he leaned back on the settee, crossing his legs and folding his hands on top of his knee, the depiction of relaxation. He tilted his head to the side slightly, looking no older than sixteen. Curious and innocent. “With all that in mind and considering your sister’s positions—“ he gestured to Narcissa. “Where’s your marriage proposal, Black?”

Narcissa—bless her heart—who was sipping her tea, almost spilt it with his words. She then proceed to choke when she tried to inhale and ended up having some tea dripping down her nose. She coughed, trashed, and Lucius watched, gaping at both Severus' audacity and his fiancé before helping her clean up.

Severus' words also had the benefit of startling a loud laugh out of Regulus, who tensed and promptly smacked his own mouth to shut up. He then whined from the force of his slap and coughed surreptitiously.

And Andromeda, for her part, straightened up from her hunched position so fast, that her joints snapped audibly. She went right back down with a groan of pain, though, much like Regulus, she tried hard not to snicker.

The silence that followed soon after was quite deafening. Every Slytherin in the room froze.

Severus looked around, feigning ignorance to everyone’s reactions, though internally, he was laughing his head off. “Forgive me if I said something offensive,” he allowed as his only outwardly sign of understanding. “I just wanted to make sure I understood correctly. It wouldn’t do to make a fool of myself by misunderstanding your words, don’t you think, Black?” He stared at her enraged face with a smile.

Her magic flared around her like a hawk's talons trying to scratch at him, causing a nearby vase to explode. Through her expression alone, he could tell she wished badly to punish him right here and there. However, it seems Severus was right to assume she wasn’t allowed to Crucio him since she held her magic back. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, forcefully shoving her anger behind an Occlumency shield, Severus assumed.

When she opened her eyes again, her face turned placid and her smile tight. “Snape,” her voice sounded almost angelical which, coming from Bellatrix, meant trouble or death. “You should leave.”

Severus wasn’t about to tempt fate and accepted the dismissal solemnly. He stood with graceful, calculated movement to appear as if unfazed by the events, nodded his goodbyes to the ones present and a muttered apology to Narcissa—who hushed him to leave with her eyes, worried about what Bellatrix would do—and walked past his still frozen housemates towards the dormitories stairs, fleeing the common room.

He had a relatively peaceful afternoon.

“Snape!”

Relatively (re: almost).

After retreating to his room, the first thing Severus did was secure his side of the bedroom with a protective barrier charmed so nobody without his strict permission could get anywhere near his things. His bed, wardrobe, writing desk, his chest and rug were all placed under the charm. Even the damn window next to his headboard. Nobody could touch those! (He planned for protective runes carved on all wooden areas and the lot, for extra protection in case his barrier failed, but that’s a lot of work. Even for him, as it is).

After that was done, he cast detection charms on all windows and the bedroom's door to inform him of the comings and goings of his roommates and anyone invited in. It wouldn’t do to be murdered by an enraged Bellatrix in his bedroom, after all. He would rather be woken every time his roommates leave the room at night than that.

He then proceeded to sit on his desk and summoned his sewing kit from his trunk—which consists of a Royal Dansk biscuit tin—to start working on his gloves. Because, yes, he has a sewing kit.

As a poor bloke without money to buy himself new clothes, Severus learned young how to sew in order to mend the few garments he had. Unfortunately, being poor also meant he didn’t get to choose which colour thread he could use. Which, in turn, made some of his clothes look odd and funny to some eyes. Mainly, the marauders' eyes, who would make fun of him for his mismatching fabric to thread shirts and trousers.

No matter this time since black spool thread is a must-have for all sewing kits, and his gloves are black—would you look at that.

He started meticulously by cutting loose the stitching at the hem of the gloves with a seam ripper, then removed the excess thread with tweezers. Severus grabbed his trusty needle and started sewing complex runic patterns on the spot, guided by the holes from the previous stitching.

The work, though slow, was soothing. Severus quickly found himself humming to Samuel Barber—Agnus Dei for he always preferred that version to Adagio of Strings. He itched to singsong a pesky ‘Ave Maria' every time he heard it, but his father—a religious man through and through—would never allow it when he was young.

Severus froze his sewing at the thought.

Agnus Dei. Lamb of God.

From the words of John the Baptist, himself: ‘Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.’

The fucking irony of it all! Because ‘worthy is the lamb that was slain, to receive Power, and Riches, and Wisdom, and Strength, and Honour, and Glory, and Blessing.’

And if Severus was a lesser man, he would break down crying, for he was the lamb.

Severus elected not to think about it. He promptly stopped humming, also, after that.

He spent about two hours on the waterproofing and fireproofing aspect of both gloves until there was no more space at the hem. He had to summon a pocket-size journal, pencil and eraser—because Merlin forgive him, but he doesn’t want to torture himself by drawing with a quill—to plan a design to sew on the backside of the gloves, something elegant and not too obvious runic as to not draw attention whenever he went wearing them.

It was at this moment his roommates decided to disturb his peace.

“Snape!” Mulciber called again. “Are you deaf?”

“Maybe he's lost his mind,” Avery added his two nickels. “With what we heard happened downstairs.”

Severus sighed. He twisted himself on the chair to look over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Mulciber sat on his bed, cross-legged, looking unlike his Death Eater days, however arrogant, still. While his best friend in crime, Avery, sat by Mulciber's desk with a chocolate frog in hand, nibbling on it.

“Oh, he does hear,” Mulciber mocked. “Say, Snape, is it true you made fun of Bellatrix Black?”

Severus turned back to his work. “And what, pray tell, made you think I did?”

“Aha!” Avery cried in victory. “I told you Rosier was lying.”

“Oh,” Severus pretended to be amused. “Rosier told you, then. That’s good to know.”

“Wait, really?” Mulciber cried. “You talked back to her? Bellatrix ‘I will crucio you till next Monday' Black?” He had awe in his eyes. “You’re a bloody madman.”

“A dead one, as well,” Avery said. “Anyone could hear Black shrieking from the girl’s dormitory. She’s plotting revenge against you, already.” He took a leg from his frog after that.

“If you heard Black's screams of rage, how come you didn’t believe Rosier?” Severus looked at Avery from over his shoulder once more.

Avery shrugged. “Could've been anything, to be honest. They do things like that, sometimes.”

“They?” Severus felt compelled to ask.

“Girls.”

Ah, Severus thought. He has no future, I see.

He rolled his eyes and turned back to his sketch.

“What happened, though?” Mulciber asked. “Nobody we talked to could explain properly.”

“I had a question. I voiced said question. She took offence.” Severus replied bluntly.

“What did you ask?”

“Why don’t you ask Black?”

Mulciber huffed, annoyed. “Yeah, not everyone has a death wish such as yourself.”

“Speaking of which,” Avery said. “You should be careful, Snape. If you get on Black's shitty list, who knows what He will do to you. You’re not the only one He has his eyes on.” Avery warned.

Severus' pencil stopped mid-line. He was reminded, then and there, that those two—his roommate, the other two people he spent seven years at Hogwarts with—weren’t, at all, his friends.

Erik Avery and Frederick Mulciber were, for lack of better words, exploiters. Which is ironic considering their names.

Frederick, Germanic for ‘peaceful ruler.’

Erik, Old Nordic for ‘sole or eternal ruler.’

And both rule nothing. Greediness rules them instead.

They became close to Severus because the Dark Lord coveted him. Previously, they mostly ignored him, or made fun of him, no differently than the marauders, themselves.

They wanted leverage and saw an opportunity. Simple as that.

Severus realized with a start, his bedroom wasn’t a safe space any longer. Soon, the place would become no different from a warzone. After all, Severus is fighting for the death of Voldemort, while Avery and Mulciber want to use Severus to get closer to the Dark Lord.

He knew he couldn’t be closer to the two if he wanted Lily back, but he hadn’t realized quite yet the weight of his decisions until this point. Merlin forbids, he could be murdered in his sleep by his own roommates, all because of an ideology implemented in their heads by their parents and their supposed Lord.

They would do anything to get on Voldemort’s good side, and even if Severus considered himself safe from Bellatrix—this is her last year at Hogwarts, after all—he couldn’t escape his fucking roommates. Dumbledore would never hear his pleas to change rooms and Slughorn is an incompetent fool worth not the dirt under Severus' foot!

Severus promised he would make the House of Slytherin a better place for the future generation, himself. He would take control eventually when the coast was clear of the problematic ones—Lucius, Bellatrix, Lestrange—and he would follow through with his plans, however, it seems he needs a base of operation now. An actual safe place for him to reside and house anyone in need.

A great room spacious enough for a potion lab less he relies on Slughorn, and that just won’t do. Somewhere where he could place couches and armchairs by a fire, lay beds for the ones in need, and overall act as an alternative common room.

Severus knew Hogwarts better than most since he was Hogwarts headmaster for a while, but he had no immediate room in mind. He would worry about that later, after finishing his current project and resting his head from the shock.

“World to Snape! We’re talking to you, you arse!” Mulciber exclaimed. “Oy!”

Ah, yes, how delightful. The day couldn’t get any better than this.

Severus thanked every deity known to man for his oversight in creating the barrier and promptly cast a silencing charm on both Avery and Mulciber. They couldn’t get to him in his side of the room, nor could they counter his spell. The only way for them to find their voices would be by leaving Severus alone, or so Severus told them.

And so, peace restored—with the occasional soundless banging at his barrier—Severus returned to his sketch.

It was currently, two in the morning.

Severus had dinner at his desk—courtesy of Winny, bless her heart—and was able to both find a fine design for his gloves that incorporated the protective runes nicely and stitch the patterns to his right glove. The other remains to be attended to.

He bathed, changed into his nightclothes—or an old shirt and sweats—and went to sleep at around ten.

He was woken up in the middle of the night by a song.

He opened his eyes to the soft tones, almost falling back asleep with the indulging calmness upon them before he sat up quickly in alarm.  

Nobody should be singing at this hour.

It was then, when the grogginess of sleep eluded him, that he noticed he wasn’t listening to no song, but feeling it by the magic, through his Mage Sight, as if however was singing knew only he could listen. It called for him, even.

And that is a dangerous thought.

He strapped his wand holster to his right forearm, sheathed his wand and threw his school robe on top of himself to hide his weapon of choice. Severus then, swept out of his room, down the stairs and into the common room in complete stealth silence.

The song remained the same throughout—something about magical songs being impossible to be heard by human ears, thus having no volume—however, Severus knew it came from down, underwater. The Slytherin common room is under the Black Lake, after all, while the dormitories are just above the surface.

He strode through the room towards the larger window in the far wall, stopping just short of touching the glass.

There, swimming in rhythm with its song, illuminated by the moonlight, floated a merperson.

Melancholy with a hint of hopefulness. That’s what Severus felt from the song.

A lone sailor drifting through the waves wouldn’t be attracted by the sound; rather they would be saddened to the point of getting lost at sea. Something beautiful, yet welcoming grief into a person's heart.

Severus did not know the merpeople’s language. They are notorious for their complex set of sounds and magically enhanced songs to communicate between themselves, impossible to replicate with witchzards magic, though they tried. Severus could only hope the Black Lake's merpeople were used to humans’ presence to the point of understandings his intentions through magic… and English, of course.

“I must admit, it’s a beautiful song,” Severus confided. “Though, I would’ve appreciated it more if it hadn’t woken me late at night.”

The song stop.

The merperson turned towards the glass and tilted its head, looking curiously at Severus.

He shifted from foot to foot. “You called?”

Its head tilted to the other side, though its body didn’t move.

Severus felt unease, scrutinized by the merperson so intensely. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way.” He turned to leave.

As his back was to the merperson, it started to sing again. A different melody this time.

The song started with amazement as if testing the waters to see if Severus could understand. When Severus stopped in his tracks, the merperson cheered with their true voice—squeaky and bubbly because of the water—and started again. This time, the melody was optimistic, welcoming in a way Severus felt cocooned in a bubble of safety. Like the warm embrace of a mother mixed with the cheerfulness of an overexcited child.

He turned back to see the merperson extending both arms at the glass as if waiting for a hug, then swimming and dancing with its song. The image reminded him of Lily's excitement for concerts and made him smile.

Severus knew the song was for him. He couldn’t fathom why the merperson was so happy to sing for him, but he guessed to be the only other person who could hear its song. Mage Sight is a rare skill, after all.

He started humming to the rhythm, though his vocal cords could never sound exactly like what he was ‘hearing.’ He infused his voice with magic to make it clear he was singing with the merperson.

The merperson gasped—full of bubbles—before cheering loudly while spinning. Never had Severus seen such an over-the-top creature in his life. It reminded him of a puppy.

Soon, other, bigger merpeople approached from the depths of the lake. Severus was startled to notice the merperson who was singing was in its actuality, a young one. Adolescent, at best.

He kept humming as the others joined. A different young fellow started dancing with the first one, spinning until a small whirlpool formed between them. The adults watched, singing with their young, cheering their performance.

Severus tapped his foot, watching with a smile. The more they cheered, the more they sounded like dolphins and he laughed at the comparison.

The merpeople misplaced his laugh, and together as one, laughed with him—or what he thought was their laugh. The air around him felt warm with their joy.

But as they say, all good things must come to an end.

Eventually, the older merpeople started guiding their young back to the bottom of the lake to sleep, Severus supposed. He waved goodbye to the young one who sang to him and receive an enthusiastic wave of its tail in response. He chuckled at that.

With the merpeople gone, Severus was left staring at the moonlit waters of the Black Lake. It was soothing in its own way, but he couldn’t linger less someone finds him acting all mysterious.

He came back to his bed and had a nice dream for once.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning started with a bang.

“Ow! Merlin's balls, Snape, cease this barrier at once!” Mulciber cried after hitting his head on his way to the bathroom.

Fine, Severus lied. It started with two bangs.

Severus groaned from his foetal position on the bed. “Shut up. My head’s pounding.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mulciber mocked. “Does the baby need some potions? Get rid of this barrier right this instant or I’ll scream louder than a bloody banshee!”

Severus shot him a murderous look—bloodshot eyes—and raised his wand threateningly in his direction. Mulciber, sensing the magic in the air, smartly decided to snap his mouth shut. “Don’t test my patience, Frederick. I’m feeling unhinged at the moment.” He snarled.

Earlier, Severus woke up from his pleasant, though forgettable, dream feeling both ecstatic and bloody awful. Something had changed within himself between the time he sang with the merpeople and five in the morning.

When he opened his eyes, he noticed his senses had returned to their peak performance. His eyes were sharper enough to see even in the dark; his ears were toned with a pop, clear enough to hear even the faint waves of the lake outside; his sense of touch, smell, and taste were all enhanced to what they used to be and more. At that moment, Severus knew his body had finally acclimated to his soul.

And with that, came the realization that his Mage Sight had also cleared up and was now being assaulted by every person's, creature's, and object's magic around him. Including the bloody castle, itself!

Severus, on the account of two and a half hours agonizing in bed because of a magically enhanced headache, understood why it took witchzards decades to master the skill. No potion can help him either, only himself.

Though, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get a hold of his Occlumency. Every time he tried accessing his mind, his skull throbbed immensely, rendering him a useless mess of trembles and gasps. He kept trying nonetheless, achieving no short of nothing for his efforts.

Now, it’s almost eight, breakfast time, and Severus is yet to succeed. Had he been an actual teenager, he would’ve murdered Mulciber at first sight, just so it would be quiet. Lucky for Mulciber, Severus wishes to avoid Azkaban this time around.

“What’s up with you, though?” Avery asked. “I've never seen you in bed past seven.”

“It's Sunday,” Severus gritted out, though he wished he could scream Shut your mouth! Instead.

“Yes, it's Sunday. You're usually in the library by now…” Avery pressed.

From the corner of Severus' eyes, he could make out Mulciber making cutting gestures above his neck to signal his friend to stop. That’s their dynamic—The Ricks, they are called. They both share one brain cell and however has it, is the voice of reason for the day. Today is Mulciber's day, Severus assumed.

“Don’t make me silence you again,” Severus warned.

“Ha! How funny, Snape. Do that again and there will be consequences.“ He pointed an accusatory finger.

“Shut up!” Severus directed his ire at him. Mulciber kept shaking his hands to stop his friend, feeling the magic tense around them.

“Oh, is that so?” Avery smirked. “Little baby has a headache and wants me to stop talking?” He laughed loudly and Severus' forehead vein bulged in fury. “Well, make me, then!”

Severus saw red. “Leave!” He sat up, screaming.

His magic reacted immediately.

One moment had Avery and Mulciber standing around his barrier, looking down at him. The other had them sailing mid-air out of the door on a pile of limbs and curses.

“Snape!” He heard Avery screaming while pushing Mulciber out of the way to stand up.

With a jerk tilt of Severus' head, the door closed shut in Avery's face, locking itself. He heard even more curses and banging, after that.

Severus, now spotting an even worse headache, could pat himself. His display of magic looked and felt exactly like accidental magic purposely so, as not to draw even more attention to himself. No one would bet an eye on a student losing control while irritated. It happens all the time.

(Disclaimer: the display was, in fact, accidental magic fuelled by the pain he was under and lack of Occlumency shields. Though Severus would never admit it, thus).

Severus knew he wouldn’t be in peace for much longer. All it takes is either Avery or Mulciber asking some other student to open the door for them—their wands are in the room with Severus, after all. However, Severus would cherish his victories—little may they be—and take advantage of his current peaceful environment to shower and prepare himself for the, no doubt, long day.

By the time the pair of brain-cell-sharers did manage to open the door with the help of some poor second-year bloke they intimidated into submission, Severus was already dressed, wristwatch and wand holster strapped to his forearms, and ready to leave, himself. The pair sent him nasty looks, but they didn’t engage, only storming off to the bathroom… at the same time.

Severus left with the sound of them berating each other to see who would go first and smiled at their stupidity.

His headache didn’t abate with breakfast, though it took an unexpected turn.

He fled to the kitchen, in no way prepared to face the Great Hall with all its magic and people, to have a light breakfast of eggs, buttered toast and tea.

He was perplexed to notice elven magic was soothing on his head. Even more so, it didn’t bother him, at all.

He talked with Winny—thanking her again for yesterday—and voiced his curiosity about the subject matter.

“Us elf lives among wizards for the longest of times, yes,” she had said. “Us shift elf magic to suit wizards’ needs long since. Us want not to disturb masters.” She had nodded with conviction.

And it made sense, somewhat. Severus was intrigued, though he didn’t press for more, afraid of making Winny uncomfortable with his questions.

He left with another round of thank yous and blushing elves, leaving the soothing calm of the kitchen behind.  

Severus decided, after wandering through the corridors as his headache grew gradually worse, that leaving the castle and acclimating to its magic from afar was a fantastic idea.

He found himself on Hogwarts grounds again, slowly walking down the stairs towards Hagrid's hut, until he could walk around the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Tooth found him not five minutes into his stroll.

“Hey, boy,” Severus greeted crestfallen.

Tooth barked his greeting and Severus hissed because of the sound. He massaged his temples as Tooth tilted his head to the side, looking at him curiously.

“Apologies, boy,” Severus whispered to the dog. “I feel like I knocked my head on a thick boulder right now and loud sounds seemed to sharper the pain.” He smiled apologetically.

Tooth whined softly but did not raise his voice again. Severus smiled down at the dog, a softer one, and gestured with his hand for Tooth to follow him as he walked. Tooth followed.

“Good boy, Tooth,” he praised. The dog huffed triumphantly.

Hogwarts magic, as it seemed, could be felt from great distances, yet. Severus' headache did lessen after half an hour away from the central focus of magic (aka. The castle) but it prevailed as a stubborn pressure to his skull that wouldn’t budge. Anyway, Severus did his best to enjoy the sun he rarely ventured under and breathed Scotland’s summer air deeply. It smelled like acorns and the refreshing fragrance of pinecones and pine trees, fresh grass under dew and rich dirt.

Smells like home, Severus thought. Like Hogwarts.

A booming “Tooth!” from far away interrupted his musing. It didn’t aggravate his headache, but it did startle him.

He turned around to see the figure of Hagrid—straw basket in his back—approaching. He waved the dog over, but Tooth remained by Severus’ side. Severus himself tried to reason with the dog (“Tooth, it's time to go back,” *Huff* “Tooth!” *Whine*) but he remained seated.

Eventually, Hagrid made his way toward them. “Oy, Tooth. I'm callin' yeh, old chum.”

Tooth huffed again, before laying down and setting his head on top of his front legs.

Hagrid sighed a harsh sound, shaking his head. “Wha' I do with yeh?”

“Perhaps he’s tired from our stroll?” Severus defended. “We walked for a good half-hour, sir.”

Hagrid finally noticed Severus. He raised his head to see the student, then his eyes fell on the Slytherin crest in his robes. Hagrid's eyes instantly turned apprehensive. “Well… whom we have here, lad?”

“Severus Snape, sir,” Severus nodded his greeting. “Slytherin fifth-year.”

Hagrid nodded. “I wouldn’ walk so close to the forest, lad,” Hagrid warned. “Very dangerous, the forest.” He nodded gravely at his own words.

“Indeed,” Severus conceded. “I was just strolling around the grounds, sir. Tooth accompanied me, throughout.” He gestured to the dog who huffed in affirmation.

“He did?” He looked at the dog who judged him with his eyes. “Now, did he.”

“Yes,” Severus affirmed again because when you’re a Slytherin, you need to say things twice to be heard. “I must’ve tired him out. My sincere apologies if this is an issue.”

“Oh, no, no,” Hagrid shook his massive head. “Yeh alrigh', lad. Wanted to take Tooth to stretch ‘is legs but yeh already done it, ay.” He smiled somewhat. “’ppreciate it.”

Severus wasn’t expecting to receive an acknowledgement. He was taken aback. “No need to thank me, sir. Tooth just followed me.”

“Tooth don' follow just anyone,” Hagrid informed. “Eh, boy?” He beamed down at the dog. Tooth barked—though low to not hurt Severus, he noticed amiably—before sitting up. “I gotta go, boy. Stuff to do, yeh know,” he told the dog. “Yeh can nap at the hut.”

With that, Tooth shuffled his way back to the hut, leaving Severus with Hagrid.

Severus wasn’t near as ready to return to the castle. He was getting used to the magic around him, still, though it lessened somewhat. Dare he return now, his headache would intensify tenfold, he could tell. Perhaps, he could keep strolling around the forest perimeter. He wouldn’t be getting inside as of today—not with the headache and the loss of his Occlumency—and he could tell as much to Hagrid, as to leave him alone.

However, it seemed the half-giant had other plans. “Say,” he started, searching for something in the many pockets of his coat. He then produced a piece of parchment with the Slytherin crest stamped on it. “D’yeh know this?” He held to Severus.

Severus took the offered paper and read the bold yet wavy strokes of a quill within. He recognized the handwriting immediately. “It seems Professor Slughorn is in dire need of Deadly Nightshade.” He said dryly.

“Yes, see,” he pointed towards the ingredient's name. “I've no idea wha' tha’ is.”

Severus looked at him, then. Really looked, this time. Hagrid was young—or at least, younger than he out to remember. He's in his forties, for Merlin’s sake. Severus died around that age—though a bit younger. Still, Severus could take pity on the man. He was sent a task by letter to collect an ingredient from the Forbidden Forest without guidance.

Severus remembers his time as a professor, in the very beginning. He collected the ingredients himself, with the utmost care, until the school workload turned impossible to bare. He had to arrange search parties with his sixth and seventh years to collect enough as he dared, all supervised by Hagrid.

The half-giant wasn’t allowed near the ingredients because of his massive hands and clumsy ways. He would brood on the side, crestfallen for not being able to help Severus, and it annoyed him to no end.

Eventually, Severus found ways for the giant to collect certain ingredients without damaging them in the process, all with his size and mannerism into account.

He still remembers the day Hagrid collected his first near-perfect specimens of Mistletoe berries from the forest. He says near perfect but they were almost all crushed but for three—however, those three were in perfect condition. Hagrid didn’t seem to mind. He had beamed down at Severus for his efforts while handing him the ingredients.

Severus had admonished him, had given tips as to do better next time, even. And although Hagrid seemed saddened by that, Severus did take the berries. He used them. They were in perfect condition, after all, and he said as much to Hagrid once the potion he brewed was done.

Hagrid had puffed his chest in pride that day.

Severus worked with this man for fifteen years or so. He might not like him much, but he doesn’t hate him, either.

“Deadly Nightshade, you might know as Belladonna?” Severus asked. At Hagrid’s little ‘oh’ and a nod, he continued. “Poisonous. Must be handled delicately for its stem is fragile. The letter does inform the plant needs to be collected whole, so root, stem, leaves, flowers and fruits. No cuts or rough pulls from the soil. Can you do that?”

Hagrid seemed overwhelmed. “Eh…” he said intelligently.

Severus nodded. He thought as much. “I can help you, sir. I’m an aspiring potion master. I know my ingredients.”

Hagrid’s eyes bulged. He looked so astonished by Severus’ proposal, that Severus felt slightly offended. “Yeh wanna help me?”

“That’s what I said, yes,” Severus said, starting to get annoyed.

Hagrid, quite literally, shook himself out of his stupor. Like a dog. “It’s jus'… no one ever offe’ed help,” Hagrid said solemnly.

“I’m offering now,” Severus said. There's always a first time. “Besides, if you go collect without guidance, you may damage the ingredient and render them obsolete, thus. And as an aspiring potion master, I cannot for good measure let that happen.”

Hagrid chuckled. “Aight, yeh comin’. Tho, le' be know, yeh're to stay with me at all times.” He said gravely. “No wanderin’ away, yeah?”

“Understandable,” Severus agreed. “The forest is dangerous, after all—or so I’ve heard.” He smirked, making Hagrid chuckle a second time.

They ventured deep into the forest after collecting some equipment at Severus' request—gardening gloves, most importantly. Deep enough, Hogwarts’ magic slowly lessened its hold on Severus and he felt human again.

Severus wasn’t a fool, however. If he couldn’t feel Hogwarts any longer meant they were venturing into Centaur territory.

As far as Severus knew, their magic could hurt him just as much in his current state.

No matter. He subtly guided Hagrid through the path leading to the Belladonnas' enclosure, as he liked to call it. A spacious glade between oaks and yew trees where the light could reach the ground and the Belladonnas were abundant. Or so he thinks. Could be different from his time.

Thankfully, once they arrived, nothing had changed—or it was never different (time travel confuses him, sometimes)—and so, the work began.

“Firstly,” Severus stopped Hagrid before he could draw near. “Put on your gloves and follow me.”

Hagrid did as he was told. Severus heard his own advice and put on his gloves, as well—a resized pair from Hagrid's—before crouching near an off to the side belladonna. Hagrid did the same from Severus' side.

“I'll explain what you need to do,” he said. “Usually, we—collectors—use a tool called a hand trowel or hand shovel to dig the roots out and scoop the plant whole out of the soil in cases such as these.” He demonstrated this by transfiguring a pebble from the ground into the aforementioned tool and digging the soil with it in a circular pattern around the plant. “You need to dig a perimeter not too close to the stem—or you might cut the roots—nor too far, otherwise there will be too much dirt to clean, later.” He scooped up the plant—dirt and all—from the ground and placed it in the basket. “All we need to do now is bathe the plant in water to rid the roots of the dirt, and voilà, a perfectly undamaged Deadly Nightshade.”

Hagrid watched intensely the whole process. He nodded. “Aight. Can yeh make me one o' those?” He gestured to the hand trowel.

“You won’t need one,” Severus said. At Hagrid’s confused look, he elaborated. “You have a giant's hands—thicker skin and bones for manual work—perfectly fit to just bury your hands around the plant.”

Hagrid stared at his hands. “Jus’… dig in and pick it up?”

“Yes, basically,” Severus confirmed. “Though, I should warn you to be careful when manhandling the plant. Once again, it’s a fragile one. But don’t fret if you don’t manage at first. There’s plenty around and you’re still learning.” Severus smiled up at him.

Hagrid gave him a firm nod. “Aight. I'll try me best”

By the end of it all, they collected a successful amount of Belladonnas for Slughorn and himself—Hagrid insisted to collect some for Severus, as well, since he helped.

Hagrid had his ups and downs, but he master the technique, in the end, Severus thought. His first attempts, the ones where the plants got damaged somewhere, Severus kept them to himself without complaining. It wouldn’t do to discourage the man, after all. Though, Severus did give him some stern pointers to assist him in his endeavours.

Weirdly enough, Hagrid looked more determined to achieve Severus’ standards than disheartened by his words. If anything, when Severus claimed one of the plants he collected to be in perfect condition, the man was so happy he almost dropped the plant.

Severus mapped the area in his pocket journal—the path to get here and the area around the clearing, as well—before and while returning to Hogwarts grounds. He planned to have it on an actual map for Hagrid, so the man could come back whenever he wishes. The half-giant beamed at him when Severus told him so, which Severus still had to get used to.

Once back at the hut, Severus instructed Hagrid to get a large basin and fill it with water, so they could wash the dirt away from the ingredients. Hagrid, for his part, returned with a large wooden trough already filled with water. “From the Hippogriffs stall,” he had said.

“Let's wash it first before using it, then.” Severus admonished.

They collected water from the well, refilled the trough and got to washing the plants.

“All right,” Severus said, pulling out his robes and rolling up his sleeves. “I'll be giving them a thoughtful wash while you hold them underwater, gently. Does it seem reasonable?”

“Hol’ them?” Hagrid asked.

“You take the plant from under, scooping them up to sit on your hands, yes, like that,” he watched as Hagrid did what he was told, cupping a specimen with both large hands. “Now you dip your hands and swing them underwater slowly to remove the excess soil. No scrubbing or shaking them, just swing them around until the soil dissolved by itself,” he nodded in approval at Hagrid's attempt. “I’ll be cleaning the stubborn bits that stay behind. Just pass them to me once you’re done.” Hagrid nodded.

The soothing morning sun eventually turned into harsh afternoon sunlight.

After they were done, Severus packed the belladonnas to be delivered by owl to his Head of House while Hagrid returned the trough to the Hippogriffs enclosure—after cleaning the mud out of them thoroughly, of course. He came back with some scratches, but according to him, ‘nothin' serious, truly.’

“Yeh should stay fer lunch, watcha say?” Hagrid invited.

Severus, who felt tired after walking great distances in the forest and in no way prepared to eat in the Great Hall yet, decided to accept the invitation.

Severus sat by Hagrid’s circular table while the half-giant made tea. Tooth greeted him from the floor with a soft whine and Severus patted his head. “Should be ‘ere any minute, now,” Hagrid declared, setting the kettle and two teacups on the table.

As soon as he said, two plates popped onto the table. One filled to the brim with white and red grilled meats, corncobs, white rice and a bowl of pinto beans on the side. The second consisted of corned beef with mashed potatoes and a side of baby carrots.

“There they are!” He smiled, sitting on his wooden chair with an audible squeak of protest. “Always on time, the elves,” he said. “Would starve meself if not fer the good o' them.”

“Quite,” Severus conceded.

They eat in silence for most of it. Tooth nibbled on a piece of meat Hagrid gave him and Severus contemplated the fact Hagrid could eat the entire corncob like one eats carrots. Said he liked it, even.

Then it struck Severus as he was on his last bite of mashed potatoes—his headache, even though he returned to Hogwarts grounds, wasn’t unbearable as before. A quick peek into his mental barriers, which caused no backlash, showed it in shambles and Severus was mortified.

“Excuse me, Hagrid, sir,” Severus said. “Do you mind if I meditated for a minute? Your hut is cosy and the atmosphere is calm, perfect for a session.” Severus lied smoothly.

“O’ course, lad. ‘ave a go.” Hagrid allowed.

Severus nodded his thanks and wasted no time. He closed his eyes and slipped away from reality to study his Occlumency shield.

He noticed how they weren’t destroyed, though not function as if they had been rendered useless by the magical assault. What once could be interpreted as a thick brick wall with no apparent weakness had become ruins. Bits and pieces of memories could be seen in the holes and emotions could easily slip through the gaps. Worst of it all, anyone with enough skill could spy on his head.

Severus shivered.

He fixed the aforementioned shields by tumbling the compromised barrier down and raising them anew, in quick succession. It turned out expectantly—efficient and strong—though a bit different from the previous one. Whether the last one resembled a brick wall, this one reminded Severus of castle walls. A fortress, if you will. Something not stronger, per se—Severus Occlumency far surpasses a master's on its own, already—no. He meant it as linear, progressive, stepping onto the next stage.

The one who falls and gets up is so much stronger than the one who never fell.

His defences fell so they could amend themselves to Severus' needs, protecting him far better than before (re: mage sight backlash). And though it hurt like hell to get here, Severus felt good knowing his defences had ‘evolved' for him.

Inside, nothing substantial had changed. His head resembled different rooms from different buildings all mish-mashed and connected by doors, stairs, and corridors in an abstracted pattern only Severus knew. Sometimes elements from somewhere would mix up with a room from some-other-where, where it didn’t belong, looking slightly unsettling. Like Cokeworth's library sitting room with a slider right in the middle, ending at the mouth of the fireplace, of all places.

His head reminded him of a Maurits Cornelis Escher painting, but come to reality—or well, as much real as he could make in his head.

No matter. He didn’t come here to gawk at his own work.

Severus looked around for something new—a room, a feeling—as is expected when learning a new means of perusing information. It didn’t take long before he was standing in front of a behemoth castle gate. One so huge, he could hurt his neck from looking up, had it been real.

This definitely wasn’t here before, Severus thought.

Led by instinct, he reached toward the heavy-looking doors and was startled when they swung open easily and unprompted. Though, what he saw inside made him sigh in resignation.

The room—circular and dungeon-like, with dark bricks, torches, and a velvet green floor—was a clusterfuck of different magic signatures swooping around as they pleased. An epilepsy hazard of colours going on and on and out, then stopping and keeping going between themselves as if playing.

Severus felt like the new daycare professor meeting the oh-so-called angels on his first day. Only to see the kids were hyperactive and two-faced as hell, and he had been scammed.  

He sighed again because he needs to organize this mess, otherwise, he will suffer greatly from new magic signatures in the foreseeable future.

Curse his Mage Sight! (Though, not really since it's extremely useful).

Severus came up with a sorting.

He made adjacent corridors connected to the main circular room that had several doors on them. Each door belonged to a magical signature to catalogue them properly, in turn.

He collected the signatures one by one from the main room, asserted to whom they belonged, labelled a door in their name, and tossed the signature behind said door so as to not bother him ever again.

Through this, he was able to comprehend the magic of the people around him better.

Mulciber's calm yet stormy waves. Avery's sparks of both mischief and thunder. Bellatrix's tornado.

Also, Madam Bickerton's dense yet gentle wool, Winny's cheerful floral-like pollen.

James Potter's warm and welcoming orange fire.

Because, of course, he is. Bloody hell.

Severus decided not to think about that too much and focused on his latest problem.

There were four magical signatures left in the main room, which Severus quickly identified as Hogwarts magic: the blue gust of wind gliding gracefully, the yellow earthy sands spinning on the floor, the fiery red cluttered in an orb right in the middle, and the watery green flowing in circles around the other three. The same hue of colours he saw in Hogwarts the previous day.

Try as he might, he couldn’t organize them together behind the same door. They wouldn’t fit together though they belonged together, and Severus frustratingly groaned.

Hogwarts isn’t a person but a castle, a building rendered magical after years of magic seeping into its walls. The imprint left from a millennium of existence condensed into one sentient magical signature - though, there are four, not one.

Severus ended up creating four different doors next to each other in the main circular room for easy access, each leading to one of Hogwart’s signatures. He separated them—with difficulty, mind—into each one and labelled them based on the colours of the doors—red, blue, yellow and green.

Once he was finally done, exactly after concealing the final signature, he felt a great weight lift off him. He could feel the magic coursing through him like river waters instead of assaulting him with ice, steady and stable. His mind cleared, his headache immediately stopped, and Severus just knew he wouldn’t need to worry about sensing magic anymore.

With an approving nod, Severus left his mind space.

He opened his eyes to the sight of a rock on a plate, on top of Hagrid's table.

“Huh?” Severus was disoriented, still, so he sounded dumb even to his ears.

“Oh, yeh’re back, lad.” Hagrid greeted from his bed where he was knitting a scarf. Judging by the colours, a Gryffindor one. “I baked yeh some rock cake, me treat.” He pointed to the rock.

Severus blinked, eying the supposed cake suspiciously. He glanced at his wristwatch to see he meditated for about an hour—time in the mind space flows differently than reality—and said, “I don’t think my teeth can handle a literal rock, sir,”

Hagrid laughed. “No rock, lad. Is'a cake, see?” He gestured to a basket of said rock cakes by the side table. “Found meself good at bakin’ them long ago. Very tasty.”

Severus hummed, reaching for a fork he could use to take a polite bite of the treat—after all, Hagrid looked proud of his baking and Severus didn’t want to upset him by refusing—but found none at his table. He frowned, looking around the one-room hut, but could not find any cutlery anywhere.

“Hagrid, sir,” the man raised his head from his work to look at him, once more. “Could you, perhaps, lend me a fork or a spoon?”

The man looked apologetic. “I don', lad, never had one.”

Severus tilted his head in confusion. “How do you eat, then, sir? I mean, without silverware.”

“The elves send food with them forks, already,” He shrugged. “I eat rock cakes with me hands.”

Severus’ nose wrinkled in disgust. He might be poor, be he would never eat with his hands. Once you’re a potion master, you learn how quickly you can contaminate your food with magical ingredients, even if you wash your hands regularly and thoroughly. It’s a nightmare. “Let me rephrase myself,” he said. “Could you lend me something I can transfigure into a fork? A metal or silver piece, in preference.”

Hagrid searched the many pockets of his coat and produced from within a small wrench. He gave the rusty thing to Severus. “There yeh go.”

Severus unsheathed his wand with a flick of his wrist and waved it over the wrench soundlessly, letting it morph into the common shape of a fork. In this case, the transfiguration wasn’t complicated to him since both objects were made of the same material.

He then picked up the fork and tried to break the cake's, no doubt, hard crust with it. It didn’t work. He frowned, opting to stab the cake multiple times. It didn’t even dent.

“This is no cake,” Severus muttered frustratingly after his assault.

Hagrid laughed, a booming sound full of mirth coming from his belly that shook the hut.

Severus, for his part, pouted. He wouldn’t let himself be made fun of.

One of the advantages of being a potion master—the obvious ones notwithstanding—was cooking. Once you master the art of measuring, cutting, dicing, stirring, etcetera, you’re over-prepared to face a kitchen.

Severus himself always thought: if you’re good at cooking, you may be good at making potions. Now, if you’re good at making potions you’re guaranteed to be good at cooking.

For every hard cooking recipe, there’s always a potion that is harder to master. However, once you master them, there’s no recipe you cannot make.

And Severus was a damn good cooker—he had to be if he wanted quality food to eat. That comes with its own advantages. Some of which are cooking spells.

Severus waved his wand on a set pattern for a spell he learned from a magical cookbook at eighteen—A Witchzard's Guide on How To Cook That by Ann Reardon—where it softened hardened caramel instead of melting it. The once rock-hard crust of the cake became so soft it dissolved around the edible parts of the treat and fell on the plate. The now exposed interior looked very wet with caramel yet grainy.

Severus smiled smugly; sheathing his wand and picking the fork back up. He scooped a small portion of cake bathed in brown sugar caramel and brought it to his mouth.

And immediately gagged. “Argh! What the—“ he gestured for a cuppa and it floated into his hands. He downed the tea. “Why does it taste like sugary dirt?” He asked hopelessly.

Hagrid had the decency of looking abashed, though one could never be certain, what with his facial hair. “I didn' had anythin' else.”

Severus stared at him in disbelief. “Hagrid,” Hagrid winced with his stern tone of voice. “…you made this with dirt?” He whispered.

Hagrid looked down, fiddling with the wool of his scarf. Tooth, by the half-giant's side, whined.

Severus felt slightly amused by the image of a man in his forties being reprimanded by a sixteen-year-old. He quickly composed himself, though, breathing deeply and raising his Occlumency shields, to react properly in this situation.

He decided to be understanding. “Hagrid, who taught you how to cook?”

The question seemed to have taken the man by surprise, but he quickly latched on to the supposed change of subject. “Me mum cooked when I was a lad.” He smiled at his memories. “She didn' teach me, but I learn what I could from watchin’ her.”

“Well, did you learn your rock cake recipe from her, or did you improvise?” Severus asked, folding his hands on the table.

Hagrid shook his head. “She died young,” he said gravely. “Had to learn by meself.”

Severus nodded, feeling strange. Hagrid, much like himself, had a series of unfortunate events happening to him that changed his life from a young age. He was expelled from Hogwarts, had his wand snapped and lost his mother.

He views Dumbledore with such admiration because the man saved him. Literally.

And, as someone also manipulated by Dumbledore, Severus could not but pity the man.

“Would you like to? Learn how to cook a proper rock cake, I mean,” Hagrid looked up with wide eyes. “I know a simple recipe. I believe you have all but one ingredient. Unless you have unsalted butter somewhere here?” He raised an eyebrow in question. Hagrid shook his head. “I can grab a stick of butter from the kitchen if you want. I can write the recipe down, as well, so you can practice cooking it. It takes about thirty minutes and it tastes good.”

“Yeh would…” his voice broke. “Yeh would do tha’ for me?”

“It’s just a recipe, Hagrid, nothing serious. Besides, you did give me half a dozen belladonnas, and for that I’m grateful.” Severus smiled. “However, you do need some kitchenware—cutting board, cutlery, mixing bowls,” He listed with his fingers, thinking where could he find such items to gift Hagrid with. “A charmed preserving bin to store the butter would come in handy, as well…,” he muttered more to himself than the other man.

Severus heard a loud sniffle.

He looked up to see Hagrid blowing his nose on the scarf he was knitting, fat tears rolling down his beard. “Yeh're a good lad, Snape.” He managed in between his hiccups. “A very good one.” He used the other end of his scarf to clean his face.

Severus scoffed but remained silent as Hagrid composed himself. “I'll be returning to the castle to retrieve some things you’ll need,” he said, standing up. “It won’t take too long, so wait for me if you can, sir.” Hagrid nodded.

And with that, Severus left.

Chapter Text

Severus went up the hill stairs towards the castle and already could feel the changes.

The magic—both Hogwarts’ and nature’s—blended to sing him a melody, one cheerful much like the merperson’s song. The colours, the careful hues of magic embedded on the castle’s walls, entranced Severus once again dancing to the wind. It soothed him, cocooned him with the warm and silent laughter of children longing to play. Voices long forgotten and ignored circled him, begging for his attention.

His magic reacted. He watched as his dark emerald green tendrils floated from his person, joining the parade. It flowed like a snake, protective and content to join the play. An exceptional yet eccentrically thing to watch your own magic interact with the world around you. It does beg the question: Is magic about life or the other way around?

It’s neither. One cannot exist without the other.

“Stabilising balance, Severus,” Harry had said. “Isn’t exclusive to magic, not at all,” He sipped his tea with that look of contemplation he spotted whenever answering a complicated question. “Such as the body does not function if an organ fails, neither does the world. A meticulous, complex system, keeping each other alive as time goes by. The magic and the people, the otherworldly beings and the creatures, all bonded together by what they choose to call home. And in many of my lives, Severus, I’ve learned when you have a healthy body, you have a happy life.

“From the words of an unknown author: The ripples of change caused by a rectifying act can and will shift the waves towards a better course. Do you understand what that means to you, Severus?” Harry smiled. “You are the change.”

Life cannot exist without balance and Severus was here to bring the changes that would eventually lead the world towards a better future.

He shook his head to focus. It wouldn’t do to get lost in the magic or himself, for that matter.

He made his way over the courtyard entrance, towards the moving staircases, until he hit the seventh floor. Severus passed the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times and entered the now visible door. Inside the room of hidden things, he breathed deeply to calm his fast-going thoughts, tucked his magic tightly around himself—much as Madam Bickerton does—and sighed. He then decreased his reach before Accio a fork to not commit the same mistake as before and Accio too many things at once. However, none came. It seemed he needed to reach deeper into the room to find what he wanted.

He tried repeatedly; increasing his reach as he goes until a fork finally came flying his way. An old silver fork with gold roses embedded in the handle, matt by age. His eyes trailed over the general area the fork came flying from and Severus stepped closer to see if there were a cutlery set. Luck for him, under a pile of vintage wooden dinner chair-and-table, was a chest full of them.

He found corroded brass, rusty steel, shiny gold and tarnished silver cutlery in no particular order. Sets from different time periods, all clustered together in one cedar wood chest with cushions inside. The majority looked beyond repair while others were as good as new.

Severus summoned the silver and gold set with a flick of his wand, the only one half-decent, and separated them from the rest. He Accio a small cardboard box, emptied its contents—books most of all—and placed the cutlery inside neatly arranged with a piece of red cloth from a table nearby. Once done, he magically closed the lid.

He stood up, the box under his armpit, to perform another Accio. Wooden planks came flying from different directions and fell by Severus’ feet. None, however, was what he needed.

He tried again, channelling his magic and being more specific with his words. “Accio cutting board,” however, again, none came.

Shrugging, Severus did the next best thing. Levitating a decent-looking plank, he waved his wand, casting a silent Diffindo—the severing charm—until it shortened the wood, then Expolitum—the polishing charm—until the wood reflected his face, albeit blurry. By the end of it, it looked like a medium to a decent wooden cutting board. He only hoped Hagrid wouldn’t break the board in half with his bulk and brute ways.

He walked back towards the door, placing his new goods on the floor, before strengthening up once again for another search. Severus let his reach expand as far as he could manage—which was a lot—to engulf a good part of the room. “Accio preserving bin?” He asked, and was no surprised when none came. He sighed. “I can’t believe I need to charm one, myself.”

He tried Accio several things that he could use as a base for his preservation charms. Chest (he regretted it immediately after, as there were many chests in the room), wardrobe (a regretful decision, also, as many wardrobes higher than himself came flying towards him) and even box, which, by the way, did you know anything with a flat base and sides, typically square or rectangular and having a lid is considered a box? Why, yes, of course. Many regretful things flew to him at that request.

It wasn’t until he managed the mess of his and tried a tired. “Accio cabinet,” that he found what he was looking for. An oak wood kitchen cabinet, the size of a stool, flew to his feet. He almost hugged the thing in his desperation. Almost.

He levitated the cabinet to join his other items and quickly got to work. First, he cast a preservation charm on the outer layer to, as the name suggests, preserve all food items stored inside the cabinet. Second, he cast a cooling charm on the shelves inside so any food item stored in the cabinet would cool down as if on ice.

It wasn’t efficient as a muggle electric fridge—which he adores—but he supposed it was leagues better than whatever witchzards have in this era.

With a nod and a small pat on his shoulders, he shrunk all the items and placed them in his robe breast pocket—which he still needs to enlarge—and promptly left intending to return to Hagrid’s hut, while of course, passing through the kitchen first for some needed unsalted butter as he had promised. Winny was more than happy to provide it to him after he asked politely.

Back at Hogwarts grounds, it was past four in the afternoon.

Severus could see the sun readying to set on the horizon, the clouds bathing in oranges and purples, turning deeper as time goes on. It wouldn’t be night until six, but Severus knew the day wouldn’t linger on Hogwarts. The school would darken faster because of the Forbidden Forest, provoking in many new students the sense of mystery and horror the forest is known for.

To Severus, it meant he had to give Hagrid the items, write him the recipe, and skedaddle out of there in less than an hour before dark.  

Tooth came trotting towards him as soon as he hit the last step on the hill stair, the lazy bum. He barked loudly his way, and if Severus couldn’t see the agitated magic around the dog, he would’ve been offended. “What’s wrong, boy?” He crouched to meet the dog halfway.

Tooth whined as soon as he came closer, gesturing with his head towards the hut and back as if trying to say something.

Severus pat the dog to calm him—which worked as the great hound settled down—before asking. “Did something happen during my abstinence?” Yes, Severus knew the dog couldn’t speak his mind, for he’s a dog, but he could read the animal’s mood through the magic coursing around him.

The dog whined again, digging his paw into the dirt in a defiant gesture, before barking towards the hut.

Severus picked up the feeling of indignation and betrayal from the dog and pieced things together to form a hilarious picture. “Did Hagrid kick you out, boy?” His voice was full of mirth.

The dog huffed annoyingly and Severus laughed. “Sorry,” he apologized to the dog’s expression of disapproval, surprisingly. “Come; let me try to convince Hagrid to let you in.” The dog wiggled his bulky tail and Severus stood up.

They arrived at the door soon after—Tooth jumping happily for the help and Severus laughing at the dog’s antiques—before Severus readied to knock on the door. However, the door swung open before he could.

His smile was knocked out of his face the moment he saw who was on the other side.

James Potter stood staring wide-eyed at him. Severus, for his turn, stared as well.

Why is he here? Is he a friend of Hagrid’s? Severus spent the entire day with the half-giant. The man never mentioned anyone else visiting him—even declared he never got help with his work before Severus stepped in—and now, suddenly, James is here.

Severus opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Tooth had had enough. He shoved his way petulantly over Severus’ legs to make his way towards his bed on the corner. Severus stumbled slightly, putting him out of his stupor. “Oy, you idle thing. Look where you’re heading would you.” Severus admonished.

Tooth lowered himself to bed and whined in Severus’ direction. The magic around the hound told of regret.

Severus nodded. “You’re forgiven, however, be politer next time.” He said.

“…Why are you reprimanding a dog?” James asked slowly. Stealing a look in his direction, Severus could see confusion and a touch of amusement in his expression.

“Why are you here?” Severus asked.

That seemed to wake James. “None of your business,” He bit out.

Severus raised a condescending eyebrow that seemed to annoy James. “Very well,” He conceded. “Where’s Hagrid, then?”

“Why do you ask?” He crossed his arms, adjusting himself to look taller.

Severus raised both eyebrows this time, amused, and James clenched his teeth. “I have a delivery.” He stated simply.

“Then place the delivery on the table, and leave.” James made a shooing gesture.

“I don’t think so,” Severus announced, slipping beside James to step into the hut. He sat at the ragged armchair by the fireplace, waiting.

James looked offended. “You can’t be here!”

Severus sighed tiredly, crossing his legs and folding his hands on top of his knee. “Why not?”

James huffed, much like the dog in the room. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

“I thought planning was your field of expertise,” Severus said sarcastically. “Though it doesn’t work according to plan most of the time, now does it?” He teased.

“Because you ruin my plans!”

“Because I stopped you from harming someone with your pranks,” Severus corrected. “Only to have them turn a blind eye once I was the victim.” He smiled without joy.

James bristled. “You’re not a victim. There’s nothing to be a victim of! They are just harmless pranks!” James exclaimed.

Severus stared into hazel eyes in pure disbelief. He could not believe his own ears. Had James just downplayed the gravity of his actions right in front of Severus? He had to raise his Occlumency shields as high as he could to not do something he would later regret doing it.

He breathed deeply before asking. “Right now, without your consent, would you like it if I pulled down your trousers?”

James instantly went into a defensive position with his back to the wall, wand suddenly in hand. “What?” He asked in between clenched teeth.

“Would you?” Severus insisted.

James pointed his wand at Severus. “Don’t dare!”

Severus tilted his head to the side, studying James’ reaction. “Why? It’s just a harmless prank,” James looked confused by Severus’ words. “You did the same to me or have you forgotten? Worst, even, in front of the whole school,” Severus slowly raised his hands and clapped. The sound of it was monotone and emotionless. “Congratulations Potter; you can now brag about getting away with crime.”

James stared at the theatrical reaction and scoffed. “Crime?” He asked sarcastically.

“Yes, crime,” Severus conceded. “Sexual harassment, to be more specific. Leads up to five months in Azkaban that does.”

James paled. “…What?” He whispered.

“You know why you’re here after what you’ve done, Potter?” Severus asked. However, without letting James reply, he said. “You’re here because you’re a minor. You’re here because the current Head Auror from the Auror Department is none other than Charlus Potter, your cousin once removed. You’re here because your father could just as easily pay off your charges…” Severus listed, staring at James, daring him to say it otherwise. “You got away with just detention because you’re an entitled rich brat.”

James opened his mouth to rebuke, but just then, the door opened and from outside came Hagrid carrying two buckets of water from the nearby well.

“Snape, lad! Yeh’re back.” Hagrid greeted happily.

Severus tore his gaze away from James to smile at Hagrid. “Indeed, I am,” He stood from the armchair. “Sorry about the wait, sir. I had to circle all over the castle to find these.” He produced his shrunken items from his pocket.

Hagrid placed both buckets at the base of the basin, turning around to say astonishingly. “Yeh shouldn’ta have, lad.”

“I did this because I wanted to,” Severus placed the items on the table, ignoring James gaping at him. “I accept no buts or complains.”

“But—“ Hagrid tried anyway.

“No buts,” Severus remarked again. “Come; see for yourself what I’ve brought.” He unsheathed his wand with a flick and expanded the goods back to their original size.

Hagrid stared. “Wha’ are these?”

Severus pointed to the cardboard box with his wand, opening the lid and revealing the silver and gold cutlery set inside. “Cutlery,” he picked up the board. “A sturdy cutting board for meats and the occasional dough,” Then he slapped his hand on top of the cabinet. “And a preserving cabinet I charmed myself. All, in my opinion, necessary for a kitchen, mind you.”

Hagrid eyes the cabinet. “Preservin’ cabinet?”

Severus nodded. “Like a preserving bin, but a kitchen cabinet. Made to store easily spoiled foods such as milk, butter, cheese, meats, etc. I also charmed a cooling mechanism on the inside to keep the foods fresh and cool water. You can use it to store eggs as well to protect them from the summer heat.” To make his point across, Severus opened the preserving cabinet and revealed the unsalted butter he collected from the kitchen.

“Where did yeh find all of this?” Hagrid asked.

“A housemate of mine is moving from their parent’s home to a small muggle apartment,” He lied smoothly. “They couldn’t bring with themselves all the furniture they had; otherwise it wouldn’t fit or be too witchzard-like for muggles to bear, so they gave always most of it. I grabbed some items while I could to bring home, but these,” he gestured to the ones on the table. “We already have a complete kitchen back home, so I don’t need this. You can have it.”

“Are yeh sure, lad? Looks pricy to me.” Hagrid still insisted.

Severus smiled slightly, genuinely. “I was given this, I haven’t bought them. However, I have no use for them, either. Giving them away to someone who needs them is the best I can do.”

Hagrid nodded, relenting. “Aight, Snape. Thank you.”

Severus nodded. “You’re welcome,” he then produced his pocket journal and a pencil from his robes. “While you organize your things, I’ll be writing you the recipe I talked about. I can’t stay to assist you with baking today—it’s getting dark already—but you can owl me if you have any questions. Does it sound reasonable?”

“Aye!” Hagrid beamed from ear to ear, carrying the cabinet with as much care as he could. For all he tried to refuse Severus’ gifts, he looked like a child who just got candy.

Severus chuckled once Hagrid was out of earshot before ripping a page from his journal to write on it.

Someone cleared their throat beside Severus and it took all of him to not jump. It was, as Severus had forgotten, James Potter.

“You’re still here?” Severus asked.

James stared at him with a blank facial expression. “What… was that?”

“That what?” Severus asked as he started copying the rock cake recipe on the page. 230g of all-purpose flour; 1 ¼ teaspoon of baking powder…

“You know… the items? Why all of that?” James sounded both lost and confused.

“Have you ever, perhaps, had a bite of Hagrid’s rock cakes?” Severus whispered in his direction, all while keeping writing the recipe. 1 teaspoon of ground allspice; a pinch of salt…

“Of course not. The cake is hard as a rock, it’s impossible.” James whispered back with a glint of curiosity.

“I have,” Severus admitted. “I used a spell to soften the caramel on the crust and had a bite of the inside.” He reiterated after seeing doubt on James’ face. “It tasted like dirt. Hagrid used dirt to make that cake. I ate literally clay.” He kept whispering so Hagrid wouldn’t hear and take offence. A pinch of nutmeg; 120g of unsalted butter.

James’ eyes widened slightly. “Dirt cake? He offered us dirt cake whenever we come for a visit?” James harshly whispered back.

Severus brought a finger to his lips and gestured for James to be silent. “Would you want to be louder?” He admonished. “Yes, he did. However, he didn’t expect anyone to eat them, I think. Considering they are as hard as a rock. Anyway, I asked if he wanted to learn an actual rock cake recipe, one he could make in his hut and offer to guests and he accepted all right, but he didn’t have certain culinary items, thus I brought some for him.” He gestured in the cabinet direction that Hagrid was trying to place over the basin, still. 100g of muscovado sugar—brown will suffice; 125g of chopped dried fruit—sultana, prunes, apricots, cranberries, raisins, etc.

“And you got all of this from a housemate—a Slytherin—going to leave on a muggle apartment?” James narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Who, exactly?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I concealed their identity purposefully so they wouldn’t be found out,” Severus bit out to enforce his lie. “Besides, Slytherins aren’t all pureblood, now are they? And if you think so, then you don’t know me or my house at all.” Oh, I almost forgot to add 1 egg.

James seemed to be slightly taken aback by that. "I know you guys, all right.” He said as if reminding himself he was talking to a Slytherin, after all.

Severus looked at him, then. “You’re very mistaken if you think you do.” He returned to his paper after that. Start the firewood to preheat the oven and then line a baking tray with oil or butter.

“What does that mean?” He dared ask, staring defiantly at Severus.

“If I had said ‘Gryffindors mistake their reckless behaviour with bravery’ you would’ve jumped to defend your house in a heartbeat, would you not?” Severus said. “You would’ve said something about the Gryffindor’s courage or anything at all to prove me wrong. Why should I be different?” He stopped writing to stare at James once again. “Slytherin is about being cunning and resourceful, to have the ambition to achieve great heights. To be successful, to be someone. Now, you tell me: how does this translate to the negative view you have of us?” He turned back to his paper again albeit eager to hear James answer. Mix the flour, sugar, baking powder, allspice, salt, and nutmeg. Add the soft butter and rub it into the flour with your hands until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs.

James was silent for a while. Severus kept writing. Beat the egg lightly—mix it in a bowl, not with your fists. Stir the fruits—chop them if too large—and egg into the flour-butter mixture with your hand or a spoon. “You’ll turn to the dark, eventually. All Slytherins do.” He finally said with finality as if saying the sky is blue.

Severus’ hand slipped creating a line across the page at that. He wasn’t expecting such a blunt claim, yet, he kept his composure. James is, after all, only a sixteen-year-old ignorant boy who still believes in his half-baked principles. “You know…” He half-whispered calmly. “If you had said those same words to Godric Gryffindor a thousand and more years ago after Salazar Slytherin left, you know what he would’ve said?” He erased the line gently to not aggravate the paper.

James frowned, confused. “Why does this matter?”

“Do you have an idea?” Severus insisted. Divide the dough into 10 heaps and place them on the prepared baking tray.

James gave an honest effort, for once. He thoroughly thought about his words. “…Upset, most likely. Both at me for bringing up the issue and Salazar for being a bastard.”

Severus huffed a small laugh and shook his head. “No,” He said. “He would’ve looked at you with the air of a man who went through a war to get where he was, to say ‘Thou claim such prejudiced words with the conviction and stupidity of a man content to grow a pair of wings and fly. If thee would to jump conclusions, might as well fly high,’ and walk away.” Bake until golden brown, he wrote.

James tilted his head in confusion, frowning. “And why exactly would he say that?”

“Because he lost the man he considered a brother for more than half his life to such words as yours. Because Salazar resigned, so he wouldn’t be hunted down because of his beliefs—ones, mind you, nothing to do with blood purity. Because Godric himself had to deal with the changes going around at the time—politics, religion, spirituality… Christianity was growing rapidly in the British Iles, then. Muggles became restless and power-hungry—power they could not possess. All of which, lead eventually to the first witch hunts.” Severus stated as seriously as he could. “You insulted the magical practices of a man following what he was taught to be true since young—calling it ‘dark’ and ‘wrong’ as if you have any idea of what you’re talking about. You bashed all of his apprentices for following his teaching, calling them evil or cowards. You speak in the tongue of the people who hunted down witchzards throughout Europe for sport because you have a narrow idea of what magic should be. That’s ignorance. That’s prejudice.” Leave to cool on the baking tray for about 10 minutes, and then transfer to a flat surface to cool completely. Store airtight—I recommend a glass jar or sealed basket.

James stared wide-eyed. He was shocked silly. “How can you…” He voiced low, almost whispering. “How can you be so sure?”

Severus put down the paper on the table and tucked his journal and pencil back into his robe’s breast pocket. Then, he turned and faced James head-on. “Because Godric Gryffindor said those same words before, to his son Gaderian Gryffindor when the same said similar words such as yours. And before you ask how I know, you might consider visiting the Louvre in Paris, more specifically, Magik la Louvre—the witchzard museum underneath the muggle Louvre. They have a copy of Gaderian’s memoir divided into sections where he wrote about his life and the life of his father. That conversation is one of the last things he wrote before Godric’s death; there are no more records after that, unfortunately.”

James blinked. “Wait, what?” He shook his head. “You can’t be serious. No, you can’t.” He stopped Severus before he could speak. “They hated each other! Salazar was a pureblood supremacist and he fought Godric. He wanted Hogwarts to be pureblood exclusive because he hated muggle-borns. He went always after losing because he couldn’t get his way across. You’re lying.” James accused.

Nevertheless, Severus only shook his head. “We’re talking about an event that happened a millennium ago. In the tenth century, Potter.” Severus reminded him. “Not only had the concept of pureblood and muggle-born completely inexistent back then but all magical folk also come from different places and religions—including muggle. The founders themselves were English, Welsh, Scottish and Irish—Godric, Helga, Rowena and Salazar respectively. There was no widespread magical comminute, only the magical people you could find in your life. We all bonded together only after the creation of Hogwarts and the fear of the hunt.” He explained, entrancing James with his words.

“Salazar, most likely, feared muggles would eventually find Hogwarts.” Severus continued. “His fear escalated to a degree where people could claim he hated anything muggle, including muggle-born, though completely wrong. Salazar wanted to protect anyone magical from the muggles—muggle-borns included—afraid they too would suffer the consequences of having magic in the land of God, as the muggles would say back then. However, the victors write history, and Salazar who left Hogwarts behind wasn’t one of them. It’s always easier to blame the man who left when he was most needed, turning him into a bogeyman of sorts. The most damaging part, however, are the people who took that false accusation as gospel and preached the words of blood purity thereafter—based on their fears of muggle and their hubris.”

At this point, Hagrid had returned to the table and listened to Severus’ words transfixed. James wasn’t much different. Severus was a professor, after all. He knew how to latch his students’ attention whenever he needed it. 

“But…” James’ voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “That’s not what I’ve been told.”

Severus arched an eyebrow. “Consider educating yourself, then.”

Tooth barked, startling the three of them. Severus looked at the dog to see him clawing at his bowl, whining for food. “You should feed Tooth, Hagrid,” Severus informed. A quick check of his wristwatch told Severus it was ten past five, already. “I’ve finished writing the cake recipe on this piece of paper,” he held it for Hagrid to take. “I have to go, but if you need my help with potion ingredients or baking or anything I can be useful at, just owl me. I’ll be here as soon as I can.” Hagrid nodded, looking hopeful and beyond grateful.

James seemed to awaken from his stupor at that. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the castle. It’s almost dark outside; I shouldn’t be out so late.” Severus remarked. He made his way around the table until he was standing next to the door. “Goodbye Hagrid, sir. Potter.” He nodded his goodbyes to them both and promptly swept out.

Severus found himself wandering the corridors of Hogwarts before dark. He had a reason for it.

Yesterday, he concluded he couldn’t stay in his dormitory any longer for the remainder of his stay at Hogwarts. He needed a hidden and safe place to serve as both his quarters, potion lab and office where he planned to accommodate students in need. For that, he would need somewhere abandoned and spacious with adjacent rooms.

As once headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus knew the castle’s many rooms and hidden passageways. Hogwarts is sentient, known for its protective nature over its students and professors, and as headmaster, Severus learned more about his job from Hogwarts itself than from the previous headmasters’ portraits. He learned how to navigate himself through the walls, search in the right places, and of many abandoned rooms locked shut. The point is that Hogwarts cherishes its headmasters. It wants to help them achieve prosperity for the school and the witchzard community—as it was the founder’s wishes—and it does that subtly through its magic.

However, before, when Severus was headmaster, he couldn’t attend to the majority of Hogwarts’ wishes simply because he couldn’t decipher what the castle wanted of him. He had no way of understanding—being a new headmaster and an inexperienced one at that—nor of seeing the castle’s magic for he hadn’t had Mage Sight.

Now, not only he can see Hogwarts’ magic, but he can understand it, also. He can communicate his wishes to the castle, and the castle can demand things of him.

And it’s not as if Hogwarts changed its title of him, mind. In Hogwarts’ magic, Severus is still the headmaster.

It doesn’t care that Dumbledore is up there in the headmaster’s quarters or that Severus is years younger. As long as Severus has Hogwarts and its student’s well-being in mind, Hogwarts will lend its aid. And right now, as he traversed the corridors alone, Hogwarts guided him.

It all started with a silent question, one imbued with Severus’ magic. Hogwarts, may you lend me a hidden room?

Hogwarts magic reacted immediately, eager to help Severus and perhaps excited with the prospect of being seen, for once, while helping. He smiled with the warmth, following the kaleidoscope of colours tugging his emerald green forward.

He walked by many rooms at that request. Classrooms, bathrooms, empty rooms, etc. All abandoned and old, hidden from prying eyes, yet none of what he needed.

Hogwarts, Severus called after walking by three floors, coming out empty-handed. Lend me a safe and hidden room where I can protect others and myself. He clarified.

Hogwarts’ magic expanded around him, adjusting its search to attend to Severus’ request. It comforted him while he waited with reassuring whispers Severus was sure said nothing at all, yet it had him at ease. Hogwarts is home, after all, and the comfort of home is the best there is.

Soon, he felt the tugging at his magic and followed towards the new location.

Severus found himself in an empty dark corridor with no windows—he had his wand out on a Lumos—staring at a bare brick wall. Hogwarts magic hovered around that small portion of the corridor, embedding itself through the wall and back as if telling him to come in, but Severus had no idea how.

The wall had nothing of significance to it, nor the location if he dared say. An empty corridor in the lost parts of Hogwarts no one ventured in because it’s too far away from the dormitories and Great Hall. A plain brick wall with no inscriptions or runes carved into it. If not for Hogwarts’ magic and the distinctive feeling of wards in that specific area, Severus would never bet an eye on it.

How do I come in? He mentally asked.

Hogwarts magic—only the blue hues this time, which Severus found odd—floated in front of him on a dance Severus identified as a wand pattern. It repeated itself several times before Severus attempted with his wand, channelling his magic. The movements reminded him of Elder Futhark, the alphabetic manner of runes.

Runes don’t translate to modern English well, Severus found out when amplifying his understanding of them with Harry. But they can be interpreted into the language if one knows where to look. The runes spelt ᛗᚨᛁ ᛁ, which Severus quickly translated in his head to Mai I or simplified to May I. A question as if asking for permission.

As soon as he finished, bright blue runes the same colour as Hogwarts magic appeared on the wall. ᛏᚺᛟᚢ ᛊᚺᚨᛚᛚ. Thou Shall - You shall. His permission had been granted.

A thin line formed in the bare wall and slowly, loudly, parted itself. Severus winced with the stone-dragging noise, casting a silent Silencio as soon as it started. The opening revealed an archway into a large dark room.

Severus cast a Lumos Máxima on the ceiling to illuminate the room and ascertain what he was given. He found it bare of anything besides dust and the telltale of rotten furniture. The place ought to be older than any he had visited so far.

Material worth decomposes eventually. It takes approximately three to six months for paper to decompose if not stored and care for properly. Polished wood takes a little more than thirteen years and metal more than a hundred or so.

The fact this room—parlour, judging by its size—has only remains of what once was furniture tells Severus this place has been untouched for a long time.

Severus turned to the source of energy on the wall—the exposed runes on each side of the archway.

The intricate runic work attached to the entrance was complex in its connections and meticulous lines resembled that of an archaic version of programming, which told Severus of the time it had been carved onto the wall. That and the complete disregard for the room entails it hadn't been charmed to preserve its interior, succumbing all to time. Based on that, Severus could deduce the room was warded before the introduction of Charm.

The Charm subject of magic was introduced in the English Isle with Christianity. Before, witchzards of their time relied on runes, rituals, and short-term spells.

Christians of long ago forbade the use of runes because of Pagan culture and its practices. They falsely claimed rune work—and consequently its many rituals—as the magic of the Devil himself, and with that, they banned runes. Charms were introduced soon after.

Those events happened around the time of the first witch hunt when Salazar had left Hogwarts already.

Severus’ eyes widened with his realization. This room has been untouched for at least a thousand years.

“Blimey,” he breathed in awe and instantly regretted it. All the dust accumulated in his lungs and the putrid smell of rottenness assaulted his nose. Severus coughed. “Purgatio!” He exclaimed the cleansing spell to purify the air, one necessary to any potion master worth their gain.

The air cleared of impurities around him, but the smell remained. It had stained the floor and walls as the once-furniture decomposed.

“I can clean that,” he reasoned to himself. “The space is excellent for what I have in mind, as well.” He said aloud, mentally checking his list of requirements.

He ventured further into the room, down the semi-circular three steps on the entrance and over the middle. He turned 360° degrees staring at the room in its entirety.

The parlour wasn’t large as a ballroom, just enough to hold a small party. It had tall rectangular bay windows on one wall to the right and stone supports on the left. The far wall adjacent to the entrance had an indent on the wall—an old fireplace design—that could be reconstructed.

Behind the supports on the left, Severus saw two doorways—lacking any door for it decomposed—and one archway much like the entrance.

He strode towards them to find two rooms—one enough for a bed and another spacious for a lab, he listed mentally—and a kitchen. Though it had no furniture, he could tell it meant to be a kitchen by the stone wood stove on the corner.

“Personal quarters, potion lab and kitchen,” he pointed to each empty room. “A parlour to house some sofas by the fire and beds by the centre of the room. Bare walls to line with bookshelves and a large area by the window sill for a reading.” Severus was grinning from ear to ear by the end. “It's not exactly perfect—it smells of death and it’s all dusty—but a bit of work, new furniture and a light reformation, and I can use the place just fine.” Thank you, Hogwarts. This is exactly what I asked for. He told the school.

Hogwarts responded by cocooning him in warmth and silent laughter. Severus chuckled at that, feeling the magic coursing through him and around him. He adores it, though he wouldn’t admit doing so. No matter, since Hogwarts can tell by the feeling of his magic—emerald green tendrils like snakes and sparkling fireflies—as it brightened with joy and danced protectively around him.

Eventually, Severus noticed the blue windy magic—the same ones who helped him open the door earlier—separate from the main, into one wall beside the fireplace. He tilted his head in its direction curiously.

Something glowed on that wall.

It wasn’t as the rune work from the entrance, but it glowed blue just the same, which intrigued him. Severus stepped closer, noting how all other colours from Hogwarts magic stayed behind, not defiantly but respectfully. Whatever was behind that wall belonged to the blue magic only.

Upon close inspection, he saw a carving. Not a rune, or wall decorations, but a single and simple raven with a pair of glowing blue eyes.

“Huh,” He hummed, touching the carving carefully as the blue magic circled the wall.

His magic reacted instinctively, reaching out and mixing with the blue, creating a dark shade of teal. It asserted him, recognized him and accepted him in quick succession, shaping itself to resemble the lone raven carved onto the wall. It floated in front of him before dovetailing itself—like a key—in the wall’s carving, turning sideways with an audible click, to reveal an entrance as the wall parted and the archway within, leading towards another room.

He gasped audibly.

Inside what appeared to be a small vintage office illuminated by torches, standing still right in the middle of the room admiring a painting above the window’s canopy, stood none other than the Grey Lady, Helena Ravenclaw herself.

Chapter Text

The Grey Lady turned as she noticed Severus.

Helena Ravenclaw wore a grey under-tunic tightly fitting around her forearms and a faded blue outer tunic with two golden straps going from the shoulders down with a wind pattern embroidered onto them. Bronze ornament bands trimmed all her sleeves, neckline and hemline, as well as one tightly around her waist. The silky white veil, going from her scalp to the floor, obscured her long black hair. She was beautiful as any tenth-century woman could be. Royal-driven judging by the few jewels in her person—specifically, her no doubt bronze thin necklace.

She gasped as well with the sight of him, though she needn’t air. Her eyes trailed over him rapidly until they landed on the door he came from. Helena grasped her tunic and dashed forward to step foot onto the parlour in a hurry, leaving Severus to step out of her way. Once inside she stopped in the middle between the entrance archway and the fireplace and fell on her knees.

“Oh, mother,” her voice full of longing and sadness, echoed through the empty room. “What became of thy beautiful parlour?”

Severus’ eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. Helena’s mother? Do you mean Rowena Ravenclaw? Severus knew the parlour hadn’t seen the light of day for at least a thousand years, however, he did not expect it to belong to one of the founders. How could he, considering the lack of care for the room?

The blue wind from Hogwarts’ magic hovered above Helena as she kneeled. She extended a hand to touch the magic but it coursed through. Her expression only saddened further.

The magic, unable to connect with Helena, winded away towards Severus where it played with his green fireflies, turning teal where they touched.

Helena watched the magic with widened eyes before seeing Severus entirely. Her eyes focused on his Slytherin crest and she frowned.

“How come thou serpent slither thy way into a bird’s nest?” Helena mused. “I had thought only a true raven could access mother’s parlour.”

Severus shrugged. “I asked Hogwarts for a place such as this; it guided me here,” he informed. “The blue magic helped me to the entrance and the office.” He pointed to both archways.

Helena stood elegantly, eying him all the while. “The blue magic, thou say. As ‘i Mother’s magic?” She gestured to the blue circling around him.

“Ravenclaw’s magic?” He asked. “I had assumed it to be a part of Hogwarts magic, nothing more.”

Helena shook her head. “The magic of Hogwarts is as the founders left it. An amalgam or something a medley of their magic together. ‘Tis through mine mother’s magic that I shall remain as a ghost of Hogwarts. The others are no divers—alas, attached to divers houses.”

Severus hummed in acknowledgement. It made much sense as to why he could see four magical signatures to represent Hogwarts, as it was the founder’s magic. That meant Rowena herself—or an impression of her left in Hogwarts magic—not only guided him towards her parlour but allowed him entrance, also.

“How peculiar,” Severus mused to himself. He felt honoured, proud with reason. It isn’t every day a founder of Hogwarts entrusts you with their quarters, after all, much less a parlour.

“Marry,” Helena conceded. “What shall be thy name?”

“Severus Snape, currently a fifth-year Slytherin.” He greeted her with a polite bow.

“Helena Ravenclaw, though I suspect thou already knew.” She respectively curtsy back in greeting.

He nodded his affirmative to her statement.

Helena looked around once more, taking notice of every wall, every little detail left behind. “It saddened me that all of mine mother’s meticulous work was left to rot as she passed.” Severus arched an eyebrow in query. “This room could not be dupp’d without her permission, much less be broken into with the wards. The only ones allowed ‘i were she and I. We both died ere changing the runes.” She explained.

“I tried for many years to phase into this room as a ghost, yet alas, I could not without magic as the wards would not allow.” She mourned. “I tried warning many witches and wizards from mine house of this place’s existence throughout mine keep, yet none could access it. The runes were too complex, the people too sceptic by time, dumber every year that passed.” She turned to stare at him with wonder and gratitude in her eyes. “Thou art the first to be allowed ‘i, to allow me ‘i. Gramercy, oh son of Slytherin.”

Severus smiled though he shook his head. “I did nothing. Your mother granted me entrance.”

She nodded. “Marry, though not for her infatuation with thou, I would not be hither.” She looked past him towards the office. “Her place was all I could save. The headmaster whom known mine pleas found and restored what was left of mine mother’s workplace, though the time escapes me. None posterior to her passing were aye allowed ‘i her teaching space, the parlour. It amazes me thou found thy way ‘i.”

“Teaching space? She used to hold classes here?” Severus asked.

“Aye; she shared her knowledge hither ‘i the parlour. ‘I mother’s time, the towers hadn’t existed," Helena explained. "All houses resigned together towards the first to second floors of Hogwarts. None hid ‘i the basement or the dungeons, nor touched the welken on towers as mine house now doth.”

Severus nodded, turning around to step into the office. He took notice of the size of the room; small like a home office, not fit to house many students at once. Severus could feel the preservation charms embedded on every surface, every piece of furniture from the window’s canopy to the criss-cross wooden floor, the mahogany desk and empty bookshelves. He felt few wards—charms not runes—for privacy and other matters. The room had clearly been found, plundered and left alone.

Overall, he could make use of the space, especially considering it’s furnished already. 

A door at the far wall caught his attention. “Where does that entrance leads?”

Helena floated beside him. “The Hogwarts headmasters I mentioned created that door. Occulted behind a portrait, they left it as ‘twere for years. Should thee were to step through it, thou would find thyself towards the path 'twixt the dungeon’s staircase and the Great Hall.”

Severus whistled in amazement. “So close to the Great Hall and no one ever stumbled upon it?”

“The portrait doth not allow the entrance of any professor, much less a curious student. The only one I hast seen walking through that door was the headmaster; none moe.” Helena informed.

Severus hummed, making his way towards the door. He eyed the brass handle, which spotted a raven carving, much as the one on the secret entrance to the parlour. Similar, not the same. It was apparent they were made to resemble each other, however, made by different people. While the other looked ready to fly, this felt dead and cold to the touch.

He turned the handle and struggled with the door to force it open, however it wouldn’t budge as it was. Hogwarts magic descended upon the door, all the colours this time—all the founders, he speculated—mixing with his magic to allow him through. He heard an outraged cry from the other side as the door banged against the wall once it suddenly opened.

Severus stepped out of the office, looking back to smirk at Helena. “Now you’ve seen two people stepping through this door.”

Helena blinked and smiled softly. “Marry.”

“What is the meaning of this!?” A woman’s voice coming from the door yelled.

Severus took hold of the door and swung it half close to inspect the portrait installed onto it. Helena phased through the wall to stand by his side.

On the golden frame portrait, standing on a bed of roses with sharp-looking thorns was a woman with chocolate skin. She wore a cage crinoline long petticoat skirt, a corset tightly fit on top of her blouse around the middle and a bonnet securing her elaborate updos of hair, all in black with under shades of maroon and purple. Her expression was stern as she threateningly pointed her hand fan at Severus like a wand. “Are you the malapert who slammed me against the wall!?” She exclaimed. “Insolent brat! How dare you!” The painting’s thorns turned a shade darker and more menacing with her anger.

Helena waved her hands to catch the woman’s attention. “Mine friend, we doth apologise,” the woman amidst roses looked at her. “The door had not been pried dupp'd ‘i so long, it stiffened around the edges. Mr Snape had to force it ope, thus.”

“Apologies ma’am. It wasn’t my intention to arouse such a crude act upon you. I hope you can forgive me.” Severus bowed.

The woman huffed, fanning herself elegantly. “Ma’am,” the woman repeated sarcastically. “Listen carefully young man, for I will say this only once. My name is Calla-Lily Hollyhock! My family calls me Lily, my friends call me Holly, and my lovers call me Calla. My acquaintances, such as yourself, call me Mrs Hollyhock. Understood, boy?” 

Severus snorted in amusement at her over-the-top theatrics and proud attitude. “Of course, Mrs Hollyhock. I’ve understood well.”

Beside him, Helena snickered. “Holly.” She admonished with a look.

“Oh, don’t Holly me, Helena. You had me frightened, did you know? None has ventured into my room for quite a long time and suddenly someone is barging me from behind and slamming me to the wall.” She smirked. Severus startled a laugh at her innuendo. “Had you been a little older and my type, I wouldn’t have minded as much.”

“Holly, how improper!” Helena admonished again, though she was smiling.

“Grow up, my dear.” Holly smiled; the thorns in her painting all but diminished as the red roses bloomed brighter with Holly’s mood.

Severus choose that moment to check his watch, seeing almost nine. “We should finish talking inside. Soon the Slytherin student will be returning to their dorms and I would like to avoid being seen, if possible.”

Helena had a puzzled look on her face. “Thou are a Slytherin, correct? Why not retreat to thy room for the night?” That question had Holly blinking rapidly before eying him from head to toe.

“Pardon me for I still have things to do. Shall we?” He gestured inside the office. Helena stared a second longer before nodding and floating inside.

Before Severus could do the same, Holly cleared her throat loudly to catch his attention. “Young man, Mr Snape, was it?” Severus nodded. “I’ll allow access to my room since Hogwarts itself vouched for you, but please, I beg of you—treat it nicely. This room is all my dear Helena has left of her mother and it would break my painterly heart to see it gone.”

Severus smiled and nodded. “I’ll be using the office as mine for now own, but be assured nothing will be left out of place to satisfy Ms Ravenclaw’s satisfaction.”

Holly nodded approvingly. “We Slytherins keep our promises, Mr Snape. Do not disappoint me.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t dare to defy a Slytherin woman, much less a Lady.” And with that, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Unless you deserved it,” he whispered to himself, thinking of Bellatrix.

Helena waited for him beside the desk. She eyed him expectantly. “Would I am to be allowed, I desire to keep ‘i mother’s parlour for longer, Mr Snape.”

Severus nodded. “I’ll leave the office’s door open so you can come and go as you please. Eventually, I may adjust the runes to allow ghosts in, so you needn’t worry.”

Her eyes widened. “Wouldst thou doth that for me? Or moe specifically, could thou? Those runes are ancient and complex. I am not sure they are taught at Hogwarts, besides.”

Severus looked at her with a smile that tell of confidence. “Just leave it to me. For now, please, enjoy your stay.”

She smiled as well. “Most well, then. I shall.”

Severus gestured inside the parlour, allowing Helena first before stepping in, himself. “I’ll be taking my leave for the night. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms Ravenclaw.” He passed around her to reach the other door, leading to the abandoned corridor. “We may see each other again in the foreseeable future, I bet.”

Helena floated beside one pillar, hands folded above her heart. The Grey Lady eyed him, then the magic around him, and smiled. Severus raised one eyebrow at her reaction before noticing the way Hogwarts’ magic—Rowena’s—kept playing with his magic all the while. Hogwarts is a playful thing, Severus thought, which entails the founders were no different. He could imagine, based on the windy blue, what type of person Rowena was. A stern however clever woman, with a gentle hand and firm words. Helena, her daughter, was much the same.

“I hope to meet thou again, Mr Snape,” Helena said before turning from him to stare at the large windows, lost in the scenery.

With a nod, Severus extinguished the Lumos Máxima on the ceiling and left.

Severus walked down the long corridor with his pocket journal in his hands, noting within a collection of items, furniture and trinkets he planned to decorate the parlour with. A ball of light—a modified Lumos charm—that illuminated both the way and the pages so he could write, followed above him throughout.

He started by planning his bedroom, the first adjacent room he found in the parlour. It wasn’t a spacious square, however, just enough for a bed and a wardrobe, maybe a small desk where he could continue his work well past sleeping hours. He added a bed frame to his list, wood if he could help it, and spare sheets. If Severus was lucky, he could find a pillow or the remains of one he could repair. He wasn’t confident though, considering how flimsy old fabric can be.

Currently on the seventh floor, making his way towards the room of hidden things where he could find the items needed, Severus pondered the need for a bedside table. Would it fit or would it just cramp the place? With what he had to work with, Severus thought, sadly so, that perhaps he would have to go without one.

Suddenly, he felt watched.

Severus halted dead in his tracks, closing his journal and storing it back into his robe. The light went out with a wordless Nox, and he went quiet instinctively. The art of going invisible right under your enemy’s eyes, Severus waited for a tad before walking again on silent feet. He used the pitch-blackness as a cover to slip from under the watchful eyes into a section where he made a turn into a corridor moonlit by large windows.

He walked down that corridor, arrived at one windowsill, and there he sat, waiting. Not long after, he saw a silhouette following him down the same path. Severus, however, wasn’t afraid. He knew by the feeling of the magic around that it wasn’t an enemy, but rather an unpleasant foe. He wasn’t surprised by the creature’s shape once under the moonlight, less so by its face. He sighed, still, in both relief and dread.

Severus found himself scrutinized by a very annoyed cat.

“What a lovely night, is it, Mrs Norris?” Severus greeted.

The cat, this decade Mrs Norris, growled at him warningly. A skeletal little thing, she was, with intimidating red eyes. Her ears flattened on her skull and pupils contracted into slits, she looked about ready to pounce on his legs. The magic around her swirled threateningly, like several bats circling prey. No wonder students from his time were afraid of the puny thing.

“Someone’s in a bad mood.” He mused, making her hiss.

She was trained to act that way, Severus knew. Mr Filch hated magical children to the point of torture, honouring Headmaster Dippet’s times when physical punishment was allowed. Severus wouldn’t be the first to disapprove of the man’s ways, however, he could count himself as the first to understand, on some level, the why. Currently, squibs are viewed in a bad light, and it has been that way for a long time. The man had a rough early life, Severus supposed, which turned him bitter. None were excuses for his actions, though. Severus wouldn’t excuse them, as well. No matter how difficult the man had in his youth, torturing innocent children isn’t the way to heal.

Severus sometimes thought Mr Filch wasn’t on an endless chase for healing, but rather, one of revenge. That didn’t help the man in the slightest.

“You’re the only one who can understand Mr Filch, aren’t you, Mrs Norris?” Severus whispered to the cat. “I wonder what the man needs more—help or a good scold.”

She hissed again when Severus mentioned scolding Mr filch. “Yeah, yeah. You’re his friend or something. I understand—I do. But I can’t allow someone to threaten my students with promises of torture and chains hanging from his walls. He’s supposed to be the caretaker, not the executioner of Hogwarts.” Severus shook his head. “In times like this, I wish you were part Kneazle. At least then you would hear and understand my meanings.” Severus stood from the windowsill after that, intending to head back to the Slytherin dorms. After all, if Mrs Norris is here, Mr Filch must not be far behind and Severus wouldn’t like to be caught.

The aggressive cat saw this as a student trying to escape their punishment—which Mr Filch, no doubt, trained her to react had this been the case. With a mighty high-pitch meow, she advanced on him, leaping towards his right leg.

And immediately found herself floating mid-jump.

She meowed astonished, contorting her body to turn here and there, trying to adjust her inner cat senses to balance herself, paws waving frantically. Once she laid flat, Mrs Norris looked at Severus to see the Slytherin with his wand out, smirking her way over his shoulder. Mrs Norris’s eyes narrowed. “Bad kitty,” he admonished gently. “It’s not curfew yet. I’m not relinquishing the rules.” He tapped his watch with the tip of his wand.

She hissed loudly. “I hear you. I’m going back to my dormitory, don’t worry.” Severus said, making his way down the corridor towards the moving stairs. Mrs Norris floated behind him. Severus couldn’t release her now, otherwise, she would bring Mr Filch.

Mrs Norris trashed, meowing loudly all the while. Severus could silence her but thought better of it. If anything, she would hold a grudge against him—if she hadn’t already.

He arrived at the balcony from which he needed to take several stairs down to hit the first floor, and then the dungeons. They were moving, the stairs. Severus calculated it would take him thirty minutes to make the travel by them, considering the several spots where they would stop and wait for other non-existent students to step in. By the time he finds himself down, it would be curfew already.

Severus sighed. He hadn’t planned to return so earlier at ten. He had scheduled to spend the entire night out since Mr Filch doesn’t patrol the seventh floor often. No such luck for Severus, though. He barely made his way to the tapestry before being spotted by Mrs Norris.

He will Disillusion himself next time.

“All right, kitty,” Severus said, floating Mrs Norris beside himself. “I don’t have much time today, unfortunately. So, try your best to feel comfortable.”

Before Mrs Norris could process his words, Severus tucked her against his chest with both his arms… and jumped without any hesitation.

Poor Mrs Norris closed her eyes and screamed at the top of her feline lungs when she felt gravity pulling them down.

“Don’t struggle,” Severus said calmly, which alerted the cat. “I know cats have nine lives, or what have you, but you wouldn’t want to fall from this height. Believe me.”

Mrs Norris opened one eye, surprised with the ease in Severus’ voice though they’re fallen to their deaths. That’s when she noticed, astonishingly so, that they weren’t fallen, but rather, floating down. The Slytherin had cast Wingardium Leviosa on himself, robes billowing gracefully around him like wings. An act only someone skilled could pull off, as the caster would need to regulate the velocity of their descent manually throughout, which is no easy feat when under the spell itself.

Mrs Norris wisely decided to bury her face in Severus’ chest instead of looking down.

Severus smiled at her action. “Don’t worry, you. We’ll be on the down floor soon. It’s faster this way, nonetheless.” He comforted her.

True to his words, man and cat found themselves on the first floor no late than three minutes, without a bruise to their names. Severus floated down slowly, tapping his foot against the ground, allowing gravity to pull their weights, and stood at the bottom of the stairs.

He sighed after cancelling the spell, relieved. He might have Occlumency to balance his mind; however, he can feel restraints, still. Severus is in a human body, after all. He has limitations.

“Everything all right?” He asked Mrs Norris. The cat kept her face buried in his chest, claws digging into his robes to secure herself safely in his arms. She didn't look like she was going to move soon. Severus shrugged. “Very well, then,” and went his way.

He walked for a while with the cat in his arms, eventually rounding the corridor towards the stair going down to the Slytherin common room when Mrs Norris decided enough was enough and meowed to be put down. He relented easily, afraid the cat would scratch him if told otherwise.

Once planted in the ground, Mrs Norris looked up to stare at Severus with a shine in her eyes he had never seen before. The magic around her was both relieved and wistful, which confused Severus, as they were opposites. She sat; tail flicking left and right, blinking slowly up at him, meowing gently this time.

Severus tilted his head; looking in all directions to be sure they were alone, before kneeling on one knee and scratching her behind the ear. She purred. “Good kitty, Mrs Norris,” he smiled. “Keep being good and I might allow us another flight lesson.”

Her ears picked up at that. With one paw, she brought down his hand to lick his finger in approval before standing up and trotting away. Severus watched her go with a smile on his face. A cat that enjoyed flying—truly, something to behold.

Severus snorted, got up and allowed himself to rest.

Monday morning started with Severus staring at himself in the mirror with an unhappy expression. After cleaning his best set of clothes with some cleaning spells for yet another day wearing them since he returned in time, and showering without soap again, he was reminded of what day is today.

Dressed and hair combed, Severus remembered his fifth-year class schedule, which, he couldn’t have asked for worst if he dared.

Not only does he has classes with Gryffindor first thing in the morning, but it’s also Defence Against the Dark Arts—all with a useless professor to boot. Mr Borguini qualified for the job on a theoretical level, don’t get Severus wrong, however, he fails in every other aspect. The man spends so much time appealing to every child from a respectful pureblood background that he forgets to teach, leading to an embarrassing performance on his part.

Severus remembers hating the man so much! He was excited about his fifth-year syllabus and had it all down the drain because of the professor.

On that note, Mr Borguini was the least of his current problems. Sharing classes with the Gryffindors meant seeing the marauders and Lily all at once.

Yes, he went bravely against James two times already, but it doesn’t make it easier. If anything, James told the marauders about his changes. As far as he knows, they are planning revenge right this instance. For Severus, duelling them isn’t the problem—he could defeat all four of them with his eyes closed if he wanted—no. Lily’s the issue. With Lily there, there isn’t much Severus can do. She won’t like to see them fighting and won’t forgive Severus any faster by it.

The entire situation is a recurring nightmare of his, but this time is worse because it’s real.

And to think he was happy just yesterday night—to have it all turn on him by morning.

Severus sighed and stared at his expression of trepidation in the mirror. He swore to live past his hundredth birthday if he survived today unscathed. With a deep breath, raising his Occlumency shields as higher as he might, he left the bathroom, grabbed his bag and left the Slytherin dormitories thereafter.

He planned to eat breakfast at the Great Hall today.

He wasn’t feeling any courageous today, don’t misunderstand. He had a plan. Severus thought that if he had to see Lily today, he might as well get used to seeing her alive again, sooner rather than later to not react strangely during class. Admiring her from afar when everyone else is too concerned with their food to notice him looking, appeared to be the best course of action.

He was afraid of what he might see on her face in case she looked back at him. He was afraid of her disappointment in him, her resolve to avoid him. His heartbeat increased, as he was sure he couldn’t survive another day of Lily hating him.

No matter, he told himself. I’ll find a way; I always do.

He went up the dungeon stairs and walked the corridor towards the Great Hall. “Morning, Mrs Hollyhock,” He greeted the portrait on his way.

“Is it morning already, Mr Snape? Well, a good day for you.” She wished back.

He nodded. “And to you, as well.”

He traversed the corridor with tense steps before arriving at the entrance door. It was open to allow students in and out without fuss—as is custom. He stopped at the edge, bordering the wall, hiding from the students within to take a breath. He inhaled and exhaled, a hand to his heart until his heartbeat had abated somewhat. Severus summoned the little social courage he had before seizing his bag should strap and stepping into the Great Hall’s light, turning to head inside.

He came face to face with Lily.

Because of course, he would. Severus can’t have good things happen to him to save his life!

She stopped on her way once she noticed him. Severus, for his part, froze in place. They stared at each other.

Lily was in all her red hair glory tied on a messy bun above her head, wearing the school’s uniform. Her expression changed from annoyance to surprise, and later guilt as she stared at him. Lily opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out of it.

Severus could hear his heartbeat in his ears. His Occlumency shield was the only thing holding him adequate. He felt his hands shake slightly were they squeezed the shoulder strap he was holding.

Lily’s alive! She’s alive and she’s here. Severus felt dread in the bottom of his stomach, thinking about the thousand ways he could lose her again—the happiness of seeing her lively rose cheeks the stubborn thing keeping him standing still. Memories of events he swore would never happen came flooding his head. Doubts of a future yet to come; the horrors of failure, the pressure upon his shoulders…

“Wait, Evans!” Someone called from behind her. As if the stars had aligned themselves to mess with his life today, James Potter came running at them. “Are you angry at me? I'm sorry!” He looked genuinely worried, but then again, when Lily’s involved, he always acts differently.

She snapped out of her stupor, turning to look at James over her shoulder. “No… I’m not… I don’t know, Potter. Please, leave me alone.” She said before turning to stare at Severus some more. Her green eyes held him frozen for about two seconds before he saw them widen in astonishment and her expression shift to one of concern.

He blinked, confused by her reaction. James frowned at her where he stood until he noticed Severus and stared as well. His expression was different to hers but no less astonished. That hinted to him something was wrong. He raised a hand to touch his face, thinking that perhaps he had toothpaste somewhere on his cheek.

His hand made contact with something wet under his eye. Just then, he felt it dripping down his face. Severus pulled his hand away to inspect it and saw, horrifyingly so, that it was red. 

It was blood.

The interesting thing about Intenebre magic—academically so—is its dynamic with a witchzard’s emotions and soul. The magic derives from the magical core situated in a person’s or creature’s solar plexus, powered by the being’s life essence—that’s why when someone is magically depleted, they run the risk of dying. It’s known as the ‘magic of the selfish’ for it strengthens itself with the weight of the caster’s desires, or will.

Intenebre; the intus tenebris or the darkness within. The selfishness of humanity.

Emotions control humans. No person on earth has not once had their emotions speak the best of them when they were too much to bear, further implicating Intenebre magic to take a life of its own when not properly dealt with.

From the most innocent magic of them all to the most complicated, Intenebre type of magic is, in its reality, as strong as a person’s desire to achieve their goal.

A Patronus could be either corporeal or not depending on a person’s skills but also the situation—protecting oneself or a loved one from certain death certainly strengthened a person’s resolve enough for a corporeal Patronus, whereby practising in the safety of one’s home could or could not achieve the same results.

The same could be said about an Avada Kedavra. It depends on a person’s desire to kill.

Knowing all that: Occlumency—or mind magic in its majority—is Intenebre. It protects one’s mind from outside forces but also establishes balance within the caster’s mind, helping with emotional management.

However, what happens when emotions are plenty and heavy, enforced by the weight of someone’s soul—memories and luggage from the past—slamming themselves all at once on a person’s mind shields? They don’t break because there’s no threat to the mind; it’s an internal conflict, after all. There’s too much to bear, nonetheless, and nowhere for all those emotions to go. So, what happens?

Well, the body finds a way to rid of them, of course, so as to not overwhelm the system. Because when the soul hurts, so does the body.

Moreover, Severus’ sorrow for the woman he held lifeless in his arms, regrets not even time could fix both ways, and fear for a future he wasn’t sure he could fix, were compacted and released by his body in an attempt to save him from a breakdown, all into the shape of a single tear of blood.

His hand shook violently with the force of his emotions trying to break through. He felt cold; yet, the blood dripping down his face was scalding hot. Not that he could tell, with the way his senses were slowly shutting down.

This wasn’t his usual break, Severus mused. This was a full-blown panic attack shattering his meticulous control.

He needed to find an out.

“Sev?” Lily’s concerned voice coursed through his cloudy thoughts to encourage a reaction out of him.

He looked up to see into emerald green eyes.

He saw Harry in them and for a split second, found himself back on the shack’s floor, dying.

He wanted to vomit.

“Excuse me!” He bitted out with effort, turning around and fleeing back towards the corridor he came from, running.

As he rounded around the corner, he could almost make out Lily arguing fiercely with James before running after him.

He needed an out, and he needed it now.

To his relief, Holly appeared to notice his distraught when he approached.

“Mrs Hollyhock, let me in, please!” Severus all but begged.

She took one look at his panicked expression before complying without asking any questions. Severus could not be more grateful.

Once he heard the click of the door opening, he slipped inside. “Don’t let anyone in,” He said before closing the door to Rowena’s, now his, office.

He slid down the wall, hugging his knees, breathing harshly with his panic. He closed his eyes, trying his breathing exercises with no effect. He tried to focus on his mental shields—meditating always helped him—looking for a defect, an opening from which his emotions were sipping through, but found none.

It’s just like he thought. He had too many emotions accumulated trying to pry their way over his shields, however, couldn’t for his Occlumency is the best there is.

He needed to manage himself, but more importantly, he needed a way to rid himself of those emotions.

Thus, Severus did the only thing he knew helped when in situations such as this. Severus cried.

“Crying relieves pain, Severus,” Harry had said. “You should know this; you’re a man of science as much as a wizard. It’s self-soothing besides calming one down. You shouldn’t be ashamed of shedding tears—be it of pain or joy. No matter how long you had to live withstanding your tears, you’re not there any longer nor will you be back, if you can make a difference.” He had smiled then, raising his teacup on a toast. “So cry, you fool! You can always laugh at your messy face in the mirror, later!”

Therefore, Severus promptly wept, rocking himself gently in rhythm with his hiccups, thinking of comforting memories of his childhood with Lily and his mother.

It’s not real, just a story, he thought to himself, just like his mother used to say. Over and over he repeated the words in his head until he could breathe properly to speak them aloud.

“It’s not real, just a story,” he muttered, banishing Lily’s lifeless eyes from his mind.

“It’s not real, just a story,” he repeated as visions of wars yet to come returned to the depths of his mind.

“Just a story,” he said as his worst memory locked itself where light never shone.

Severus slowly calmed his turmoil.

“Master Snape, sir?” A nervous voice interrupted his thoughts.

He startled, opening his eyes to see Winny, the house elf, standing in front of him. She looked agitated, biting her nails with a worried look plastered on her face.

“Master Snape be feeling sad. What can Winny do for Master?” She asked, bowing her head.

“How—“ Severus choked. He cleared his throat before trying again. “How did you find me, Winny?” His voice was rough enough to hurt.

One of her ears picked up. “Hogwarts be Winny’s home,” she said. “Us elf find masters anywhere at home.”

“Then, how did you know to find me?” Severus asked while attempting to clean his face with the sleeves of his robe.

“Hogwarts told Winny,” She stated simply. At Severus pointedly raised eyebrow, she acquainted. “Hogwarts elf can use Hogwarts magic to find masters, help clean up, and serve food, also. Hogwarts not talk, but the magic told Winny, yes it did.” She nodded as if to confirm her allegations.

Severus smiled somewhat, more like a grimace. “Understood.”

Both her ears picked up this time. She approached slowly, careful to stay in his line of sight, before asking gently, “What can Winny do to kind Master Snape?”

His expression took on a painful one. “I’m not a kind man, Winny.”

She shook her head. “Master Snape is kind—“

“I’m not, Winny,” Severus interrupted her, eyes glowing glossy with new tears threatening to fall. “I’m selfish, the worst type there is. I’m not kind, not with the way I’ve acted before,” he remembered Harry—his Harry, the seventeen-year-old—staring down at him with his green emerald eyes as Severus succumbed to the venom, and his heart broke slightly. “I’m a terrible, terrible man who did terrible things, Winny. My hands are guilty of my own failures. I’ve run from my problems so many times, all while creating new ones.

“I’m just a… coward,” He hesitated, but could not lie to himself. Severus was always a coward who ran to the darkest place in hell to escape his mistakes, making them worse in the process. “The coward-est man to ever live.” He whispered brokenly.

Severus startled again when Winny grabbed his hand. Her grip was firm so were her eyes, as if she was readying herself for a tough battle. “Master Snape be the kindest master Winny ever see.” She stated with finality. “No other master thanked Winny much as young master did. Master Snape was the only one to do so, in fact. All masters walk away without seeing, they do. Winny be a house elf, no one important, Winny thought. Us house elf thought us be invisible. Us live happily for masters that way, but not young Master Snape. He be kind to us in the kitchen. He sat and talked to all elf, thanked us, and smiled at us. Winny like Master Snape, she does, because Master be kind Master Snape!” She nodded with her words as if stating the complete truth.

Severus stared astonished. “How could you think that when we barely know each other?”

Winny looked slightly abashed, probably afraid she offended her master, but she fought through. “If Hogwarts likes Master Snape, so can Winny.” She reasoned.

Just then, when his feelings were most under control and Winny’s presence calmed him somewhat, did he feel the magic in the room. The freezing blues and warm reds, the lukewarm yellows and greens. Hogwarts magic circled him protectively, not only of him but of the room, as well, casting a cocoon where he could hide. He was safer sitting on the floor of an abandoned office room amidst the beginning of war than at home in his bedroom. Severus could only chuckle helplessly at the comparison.

“Thank you, Hogwarts. I feel much better now.” With that, the protective cocoon disappeared, though Hogwarts’ magic continued to linger. “And thank you for sending Winny.” He said, looking at her with a small smile. “I appreciate the company.”

Her ears flapped as she beamed at him—a wrinkled smile, though young for an elf. She reminded him of a Sphynx cat, sharp canines and all, and Severus adored her even more after thinking that. His smile gradually grew with hers.

Severus’ stomach chose that moment to growl. Now that the crisis was over, Severus felt quite hungry. He hadn’t had breakfast, after all.

Winny folded her hands together in a diplomatic gesture. “What can Winny do for kind Master Snape?” She asked.

Severus sighed. “Buttered toast and tea will suffice, Winny, thank you.” He smiled.

She smiled back. “Will do, Master!” And with that, she popped away.

Severus thought, sitting on the floor with his back to the stonewall, tears all over his face and robes, that the day couldn’t get any worse. He faced Lily and ran away shortly after. He cried blood, for Merlin’s sake, in front of Lily. In front of Potter of all people!

It would only dawn on him much later after breakfast had been consumed and Winny had been thanked appropriately for both helping his emotional state and the food, that today he had DADA first thing in the morning… with the Gryffindor students. All the while two of them watched him run away with blood coming from his eye.

Severus groaned. He wouldn’t live past a hundred, that’s for sure.

Chapter Text

James was having a difficult time. Or, at least, uncertainty.

Ever since Sirius’s attempted to prank Snivellus with Moony, things between the marauders had never been so complicated.

Remus felt betrayed by Sirius—with an honest reason—since he practically exposed Remus’s secret. Not only that, but according to Remus himself, Sirius had committed attempted murder of an innocent party, which, had it been successful, would’ve turned Remus into a murderer. And although James could argue that Snivellus was not innocent, he wouldn’t side with Sirius on this. He had saved Snivellus himself, after all.

Remus had been distraught ever since. Lost on the ‘what ifs' of that night had it played differently. He was either quiet or extremely pissed off, and nobody could touch or talk to him. Not even James or Peter—Sirius was out of the question.

James understood. He couldn’t fathom what would be of Remus had he attacked Snivellus or killed him as a werewolf, no less. The consequences would be daring to the point that James could see Remus being killed for it, and he knew Sirius would never recover had that been the case.

And Sirius, his best mate, realized the consequences of his actions too late.

He became the embodiment of a kicked puppy after the events. Brooding somewhere, whining all the time, begging for attention, etc. Remus had none of it, and it complicated the marauder’s dynamic even more as the two couldn’t make amends.

Remus, once, said with bitter words and clenched teeth that if Sirius wanted to apologize so badly, he should seek Snape and beg for his forgiveness since he almost died because of Sirius’s idiotic actions. Sirius had scoffed—as he usually does when talking about Slytherins—thinking Remus mental for even entertaining the idea, but Remus was dead serious.

“Snape made a vow—an actual wizarding vow—to never expose my condition and keep that night's event a secret whereas he was almost killed that night. And you, one of my best friends, couldn’t even keep your mouth shut!” Remus had shouted.

“He only did it because Dumbledore told him so!” Sirius reasoned. “Had the headmaster not forced his hand, he would’ve destroyed your life!”

“Headmaster Dumbledore only told him the consequences had he reported the incident!” Remus said. “Weren’t you there? He told Snape the accusations would fall on my shoulders, not yours! I would’ve been expelled and my wand would’ve been snapped while you would walk away unscattered. He took the vow, against his better judgement, out of his own volition to help me! So, if you have someone to pledge forgiveness to, it's him!”

Sirius had been awfully quiet after that.

Then there’s Peter who had absolutely nothing to do with the whole situation yet took the brunt of it. Both Remus and Sirius were rather cold towards him because of their sour moods and it was up to James to lift him back up. But he couldn’t be there all the time, and Peter started drifting away.

However, the thing that messed with his balance the most came as an unexpected behaviour change from none other than Snivellus himself.

He started avoiding James.

James hadn’t noticed at first—Snivellus did scatter away at the sight of him frequently as it was—but it became more evident as he stopped duelling with him or stepped away from arguments instead of insulting him back.

He was avoiding confrontations with James.

Words could not describe how jarring that had been for James and he couldn’t even fathom why. Sure, James saved his life, but that changed nothing. They should keep their routine like usual, hating each other, hexing each other, and so on.

That—Snivellus odd avoidance—topped with his friends' inability to make amends, pushed James over the edge.

Therefore, James did the only thing he knew how to do in situations like these. He planned.

And what a successful plan it was, indeed. Simple, with the use of one spell—the Levicorpus—and effective as it humiliated Snivellus, just as he wanted.

At the end of it all, Sirius was content to prank Snivellus after what Remus had told him, Peter was happy to finally partake in the marauder's activity once again and Remus disapproved—but when didn’t he?

James hoped Snivellus would be back to normal, hating James to hell and back by the end of the school year.

As a bonus, Lily defriended the slimy git. With reason, also, as he called her a Mudblood. She wasn’t happy with James’ actions either, but he could get around that, he was sure.

His friends were back, the girl of his dreams was one-step closer and his rival hated him again.

James had fixed the situation, or so he thought.

Everything changed one Saturday, two weeks short of the end of terms, the first day after the O.W.L's exams.

That day, Snivellus did something unexplainable.

Even after all James' efforts, Snivellus didn’t fire a spell back after James' initial assault. No, instead he… laughed. He laughed at James' second guess theory about Polyjuice, because surely Snivellus wouldn’t act civil around him after what he had done. He raged against James' words—his principles—but didn’t fight back. Then, when James thought things couldn’t get any weirder, he heard Snivellus hollow laugh as if dead inside, he heard his monologue about heroes and war, felt his hand tugging his wand towards his own heart, and watched, astonished, as he insulted him.

James could’ve done many things. He held him at wand point, pointing at his heart, no less. If anything, James could’ve killed him right there. But he wouldn’t; he wasn’t like this. Still, it's not like Snivellus knew that.

And yet, James did nothing. He heard his words, the insults, the rents, the rage! But also, the hiding despair. James didn’t dare fire point-blank after hearing such words.

He had said nothing of the encounter with anyone.

Remus noticed something wrong with him, of course, but he didn’t push. Sirius and Peter teased him to no end about Lily, thinking he had been dumped again in his quest for her attention. He didn’t correct them. Let them think something like this to the actual truth.

He thought that was one individual encounter, that things would stabilize themselves soon.

James proved himself quite wrong and stupid.

The second time they conversed, James was visiting Hagrid for some advice.

Truth be told, for more he tried to avoid thinking about it, James couldn’t take the encounter out of his head. It just made no sense.

Previously, had James said anything slightly offensive, Snivellus would be at his throat in a heartbeat, throwing more hexes his way than any seventh-year student knew. For more than James disliked the git, he would admit when credit was due. The slimy Slytherin would come up with clever ways to get rid of James at every corner, sometimes creating new spells for the sake of defeating him. And isn’t that an honour in itself? However, ironic, considering the Levicorpus spell is one of Snivellus’ creations that James stole after seeing him using it before.

Nonetheless, things were different with Snivellus now, James could tell. He was holding himself back that day. James saw with his two own eyes as Snivellus effortlessly dodged his initial hex, drawing his wand swiftly with the efficiency of a trained duellist, pointing at him soon after with the air of a dangerous individual you shouldn’t mess with.

Snivellus never felt like this before, and James was, probably for the first time concerning the Slytherin, scared of him. So much so, that the fact Snivellus walked away without uttering a single spell made James paranoid for the rest of that day.

He couldn’t discuss the situation with his friends, they wouldn’t be of help. Remus would be disappointed with him for picking up a fight with Snivellus; Sirius would outrage with the whole situation, causing more problems than solving them; and Peter, dare he might, couldn’t figure people out better than James himself.

Therefore, out of options, James resulted to the only adult he could think of that wouldn’t snitch on him if he mentioned his and Snivellus’ complicated rivalry. He went to Hagrid.

“I’m telling you, Hagrid,” James had said. “He’s changed. Snivellus changed. For Merlin above, I tried everything to bring things back to what they used to be, but it only solidified his change.”

“Wha’ changed?” Hagrid, writing a letter to Slughorn at the time, had asked.

And how could James explain that? He never mentioned Snivellus’ real name to avoid drawing a connection between the two when talking to Hagrid. As far as James was aware, Hagrid only knew the boy James talked about as the slimy Slytherin named Snivellus, and Hagrid would never defend a Slytherin for his dear life, so James felt safe talking to him about the git. However, even Hagrid wouldn’t approve if he knew the whole story.

James couldn’t tell him the truth. Oh, you see. I bullied him a lot, but after saving his life from my werewolf friend, he became distant and started avoiding me. So, I hung him upside down and exposed his pants to a whole bunch of strangers—you know? So he would hate me and we could start fighting again because I, for some reason, missed our duels?

Yeah, he just couldn’t.

“He scared me,” James admitted after a pause. “I don’t know how, but I turned my back on him for a second and when I turned around… he looked older, stronger. It scared me because he was unrecognisable at that moment.”

James remembered seeing Snivellus’ face after he turned and saw James around the corner. He expected expressions of horror, anger, or even revenge to paint the boy’s face. He never expected to see a pained expression. One radiating a sorrow so raw, James stopped in his tracks.

He couldn’t have known what Snivellus was thinking, but his eyes, those obsidian eyes stared deep into his soul the whole time as he was silent—they told of pain and regret, but also acceptance. Might as James tried to bring the anger out of Snivellus, the boy had stomped on his efforts. He had James’ mouth shut, limp from shock and confused beyond understanding without using any spell, only words.

Then he walked away as the better man, not a boy.

“I just can’t seem to figure him out anymore,” James admitted.

Case in point, that same day when Hagrid left to collect water on the nearby well and James waited for him in the hut, James heard a recognisable laugh coming from the outside. He had opened the door to confirm his suspicions only to come face to face with Snivellus again.

The events that soon proceeded will forever be stuck with James.

Sexual harassment. A crime. James had committed a crime and he couldn’t excuse himself. He had done it to fix the people around him, yet tinted himself in the process without even noticing. Perhaps that’s why Lily was so angry about his actions. Had she known the magnitude of what he did? Had she expected him to know, as well?

He was scared once again. He was ashamed.

Apparently, Snivellus is good friends with Hagrid, also. Bringing him gifts and writing him cooking recipes. Since when? Moreover, in the entire conversation about the Slytherin House, Snivellus stated James knew nothing of the snakes. Snivellus confirmed he knew nothing of them with his historical lesson.

And what a lesson that was. Godric and Salazar were brothers at arms? Salazar wasn’t a blood supremacist? Religion and fear, combined with the people’s ignorance and prejudice corrupting generations of witchzards thereafter? All of this destroyed James’ views of the world quite literally, but it also brought questions.

If there’s actual proof that Godric and Salazar didn’t hate each other, why does the witchzard community continue to pair them up as enemies? If what Snivellus said about Salazar’s wishes to protect magical folk from muggles is true—and James had a hard time not believing him since the Slytherin spoke plainly, convinced of his words and the truth behind them—then why do witchzards keep viewing him as the bad guy? Why does Hagrid, certified Gryffindor at heart, trust Snivellus, a Slytherin? But, most important of them all, how Snivellus knows so much about the past since in his own words ‘those events happened a millennium ago?’

Those questions plagued his mind well after Snivellus left the hut.

“Since when you’re friends with Sni--” He cleared his throat. “With Snape, Hagrid?” James had asked carefully to avoid sounding judgmental.

The half-giant looked away from James; staring at the new silverware Snivellus had gifted him. “He’s a good lad, Snape,” he said. “Helped me today with some ingredients from the forest. Findin’ them, collec’ them, washin’ them tidy fer Professor Slughorn.”

“But he’s a Slytherin?” James tried, however, his argument sounded weak to his own ears; after all, what Snivellus told him today was still fresh in his mind.

Hagrid looked at him with a disapproving look, something James never expected to see coming from the friendly half-giant. “He’s the only one ter ever offers me help. Said ter owl him if I needed more. He brough’ me forks, I never had them. Brough’ me a cabinet and a cuttin’ board no one ever gave me. He ate me cake and gave me a recipe, a better one that is.” Hagrid stared at the small paper in his hand with fondness. “He’s a good lad, he is. Slytherin or no.” Tooth barked his agreement to Hagrid’s statement and both dog and man shared a smile.

Great. Even the dog liked Snivellus.

James said nothing to that, opting to nod the man and dog his goodbyes before leaving as well.

At the fireplace back in the Gryffindor common room seated James on a cushioned armchair.

He dined with his friends—a watchful eye around the Great Hall to spot Snivellus with no success (doesn’t he eat?)—Before coming back silently to the dorms. He watched the fire broodingly for a long time, lost in thoughts while his friends played chess.

At some point, Lily and her friends arrived in the common room, but James hadn’t noticed at all, too engrossed in his thinking. She watched Sirius’ and Peter’s game for a while before noticing James from afar. She narrowed her eyes at him, seemly confused due to his lack of involvement nor enthusiasm, but ultimately shrugged and walked away without uttering a word, chalking it up to tiredness on his behalf.

Someone cleared their throat beside him. He turned his head to see Remus staring at him with a concerned frown from the sofa. James raised an eyebrow in query.

“Well,” Remus said while lowering the book he was reading. “Considering Evans just walked in, looked at you for about two seconds and walked away without you even noticing or bursting into tears, I’ll assume something’s wrong.” Beside him, Peter snickered.

“Yeah, mate,” Said Sirius by the other armchair right after moving his horse and destroying one of Peter’s pawns. “You’re all quiet and mysterious; I thought you were planning a prank or something.”

The remainder of his pranks made James wince, thoughts circling back to the talk with Snivellus. “No, no pranks,” he said, subdued.

This time, Sirius frowned worryingly. “You all right, Prongs?”

“Quite,” James replied with a clipped tone.

“No, you’re not.” He stated.

“I am.”

“Am not.”

“I am!” James exclaimed.

“Uh-huh, you’re not. First, you’re all silent and brooding for some reason we don’t know. Second, you didn’t notice Evans, which is enough to panic about because you always notice her. Third, you’re all defensive about being all right when you’re clearly not,” Sirius said, surprisingly thoughtful. On the chessboard, his bishop was run over by Peter’s queen. “So, what’s bothering you?”

James looked at Remus and Peter for support, but only found Remus nodding at Sirius’s words and a curious-looking Peter. “You haven’t been all right for a while,” Remus added his two nickels, prompting James to speak.

James sighed. He couldn’t keep anything from his friends. “I met Snivellus.” He simply said, hoping against all odds that would be enough to self-explain itself.

It wasn’t. Judging by his friends’ faces, it was quite the opposite.

“What!?” Exclaimed Sirius, probably thinking the worst of Snivellus.

“James!” Remus reprimanded, probably thinking the worst of James.

“What did he do?” Peter asked, always the curious troublemaker.

“No, no! Calm down, nothing happened.” James tried deflecting the situation.

“Like hell, nothing happened!” Sirius exclaimed once again. “Look at you.” He pointed as if making an argument out of James’ appearance.

“James?” Remus asked for an explanation.

James sighed again. “Really, nothing happened.” Sirius opened his mouth to object, but James beat him to it. “I mean it. We just… talked.” He hesitated.

“Talked?” Asked Peter while sneakily making his next move before Sirius noticed his approaching loss. “Like, having a chat? Over tea, perhaps?” He said sarcastically.

“No,” James fiddled with the hem of his robes. “I went to Hagrid’s like I said I would today, and he showed up there to deliver him something and we talked.” James tried to explain.

Remus started shaking his head even before he finished his sentence. “This has been bothering you since yesterday.”

Ah yes, Remus. The most observant of the marauders.

James wanted to bury his head in his hands and despair. “…I might have met and talked to him yesterday, also?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” If Sirius looked worried before, now he looked weird out. Since he wasn’t paying attention to the game anymore, his queen moved on her own accord.

James averted his eyes back to the fire. “Didn’t cross my mind?”

Remus sighed. “James,” he called as if talking to a young child. James’ eye twitched in annoyance at the tone. “Would you like to share with the class?”

James crossed his arms defiantly. As a matter of principle, James knew he couldn’t admit to trying and start a fight with Snivellus before being talked down by Snivellus himself, otherwise, Remus would disapprove of his actions again. Nor could he speak about the historical facts he learned from Snivellus about the prejudice against Salazar Slytherin and his House from thereafter, otherwise, Sirius would think him mental. Merlin, James couldn’t even admit to regretting a past prank because of Peter.

He just couldn’t openly speak about the encounters. Not without the risk of upsetting at least one of his friends.

He could say one thing, however. “He’s changed,” he admitted. “If it’s for the better or worse, I can’t tell. But he definitely changed.” He firmly stated to his friends.

Remus’ eyes went slightly wide before he blinked. “Very well,” he accepted, understanding when to back down.

“As if a Slytherin could change for the better,” Sirius mumbled but backed down as well. When he looked back at the board and noticed the bad plays his pieces performed without him, his eyes widened and he threw his hands up in frustration.

“For all there’s worth,” Peter said. “I should say if you get yourself tangled with the slimy git, don’t count on me for help. You get yourself hexed, fine; it’s your funeral and yours alone.” Peter had his hands up in surrender as if to say he had no hands in the situation—but also to placate Sirius who clearly disliked losing.

James nodded. He wouldn’t be the marauder’s downfall, he thought, but he could understand Peter’s concerns. Snivellus is a long-term enemy of theirs, after all, and a sudden change such as this doesn’t happen in one night. Something must’ve happened and James was determined to figure it out. To abate his curiosity, of course.

James would tread carefully and ascertain the situation before diving headfirst this time. It wouldn’t do for him to cause even more trouble for his friends so close to the end of terms.

On the board, Peter’s queen smashed Sirius’ king into smithereens.

The next day found James and his friends at the Great Hall for breakfast.

James was shamelessly staring at the Slytherin table, hoping to catch a glimpse of Snivellus this time. The boy hadn’t had dinner yesterday and James assumed he would be famished this morning, at least enough to appear down at the hall.

The Gryffindors were having a round of fried eggs and bacon this morning, topped with orange juice. Remus, always the skirmish eater, was dipping his toast in his juice, which had many eyes frowning his way. Sirius wasn’t one of them, too occupied inhaling the slices of bacon on his plate, downing them with an unknown tea nobody could explain the taste of precisely. Peter, though the chubbiest of the marauders, was, in actuality, the one to eat most normally between them—he had eggs and bacon, eating with a fork and knife as proper gentlemen would.

James hadn’t touched his food yet. His mind was elsewhere.

He barely slept at night. Thoughts of Snivellus would plague his head every time he closed his eyes. The unceremonious fear he felt, the realization and the shame would keep him awake, trashing on his bed until Remus had to cast a Silencio on him just to keep the room quiet. However, even now, hours later, James felt restless still.

James’ eyes caught Regulus’ across the tables. Regulus frowned confused by the intensity of James’ scrutiny before averting his eyes. James had seen Regulus, his best mate’s brother, chatting with Snivellus before. They could be friends, for all he knew. Yet, Snivellus hadn’t come to eat with him.

On that thought, who were the people Snivellus was close to—except Lily, of course? James only knows of a few people who stayed by Snivellus side throughout the years. Between them, almost if not all Slytherins. Bellatrix came to mind since she would speak highly of him beyond protecting him from James himself, sometimes. However, she wasn’t the friendliest with the git, also, as she wasn’t with anyone if he was honest. Mulciber and Avery were probably the git’s best friends as they were seeing together the most. However, one look at the Slytherin table had the two friendly chatting between themselves with no Snivellus in sight.

So, who was close to him, really? Had he no other friends apart from Lily?

Speaking of her, there Lily was, sitting across from him—if two students apart from where he was. Still, she sat close and he could admire her plenty from here. If only he wasn’t on a mission at the moment…

Wait a minute, he thought. She might know something.

They weren’t friends any longer, Lily and Snivellus, James knew. However, that doesn’t stop her from knowing Snivellus’ other friends.

He smiled at the thought. He could just ask Lily—and wasn’t that a great excuse to talk to her? Today truly seemed to be James’ lucky day.

He waved her way to catch her attention but came out short. However, Marlene McKinnon, one of Lily’s best friends, noticed him. She smiled that smug smile of hers that upsets him quite a lot and shook her head as if to say no, no, you won’t. She wouldn’t lift a finger to help James get closer to Lily—ahem bother Lily ahem—no matter how hard James tried to appease her. He wouldn’t even try convincing her this time.

He stood up from his place instead, rounding the table to stand just behind Lily, and cleared his throat. Lily looked back to see who it was, and upon seeing James, had her expression shift immediately to annoyed. Marlene had that disapproving scowl of hers while their friend, Mary MacDonald, groaned.

“Good morning, Evans!” James singsonged with his most charming smile.

Lily sighed. “What do you want, Potter?” She sounded tired.

“Ouch!” James faked a stab of pain in his heart. “Won’t even say good morning back?”

“Say what you want already before I take myself out.” She warned. Lily was, apparently, no games today.

James pouted. “All right, all right, fine.” He conceded. “I have a question for you.”

“Which is?” she asked impatiently.

“Would you allow me the honour of having your hand—“ he started jokingly. Lily slammed her hands onto the table and stood up, hand going all the way to her wand holster on her hip. “Wait, wait!” His hands went up in surrender. “I’m just joking! I actually have a question for you!” He laughed nervously.

She narrowed her eyes at him, legs going over the bench so she could stand in front of him with her arms crossed. “Well, then. Speak up, Potter.”

James sighed. Lily had been hostile like this with him since the Levicorpus prank. She had no patience with him, nor would she ignore his comments and laughed at his actions anymore. He had thought she was exaggerating—he had played another prank like always, after all. There was no reason to feel offended now after so many years.

Now he understood after the conversation with Snivellus. James had fucked up big time.

He mentally berated himself for playing around with Lily when she was clearly on the right in this. He’s probably to blame for her losing her friend, also. Snivellus sure looked guilty of his own words right after saying them, that day. The way his eyes widened and he apologised immediately after, only for Lily to cut him out and unfriend him on the spot.

In all his years bullying the git, James had never seen such a loss in his eyes.

James looked down, ashamed of meeting Lily in the eye. “Look, I just… I-I’m curious to know something. Something about Sni—“ James winced and shook his head forcefully. “Snape. Like, does he has any friends other than you?”

Lily froze. “What?”

James rubbed the back of their head. “I mean, I guess he’s friends with Mulciber and Avery, but I don’t see them interacting much. Nor do I believe you would like him to be friends with that sort since Mary’s incident, so I don’t think they are, but I’m not sure? The point is, other than you, I’ve never seen him close to someone else, and I was curious if there is someone? I-I mean, you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, or if they asked not to, or… what?” James stopped his rambling when he noticed that Lily was still frozen, staring at him intensely. “Evans?”

She uncrossed her arms, letting them fall limp on her sides. “Are you… kidding me?” She asked.

James frowned. “What? No. I’m really asking.”

She shook her head slowly, disbelieving. “No, no. You can’t be serious. No one is this dense.”

James just stared confusingly at her. He genuinely couldn’t understand what she was hinting at.

She gaped at him. “You’re serious.” She took a step back. “You’re actually asking me that.”

“Well, yes. I mean, hear me out—“ James tried.

“No. You hear me out, Potter.” Lily interrupted him. “He had friends before when we first arrived at Hogwarts, did you know? I told him he needed to make friends with other people because I wouldn’t be with him all the time since we were from different houses. He did it, begrudgingly so, but he couldn’t help it—people liked him because of his smartness. He was a genius and still is if you ask me.” She said, voice low, threateningly so, as to not draw too much attention onto them. “However, they all abandoned him eventually, leaving him alone with only me by his side. Do you know why?” She asked, staring into his eyes with fierce green ones. “Because of you, Potter. You, of all people. Those so-called friends of his didn’t want to get the brunt of your pranks and your bullying, so they left him to fend for himself. It has been like this since.

“How dare you?” She asked defiantly. “How dare you ask about his friends, when you’re the reason he has none?”

James was speechless. He hadn’t thought of that. He always assumed Snivellus liked to be lonely or had social difficulty—not that he was the reason Snivellus didn’t have any friends. Though, now that he thought about it, it makes sense. No one would like to be caught between their duels nor would they like to be tormented by proximity with the Slytherin.

Yet, true friends stick with each other no matter what. That, James could argue, meant none of Snivellus' friends were true. Which, from his point of view, included Lily as well.

“Right, why do you care though? You left him too.” James said without thinking.

Lily bristled. “You’re hopeless, James Potter.” She said and stormed away.

James’ brain caught up with what he said, and he almost slapped himself. How stupid could he be, saying things like that? Lily would never forgive him.

“Wait, Evans!” He ran after her, hoping they could properly talk in private.

He stopped dead in his tracks once he noticed her hovering on the door. He asked if she was angry, and apologised. She told him to leave her alone and he couldn’t feel any more regretful from his words. He didn’t mean to offend her. That day, she didn’t lash out at Snivellus for no reason—he had called her something unforgivable, after all. It wasn’t James’ fault this time… or was it? He was the cause of Snivellus' foul mood that day. Snivellus only snapped because he was on edge already, or so James thought.

Is it all James’ fault, this entire situation? Snivellus' change, Lily’s hostility, his guilt and shame?

James returned to the present once he noticed Lily’s concerned expression looking at something. He frowned, looking in the same direction, curious about what caught her eye.

He was faced with Snivellus again, a bubble of blood forming under one of his eyes. James stared, shocked beyond words. Had Snivellus been hurt? He didn’t look bad yesterday when James last saw him.

The Slytherin raised a hand to touch the bloody tear, popping the bubble and allowing the blood to drip down his face. He stared at his own hand, finger covered in blood, and James watched as it shook violently. Snivellus' face looked all the same blank state, however, his body acted as if he was ready to pass out. Suffice it to say, James grew ironically concerned.

“Sev?” Lily called with a gentle voice.

James knew, even after witnessing Lily and Snivellus' friendship fallout, that deep down the redhead still loved the latter. They knew each other longer than at Hogwarts—childhood friends, Lily called many times—and he had no doubt she would help him regardless if they were friends or not. Because she cares.

James was quite sure Snivellus shared the feeling, and it hurt because he tried for many years to separate them. Or at least, it started like that—with jealousy. James wanted what they had. He assumed he needed Lily for that, and so, there he went on a quest to steal her from the slimy Slytherin, falling in love with Lily in the process.

He felt ashamed of his actions now, knowing he had tried to break apart two people who cared for each other.

Snivellus' hushed “Excuse me!” caught him off guard.

He ran away, leaving even Lily behind.

Lily turned on him immediately after, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him towards the corridor outside. “What did you do this time!?” She exclaimed to his face, anger marrying her expression.

“What?” He asked dumbly.

“You ask me about Severus, and suddenly, he appears with fucking blood coming out of his eyes, Potter. You truly believe I would think this just a coincidence?” Lily accused. 

“No, no!” James raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t! I spent the whole morning in the Great Hall. You can ask my friends if you want—“

“Ah, yes. I will ask your friends who would vouch for your innocence no matter if you are guilty or not. What a great idea!” Lily said sarcastically.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to believe me, but I didn’t do anything,” James said as earnestly as he could. “I asked about Snape because he’s changed recently, and I don’t know why okay?” He admitted.

“He has changed recently and you don’t know why?” Lily repeated as if it was a joke. “Oh gee, I wonder why. It’s not like someone humiliated him in front of the whole school a few weeks ago.”

James winced at the jab. He looked down with a guilty expression on his face.

Lily sighed and shook her head. “Go back to the Great Hall, sit down and wait for me to return,” she said.

“Wha—why?” He asked.

“Because I won’t allow you to go looking for him. Sit down and don’t go anywhere,” She instructed again. “I swear, Potter. If I find you walking around the corridors before I return, I will hex you!” She threatened between clenched teeth before turning around and running down the corridor after Snivellus.

Usually, James would like this type of threat coming from Lily—he always liked her fierce side. She had said similar things before while protecting Snape or others James had tormented throughout the years. However, then it had been an empty threat. She would never do what she claimed, opting to involve a professor or find other ways for James to pay his comeuppance.

Now, James could only feel the ire radiating from her. He had no doubt she would do as she claimed.

With his head down, James walked back into the Great Hall, sat in his place between Sirius and Remus, and there he brooded, waiting for Lily to return.

His friends tried asking him what had happened, but he wasn’t in the mood to explain. He just played with his food.

Eventually, all of the students started heading to class when the time approached. As the Great Hall emptied, so did Remus’ patience. He demanded to know what had happened and why James wouldn’t move from his place, to which James refused to reply.

“Very well,” Remus said. “We’ll leave you behind, then.”

“We will?” Sirius frowned.

Remus looked at him disapprovingly. “Yes, we will. Come on.”

“Bloody, finally!” Peter said, as impatient as Remus.

Just as the three marauders were about to leave James in the Great Hall alone, there entered Lily with a defeated expression on her face and sweat on her forehead.

James never stood and ran so fast in his life.

“I couldn’t find him,” Lily said as soon as he approached. “I looked everywhere I could, even inside the dungeon but I couldn’t find him.”

“Find who?” Sirius asked as the rest of the marauders caught up with James.

James sighed. “Snape.”

“Snivellus!?” Sirius exclaimed. Here we go again, thought James.

“Don’t call him that!” Lily exploded, startling the four boys. She breathed deeply to calm herself. “Don’t call him that,” she repeated, more subdued this time, yet fierce still.

“All right, let’s all calm down,” Remus said. “We have defence class with the Slytherins today,” He checked his watch. “In five minutes, in fact. Perhaps Snape’s there?”

“I thought of that as well,” Lily said. She eyed the Gryffindor table for a second, looking for something. “Did Marlene or Mary carry my bag for me?”

Remus nodded. “They did.”

Lily smiled at him. “Thank you. Now, let‘s go.”

And with that, the five Gryffindors made their way towards the defence class. Running for dear life, as they were very late. Through it all, James wished Snivellus to be there. If not to abate his curiosity, then to relieve Lily from her worry.

A part of him also wished him to be all right, if small. It wouldn’t do for Snivellus to suddenly drop dead before they could finish their business… whatever that may be. Lily would be sad, also, James thought. And James wouldn’t like to see her sad, now would he?

Unbeknownst to James, today would mark a milestone in the greatest adventure he ever ventured into. The solidification of Severus’ return to the land of the living. The day, to James, Snivellus became Snape—and much later in his story, Severus.

“Never, and I mean, never underestimate your opponent! No matter whom you face, no matter the circumstances, you never let your guard down! You went easy on me because you wanted to. Now, it’s time to pay your comeuppance.”

Ah, Indeed. What an exciting way to start an adventure.

Chapter Text

Appreciation comes a long way.

“I’m curious, Severus. After all this time under my tutelage—if you can call it that—are you any prepared for what you’re about to face?” Harry had asked while folding two napkins for the table.

Severus, tired and somewhat broken from the endless income of knowledge into his person, grunted derogatorily. He had no energy to speak, much less open his eyes or raise his head from where it rested on the table.

Harry hummed. “I understand. Your soul is worn out, my friend.” Harry placed two plates, and a spoon next to each before speaking again, “Today is a special day—a day to rest!” He prepared two cuppas (no sugar into one and too much sugar into another) before snapping his fingers. A chocolate cake materialized on the table. “Today, we eat cake.”

“I am dead, and you are an otherworldly being who cannot die,” Severus used the rest of his remaining energy to mutter. “Why are we eating cake?”

“Don’t you want it?” Harry said while cutting two slices for each plate.

“Every food I’ve ever eaten while here has damaged my taste buds beyond repair. Why would I want your disgusting cake?” Severus mourned.

Harry went silent. All Severus heard was the sound of porcelain and cutlery until the Master of Death spoke again, “The first time Death reached me, I was grieving the death of my wife.” He said, making Severus snap his eyes open to stare at him. “She died at the age of ninety-six, of natural causes. My children and family were at peace knowing she had passed happily. I, though grieving, was also at peace, somewhat. I was the hero of the magical world, had a successful Auror career, was a professor for a long while and a good father, I thought to myself. I was happy; I had everything I always wished for—the family I was deprived of as a young lad and the friends I made along the way.

Harry tapped his spoon on the teacup, staring at the ripples in the liquid. “Suffice it to say, when it offered me the opportunity to do it all over again, with the knowledge I already had, I should have refused, shouldn’t I? I had what I was looking for. I was happy.” Harry stared at Severus’ eyes then, reaching deep into his soul. “I was young, Severus. I was supposed to be ninety-seven, but I looked seventeen. I looked exactly like the day I carried all three deathly hollows into the Forbidden Forest—when I gave up my life.”

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but Harry just raised his hand, stopping Severus before he could mutter any word. “I chose to come back hoping to stop my curse. As you can see,” He gestured to himself. “I’ve been unsuccessful. Rather, I’ve given up. I made friends with my destiny and Death itself, accepting the ways of my existence. I come back—to my world, to your world, to different worlds altogether—to do Death’s demands, fixing errands, save people or watch them die. It has been like this for so long, that I don’t even remember why I wanted to die any longer.” Harry laughed at that, but surprisingly, it wasn’t hollow. As if the pain was so long overdue, he had no reason to feel sorrow. “The only thing that I regret, or that I remember regretting, is the taste of food.”

Severus raised his upper body from the table, shadowy eyes and crestfallen. “What?”

Harry chuckled at Severus’ tired appearance. “No matter what I eat, be it in the land of the living or the dead, all the foods taste putrid—as if the taste of death lingers on my tongue.”

Severus was speechless. He just stared at Harry in guilt.

Harry snorted at Severus’ expression. “It isn’t your fault, you silly man,” Harry admonished gently. “I’ve already told you—I’ll always be the Master of Death. Be it I, or any of my variants: Harriet Potter, Rose Potter, Fleamont Potter II, etc. Sometimes not even a Potter at all.” He sipped his beloved sugary tea. “What I’m trying to say is, really, compared to the reason I got myself entailed in all of this, you look noble in comparison.”

“Harry, please,” Severus begged. This Harry might be the oldest being ‘alive’ as far as Severus knew, however, not even the man could escape his past entirely.

Harry just shook his head. “In my many lives, I’ve never come across a Severus Snape who was happy,” Harry said, successfully shutting Severus’ mouth. “No matter how much I tried to make their lives better; there was always something to influence them to take the wrong path. They always died miserable, in denial or anger. Sometimes, all of the above, as if their destiny, your destiny, is to suffer.” Severus shuddered with this revelation. “I powerlessly wondered, if someone like Severus had the same opportunity as me, he would try his best to achieve the happiness he couldn’t before. He—You would be the right person to be given such power. Therefore, I went out of my way to have you here, a Severus from a world similar to mine, to do your best and achieve what you always wanted. Because you aren’t a happy retired man who had no reason to play hero and rewrite history like me, no.

Harry smiled, taking a piece of his dark chocolate cake to admire it. “You’re a man who deserved better. So, if there’s something you should be preparing for, is for the happiness you’re sure to find.” He brought it to his mouth.

Just like that, Harry had Severus’ complete appreciation.

That cake, commemorating a mere one year of Severus’ trial, dare he say, was the deepest, most delicious cake he had ever eaten. It brought him to tears. He felt lucky, yes—knowing he had the chance to change himself and the world for the better. Severus promised himself then, that he would do his best. He could still fail, but he would try.

He would do it for Harry, for the people of his time, the people he disappointed, the people he loved, but most important of them all, for himself.

Severus would save the world. The cake sealed it.

Harry had just smiled knowingly.

Few people had Severus’ appreciation throughout his life—and later his death. Harry was, obviously, the first to come to mind, though not the only one. Lily had his appreciation for makings his early life bearable. His mother introduced him to the witchzarding world, just so he would never forget. Minerva, though neither responsible for him nor his Head of House, helped him immensely through his young adult years, guiding him like a proper mentor at the beginning of his teaching career.

He could find himself appreciating others too, people deemed wrong to associate with, in other’s opinions. He appreciated Regulus’ friendship during his worst years. Narcissa’s company when he needed someone to talk to. He could even excuse himself and appreciate Lucius, of all people, for paying his mastery and warming up to Severus’ company, enough so to invite a half-blood to his Yule Ball.

Though they were few, Severus never forgot the reasons why he held all of them so high on his appreciation list.

Let it be known, moreover, that the list was about to increase.

“Master Snape truly is feeling better?” Winny asked again as Severus walked down the corridors to reach the Defence classroom. “Winny can take Master to Ma’am Madam Pomfrey, yes—Winny can.” She nodded with conviction.

Winny, the house elf, had stayed by Severus’ side since he left the office to attend class. She had tried, unsuccessfully so, to convince him he needed medical attention or rest—or a combination of them both. She had bounced on her small feet, skipping along the walk, talking frantically while gesturing with her hands, that she was worried and wanted her master to care for himself. Severus, for his part, smiled dumbly down at her with each suggestion, batting her worry away as he was, truly, feeling better. He cried for a reason, after all.

Yet, he felt warm inside with the care radiating from her soothing magic. She wasn’t lying when she claimed to like him. Winny had cleaned his robes and face with a snap of her finger while Severus ate. He felt refreshed for the first time since his return, which is to show how important house elves are for wizards alike. His mood had improved since then.

“I am certain, Winny. I had a small relapse, true; however, I’ve checked everything since then and can confirm that I’m feeling better. Therefore, there’s no need to worry.” Severus said and smiled at Winny’s doubtful pout. “I once again thank you for your help with my well-being. I appreciate it, honestly.”

She hid behind her ears, blushing from the compliment. “Winny’s happy to help kind Master Snape.” She declared again and Severus chuckled.

“Well, since you want to help, I have a request of you,” Severus said. At Winny’s huge smile, he said. “Remember the office you found me in?” She nodded. “Well, there’s an adjacent door—an archway to be precise—which leads to an old parlour that hasn’t seen the light of day for a while. If possible, could you gather some elves willing to clean it for me? The office as well, though, I would appreciate it if no item or furniture were aggravated. A friend of mine grew emotionally attached to those places and it would pain me to hurt them, thus.

“The place needs a deep cleaning. It smells awful, has decaying stains and is covered in dust. I’ve cleaned the air already, however, I would be careful still. Merlin knows what mould lurks in between the bricks.” Severus warned.

Winny nodded seriously, eyes on fire, as Severus had never seen them before. “Winny will do! Winny knows just the perfect elf for the job, too! Winny help kind Master Snape!”

Severus smiled and patted her on the head. “Thank you, Winny.” She blushed and hid behind her ears again.

Eventually, they reached the Defence classroom door.

“I have class now. I’ll call you later, once my activities for the day are over, so we can discuss the parlour situation properly.” Severus said.

Winny nodded. “Of course, Master Snape. Good studies!” Winny wished before apparating away.

Severus sighed amiably. Since his return, he noticed how he always finds himself in the company of the most unusual individuals. Not that he’s complaining, however. He has never smiled so much in his past life, much less at Hogwarts—and now even Hogwarts itself wants to comfort him.

And to think a mere house elf obtained Severus’ trust so easily—not counting the many others he has met as of late. Perhaps Severus has grown soft in the past twenty years.

Add that to the ‘list of things to think about at another time’. Now, Severus breathed deeply as he was about to enter his first class of the day—and since his return from the dead—preparing himself mentally for the challenges of today. He didn’t feel nervous, though, surprisingly. Something about Winny’s magic cheered him up.

The sound of several feet approaching his way interrupted him from opening the door. Severus checked his watch and noted how late he was, which had him curious as to whom would be as late as himself. He never expected, after checking who it was, to see Lily running to his position like an athlete on steroids, face morphed between a worried frown and clenched teeth, all while the marauders ran a few paces behind her.

Severus never thought, one day, he would be afraid of seeing Lily approach him. Nervous? Yes, of course. Afraid? Never in a million years. Yet, here he stood, sweating bullets as she rounded on him in record time just as he franticly knocked on the door, hoping the professor—useless as he may be—would save him just this once.

“Severus!” Lily exclaimed when she was close enough, only to be interrupted by the classroom door opening on them, to Severus’ relief.

“Mr Snape? Ms Evans? Oh, you’re late, very late.” Mr Borguini, a pompous man with an auburn well-kept beard and round belly, said.

Just then, the familiar group of mischief students caught up to them, also.

“You… run fast… Evans…” James said between breaths. All of them were breathing harshly, somewhat. Pettigrew was coughing his insides out, even. None of them seemed to notice Severus standing to the side.

“You as well? Oh my…” Mr Borguini shook his head. “I reckon you’re all very lucky.” The man stepped aside, allowing the students within to come out of the classroom, all with their bags in hand. “Today’s class will be held in the field outside. I’ll forgive you, children, for arriving late this time, however, should this repeat itself, I’ll be forced to hand yourselves detention. Am I clear?” He said.

“Of course. Apologies, professor,” said Severus while the others chorused ‘yes professor’.

Mr Borguini nodded before turning to stare at the rest of his class. “Well, class! Follow me—to the Hogwarts fields!” He marched ahead, leaving the students to follow behind.

Severus hoped the man had permission to have classes on the school grounds. So close to the forest, there’s no way to predict how his dunderhead student would react. If Mr Borguini is lucky, there will be no stray spells.

Mr Borguini is never lucky.

Severus sighed in resignation.

As they made their way through the castle, Lily kept pace with him, subtly looking at him from the corner of her eyes now and then. Severus had no trouble noticing her now, whereas before he felt like fainting. Crying must have helped—Severus was relieved. He couldn’t fathom what would be of him if he panicked again.

Lily finally gathered courage, clearing her throat to catch his attention. “Severus, are you all right?” She asked.

Severus looked at her. He could instinctively feel the dread trying to take hold of his action, but his Occlumency held it at bay. The only thing he allowed to surface was his happiness at talking to her again. In a rare show of affection—for Lily, at least—Severus smiled genuinely. “Ah, I scared you back there, didn’t I?” His smile caught Lily off guard, so much so, that she walked right into someone’s back. She apologised profoundly before turning to Severus with wide eyes. Severus snorted. “Are you all right?” He asked sarcastically.

She didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m fine—Are you sure you’re all right? I mean, did you hit your head?” She asked with concern.

Lily sounded so worried by the retrospect of Severus acting differently because he hit his head; Severus couldn’t but found it amusing. “Yes, Lily. I’m fine. I went to Pomfrey after excusing myself,” Severus lied smoothly. “She told me I burst a capillary vein above my eye due to stress. It healed already, as you can see. Although she did tell me if I feel dizzy in any way, to excuse myself and lightly rest, otherwise, I can attend class as usual.” He shrugged.

Lily sighed, relief rolling out of her magic like waves. Her magic was a fire so similar to James’ that his heart ached. “Good,” she simply stated.

Severus noticed in the corner of his eyes the way Lily’s friends were looking back at them worryingly. Marry looked so apprehensive that she could fool anyone into thinking she was weak, while Marlene stared calculatingly—he wasn’t surprised, as she was always protective over Lily. He quite approves of her protective nature, especially against Potter—if only for Lily’s benefit. However, as he reminded himself of his promise, perhaps he had to let it go. After all, without Potter, there would be no Harry.

Severus sighed. “I think you should go now, Lily,” he said.

He saw the moment her expression closed off when her eyes dulled and her smile turned forced. “I—yeah, sure.”

“I’m not dispensing you, Silly-Lily,” Severus said, their old childhood nickname rolling out of his tongue effortlessly. “Your friends, however, are ready to pounce on me if they don’t get you back.” He shamelessly pointed at the pair, earning a startled laugh from Lily.

“Oy! You don’t call me Silly-Lily no more.” She jokingly admonished.

“What can I do? You are very silly.” He smirked.

“And you’re very Severe-Severus.” She smirked back.

“I told you, that doesn’t work.” Severus playfully retorted back. “It doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“What do you mean? It’s basically the same word, it just changes the end. It’s perfect.” She made a point while grinning.

“It’s too long. It doesn’t roll from the tongue—thus, it doesn’t work. Admit you just can’t think of a better one and spare us the trouble.”

“Ah! You bastard,” She playfully shoved him. “I’ll tell you one better—Severe us.” She poked him. “Sev and us, Sevrus, Severantê.” She poked him with each name. The last had a poor excuse of a Spanish accent to it.

Severus laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Now you just sound drunk.”

And Lily laughed loudly at that. He couldn’t but laugh with her.

He was amazed at how easily he slipped back into bantering with Lily. Severus always thought a conversation between the two of them would be dulled out by the years apart. He had forgotten that though Lily looks like the Lily he remembered, this one had stopped talking to him a mere few weeks ago. They weren’t on different sides of the war, nor were their love life in their way.

She worried about him because of a bloody tear, for Merlin’s sake! She wanted to make sure he was feeling better despite their fallout. She hasn’t realised the weight of her decisions yet.

They were—in hindsight—two dumb teenagers with morals. A scary combination when you’re not the teenagers themselves, Severus thought, but a fun friendship to hold close.

As they went over the courtyard exit towards the field, Severus recovered from their laugh first. “All right, now you should go before McKinnon plans my demise… If she hasn’t already, that is.”

Lily giggled. “They wanted your head on a plate.”

“I imagine they would, considering what I said. And I would gladly apologise if you would hear me.” Severus said, feeling the atmosphere between them chill slightly.

Lily winced. “Yeah… sorry I… ignored you.” She rubbed the back of her head. “The girls told me I shouldn’t… bend so easily to you since it makes me look weak and easy or something like that.”

Severus felt genuinely confused. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the castle who thinks you’re ‘weak and easy’,” Severus said. “You’re the fiercest woman in our year if you asked me.”

Lily smiled. “Thanks. But I think they meant like I am with Potter,” She clarified. “You know? Tougher?”

Severus processed that. “They were afraid you were too soft with me and would excuse my actions, whatever they may be. Since I’m a Slytherin, they thought that wasn’t a good idea, and decided to make their worry known to you. You, in turn, hardened yourself around me to appease their claims. Am I correct?”

Lily stared at him, surprised. “I think that sums it up, yeah.”

This time, Severus felt sceptical. “Lily,” he called. “You never let yourself be influenced by others when it comes to your friends. I do believe the girls wanted you to be less accepting of me, don’t get me wrong—they made it clear they don’t like me. But you wouldn’t stop talking to me for so long if it was just that.” He said.

“Would you tell me the truth?” He asked calmly to not aggravate her. Lily averted her eyes, looking straight ahead. Severus sighed. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. I just don’t want to lose you, you know?” Lily looked at him, biting her lower lip to hold herself back. “You’re my best friend. I want whatever is keeping us apart to end.”

Lily nervously bounced on her feet. It was clear she was holding onto something Important, but she was losing the battle against her tongue. Lily was never good with secrets—that’s why the professors would always ask her for the truth when the Gryffindors were in trouble.

She lost, it seemed, opening her mouth to say something, “Sev—“ However, before she could say any more words, Professor Borguini’s voice echoed through the field, bringing them back to reality. They had stopped at the base of the Black lake, next to a body of water, on a flat grass area perfect for defence lessons.

“Welcome class!” He greeted boomingly. “Now, we all know your exams are over and classes are long overdue. We could spend the last two weeks reviewing the material or studying, whatever have you. However, I had a different idea.” He said, capturing the interest of all students who hated studying like moths to light. The marauders, most of them all. “You see, I thought to myself—I’m their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor! They should know how to defend themselves, should they not? What could I do to help them in that regard? And it hit me this weekend—I could teach them a spell to protect themselves instead of boring them with material previously discussed.” He grinned, unsheathing his wand. “There’s a spell, simple yet effective, which I’ve learned during my years as an Auror.” Students of both houses cheered at that, excited to learn an advanced Auror spell. 

Ah, yes. Severus forgot to mention. Mr Borguini likes to remind every single person he has ever met that he, once, was an Auror. He talked about it as if he was the noblest, fearless warrior of their ranks; going above and beyond any Auror that has ever existed before him. Of course, it’s all exaggerated. As far as Severus knew—and he did his research back in the day—not only Mr Borguini wasn’t memorable at all, he had no Auror carer. He resigned after only two missions because of cardiac problems.

The man felt no need to hide his lies, however, making speeches about the spells he had learned in his prime only for them to be useless wastes of magic.

Severus still remembers the spell to make a coin disappear and reappear somewhere else. A party trick even muggles can replicate with optical illusion. He loathed just remembering it.

“Today we’re going to learn the Incarcerous Spell!” He exclaimed happily to the delight of the students. Except for one—Severus himself. Because hearing his professor’s words, he knew this class wouldn’t end well.

The Incarcerous Spell, widely referred to as the ‘rope spell’, condenses Nadidus magic on the tip of one’s wand before releasing it in the shape of thick ropes or thin cords to tie themselves to their target. The spell is animated; therefore, it can tighten its hold on the target and move around to other parts of the body.

That can lead to both: capturing, apprehending, and killing the target depending on how it’s used.

You don’t teach a group of sixteen-year-olds a spell to choke somebody with—especially a group composed of Slytherins and Gryffindors! No teenager, as respectful as they could be, would ever use such a spell wisely, especially in a combat situation. What if the caster has no clue how to cancel the spell? Let their classmate choke to death, then!?

The sheer audacity of this man, to come to Severus’ school hoping to get closer to the pureblood children to earn himself a better spot in their society by the cost of their education. A man so enthralled in his quest for leverage that he would risk the life of his students for it. He would sit and watch them die only so he would earn the respect of one of these brats’ parents. Severus never felt so disgusted. Only one other man could come close to this level of carelessness while trying to increase his influence. However, even Slughorn would avoid causing harm to his students if only to avoid trouble himself.

Severus bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling, hard.

“Everyone, we need space for a demonstration!” Mr Borguini called. “Slytherins to one side and Gryffindors to another, pretty please.”

“I guess we can talk after class?” Lily asked.

Raising his Occlumency shields high enough to not accidentally lash out at Lily, Severus smiled. “Yes, of course. I would like that.”

They went separate ways, then. Lily joined her worried friends while Severus made his way to the back of the Slytherin group to hide. But of course, not before receiving a shoulder shove by none other than Sirius Black when they passed by each other. Severus didn’t mind, opting to ignore the git for now. He had worse things to deal with this time, surprisingly.

Once both houses were separated by a land of grass in between, the professor spoke again, “Good. Now, pay attention, my students, for this is important to know.” Severus silently prayed that the professor would do the sensible thing and warn his students of the dangers of using the spell. Instead, what he got was, “The Incarcerous Spell creates ropes from thin air to bind themselves to whatever your wand is pointing at. It requires a target in mind. For me to teach you how the spell works, I need a helper—“ Guinea pig, Severus thought. “To assist me in my endeavours—“ To use as a focal point for my spell because I’m an incompetent fool who can’t cast properly to save my life, Severus thought as well. “Any volunteers?”

To the surprise of nobody, no one raised their hand. Who would want to be bound by a set of magical ropes, anyway?

“Very well,” the professor said disappointedly. “It seems I need to choose someone.”

Severus knew the man wouldn’t choose a pureblood child. It wouldn’t do to enrage some aristocrat’s children, after all, and considering the man’s hiding supremacist mentality, he would probably choose a muggle-born.

Imagine his surprise when his eyes locked with the professor’s own. Mr Borguini smiled mischievously as if he was the only one who knew the punch line for an incredible joke ready to be made. Spoiler alert—Severus was the punch line.

Severus is known to abhor swear words for they are crude, and as a muggle raised, he had to do anything to look classy in the pureblood’s eyes if he dared achieve his goals. However, now and then, he comes back to his roots in Spinner’s End—where the sailors would blush at the people’s dirty mouths.

Fuck, Severus thought with passion, outwardly sighing in resignation. 

“Mr Snape, one of our late students from today!” He announced, making some people snicker. “Would you mind stepping onto the stage with me?”

Yes, I do mind. “Of course, professor.” He said instead, stepping around his classmates to make his way towards the centre.

“Good, good,” Mr Borguini laughed. “Please, stay at least ten meters from me, yes, that’s it.” He instructed as Severus readied himself opposite of him. “Good lad. Now, I ask you to stand still with your arms tucked against your body for safety purposes.” Because It’s easier to apprehend you that way since your arms will be trapped, Severus thought sarcastically. “Yes, like that. Well, Mr Snape, now, try not to fall!” Mr Borguini laughed again.

“Class, pay attention to the hand movement and the pronunciation! Incarcerous!” He shouted while moving his wand flamboyantly in a pattern similar to a pretzel. As soon as he finished, thick ropes came flying from his wand, encasing Severus around the middle, trapping his arms. He grunted but otherwise felt unharmed.

Mr Borguini was grinning with his successful spell attempt, Severus could tell. “As you can see class, this is Incarcerous! During my Auror career, this was the best spell I used to immobilize the bad guys with. There’s nothing much they can do while tightly trapped under the ropes, thus, I would recommend all of you pay precise attention today because you might use this spell to save your life…”

As the professor kept speaking, Severus felt even more annoyed. Not only is he wrong—the quote ‘best spell’ for immobilization is the Full Body-Bind Curse or Petrificus Totalus, which stiffens a person’s limbs so they cannot move temporally, just so the person cannot fight back—but he’s also spreading misinformation. Aurors use Incarcerous as an arresting spell for easier handling of the individual, similar to muggle handcuffs. The capturing and defeating of an opponent is up to the Auror.

Besides, using Incarcerous to immobilize a fugitive is the same as handcuffing someone with a gun in their hands. Their hands might be tied, but they can still fire. In other words, you may tie the witchzard, but not only can they use their wands to counter your spell, but they can also fire back and kill you, as well. Which isn’t ideal, now is it?

Severus sighed, feeling the loose ropes around his body. Mr Borguini’s spell wasn’t, as he claimed, tightly restraining him. If Severus was honest, he could wiggle himself out of the hold if he so wanted. He was skinny as a stick, after all.

A man who lies and has no power to back up his claims. Truly, the depiction of uselessness.

“Professor,” said a voice coming from the Gryffindors. It was Alice Fortescue, future to be Longbottom. “I have a question, if I may?”

“Of course Ms Fortescue. Please, let us hear it.” Mr Borguini smiled warmly at her, of course, as she is a pureblood witch.

“What if the opponent has their wands, still? Couldn’t they cancel the spell?” Alice coming with the right questions! Severus cheered mentally.

“That’s a good question, Ms Fortescue! You see, the Incarcerous has no cancelling spell known to wizards. The caster is the only one who can cancel it successfully.” Mr Borguini answered.

Severus stared at the man, waiting for him to elaborate. It became clear that he wouldn’t once he turned on the ball of his feet to smile at the Slytherins as if there was nothing else to say. In complete disbelief, Severus said calmly before he could stop himself, using every single fibre of his being to hold off his ire, “Professor, apologies to interrupt, but that’s untrue.”

Mr Borguini toured his eyes away from his students to look at Severus. “I beg your pardon, Mr Snape? There is no cancelling spell to Incarcerous.”

“I am aware,” Severus said. “I’m referring to the other thing you said—only the caster can cancel an Incarcerous?”

“Precisely!” Mr Borguini smiled. “Now, class…” He tried changing subjects as if the talk had been over.

“That’s,” Severus exclaimed to gain back the professor’s attention. It worked as Mr Borguini looked at him again. “Wrong.”

The man had a confused expression on his face. “…how so?”

“The caster can, indeed, cancel the spell—as all spells do.” He asserted. “However, there are other methods to cancel someone else’s spell. Among many related to knocking the caster out, or immobilizing them in some way, there’s always the option of overpowering the caster’s magic.”

Mr Borguini frowned. “Overpowering?” He asked sceptically. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“When a magical being—be they a witchzard or a creature—either magically or physically overpowers a spell by disrupting the magic that composes it. That’s known as overpowering, sir.” Severus explained calmly.

Mr Borguini had a hand to his beard, caressing thoughtfully. “I can, on some level, understand what you mean. Disrupting the flow of one’s magic could, in theory, cancels a spell. However, Mr Snape, could you elaborate on the physicality aspect of that… practice?” Mr Borguini asked. “I cannot, for the life of me, comprehend how a physical element could disrupt a magical flow.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. He did not expect further questions. “It’s a technique, sir,” he corrected. “And forgive me for I’ll answer your question with another, but what do you think would happen if you tried immobilizing a healthy troll with the Incarcerous spell?”

Mr Borguini hummed. “You tell me.”

“It depends on the witchzard, but usually, if not all the time, it would snap the rope in half as trolls are very physically strong. That’s why troll hunting is so complicated.” Severus replied.

“Well,” Mr Borguini said. “You’ve intrigued me, Mr Snape, certainly. I have to ask, where can I find a book about the subject? I haven’t read or heard about overpowering in my research before, and it sounds interesting to know about. That is, of course, if you have it with yourself?” He raised a condescending eyebrow.

The question was inevitable. Had Severus been a pureblood, Mr Borguini would believe his every word, confirming his claims, even, Severus assumed. The man only listens because Severus is a half-blood, however, he wouldn’t believe it until proven otherwise. Had Mr Borguini been a respectful intellectual, Severus wouldn’t mind—it’s in their nature to research and educate themselves properly to further enhance their teaching. This is not one of those cases.

Without material to prove himself, Mr Borguini plans to admonish Severus. He’s the punch line, after all.

“Mr Snape,” Mr Borguini called with a disappointed frown. “If you have no way of proving your claims, I am sorry to inform you that I cannot agree nor disagree.”

Severus sighed for the third time just this hour. He didn’t want things to go this way, but it wouldn’t do to have his claims dismissed, especially as they are true. “I can demonstrate, professor,” he said as his magic started circling him slowly, meticulously, not that anyone could tell. It attacked Mr Borguini’s spell from every direction at Severus’ command.

“I’m afraid to inform, but I doubt it, Mr Snape,” Mr Borguini admonished again. “You’re a very talented student of mine, I’ll admit—however, I can’t see an adolescent, say, overpowering the magic of their professor, much less an ex-Auror.”

Severus smiled smugly, then. “Magic is not about raw strength, professor, but rather control and precision,” his green snake-like tendrils curled around the ropes, tearing the magic. His fireflies chipped away what had left, taking the magic with them as they floated around, reinforcing Severus’ own magic with it. Mr Borguini’s deep maroon magic ceased, and in its place, a pale orange remained. Soon, all that was left of Mr Borguini’s ropes were the visible outer layer. “The possibility to achieve extraordinary feats with very little is what makes magic… well, magical, is it not? If a wizard’s worth were equal only to their magical prowess, the world wouldn’t be the same.

“Case in point,” with barely a flex, Mr Borguini’s ropes snapped and crumbled to pieces around him until they fell onto the ground, where they disappeared like dust. Severus made a show of cleaning invisible dust from his robe. “As you can see,” Severus gestured to himself. “It is highly possible to surpass someone else’s magic independent of your roots. It is possible, as well, to cancel the Incarcerous Spell by yourself. Of course, the use of a wand would make the process much easier. I suspect, however, that people would simply counter the spell with other spells, such as the Diffindo.”

Severus may have explained the process as an easy technique, however, in reality, it requires a master of one’s magical control. Severus exceeds control over his magic—that is understandable. He trained under Harry’s watchful eye for twenty years while learning the ways of ancient magic. A dead man, who needed not worry about carrying for himself, or others, as there was no one, and nothing else to do. Severus had nothing holding him back from mastering his own strength, thus, whereas before he had worries and duties.

This level of control allows him to do things not new, per se, but exceptional in their own way, considering his youth and many other aspects. Not that Severus would ever brag about it. If anything, he would try his best to teach his ways and enhance others’ understanding of magic, instead.

“That was… impressive, Mr Snape,” Mr Borguini said astonishingly. He wasn’t the only one staring as his classmates wore confused or surprised expressions on their faces.

“Thank you, professor. You honour me,” Severus replied diplomatically. “As I have your attention, I would like to raise a concern, if I may?”

Mr Borguini frowned. “Y-yes?” He cleared his throat. “You may, Mr Snape.”

“I merely wanted to inform you, sir, that the Incarcerous Spell has been removed from the Hogwarts syllabus for a decade or so. It is inadvisable to use such spells during classes or on school grounds.” Severus informed. “This one in particular since there was an incident involving young students. Without the proper permission, I’m afraid you could have your teaching license revoked, professor.”

Mr Borguini paled. “I-Is that so, Mr Snape?”

“Yes, it is,” Severus, said. “If you don’t believe me, you can read about the incident in the latest issue of Hogwarts, a History, if I’m not mistaken. Correct me if I’m wrong?” He looked around, expecting at least one of his classmates to say something.

Alice, from the Gryffindor side, raised her hand like a proper student before realising she was talking to Severus, not a professor. “Huh…” she said confusingly.

“Yes, Ms Fortescue?” He asked reflexively, internally wincing with his slip. For a moment, he truly forgot he was supposed to be the student.

She startled slightly at being addressed formally by him but said what she wanted to say, anyway. “In the latest issue, there has been a new column with added near-tragedies to the Tragedies and Things to be Aware Of section of the book, wherein it described many mishaps throughout history. One of which is a thin cord incident where a student almost had their head chopped off, while others almost choked to death before Hogwarts staff stepped in to help. It never mentioned the Incarcerous Spell, however.”

“Exceptional memory. I’m impressed.” Severus praised, surprised at Alice’s depth of memory. She had been always one of the most intelligent individuals in Severus’ time. “A decade ago, the Incarcerous Spell was taught to the seventh-year students as they were considered responsible individuals—which I beg to differ, but that’s not where this is heading,” he heard some people snicker at his joke, which was a win in his book. “However, one dunderhead student which won’t be mentioned by name—Ravenclaw, creative in their craft—decided to teach a crowd of first to second-year students the Incarcerous for reasons unknown.”

Severus started to pace around the grass area. “The students were successful in their casting as the Incarcerous isn’t complicated, which had them, in turn, use the spell constantly during mock duels. We can all guess what happened next, don’t we?” He gestured to the class.

A Slytherin muggle-born student, Abagail Berrycloth, raised her voice. “They started… choking themselves?”

“Playfully so, unfortunately,” Severus said solemnly. “They didn’t realise the damage they were causing until one of their opponents had their flesh cut open by the wire.” He heard some gasps from the Gryffindor side. “Incarcerous has been banned at Hogwarts since.”

Mr Borguini cleared his throat loudly. “Ahem!” Everyone turned to look at him. “I was about to explain the severity of the spell before being interrupted, Mr Snape.”

“Good,” Severus nodded. “Any less would be the cause of concern. However, I truly recommend that you don’t teach the spell at all. You know, for safety purposes.” Severus mocked the professor’s own words. “If you absolutely must, you could ask Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick for their permission. Though, I wouldn’t recommend it either, as they were present at the incident.”

Mr Borguini pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Very well, professor—“ he coughed, clearing his throat. “Mr Snape.” Severus wasn’t sure if the man truly misplaced or mocked him. Some students laughed at the professor’s slip of the tongue; Severus himself smirked.

“Wait!” Someone exclaimed from the Gryffindor group. Severus knew who it was by their voice alone. Sirius Black made his way to the front. “You can’t be serious, professor!” Severus heard a chorus of ‘because you’re Sirius’ from the other marauders, which made him snort against his better judgement. “You can’t just not teach us a spell because some git told you so! Aren’t you the professor? What if he’s lying? He must be bad at that Incarce-something and doesn’t want anyone else to learn it.” Peter, at his side, nodded with his statement. Remus face-palmed disappointedly while James frowned at Severus weirdly.

Mr Borguini shook his head disapprovingly. “Mr Black, please—“

“No, he’s right,” Severus said, to the surprise of everyone. Sirius even stumbled in place, almost falling on his behind if not for Remus. “Without confirmation, my claims are as good as nothing. Especially when compared to the words of a professor.” Severus started making his way out of the centre, towards the castle. “I’ll just bring Professor McGonagall here. I even know where she is. Be right back—“

“No! No, no need.” Mr Borguini shook his head and laughed nervously. “There’s absolutely no need to involve any professor.”

Severus internally smirked. There was no way Mr Borguini would allow the risk of losing his reputation because of his ignorance. “Are you sure, professor?” Severus asked anyway, just to make the man more nervous. “It won’t take long.”

“No, I believe you, Mr Snape. There’s no reason for you to waste your time.” He smiled warmly and Severus grew annoyed. He’s just appeasing him, now. “To make up for the Incarcerous Spell, I already have an activity in mind for this morning. Would you assist me again, Mr Snape?”

Severus wanted to refuse but thought better of it. “Of course, professor. What can I help you with?”

“Class!” He clapped his hands, grinning. “Change of plans! Today, we’ll be duelling!” He announced to the delight of many students, including Sirius—all for the wrong reasons, of course. “The rules are simple: two of you will stand in the centre and duel until one of the two yields. The victor will then stay in the centre and wait for the next adversary, and the cycle repeats.” He looked at Severus with that mischievous smile of his, and Severus understood, regrettably so, the help professor Borguini needed it.

“Mr Snape, as you’re already at the centre, you’ll be the first to stand your ground.” Mr Borguini said and Severus was reminded as to why he hated Mr Borguini so much. “We will be performing the first duel of today, you and me. But worry not; I’ll go easy on ya!” He laughed, swishing his wand playfully—mockingly.

Severus wished he had refused. Truth be told, he didn’t want to fight. Less so because he was afraid and more so because he couldn’t remember how he used to duel. His magic is leagues stronger, his control mastered and his arsenal expanded—not to mention his soul of a Shadow Walker’s. The amount of damage he could accidentally cause is no joke, even if he’s confident he can control himself.

Furthermore, Severus was sure Mr Borguini just wanted an excuse to beat him in some way, mentally or magically so, for getting on his way today. He made the man look like a fool, after all, and Mr Borguini doesn’t appreciate mongrels getting the best of him, especially with the purebloods watching.   

Yet, Severus could set an example if he fights it right, he thought.

Severus is not a professor anymore; he’s not an example to follow. People may hear him, but he has no way of making them listen without a reputation to back him. Although a duel with one of the many DADA professors they had throughout their youth isn’t much to work with, it’s enough to nail his previous claims in most of his classmates’ heads. He didn't even have to win; all he had to do was impress.

His fifth year had been disastrous, as far as DADA goes. They learned nothing useful, which had them all a tad weaker than their peers. If Severus could teach them some actual defence, little it may be, it could mean the difference between life and death, to some extent.

Hence, “Very well, professor,” Severus agreed, nodding. He positioned himself a few meters from Mr Borguini. “Any preferences?” Severus said while adjusting his sleeves under his school robe—secretly adjusting his wrist wand holster to serve him comfortably during the duel.

Mr Borguini smiled and nodded approvingly. “Why, you’re giving me the say on the matter? How proper, Mr Snape. Five points to Slytherin.” He praised to the chagrin of some Gryffindors who groaned. “I’ll be lenient since it would be unfair otherwise—as I’m experienced. Please, come at me with everything you have, magically or otherwise! See to it as you may, Mr Snape.”

Severus nodded, internally thankful for the professor’s oversight. He would take any advantages he could get, though he needed none.

“Wands out!” Mr Borguini commended readying himself in a combat stance. Severus allowed his wand to slide into his palm and raised it to the tip of his nose shortly after.

They bowed. Mr Borguini as if bowing to an audience, flamboyantly yet elegantly for a man of his stature, while Severus lowered his head just enough to be considered a bow. He wouldn’t give the man any more than necessary.

“Let our duel commence!” Mr Borguini announced.

Immediately, as if attempting to predict Severus’ movements, Mr Borguini circled his wand on a large arch while saying “Protego!” Casting a large shield in front of himself.

Protecting oneself from the enemy’s first spell is a valuable tactic as it disrupts their rhythm and creates a margin from which an experienced duellist could take advantage, and knowing the Slytherins as Severus knew, Mr Borguini hadn’t predicted wrong. With powerful families and the occasional ‘dark’ spell, Slytherins do tend to end duels fast and easy. Even if Severus was a half-blood, as a fifth year, he could have learned anything at this point, and scouting is a necessity for Mr Borguini’s duelling style.

Mr Borguini may look like a buffoon; but be not mistaken, in duelling, he’s a scout.  

The scout is a duellist, as the name suggests, who investigates his opponent before making any major decisions during the duel. They play defensively, keeping the pace slow to earn themselves as much information from their opponent as possible.

Once with enough data, a scout will promptly use all the information they acquired about their opponent to win—tactics, dodges, traps, you name it. Witchzards refer to good scouts as ‘mind readers’ as they can predict the opponent’s movements and thoughts after enough observation.

They are quite the nuance to face since, with them, duels are prolonged. However, this time it wasn’t a problem since Severus didn’t plan to win.

Therefore, Severus did absolutely nothing. He stood, hands folded behind his back and wand held aloof, to see what his professor would do.

“Oh?” The professor sounded amazed. “I somehow doubt you predicted my shield, so I’ll have to ask—why aren’t you casting anything, Mr Snape?”

Severus tilted his head like a child who didn’t understand the question. “Try playing offensively and perhaps you’ll know.”

Mr Borguini startled a laugh. “Ha! Not a fan of scouting, I see?” He started to pace.

Severus mimicked his pace, going in circles. “It’s always a boring duel when both parties stand staring at each other for hours.”

Mr Borguini laughed again. “Indeed.” With another exaggerated movement, from the tip of Mr Borguini’s wand a light shoot in Severus’ direction, “Flipendo!” He announced.

Without much thought, Severus simply batted the spell away with a wave of his wand. The Flipendo fell to the ground next to him, instead. To punish the gesture, Severus cast, “Rictusempra.” Calmly in the professor’s direction, who, equally, gave not much thought to the spell, simply stepping out of the way.

“That was a close one, Mr Snape.” Mr Borguini praised mockingly.

Severus stopped and shook his head. The abrupt movement made Mr Borguini stop as well. He brought a finger to his lips and shushed, making the professor frown. “Rule number one,” Severus said, mimicking a one with his raised finger—his voice carried magically through the field startling some students who had lost interest in the duel. “Don’t talk. In a duel, you conserve your thoughts to yourself and your energy to your spells.”

Mr Borguini’s eye slightly twitched in annoyance. “Of course. I already know that, Mr Snape.” He tried casting another, “Flipendo!” With extravagant waves of his wand.

Again, Severus batted away. “Rule number two,” he raised two fingers. “Point your wand and cast. Do not exaggerate your wand movements for no reason, especially when a spell doesn’t require complicated patterns.” To demonstrate his claims, Severus retaliated with his own “Flipendo.” With the bare of movements, using his wrist.

Mr Borguini huffed. “Protego!” He shielded himself. “You don’t think I know all of this, Mr Snape?”

“You might, yes,” Severus nodded. “However, there are people among us who don’t. Or have you forgotten, professor, that you haven’t taught us duelling this year?” The tip of Severus’ wand moved in spirals. “Ventus.” He cast before the professor could dwell on his words.

As Mr Borguini went flying backwards with the force of Severus’ winds—he went a tad overboard with that one on purpose—he turned to his classmates. “Who hasn’t been introduced to duelling properly yet, please, raise your hand.” No one did, to Severus’ annoyance. “Now, don’t be shy. I’m just ascertaining the damage.”

“Why? Do you want to make fun of them, Snivellus?” Sirius said from the Gryffindors, sneering throughout.

“Because I want to know how many between us don’t understand what’s happening here,” he pointed to the field. “Many of us from witchzarding households were taught about duels, but that isn’t the case for everyone.”

From the corner of his eyes, he noticed someone raise their hand. It was Abagail Berrycloth again. Soon, following her example, many other muggle-borns—Slytherin and Gryffindor alike—started raising their hands, as well. It was understandable—since they were raised muggles, they haven’t seen a duel before.

Severus nodded. “We’ve been introduced to duels on an academic level, so far. I expect at least some, if not all of you, understand duelling to that degree?” Berrycloth nodded to his statement, and so did the other muggle-borns. “Very well,” Severus deflected a powerful Flipendo coming his way with ease, barely looking in the caster’s direction. It hit the ground again.

“Flipendo!” Mr Borguini, fresh out of Severus’ Ventus with a mess of hair, exclaimed his way again. Severus clicked his tongue before protecting himself with the smallest wordless Protego he has ever cast. Mr Borguini tapped his foot in frustration. “Expelliar—“ he tried casting the disarming charm, but before he could, Severus’, “Rictusempra.” Caught him off guard. He fell to his knees in a frenzy of laughter.

“Rule number three,” Severus raised three fingers. “Cast silently if you can. Do not scream your spells. Likewise, do not name spells you can do wordlessly.” He said before raising his wand, “Titillando.” He cast the tickling hex to hold Mr Borguini down with painful laughter. With another wave of his wand, “Silencio.” And the professor’s cries went silent.

With the professor out of combat for a while, Severus clapped his hands. “Back to the topic of duels—who can tell me the two most noticeable types of duellists? That is, the most known ones.”

Murmurs went around his classmates. Some were vaguely outraged that Severus would even attempt to teach them something, others contemplating the question, while others observed from the sidelines. Severus noticed how his roommates, Mulciber and Avery, stared at him with confused but calculating expressions. Rosier, sitting under a tree in the back avoiding class, stared with a thoughtful frown. He caught the attention of the future Death Eaters with his display of casual magical strength—that wouldn’t go unnoticed. He already had a scuffle with Bellatrix earlier, adding his confidence and the boys could picture something more sinister. If anything, now they know why the Dark Lord covets Severus so much, even if misplaced.

“That,” said someone from the Gryffindors. It was Eret Campbell, a muggle-born. “That’s Scout and Sprint, right? The duellist types?”

Severus snapped his fingers. “Correct, Mr Campbell.” He said to the excitement of the boy. “Scouts are commonly found in tournaments—best-of-three or best-of-five matches—as the scouts sacrifice their first, sometimes their second rounds to investigate their opponent. Sprinters are tricky but effective with a good offensive strategy. They defeat the opponent as fast as they can with a barrage of spells, commonly found in best-of-one matches.” Severus explained.

Severus looked back at the professor who started to stand up, breathing harshly from the laugh. “Based on the duel so far, can anyone tell me which duellist type is Professor Borguini?” He asked while raising his wand to protect himself from his professor’s next spell.

“Incarcerous!” Mr Borguini exclaimed, embarrassed at being made a fool. Thick ropes shoot from his wand in Severus’ direction rapidly.

“Diffindo,” Severus cast, cutting the ropes before they could latch onto him. “Incarcerous.” He summoned thin cords like spiderwebs into his hands and tossed them into the air. “Ventus.” The wind carried the cords higher, where Severus controlled them until they formed a circle above the professor’s head. Only then, he cancelled the Ventus. They fell messily all around Mr Borguini who stared unknowingly.

“What are you—“ Mr Borguini tried to say, but before he could finish, Severus took hold of the end of the cord and pulled. The cords circling the professor shrunk until they trapped both his legs together. The professor immediately lost balance, and with Severus’ pull, he fell on his back. Hard.

“Rule number four,” Severus raised four fingers. “Creativity. Always try to innovate with the spells you know. Catching your opponents off guard is the best approach to defeat someone stronger than you.” With another wave of his wand, Severus silenced Mr Borguini’s scream of outrage as he trashed on the grassy ground.

Lily made her way to the front of the Gryffindor group, staring at Severus in awe. “Professor Borguini said something about scouting at the beginning of the duel. Is he a Scout, is he not?” She asked.

“Very well observed,” Severus praised. “He is a Scout. The fact that he protected himself instead of attacking me in the beginning, even though I hadn’t done anything, also proves this point. He wanted to know what would be my first move. The fact that I did nothing, gives him no advantage.” Severus explained.

“You did nothing deliberately?” Mulciber’s sceptic voice travelled through the field from the Slytherin side. “Did you not freeze in fear?” His words could easily be misinterpreted as a taunt; however, Mulciber’s expression was deadly serious. As if, he had meaning to his question.

He’s measuring Severus’ worth, Severus realised with a start.

Severus chuckled deep in his throat with the irony, the reverberation causing the hair in Mulciber’s arms to stand. Who would’ve thought he, a half-blood, would earn himself the pleasure of being measured by a pureblood supremacist? Or the son of one, anyway. With the right words, he could be respected by then, even. “Do I look frightened, is it, Frederick?” Severus’ obsidian eyes held no fear. If anything, they looked threatening—intimidating like an apex predator setting their line of sight on prey.

Severus wanted nothing to do with their respect.

Mulciber flinched with the sound of his own name and stepped back with the look in Severus’ eyes, nodding with acknowledgement. Avery patted him on the back for support, startled also by the intensity of Severus’ stare.

That reaction, to any Slytherin present, was huge. There are few people capable of making any of The Ricks step down from an argument, among them, if not all, Death Eaters or with relations to them. Bellatrix, Lucius, and even Rosier are all high in the Slytherin hierarchy because of their connections, and Mulciber isn’t different. To earn his respect, no, his submission would entail grand things for Severus, and no Slytherin is insane enough to go against the words of someone holding such power.

If Severus wanted to change Slytherin for the better, he needed to escalate the ranks. Putting The Ricks on a leash didn’t sound too bad of an idea to not consider.

Though, let it be said that Rosier looked none too pleased by what happened, judging by his disapproving expression.

Severus felt the moment both his Incarcerous and Silencio were broken. He turned his attention back to the professor. Mr Borguini stood up, wheezing in fury. His face was red as a tomato and his eyes hardened on Severus sharply, dropping his happy-go-lucky facade. He wasn’t playing any longer, Severus thought.

He waved his wand to gather friction, “Incendio!” The professor screamed. A fireball, the size of Severus’ head, traversed the distance between them at high speed—not as a bullet, but enough to renounce dodging. The tip of the grass around the professor caught fire.

Severus saved himself with a wordless Protego—the incantation would’ve taken too long—before instinctively summoning the waters of the Black Lake nearby while gathering magic in the tip of his wand. The water floated beside and around him as he frowned at the professor. “Don’t use fire so close to the forest!” Severus admonished harshly, pointing his wand at him, “Aqua Eructo!” The water condensed into a ball, and from there a jet, strong and fast, flew from his wand.

“Protego!” Mr Borguini protected himself while huffing with his efforts. The heavy waters were enough to push him back a notch. The fire in the grass was extinguished.

However, Severus wasn’t done. He turned his wand, barely a flick of his wrist, “Duo,” he said calmly. To the horror of Mr Borguini, a second jet exploded from the Slytherin’s wand, curving its trajectory to strike Mr Borguini from the side.

“Protego!” Mr Borguini screamed again, creating a second shield to hold the second jet at bay. He was sweating and shaking with the weight of both his shields fighting against Severus’ powerful attacks. His legs buckled slightly as he slid backwards on the ground.

Severus smiled sweetly, with enough triumphant in his expression to worry Mr Borguini, who stared in trepidation. “Tria,” and just like that, the third jet of water flew in his direction.

Mr Borguini fought through his fast-beating heart to scream, “Protego Maxima!” Summoning a dome shield around himself, sturdy enough to stopper Severus’ advance. He had no energy left to fight back, however. The spell left him dry. He wouldn’t admit it, though. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Severus asked in false concern. “Weren’t you who said I could go with all I had?” He taunted. Mr Borguini breathed harshly, huffing in fury.

Severus raised his open palm to show five fingers. “Rule number five,” he said as the waters attacking Mr Borguini’s shield returned to float beside him. “Never, and I mean, never underestimate your opponent!” The jets started to swirl around each other, bulking themselves into the shape of a large geyser of murky greenish water. “No matter whom you face, no matter the circumstances, you never let your guard down. Learning to judge the situation and act appropriately could mean the difference between life and death!” He pointed his wand towards Mr Borguini one last time. “You went easy on me because you wanted to,” he said and smiled at Mr Borguini’s terrified expression. “Now, it's time to pay your comeuppance.”

“Kairyū no Hōkō,” Severus chanted as his eyes shone green. The water geyser morphed into the shape of a dragon’s face and charged at full speed. It roared as if it was alive—the gurgling of water mixed with the cries of a massive beast—the sound startling nearby creatures. Birds flew, wolfs howled, Tooth barked in the distance, but amazed of them all were the merpeople, who surfaced when they felt the disturbance in the water. They watched the water deity with delight in their eyes.

Mr Borguini gave up. His wand fell from his hand as if he had no control over his finger muscles. He stared at his approaching death, feeling his heart rate increase as the dragon drew near. It beat faster and faster until the dragon struck his shield, breaking it into pieces immediately. No sound escaped his mouth when he tried to scream. The last thing he saw was the dragon’s open mouth, ready to devour him whole.

Mr Borguini’s heart stopped beating for a second too long, and he passed out, standing.

Clap! The echo of Severus’ single clap was enough to draw everyone’s attention. The water dragon, before it could strike Mr Borguini, fell apart around the professor in a wave, making mud in its way, never once wetting the man. With a wave of Severus’ wand, all the water flowed from the ground, back to the lake where the merpeople cheered Severus’ show with dolphin-like squeaks. He smiled at them and politely bowed.

After the danger had subsided, Mr Borguini’s body fell on its knees and face-planted right after.

Severus, seeing the unmoving body of his professor, started making his way toward him. “Those five rules I’ve told you all today; never forget them.” He said with the authority of either a professor or a sergeant. “Duellist or not, one day you will partake in a duel—be it competitively or to the death. You’ll remember what you’ve seen today, what happens to the ones who don’t follow those rules,” he gestured to the fallen professor. “And you’ll try your best to follow them tidily at the duel. I assure you—you’ll either win or survive with them in mind.” Severus kneeled by the professor’s body. Remembering Mr Borguini's heart condition, the first thing he did was check for a pulse. His heart was beating fast; however, he would live. The man had simply fainted in fear.

He sighed. “It seems Professor Borguini fainted on us,” Severus said, standing up. He waved his wand until Mr Borguini floated on a plank position for safe transportation and summoned the man’s wand from the wet ground. “Be it so, I’ll be taking him to the hospital wing,” He turned to stare at his classmates, waiting to see if anyone would protest.

He was amused at what he saw.

Everyone, all where his eyes could see, was gaping at him. Droplets of water started to fall on them from the remains of the dissipating dragon—the magic started to sing.

“That was so wicked!” Someone exclaimed—Peter Pettigrew, to Severus’ surprise. His voice seemed to wake everyone from their astonishment. The majority of the students—Gryffindors and Slytherin alike—cheered the duel; better yet, Severus’ victory. They had a shine in their eyes of awe and excitement, adrenaline coursing through his classmates’ veins at his magical prowess. Never before had they seen a professor losing to a student—especially to such an extent. It did help that Severus summoned a water dragon to aid his cause, and in his experience, the bigger the spell, the more awestruck the students get.

“Is that the merpeople!?” A Slytherin girl exclaimed, and soon the students were gushing at the creatures in both horror and delight. It’s rare for them to surface, after all. The merpeople didn’t seem to mind, especially the younglings, as they swim and playfully splashed water at each student who approached too close.

“They are so ugly,” Severus heard Lily say. “I love them!” She giggled when one of them tried to water her.

Severus chuckled amiably and shook his head at their reactions. They are children, Severus had forgotten. The magical melody, one only he could hear, was composed of both the merpeople’s and his classmates’ magic. It sang him a story or the beginning of one, Severus thought. One of glory and uncertainty, of adventure and danger.

He felt influenced by its beat. Excited, even.

“Class dismissed,” he said, turning to leave—Mr Borguini floating beside him towards the hospital wing.

He was reminded of how much he loved teaching defence, then, and why he would apply for the position every school year in his previous life. He never enjoyed teaching dunderheads, but there’s always something so satisfying in seeing them grow up with his lessons in mind. More so, he thought, when his teachings saved their lives. Harry learned Expelliarmus and Sectumsempra from him, after all, directly or not.

Severus left the field on a high note, smiling.

The two weeks that followed were something to behold.

Madam Pomfrey had praised Severus for his quick thinking in bringing Mr Borguini to the hospital wing as fast as he could. Dumbledore involved himself in the situation—as one of his professors had fainted—but he never once spoke with Severus.

She had admonished the professor. “I told Professor Borguini to stop with this Auror nonsense long ago because of his heart condition, but he’s just too stubborn to listen. Now, look at him! Fainted during class while duelling. Pah!” She had scoffed. “If only people would make my job easier by listening to me.”

She had vouched for Severus’ innocence when Dumbledore questioned her—Severus himself had planted a plausible story in her head when they talked—and like a good Headmaster, Dumbledore believed her story. Mr Borguini was instructed to stay in the hospital wing for a while longer and Severus was sent his way with twenty points to his house for his actions—courtesy of Madam Pomfrey’s insistence, to the Headmaster’s chagrin.

His relations with his classmates changed abruptly since, as well.

Words travelled fast on Hogwarts—more so gossip. The Gryffindors made a show every meal about the water dragon and the merpeople during DADA class. It took barely a day before the story morphed from ‘Severus summoned a water dragon’ to ‘there is a water dragon in the Black Lake.’ People became so curious, every recess, you could see a crowd around the lake’s shore composed of students from every house and every year.

However, the ones who knew the true story grew profound respect for Severus—be they Slytherin or Gryffindor.

One day during lunch, Eret Campbell walked all the way from the Gryffindor table towards the Slytherin one to question Severus about their lesson that day. He was curious about the creative aspect of the rules and how could he incorporate them better during a duel, considering the spells the boy knew so far.

The Slytherins, especially the seventh years, were none too happy to have a Gryffindor on their table and stared challengingly at the boy. However, as Severus suspected, Campbell was either very courageous or stupid and didn’t back down—Like a Gryffindor usually is. Severus, for his part, didn’t care in the least. He always sat closest to the professor’s table to avoid problems, where no one liked to sit near him. Therefore, he gestured for Campbell to make himself comfortable on the seat opposite his and started trading ideas with him. It took less than five minutes for other classmates of his—muggle-born, most of them—to relocate themselves to the empty seats near him to hear his words.

It was truly a strange sight to see Gryffindors and Slytherins seating together on a corner of the table—little may they be. The curious Ravenclaws stood nearby listening to their discussion, and the Hufflepuffs joined in after a while, too. Ten points were distributed to all houses for inter-house unity that day. 

His actions didn’t go unnoticed. He was ‘invited’ by Bellatrix one day, for a little chat—as she put it—inside the common room after curfew, where she threatened him and spoke of shame to his house for mingling with the lowlifes. Where she shunned the muggle-born—called them Mudblood, to his immediate distaste—and admonished him for allowing other houses at their table. Of how she wouldn’t hold herself back anymore if he dared do it again.

Severus had just smiled. “I fail to see the problem, as I was simply discussing with my classmates if you haven’t realised—too engrossed in your own little ideas to comprehend beyond what’s in front of your eyes,” he had mocked her. “Maybe that’s why the Dark Lord is disappointed in you, as it is. Your head is stuck too deep up his ass to see around you.”

Bellatrix had had enough. She had cursed loudly, “Crucio!” with the hopes of making Severus eat his words.

To her surprise, it backfired spectacularly. Severus had caught the red Crucio with the tip of his wand and spun in place with the spell’s motion, reflecting the spell right back to her, all with precise and elegant movements.

Bellatrix was hit with her own Crucio, falling to the floor with a silent scream of pain—courtesy of Severus’ subtle Silencio—and stayed there, convulsing for ten seconds before realising she had to cancel the spell herself. It was her Crucio, after all.

When the torture was over and her senses returned, she hissed and raised herself from the floor on her elbows. She tried to sneer at Severus, but her voice caught in her throat with the scene in front of her.

Severus sat on the black armchair by the large lake window, staring down at her with dead black eyes as one inspects an insect—cold and intimidating. Behind him, in the window illuminated by the moonlight, a hundred bright yellow eyes stared down at her, also. The merpeople of the Black Lake—adult and young both—all floating in the water outside, circling Severus’ figure. They weren’t cheering, dancing or splashing water as the rumours had said. They were staring straight at her. They weren’t pleased.

“I don’t know what you think of me, nor do I care, if I’m honest,” Severus said—his voice deeper than ever before, enforced by the darkness of the late-night common room. “I’ll tell you just one thing, Bella, dear—be it the Dark Lord, or Dumbledore, or anyone, for that matter; this school, Hogwarts…” he pointed to the ground. “It is mine. In here, where I belong, I do as I please. Go, and tell your Lord you’ve lost to a fifth-year student. Go, and bring shame to your family once again, as you can’t even find a fiancée. Go on, silly girl. Make yourself useful and get out of my way.” With a snap of his fingers, the merpeople behind him dispersed as if on his command, bringing back the silvery light of the moon.

The feeling of his magic in that instance, equivalent to a gut feeling, as muggles say, was more than enough to warn Bellatrix. She could not understand what she was feeling—she hadn’t Mage Sight, after all—but she knew it meant danger.

Bellatrix did not interfere with him again after that night, nor did the other Slytherin students such as Lucius and even Rosier, for that matter. She must’ve warned them not to, or claimed Severus as her target, as she used to do with people who wronged her back in his previous Death Eater days. Unfortunately, that involved Narcissa and Regulus, as well. Severus wasn’t able to talk to either of them.

It didn’t involve other Slytherins, though, as they shamelessly stared at him whenever he went. From his fifth-year classmates to younger ones, driven by rumours inside the Slytherin dormitories. He opted to ignore it for now.

Severus spent his days doing his chores and the uneventful classes.

Winny had gathered a team composed of herself and another puny little elf (“Me be Moo, the house elf. Moo helps clean Hogwarts tidy—yes, Moo does.”) To clean the parlour. Helena and Severus helped the two elves as much as they could with the cleaning. Helena, by detecting difficult spots on the high ceiling—as she could fly—and Severus, by cleansing the air and casting preservation charms right away in every done spot to preserve the place clean.

After the successful deep cleaning, Severus had time to furnish his personal quarters. Nothing shabby—a bed, a wardrobe and, to his relief, a bedside table, as it fitted. One mahogany desk on the corner for work, one talkative mirror suspended on the back of the door (“You’re white as a ghost, boy.” “Shut it.”) And, because Helena insisted, a thin bookshelf which barely fitted, filled to the brim with any book he found in the room of hidden things. 

He would need money for his potion lab; however, the kitchen was easily decorated. One rectangular wood kitchen table, some cabinets—he knew where they were since last time—and a counter, leaving space for the stove and fridge. Because Merlin forbids, Severus would never use preserving bins and wood stoves. Hogwarts doesn’t have electric energy, but he studied techno-magic—to Harry’s excitement—so he would find a way. He could use a generator, also, if he was out of options.

The parlour, unfortunately, remained to be attended to.

Speaking of, Severus finally found time to enlarge his school robe’s breast pocket and finished sewing his gloves.

His gloves—snake-like patterns sewed on the hem (runes), while the back had a pair of sweet cicely on opposite sides of a resting basilisk, a crown of horns in its head, looking mighty with its head held high—were, to Severus, the best sewing project he has ever done. The flowers and the bulky basilisk hid the protection runes within the design. He wore them proudly up and down the halls of Hogwarts every day, since.

By the last week, he found time to collect the rest of the potion ingredients he needed from the forest and Care of Magical Creatures’ stables. Not all, but enough of a start. Of course, not alone, as he thought he would be. Hagrid was of great help, and Tooth is just a delight to have near any time of the day. They baked rock cakes that day, after collecting and storing—in his breast pocket—all of the ingredients he needed. The cakes were delicious and he said so to Hagrid, who beamed proudly at him. Severus would never admit that he found them too salty, thus, if only to preserve Hagrid’s feelings.

The marauders were tamed for the most part.

Severus could feel James’ eyes boring into the back of his head when he wasn’t looking, but whenever he tried to confront the other about it, James would avoid him or act dumb. It both confused and irritated him on some level, but he appreciated the peace that came with James’s lack of bothersome behaviour. Peter had a new obsession with observing him from a distance but never approaching, always with an awed and calculating look in his eyes. It surprised him the intensity of the scrutiny, but he did not comment on it. He wanted to see how far the rat would go.

Remus found in himself the courage to nod at him whenever they passed by each other in the corridors, however, always avoiding eye contact. And Sirius… well, he didn’t change much, still trying to torment Severus with no amount of success. If anything, when he started challenging Severus every given time they passed by each other, Severus started his own game—indirectly teaching Sirius how to duel properly while humiliating him with his superior skills. (“Do you call that a Protego? It barely held against my Hex.” “Shut up! I just learned that fucking spell!” “Yes! From watching me! So, you better do it properly or you’ll regret learning at all!”)

Ah, he had so much fun—sarcastically speaking.

Then, there’s Lily. She never told him what she wanted to say that day, no matter how many times he asked about it. He was proud of her in a way; that she was holding the information for so long. Their relationship didn’t improve much from where they left it—since the events that caused their fallout were still fresh in her mind, he assumed. Not that he was trying much, as Severus was too busy with the parlour and other small things to talk to her. Nevertheless, he couldn’t complain, as having a relationship at all was more than he asked for.

By the end of term, many things had happened. Severus made friends, dare he say, with people and creatures alike. Not forgetting Hogwarts itself. He already could see the changes in the world around him after his return—the respect radiating from some people, the awe, and the appreciation. But also, the anger. He had made enemies, too.

To some, Severus’ actions would have him treading on thin ice. But Severus was fine with it. He had learned how to fly—he did not fear the fall.

It wasn’t Severus who should fear what was coming his way, no. The others who should fear Severus coming for them, instead.

It was with that mentality that Severus stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, heading back to London, and consecutively, his home in Spinner’s End.

He had planted the seed that would eventually grow a better future in Hogwarts, already. Now, it’s time to change his world, as well.

With a final goodbye to Hogwarts magic, the train moved on.

End of Act 1.

Chapter Text

Rain fell above the Malfoy Manor that night. The drops, usually soothing in their own way, sounded no different from the clap of thunders in the distance when in the presence of the Dark Lord. The ageing man with hints of silver in his spotless black hair sat caressing the head of his beloved Nagini, the Maledictus. His eyes, no longer nut-brown but a bright red, stared at the figure kneeling before his throne.

He extended a hand, showing his wrinkled pale arm from underneath his robes, to grab himself a glass of elf-made wine on a small table beside his seat. On his right, standing straight as a statue was Abraxas Malfoy. Around him, standing on a semicircle, where many of his most trusted Death Eaters. Among them, Lucius and Bellatrix.

The Dark Lord smelled the wine, sipped it and tasted it slowly, allowing Nagini a taste with her serpentine tongue. “…you’re telling me, my dear, your worthless father was bested by a… fifth-year Hogwarts student,” his voice travelled through the hall, deep and soothing like the rain—dangerous as the storm approaching. “Crawled back to kiss your feet, hoping you could solve his problem. And you, in turn, decided to bring the matter to me?” He chuckled, but his eyes held no amusement. “I’m uncertain if you are aware, but I’m not overly fond of jokes.”

“I am not joking my Lord, for I speak the truth.” Said the figure. Obscured by a large black cloak, only the person’s hair could be seen poking out of the robes, dragging on the floor as their hair was long and orange-red, just like their father’s. “However, I came here not to avenge my father but to offer my Lord valuable information about the student. As far as I could tell from the facts laid upon me, he’s an exceptional candidate for your cause.”

The Dark Lord hummed. Nagini slowly unbid herself from his middle and started making her way down the throne steps. “I understand,” he said gently. “I do. Your father was humiliated, and you, a father’s golden child, decided to do your best for him.”

“No, my Lord, you misunderstand—“ The person tried to reason with a slight panic in their voice.

“Silence!” The Dark Lord exclaimed. Nagini chose that second to lunge, wrapping herself in the figure’s torso, trapping one of their arms.

“They are a Slytherin!” The figure exclaimed desperately. “A Slytherin half-blood, my Lord!” They gasped as their air started to escape them with Nagini’s hold. 

When Nagini opened her maw to devour the person whole, the Dark Lord raised a hand, and she stopped. “A Slytherin? None that I’m already aware of?” With a wave of said hand, Nagini loosened her hold.

The figure inhaled harshly. “Yes. A no-name, my Lord.”

He hummed again. “Interesting.”

The Dark Lord noticed the enraged harsh puffs of breath behind him. Bellatrix, he assumed, more unhinged them it is usual. He sipped his wine again before turning his head slightly, no more than necessary, to see Bellatrix from his peripheral vision. “Something in your mind, Bellatrix?”

She huffed. “Yes, my Lord. If I may?” She asked for permission.

“Very well,” he nodded, taking another sip of his alcoholic beverage.

“I know which student they refer to,” she revealed, pointing at the cloaked figure with her head. “And I cannot allow him to join our ranks. No, for I will kill him, myself.” She sneered.

“Oh?” The Dark Lord sounded amused for the first time that night—all for the wrong reasons. He extended his hand again, this time calling for Bellatrix. “Let me see.”

She traversed the hall with excited steps, seizing his hand and kneeling before him in quick succession. She knew of the torture she was submitting herself to but did not care. Bellatrix just wanted to be closer to her Lord, as much as she could.

“Now, now,” he soothed, caressing her hair. “Relax, my dear,” he stared into her eyes. “Let me through.” He used Legilimency on her, making her convulse with the force of his evasion.

“I’ll tell you just one thing,” The Dark Lord heard a deep voice in her mind. He could feel the lingering sensation of a Crucio, and Bellatrix’s embarrassment. The memory, vivid as if it happened yesterday, shocked him still for a second. The merpeople, creatures not even he managed to conquer in his stead, stared down at him with fierce expressions and yellow bright eyes—judging. The boy, blackness covering his whole body except for his pale face, held the Dark Lord in place with his stare. “Hogwarts,” the boy said, and as the Dark Lord had never experienced before, he felt addressed by the memory instead of watching from the sidelines. “It is mine.” He said with a sense of finality to his words, as if saying the sky is blue.

The boy leaned in, his face more prominent in the dark, but his eyes—oh, his eyes… they were lit bright green with magic. “Make yourself useful and get out of my way.”

With a gasp, the Dark Lord left Bellatrix’s mind.

She was coughing at his feet, dry gagging with the intensity of his Legilimency. He held her head up by the hair with one hand, the other squeezing the armrest of his throne. He breathed astonishingly.

The boy wasn’t talking to Bellatrix in that memory. He was talking to him, the Dark Lord.

He started to chuckle, slowly, madly turning into a blown laugh of disbelief. His lungs hurt with the force of his mirth, turning his laughter into violent coughs. “What is his name?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear. “The boy, what’s his name?”

Bellatrix inhaled, trying to compose herself for her Lord. “Severus Snape, my Lord.” She had a dreamy expression on her face. “The one I’ve spoken of last year?”

“Severus… Snape?” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “The potion prodigy? The outcast Slytherin boy?” He asked with a soothing tone.

“Uhum,” she hummed leaning in on him. Almost as if high, she had no control over her thoughts, “Fuck me.” She begged.

He violently shoved her down the steps by her hair. “Slut,” he said harshly, sneering. Bellatrix just smiled up at him from where she lay on the floor with desire in her eyes. “Abraxas, order your son to take that harlot out of my line of sight.” Abraxas nodded, gesturing to Lucius to do his Lord’s demands.

“Now, you,” the Dark Lord gestured to the cloaked figure. “Is it Severus Snape the boy you came to speak of?”

“Yes… my Lord.” They choked out as Nagini kept tightening her coils.

“Nagini, please,” and just like that, the Maledictus released the figure, slithering away towards her chambers. The Dark Lord smiled—all teeth. “I have a mission for you,” he said. “My team will prepare for you the best defence curriculum Dumbledore ever laid his eyes upon. You will take it and infiltrate as next year’s DADA professor.” He laid out, sipping his wine. “You will serve as a bridge to connect the students of Hogwarts to us, and bring with you the next generation of Death Eaters.”

The figure bowed, forehead touching the polished floor. “Of course, my Lord.”

“Furthermore,” he said with a malicious smile. “I want you to observe Severus Snape from a distance. I want to know everything that is to know about him, do you hear? That boy… Ah,” he sighed happily. “I want to know who hurt him so badly that I could see the scars in the pupils of his green eyes.” He whispered deliriously. “Your real objective is to bring him here, to me. That boy is mine and mine alone. You’re not allowed to land a hand on a single strand of his hair. If you dare so, I won’t just kill you,” he shook his head. “I will kill your father, your mother, your entire lineage if you displease me. And you wouldn’t want that, now would you, Borguini?”

The figure raised their heads, then. “I won’t fail you, my Lord, be assured. Though, let it be said that I’m not a Borguini. I’ve got my mother’s family name.”

The Dark Lord chuckled while resting back on his throne. “Of course, of course; how could I have forgotten?” He raised his glass of wine as if on a toast. “It is a matter of pride related to my name that brought me where I am. How rude am I to you, my dear Pendragon.”

The figure stood up, letting their cloak fall to the floor, revealing a beautiful woman with long auburn hair, braids marrying both sides of her face, wearing a formal sangria-coloured dress—the spitting image of Morgan Le Fay, the dark witch of Camelot. “I won’t disappoint you, my Lord.”

“I know you won’t, my dear.” He said and smiled triumphantly, sipping his wine.

Outside, the storm arrived.

Chapter Text

Shinehiro’s Guide To Understand—or remember—The Worldbuilding (So Far).

(SS-TOWWS Edition)

Hehe, Toes…

This instalment is not obligatory, as it simply explains elements of the world I’m currently writing about that I have mentioned in previous chapters. If you understood all of the new things I’ve added with no issue, you can skip this chapter unremorsefully. That being said, I recommend you read the guide regardless, as there is information not previously discussed and it took me a while to come up with all this juicy lore for all of you.

If you still decide to skip the chapter, here is a medal for your impeccable memory and text interpretation, since, if you truly understood everything, you must be a genius, because my writing doesn’t help.

😊🥇.

With that said and done, if you’re still with me, let the explanations commence. I hope you enjoy it!

And don’t worry, this is not a recap.

Intenebre

Int·ene·bre

Intus—inside; Tenebris—darkness.

Also known as the ‘magic of the selfish’, Intenebre consist of magic spells, charms, and curses, that wield the magic from the caster’s magical core and are powered by the caster’s emotions, intent and soul. It’s connected to the individual rather than universal, making Intenebre magic, the magic of the people/creatures who live in the world. 

According to ancient knowledge, the existence of Intenebre magic balances the existence of Nadidus magic. Magic does not function properly without one or the other, causing magic to collapse under its own weight, destroying itself and everything connected to it.

Since everything currently alive is connected to magic in one way or another, it is said that with the destruction of magic, the world will end.

Examples of Intenebre magic:

°Patronus Charm:

• It channels the caster’s positive emotions into a powerful protection and evokes a partially tangible positive energy force known as a Patronus (Patronuses) or spirit guardian.

°Occlumency:

• The magic of protecting one’s mind against It involves clearing one’s mind in order to prevent a legilimens from perceiving one’s emotions and thoughts.

°Killing Curse:

• An Unforgivable Curse, which caused instantaneous and painless death, without causing any injuries to the body. The curse required great skill, power and intent in order to be performed correctly. (More on this curse later on in the story).

Nadidus

Na·di·dus

Nature—nature; Candidus—white

Also known as the ‘purity of nature’, Nadidus consist of magic spells, charms, and curses related to nature’s magic, or the magical particles around the caster that are powered by the environment. When an Aguamenti is cast near a body of water, it becomes more powerful. Similarly, if a Lumos is cast in an area with a high concentration of magical particles, it will shine brighter. It’s this connection to nature, rather than the individual, that makes Nadidus magic, the magic of the world.

According to ancient knowledge, there was once only Nadidus magic. The gift of magic to creatures and humans alike, as magic allowed it, created the existence of Intenebre magic, Nadidus' counterpart. Magic does not function properly without one or the other, causing magic to collapse under its own weight, destroying itself and everything connected to it.

Since everything currently alive is connected to magic in one way or another, it is said that with the destruction of magic, the world will end.

Example of Nadidus magic:

°Wand-Lighting Charm (Lumos):

• A charm that illuminated the tip of the caster's wand by accumulating magic particles in its environment, allowing the caster to see in the dark.

°Water-Making Spell (Aguamenti):

• A charm that conjured a jet of clean, drinkable water from the tip of the caster’s wand. The water is generated from the moisture in the air or the environment around the caster.

°Incarcerous Spell:

• A spell that conjured thick ropes or thin cords, that bound whatever the caster points their wands at. The ropes are generated by an accumulation of magical particles into a physical shape.

I hope those explanations were enough for you to understand what I’m doing with the magic in Harry Potter! They are big changes to the structure of the world, and I wholeheartedly hope you enjoyed them. 

With that laid out, you can play a game of classifying spells that I haven’t mentioned yet, with your own headcanons and whatnot. Don’t forget to tell me about it if you do. I would love to hear what you guys come out with!

With that explained, let us go to the next.

Shadow Walker

Shad·ow Walk·er

The Shadow Walker (Reaper, Angel of Death, etc.) were creatures led by the entity known as Death. They were notorious for their ability to faze into shadows as a method of travelling, shape-shifting, and the unique permission to manipulate souls. It is believed that the creature itself was the soul of a dead person or creature turned into a Shadow Walker by either Death or something connected to Death—sometimes, another Shadow Walker themselves.

They were accused of being dark creatures, sent by Death to consume the souls of the living, creating more Shadow Walkers in return; however, that interpretation was proven false. Shadow Walkers were Death’s assistants, helping with the cycle of souls throughout the worlds in which Death reigns—or the worlds in which the concept of death exists. They were sent by Death to fix or destroy instabilities in the worlds to maintain the balance of souls in the land of the living and the dead.

Their magic was described to remind people of the feeling of death. Be it the death of their soul’s previous life or the lingering sensation of the entity, Death.

Example of Shadow Walker:

°Severus Snape:

• He was turned into a Shadow Walker by a figure of high authority from the land of the dead—Harry, the Master of Death—during his stay in The Between.

Shadow Minion

Shad·ow Min·ion

The Shadow Minion was a Shadow Walker made by another Shadow Walker. Their entire existence resumes by following their creator’s orders as long as they aligned with Death’s demands. Without Death’s permission—or from someone of high authority in the land of the dead—a Shadow Walker isn’t allowed to turn a soul into a Shadow Minion.

Example of Shadow Minion:

° [Redacted].

• [Redacted]. (More on this creature later on in the story).

Hey, it’s the creature that inspired the entire story, which we haven’t tackled properly as of late! Don’t worry; there will be more Severus Shadow Walker shenanigans in the future—especially involving Shadow Minions.

I’m proud of this funky little creature, and hope you’ve liked it as much as I do! The World of Harry Potter already has its fair share of creatures, but I wanted to add my own… and then make a story out of it.

Onto the next!

The Witch Trials

“The Lord works in mysterious ways. What's true to one man, a wonder and a marvel, might not seem so to another, as God didn't intend it for him.” – Katherine Howe, Conversion.

The Witch Trials were the persecutions and execution of witchzards followers of Pagan culture, Roman culture, and other deviant branches of magic unrelated to Christianity in the British Isles during the tenth century. They were coordinated by Christians of the time, whether witchzards or muggles, with the goal of ridding the Isles of 'impure' or 'devilish' magical practices, which resulted in the ban of the use of Runes, Rituals and other such subjects.

At the time, the line between muggles and witchzards was hazy, which influenced many of the religious and political clashes. Magic was widely regarded as sinful by muggles, but was tolerable if the witchzard was raised or converted to Christianity. Those same Christian witchzards pioneered the subject of Charms to replace Runes, circumventing the muggles' prohibitions on magical practices.

The trials lasted beyond the tenth century, gradually losing their original significance and becoming scarcer. Nonetheless, witchzards and muggles coexisted in their endeavours, until the establishment of Hogwarts.

Hogwarts was regarded as a threat to Muggles because its founders were impartial to any magical practice, teaching Runes and Rituals, both of which were forbidden subjects at the time. This was the tipping point in an already strained relationship between the two factions, escalating to the brink of civil war.

Witchzards, be they Christian or not, united themselves against the muggles in the battle for their right to use magic, which led them to the Great Elude.

The Great Elude

“What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over.”

The Great Elude was a widespread movement coordinated by witches and wizards throughout the British Isles during the tenth and eleventh centuries, with the goal of erasing the memories of all muggles involved in the witch trials at the time. With the religious truce, Christian charm inventors were inspired by Pagan practices to create the Forgetfulness Charm or Obliviate, which was used against muggles. 

With the success of erasing the witchzard's existence from the minds of muggles, a new government was formed with the goal of hiding witchzards from muggles and protecting them from witch trials. It was known as the Wizard's Council.

The later recorded witch trials, which began in the seventeenth century and were formerly known as the Salem Witch Trials, had nothing to do with witchzards. They were thought to be a muggle delirium and an example of what would happen if actual witches and wizards revealed themselves to muggles.

It was after the events of the Salem Witch Trials that, in 1692—three months after the first ‘witch’ execution in Salem—that the International Statute of Witchzarding Secrecy law was signed and established.

You have no idea how excited I was to share this bit of historical lore with you. My God, did I crack my noggin on this one! It isn’t at all canon-friendly and everything apart from the Wizard’s Council and the Obliviate was invented, but, Oh my! Did I like it!

I’m all about pulling worldbuilding out of my ass for my own amusement and your entertainment. Besides, Severus needs to know what happened to magic over the years, and I'm not going to read every single canon wiki page about Harry Potter’s world.

Anyway, here it is!

Overpower

“The act of overpowering someone else’s magic.”

Overpower is a technique in which the caster disturbs the magical flow of spells, charms, or curses either physically or magically, with the intention of breaking them apart. It requires great skill and control of one’s magic, as the caster manually fights against the opposing magic.

If an inexperienced individual attempts to overpower the magic of a stronger opponent, they risk damaging their own magic.

Overpower can be achieved in two ways:

• By tearing the opposing magic apart, thus nullifying their effects.
• By absorbing the opposing magic, thus enforcing the caster’s magic.

A very simple one to remember—you guys already knew this one from Act 1 – ch 7, I hope.

Now, onto duelling lore, because by God did it itch me to explain duelling lore in a previous chapter, but I couldn’t or the chapter would surpass the twenty-thousand words mark… and I won’t, I refuse—

Duelling

“In a duel, man to man, wand against wand, it can be a lack of skill that gets you killed. Often as not, though, it'll be a matter of luck, or if it goes on too long, then it'll be the man who tires first that tends to die.” – Mark Lawrence, Prince of Thorns (slightly modified)

Duelling was a formal practice in witchzarding culture in which two or more witchzards engaged in combat under the condition that only magical means were used.

The combatants faced each other and bowed, as a sign of respect, before they placed themselves in an accepted combative position and, at the count of three, attempted to disarm, stun, injure, defeat, or kill each other in order to force submission, and thus a winner would be decided. (https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Duelling).

There are two ways to perceive duelling:

°Casual Duelling:

• In which two or more witchzards duel on their own terms, rules, and limitations for entertainment, problem-solving, or to the death.

Casual duels usually refrain from formal duelling, and it can vary from friendly matches to aggressive displays of power. 

°Competitive Duelling:

• In which two or more witchzards duel professionally under the terms, rules, and limitations established by the Formal Witchzard Duelling or FWD.

Competitive duels use formal duelling for competitions, whether official or not. Usually for entertainment and sport.

In Competitive Duelling, there are two main types of duellists:

°Scout Duellist (Scout):

• Scout duellists tend to prolong duels in order to scout the opponent and study them, thus increasing their chances of winning. Scouts are typically bulky and resilient, with a focus on defence and stamina. Their main strategies revolve around exhausting their opponents and predicting their movements.

Scouts are common in best-of-three or best-of-five competitions as they sacrifice their first, sometimes their second round for scouting, which makes scouting a high-demand, high-price duelling style.

History fact:

The longest competitive duel ever recorded, with a world record of three days, four hours and eleven minutes, happened in Amazonas, Brazil in a school duelling competition on Castelobruxo between two Brazilian scout witches, Zélia Aparecida das Torres (Zéfinha) e Maxímiana das Virgens (Maçu), in 1912. Zéfinha won due to Maçu passing out of dehydration because of Brazil’s hot weather.

A time limit was added to the Formal Witchzards Duelling rules to avoid a similar scenario, after that.

°Sprint Duellist (Sprinter):  

• Sprint duellists tend to end duels as quickly as possible, avoiding the scout's strategies. Sprinters are typically gifted and fast, with an emphasis on offence and battle awareness. Their main strategies revolve around overwhelming their opponents—by either forcing a mistake or simply knocking the opponent out of the duel with brute force.

Sprinters are common in one-round and timer competitions as they focus on getting as much damage output as possible, which makes sprinting a high-risk, high-price type of duelling.

History fact:

The fastest duel ever recorded, with a world record of one second and seventy-nine milliseconds, happened in the World Wide Duelling Tournament (WWDT) in a Timer match between sprinter Uagadou School of Magic graduate, Tau Akello (Mpenzi) and scout Beauxbatons Academy of Magic professor, Agathe Auclair (Pomme), in 1964. Mpenzi won by drawing his wand faster than Pomme could cast a Protego, stunning her in the process.

Bare fair warning that those two aren’t the only duellist types there is, just the most common. As an example of other obscure duellists types, we have:

°Switching Duellist (Switcher):

• A duellist with elements of both Scout and Sprint.

°Camping Duellist (Camper):

• A duellist who focuses mainly on traps to damage their opponents while secured behind lines of defence.

°Hunting Duellist (Hunter):

• A duellist who incorporates aspects of hunting magical creatures in duels, be they defensive or offensive.

And the list goes on.

I’m not going to add duelling positions because I deserve a break. However, there’s enough information to get a glimpse of what duelling is for witchzards in my world. It’s a sport, played for fun or professionally. It doesn’t deviate from a UFC or an NBA for us muggles, for example.

It’s interesting to think about it, thus, to write about it. And that’s why I did. Hope you liked it!

With that, you’ve arrived at the end of this instalment! Hooray!

I wholeheartedly hope you guys liked the guide, the story inside, the worldbuilding I’m working on, and many more aspects. This entire chapter is so you get an idea of what I’m trying to do with this world. I’m not just using what was given to us by JK, I’m expanding on it and, hopefully, improving certain aspects.

I do not approve of Rowling and plan to make the world I’m writing into a welcoming place for all! I’m not a professional writer, and probably never will be, but I’m trying my best, and that’s what matters.

If you read until here, there’s no turning back my friend! The world we live in might be up in flames, but here, you’re loved, welcomed and appreciated. Here’s a medal for your curiosity, engagement and for staying with me. That’s all I ask.

😊🥇.

See you soon in Act 2!

Chapter Text

The train arrived at King Cross Station nine hours later.

Severus spent the ride reading and sleeping, sometimes lost staring at the scenery through the window. He did not venture beyond his compartment, alone in the far back. People would peep in the door’s window to see who was inside, and upon seeing Severus, would either ignore him and move on or try and fail to open his compartment door—as he had charmed closed with an exceptionally difficult-to-defuse Colloportus.

He only went outside once, ten minutes before arriving, to use the loo and switch clothes to a more muggle white button-up shirt and black trousers. He kept his Breitling, Navitimer on his left wrist; hands gloved with the modified pair Madam Bickerton gave him and left to prepare his luggage for the arrival.

With the whistle and steam, the train stopped at the station, marking the end of their journey. Students unloaded from their compartments, luggage in hands, to reunite with their families with broad smiles and hugs. Soon after the train arrived, platform 9 ¾ was crowded.

Severus had taken his trunk—an old brownish thing well passed its disposable date with patches all over—his bag, and his dignity and walked out of the train with his head held high, carrying in one arm a coat for the night weather. He did not stop walking until he found himself outside the platform, past the portal into muggle King Cross Station, London. There, he found an empty bench in the far back behind a pillar, away from the line of sight of other Hogwarts students, and sat.

He was avoiding Lily. He had a reason to.

An Occlumens cannot forget memories, be they from a time when the witchzard was an Occlumens or not. They are stored in the ‘mind palace’ where one can access them whenever they need them.

Therefore, he still remembers how in his previous life, he had hoped that Lily would invite him for a car ride back to Cokeworth with her father, like all the previous years, despite what had transpired between them. He was wrong to assume, however. Severus had watched from a distance as Lily walked alongside her father, arms interlocked with Petunia’s, joking and laughing together like the united family they were. Had she bothered looking back once she would’ve spotted him, a few paces behind, but she never did. He recalls giving up at some point, taking a hard left in the direction of the bus station. He had taken the bus, guilty and crestfallen, only to return to an empty home.

Severus had no doubt Lily would offer him the ride back now. They weren’t on bad terms, and she knows of his financial issues, after all. However, although a car ride directly home would be delightful, Severus wouldn’t deny, he couldn’t go with her. This time, out of his own volition.

Because back then Severus had forgotten a single letter he had sent his mother after his and Lily’s fallout. He knew his father wouldn’t like the owl swooping around his yard, but Severus needed to tell his mother about the situation as he longed for comfort. He never received a reply, as he expected, but the letter did arrive.

That year, as he dejectedly made his way to take the bus alone, his mother was on her way to pick him up at the station. She was late, though, and missed him by a margin. That’s why he found the house empty when he returned home that night.

Severus decided to wait for her this time by avoiding Lily’s invitation.

He was hungry, thirsty, and a bit train sick. No money to buy himself something to eat, otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to pay for his bus ticket. He sat, hiding behind a pillar with his coat over his head, trying to calm his fast-beating heart and lessen his painful headache.

Hundreds of new magical signatures for his Mage Sight to register topped with the anxiety of meeting his since long-dead mother was taking a toll on him. He was content to see her again, don’t misunderstand, but it did not lessen his mood. Besides, today or perhaps tomorrow, Severus would see his father once more.

He didn’t know what to feel regarding his father. Yes, the man was the worst and Severus would never forget what he went through at his father’s expense, but he felt empty, in a way. Severus was a grown-up man, no matter how young he looked. He had faced men like his father plenty of times throughout his career and always came out unscattered. Is as if Tobias wasn’t the cryptic monster Severus had to return to every summer, one that he would dread and fear as a young lad, but… a man. Just a man. And try as he might, he didn’t know how to feel about that.

In the end, thinking about his father wouldn’t fill his stomach or stopper his thirst, thus Severus opened his bag and pulled out Madam Bickerton’s copy of A Study in Scarlet—or his copy now, he supposed. He had honestly tried to give it back, but she refused every time.

“Why, you insistent boy,” Madam Bickerton had said. “Just take the damned book, now, would you.”

“I can’t keep something that doesn’t belong to me, you being stubborn or otherwise.” He had said in return, offering the book back to her once again.

She had sighed tiredly, then. “It’s a gift, you dunderhead. Just take it, for the love of Merlin.”

Severus hadn’t known she had gifted him the book also. He had thought it was merely borrowed, a container for his other gift, the gloves.

The astonishment on his face at her claims made Madam Bickerton chuckle, at least.

Severus shrugged in his uncomfortable seat and crossed his legs to support the book on his high knee. A book would do him wonders while waiting for his mother, anyway. He had to think about what to give Madam Bickerton back to pay for two gifts now, something not too grand but fitting. Severus hated owing people, after all.

He sighed, opening the book to occupy his mind with:

“You have brought detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world.” My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.”

Severus snorted. “And people still question the veracity of the two of them together when there are quotes such as these in the original novel.” He muttered while shaking his head in disbelief. Sometimes, he wondered if Doyle knew what he was writing—if he had an ounce of understanding. With such innuendos, hiding behind time-related uncertainty; however, in plain sight for anyone to see, he doubted the man didn’t. Doyle knew what he was doing and he made sure the reader knew it too, subtle as it may look—that is to say, not subtle at all.

Severus wondered if he could do the same. If he could write his own history such iconically that people would talk about it way beyond his grave.

He was snapped out of his musing by an unusual visitor. A black butterfly elegantly flew its way to sit on his book’s page, right at the top corner. It flapped its beautiful red and black wings as it rested, antennas waving as if in greeting while it scouted its sitting place. Severus refrained from shooing it away as he was mesmerized by the insect’s beauty. However, also, because of its magic.

Yes, the little insect had magic flowing from it like water, leaving a trail in its passing as it flew, one connected to the person who sent the butterfly his way. Because, though Severus admitted the insect was the most beautiful butterfly he has ever seen, with the sight of a mage, he knew it was no ordinary one.

A conjured butterfly, one created through the use of a spell. He only knew of one person capable of doing such a feat who would choose to bother him with it.

“Why must’ve you sent this little one ahead of you?” He asked while allowing the butterfly to rest on his gloved finger, bringing the small one closest to his face for inspection. “Though, a very convincing one, I might say.” He praised.

From behind the pillar he rested upon, a figure wearing a dark emerald winter cloak and hood, carrying a plastic bag, peeped at him.

He snorted. “I’ve already noticed you; there’s no reason to hide.”

The figure hummed. “I see,” they said in a lighter tone, stepping out of their hiding spot to stand near Severus. “It seems I cannot surprise you anymore.” They pouted in false disappointment.

Severus looked up and was almost brought to tears. He smiled softly to stop himself. “How have you been, mother?” He whispered.

She lowered her hood, revealing the face of Severus’ mother, Eileen Snape. The cloak obscured her long slick black hair, but he could see her pale face, her obsidian eyes, and her small smile—the same she always reserved for him. His mother was beautiful. Severus always thought he resembled her more than he resembled his father, for which he could not be more grateful. He could never replicate the grace she had, though, sadly.

“Severus,” she said and he could feel the love in her magic, overwhelming in a good way. “How did you know it was me if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Papilio rumanzovia,” he said, raising his hand to show the butterfly still on his finger. “They are not native to Britain. Moreover, they are known as Scarlett Mormon, and would you look at that? I’m reading A Study in Scarlet.” He smiled up at her, showing the book.

She smiled back, proud. “Nicely deducted, Sherlock.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” He nodded playfully, making her laugh. He loved the sound of his mother’s laughter—soothing yet joyful. He hadn’t heard it in a long while. It reminded him of simple times, sitting on a dusty attic floor while reading an old tome, laughing at everything and nothing without trouble in the world. He missed so much. He missed his mother so much.

“Severus, my dear, what’s wrong?” Eileen asked while caressing Severus’ cheeks with her thumb to rid his tears. He was so engrossed in his mind he forgot to control himself.

“I—“ he swallowed. “I missed you, mum.” He said, letting the childish way of addressing his mother slip past his lips without notice. “It just… It has been a long year.”

She knelt to inspect his face closely, putting a strand of his hair behind his ear. “Indeed. The thing with Lily must’ve weight you down.”

Severus shook his head slightly. “We talked it through that already, Lily and I. Well, I hope.” He said. “It’s not that. I just… missed you very much this year. Is all.”

She stared at him for a second longer before nodding and accepting his words. Eileen was exceptional at detecting Severus’ lies, he knew—however, he wasn’t lying. He missed her, truly, and Severus’ heart doesn’t lie through tears.

She stood up, using the sleeve of her inner shirt to clean Severus’ face, to his protest and annoyance. “Hush, now.” She admonished gently. “You’ve missed me, and to compensate, I’ll take good care of you, young man.”

Severus huffed. “I’ve not asked to be babied, just to see my mother again.” He complained playfully.

“And how has that worked for you so far?” She asked just as playful while swinging her tear-stained sleeve in front of him as if to make a statement.

Severus could not stop himself and smiled as earnestly as he could, enough to draw his eyes half close with joy. The Scarlett Mormon—his mother’s conjure—flew from his hand, landing on the side of his head like a live hairclip. “I’ve never been happier.”

And Eileen stood there, staring at her son with widened eyes. Because for as long as Severus longed to hear the sound of his mother's merry laughter, Eileen longed to see a true smile on her son’s face again.

A single tear escaped her eye before she could process it. Severus, seeing her reaction, put his book in his bag and stood up. Putting on his coat, he offered his arm to his mother. “Let us go home, mother.”

She breathed, cleaning her tear away before taking his arm. “What a gentleman you’ve become, Severus.” She praised gently, resting her head on top of his. His mother is a very tall woman, and he was no different. Severus would hit his growth spurt eventually, surpassing her height. But for now, he would relish the fact that he’s small enough to fit in his mother’s embrace.

“Always,” He shouldered his bag, grabbed his trunk, and away they went, arms interlocked, toward the bus station.

“Are you hungry? I brought you a homemade strawberry jam sandwich, some banana chips I fried myself, and a water bottle.” She checked the food items in her plastic bag, all neatly arranged in Tupperware bowls, except for the water, which she fished out to give to him. “Here, have a drink.”

He separated from his mother to take the bottle and downed almost it all, quickly. “Ah,” he breathed satisfactorily after finishing. “Apologies, I was very thirsty.” He cleaned the water dripping down his chin before giving her the bottle back.

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, silly you. I expected that.” From the bag, she produced a second bottle, shaking it while smiling. “I’m always prepared, you know?”

Severus snorted, shaking his head amiably while smiling himself. “Of course, you are. How could I forget?”

“That’s what happens when you’re away from me for too long,” she pouted playfully.

Severus’ eyes took on an old, lost expression while he smiled softly, staring always ahead, so his mother couldn’t tell. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

The Scarlett Mormon on his head flew away, circling the people they passed through before landing on his mother’s outstretched hand, where it disappeared in a puff of magical particles. He had noticed before, with the butterfly, the feeling of his mother’s magic. He could only describe it as a water flow, cool to the touch yet gentle. If he focused, he could almost make out the figure of small butterflies circling her every move.

She captured his arm again and walked with a bounce to her pace, truly happy. She looked so young in moments like these. “Hey, mum,” Severus whispered closely, so only she could hear.

“Yes?” She whispered back.

Severus, even now, didn’t feel quite prepared for the responsibilities ahead of him. It’s too much for one man, and him too little for the world. But looking at his mother’s smile, feeling her happiness through her magic, he couldn’t but accept his fate, as he would be doing much of his work for her. Severus promised to change the future, one step at a time, starting with his mother. Because if Severus could save his mother from her destiny, he was sure to save the world. Be it for her and the people he cared about, or be it for himself.

He smiled. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to ask if you can finally teach me the butterfly-conjuring spell.” He lied but felt honest in his own way.

Her eye widened before she hummed while looking left and right, ascertaining their position. When she noticed they were mostly alone in their walk, she whispered, “Papilis.” On top of her closed fist. The magical particles around them, Severus noticed, circled her hand and within. When she opened her hand, a new Scarlett Mormon appeared on her palm as if from thin air. “There’s no secret,” She smiled. “Just like that.” She waved her hand in front of his face.

His mother was strong, magically speaking—if casting a conjuration spell wandlessly wasn’t enough of a tell. The only thing holding her back from her true strength was the absence of her wand. To that, Severus needed money, which he, unfortunately, didn’t have at the moment. No matter, as he made plans to solve his financial problem already. He just hoped he could pull it off without trouble.

Severus shook his head to bat his worries away, “Papilis,” he muttered to her open hand. On the side of his mother’s Scarlett, where the magic gathered at his command, a small black-winged butterfly with green polka dots all over suddenly appeared. A Tailed Jay (Graphium agamemnon), Severus identified. It flapped its wings rapidly as small butterflies do, before taking off to rest on the tip of Severus’ nose. “Oh?” He startled.

Eileen stared. “Did you just…” she looked amazed and proud, eyes wide and grinning. “It took me so long to perform that spell wandlessly, and you just do it on your first try.”

“What can I say?” He smiled, taking the small Jay on his gloved finger. “I’m a natural.”

“And so it seems.” She smiled at him.

Soon, they arrived at the bus station lobby. Severus allowed the Tailed Jay to dissipate back into magical particles while his mother sent her Scarlett Mormon ahead to fly amidst the crowd.

“Here,” Eileen gave him the plastic bag. “While I buy our tickets, you eat something. On the ride home, we can chat more about what transpired with Lily. It’s a long ride, after all.”

He nodded, consenting, “Very well.”

Just like that, his mother left him sitting on a bench, eating for the first time that day. Maybe he was truly famished, or the happiness started to affect his brain, but, for some reason, his mother’s cooking has never been so tastier than at that moment. 

He ate with a diligent smile on his face.

They took the bus ride to Cokeworth, then a taxi to Spinner’s End.

The ride itself went smoothly, as he expected, but the tension between them turned heavy after the conversation that proceed the journey. They talked about the events that led to his and Lily’s breakout. He did not conceal any of the events this time, as his younger self had done for many years before Eileen’s passing. Severus told her everything, from the way he was treated by the Gryffindor boys—the marauders, he called them instead of revealing their names—to the prank and calling Lily a Mudblood. Suffice it to say, his mother was both enraged and shocked by the revelations.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Severus?” She had asked, lost as to why her son would conceal such events from her.

“I didn’t want to bother you, mother.” He had answered.

“Severus, you’re my son. You don’t bother me—you’re my responsibility. I should know those things so I can help you.” She had such a sad expression on her face. It reminded Severus of Helena when she would speak of her long-lost mother. The comparison ached his heart.

He had shaken his head. “You misunderstand, mother. I just didn’t want to add to your burden. You have much to worry about as it is”

“What are you talking about—“ But she could not finish her sentence, as Severus’ eyes bored into hers with tragic understanding behind them, one so raw, she had to look away. Her home life has turned progressively more difficult with each passing year as Severus wasn’t there to defuse the situation, he knew. Severus couldn’t bring more worries to his mother, as she couldn’t carry them all on her thin shoulders. Not without her confidence, or her magic.  

Eileen stayed quiet for the rest of the ride, but she never removed her hand from the top of his throughout. One that would tighten her hold on him every so often to remind herself that he was there; he was reachable.

Now, after the long and silent ride, Severus stood in front of his house in Spinner’s End, as the taxi drove off. It was painful, to say the least. He was reminded of his last days as a student returning from Hogwarts, back after graduating from Hogwarts in his previous life, with the hope of meeting his mother and making things right.

He had returned home by himself, wearing his graduation gown still, to impress his mother. Severus had plans, back then, different ones from what he got in the end. He would take a job opportunity in a small potion shop in Knockturn Alley, owned by a fellow potion enthusiast he met in his sixth year—one not averted by his fascination with the dark arts, yet sensible enough to not join the dark side. Because Severus wasn’t stupid. For more than the others tried to sugarcoat the Death Eaters’ actions, Severus knew what they were on about; he knew about the war. He didn’t want to disappoint his mother by joining such people, nor did he want to hunt Lily, as she was a muggle-born.

He planned to earn some money, buy a house—a humble abode where he could take his mother away from the man that made her suffer for so long—and make a name for himself. He would start from the very bottom, but that was fine because it gave him plenty of opportunities to grow. It was with that optimistic mindset that he made it home that summer.

Then, Severus opened the door, and all his dreams were shattered before his eyes.

On the base of the entrance door, surrounded by two opened and half-hazarded trunks with their belongings inside, sprawled out as if road kill tossed aside, was Eileen Snape, his mother—unmoving and cold, blood all around her pristine figure from a wound on her torso. He had stared at her for far too long, embedding the image in his memory forever.

He still remembers the feeling of her cold skin when he checked for a pulse, knowing that she was already dead, but he had hoped still, that it was an illusion. He hadn’t cried—couldn’t cry would’ve been more precise, as he was taught never to cry at home, but he couldn’t contain the monster growing in the pit of his stomach. Because Severus knew who was to blame for his mother’s tragedy.

Only then, when he looked up with a blank expression plastered on his face, did he see his father, sitting on the last step of the stairs with a gun in his hands, dragging a cigarette deeply. He was under the influence, as always.

Tobias Snape shoot Eileen Snape when she tried to run away. Based on the crime scene, Severus could tell she packed intending to meet him at the station that day, and run away from there, where his father could never reach them.

Tobias said nothing when he had raised his gun at Severus, with dead eyes and trembling hands. Severus, equally, had said nothing as he raised his wand. He had nothing to worry about. The ministry wouldn’t be an issue as he was an adult and the trace wouldn’t activate.

“Avada Kedavra!”

That day, Severus killed for the first time. That day, Severus joined the Death Eaters for good. His life only derailed thereafter.

“Something in the matter, Severus?” Eileen asked, bringing him back to the present.

Severus shook his head, both to bat the memory away and deny his mother. “No, just tired.”

“Well, your room is all cleaned—you’re welcome, by the way. Just take a shower and you can sleep soundly.” His mother encouraged, smiling as if she wasn’t scared to open that damn door, herself. He would feel pity for her if he didn’t know how strong she was.

He smiled back, only so she wouldn’t worry more. “Of course.”

And with that, he grabbed his trunk and opened the door.

Fortunately, for his peace of mind or perhaps for suspense, Tobias wasn’t home. Severus knew he wouldn’t—he remembered returning to an empty home in his past life—but he had prepared himself mentally, nonetheless.

Relieved, Severus followed his mother’s advice and took a shower first thing. He relished the feeling of fresh soap and shampoo, scrubbing his entire body, from his toes to the scalp of his head, until he turned pink, even if unnecessary. He wasn’t dirty, he cleaned himself with spells every day, sometimes two times a day, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t live without cleaning products as he used to when younger anymore. Buying himself a hygiene kit was close to the top of his priorities list.

After, when he was cleaner than ever before and dressed in comfortable sweats and an old shirt, he went to his room. Or tried to, anyway.

When Severus inherited the house, the first thing he did was change rooms. He felt uncomfortable sleeping in his childhood room knowing he had better options at the house, thus, Severus renovated his father’s old bedroom, the bigger one in the house, and moved there. His childhood bedroom became a visitor’s bedroom while his mother’s stayed intact.

Yes, his father’s and mother’s bedrooms. Because, for some reason, they started sleeping in different rooms around Severus’ sixth year at Hogwarts. He never knew why, but he wouldn’t complain. The farthest his mother was from Tobias, the better, he had thought, and he wasn’t wrong.

In any case, he opened the door and was startled to see a double bed and his parents’ clothes draped over a chair because he had forgotten where his current bedroom was. It took him a minute to recall, but once he did, he flushed stupidly and paced back into the corridor towards his childhood room. He opened his door to a sight he never thought he would see again.

Stripped walls in both lime white and green, an old pitiful bed fallen apart from the wooden bed frame to the mattress and sheets, and a desk and a wardrobe infested with termites on the corner. The place was clean as his mother had promised, at least. However, uncared for.

He doesn’t blame his mother in the least, this is all his father’s fault. The man refuses to buy Severus anything, leaving Eileen to compensate alone with money she didn’t have. The odd jobs she had to take so she could support her son, all while knowing nothing of the muggle world, were all miserable. But she fought it through for Severus and would keep going until the end.

He sighed. Severus unpacked his trunk and bag, putting everything in its due places. Unloaded his clothes into the wardrobe, sewing kit into the bedside table, his potion kit under the bed, etc. When he finished, with a wave of his hand, Severus Colloportus his door and crouched near his mattress.

From within the old dingy mattress, hidden far inside, he fished out an old faded pink purse, one that belonged to his mother years ago. He had stolen it from the trash when she got rid of it for being ‘too flashy’ in Tobias’ opinion. He opened its contents on the bed, revealing the money he stole from his father throughout the years.

“Two pounds, three pounds…” He muttered while counting. He mentally calculated to have enough pounds to convert into twenty-five galleons, or so, which was enough to buy a brass cauldron—a faster alternative to his pewter one. With the rest, he could buy the last ingredient he needed for the potion he planned to brew, thankfully.

Severus’ moneymaking plan was simple on paper: brew an advanced type of Wiggenweld Potion—one modified by himself to have faster and clearer effects—and sell it to Knockturn Alley’s many potions shops. They wouldn’t question Severus’ identity or his qualifications as long as the potion worked best in the market. It also had the benefit of accepting anonymous potioneer and deliveries, in other words, he didn’t need to present himself in person to receive an income for each potion he brews. He could brew the potions at home—or Hogwarts—and deliver them by owl.

Of course, doing shady business like this can lead to fraudulence and scam. They could steal his money if he wasn’t there to receive it himself. But, if he was honest, he hadn’t many options. That would have to do.

But enough of that. For now, Severus needed a new brass cauldron, the last potion ingredient, and, surprisingly enough, a new trunk. However, for as old as his brownish and patched trunk was, he wasn’t buying a new one for that reason. Severus needed privacy. More specifically, Severus needed a magical trunk with hidden compartments.

He had to draw a plant of the interior yet, but he had the gist of it in his head already. One compartment for a little office area that could double as a clandestine potion lab, a second compartment to store his potions and ingredients, and a third sealed compartment to store the Horcruxes. Because he couldn’t let them lay around anywhere after collecting them, they needed to be hidden.

However, magical trunks are difficult to charm and rune. He wouldn’t be able to do so wandlessly, for example, as the extension charm or Capacious extremis requires utmost precision and magical prowess, all of which he needed his wand to achieve the desired level of delicacy. Furthermore, they are expensive and complicated to find or order, thus, Severus couldn’t afford one as of now. He would then return to the issue later, after collecting a good sum of money or after returning to Hogwarts.

A knock on his door startled him. Swiftly, he cast all his pounds back into the purse and hid it once again inside his mattress before unlocking the door with another wave of his hand. The door opened to reveal his mother. “Severus, did you finish unpacking?”

He stood up from his crouch with a grunt. “Yes, just finished putting my potion kit under the bed.”

“Very well, old man,” Eileen joked while chuckling. “Are you still hungry? I can prepare something, still.”

Severus checked the time on his wristwatch laying on the bedside table—it was considerably late for dinner. “No need, mum. The sandwich filled me plenty, and I’m tired.”

She nodded. “All right. Sweet dreams, son.” She wished while closing the door, leaving Severus to his thoughts.

Severus sighed. He was tired, that much he hadn’t lied, however, Severus wasn’t done for today. Tobias might not come back tonight, but he would arrive home tomorrow, and that is something he needed to prepare for.

Severus swore he wouldn’t let Tobias land a hand on his mother or himself ever again, and although he could protect himself easily, Eileen couldn’t. To counter this issue, he needed a safety measure—both for his mother’s safety and as much as it pained him, for Tobias, as well.

You see, Severus had killed that man once and he would do it again if need be. Severus, however, wished to avoid that, if for his own state of mind, his mother’s, or to stray away from criminal activities—as he was already planning one, he needn’t another. Thus, he needed a way to stop Tobias from harming others without hurting or killing him in the process, against his better judgment.

That’s how Severus came up with a brilliant idea—let the man become a prisoner of his own house. To be more specific, magically prohibiting Tobias from causing harm while inside his home.

To do that, Severus had to invent a protective charm.

It all started with the Oppugno Jinx—which directed inanimate objects or conjured creatures to attack a victim—as a concept. Severus took this concept and stripped the jinx aspect out of it, to attach the pieces left to the charm base used to create Salvio hexia, with the intention of casting the charm over a large area. With the two pieces (the concept behind the spell and the charm aspect) together, Severus calculated their effectiveness, calibrated their joint effort, and at last, added an intent detection—the same he promised to carve on his wristwatch—to the ‘code’, so to speak. When that was done, Severus was left with the Oppugno malus Charm, his new creation.

This entire process took him two years.

“I don’t understand, Severus,” Harry had said after Severus explained to him what he was working on in his ‘free’ time. “You could just cast a repelling charm on your mother, and your father wouldn’t be able to touch her ever again. Why go through all this trouble?” He was curious more than anything; you could tell by the way he rotated his teacup so the liquid would swish within.

Severus had been silent while writing something about the charm. Only after finishing, did he look up to speak, “A repelling charm won’t protect her from a bullet. Likewise, it won’t protect her from him. There are numerous ways to harm someone without touching them—that’s not what I want.” He had reached for his cup, taking a long gulp out of the disgusting liquid. “I won’t allow him to touch her, mouth bad things about her, raise a finger against her—I want him to be punished if he tries, I want him to suffer if he dares think about doing any of those!” He had said between clenched teeth. “I won’t kill him, but you bet I’ll make him regret his actions.”

And Harry had smartly decided not to trouble Severus about the charm anymore, after that.

The Oppugno malus Charm was a protective charm meant to be cast around an area, or in Severus’ case, a residence, where it would activate upon a target’s malicious intent, making nearby furniture attack said target as both a warning and defence. Severus made it in such a way it wouldn’t activate against all malicious intent on the house—to save himself and his mother from the charm—but to a specific target. All Severus had to do now was attach the charm to Tobias, and watch it unravel.

That’s why, later at night when his mother was sound asleep, Severus, on silent feet, wandlessly enveloped the entire house with his charm. It was no easy feat, as it was an entire two-storey house, and it took him the whole night to cover every corner, but with the assistance of carved runes cleverly hiding on the walls and floors, he was successful. He doubted he could’ve done it without said runes, otherwise, he wouldn’t have used them at all.

While working his charm, Severus noticed how different the house was compared to how he left it before passing away. The corridor walls were covered in crucifixes and portraits of Jesus and the Virgin Mary—the most recognizable of them all, Leonardo da Vinci, The Last Supper above the entrance door. The bookshelves had nothing but religious propaganda if a few exceptions of children’s books and adult novels, anything but related to magic. The shelves Severus used to store his potions were now covered in alcohol bottles, all cheap and dispensable. He felt slightly ill after noticing the changes. The house wasn’t his any longer, and it showed.

His father’s bible, neatly placed on the coffee table, was opened on the Gospel of John, John 1:29, ironically enough. Because, even when the man is not here, he mocks Severus in a way. ‘Behold the lamb…’ Severus was reminded once again, and it pained him to compare himself with a sacrificial animal.

He laughed hollowly before closing the book.

When Tobias were to return later that same day, he would be on for a treat—Severus promised while returning to bed later that night.

The next day, Severus woke up with the sound of pots and pans and the smell of breakfast.

He woke up earlier despite going to sleep late yesterday night—eight in the morning judging by his wristwatch still on the bedside table. He got up, went to the bathroom first, and then treaded his way down the stairs towards the kitchen. He wore his pyjamas, still, as he felt too lazy to change so early, however, he covered himself from the morning cold with a sleeping robe that belonged to his mother until last year; one covered in cute strawberries.

Once on the down floor, he stooped on the kitchen’s threshold to yawn, startling his mother who was frying eggs. “Good morning.” He said sleepily while rubbing his eye to rid himself of the feeling of sleep.

“Good morning to you too, son. Did you sleep well? Come; have a fried egg.” She gestured to the table, smiling throughout, but Severus could see the wrinkles around her eyes, the placidity of her smile. She was worried, he could tell. If it involved Tobias or not, then, he wasn’t sure.

He did as she asked to not aggravate her further and sat down at the kitchen table, nearest to the oven so they could talk. “I wouldn’t say a ‘well’ night’s sleep, but it did lessen my tiredness if just a notch.” She placed two eggs on his plate—both yolks equally runny—with toast on the side.

“You must’ve felt wronged sleeping on that old bed of yours after experiencing those Slytherin’s poster beds back at Hogwarts. How’s your back?” She asked, and Severus felt the strong urge to snort at her worry. He didn’t, though. He wouldn’t laugh at his mother’s concern. He would cherish it, instead.

“My back is fine, mum. Perhaps I just fell a little restless… and hungry,” he answered while taking a bite from the toast topped with a piece of egg. He chewed his bite diligently before asking, “Do we have an accompanying drink?”

“I’m making coffee for your… father, but there’s orange juice in the fridge if I’m not mistaken.” She hesitated when mentioning Tobias, but fought through the rest of her sentence with a smile.

Severus hummed. “Did he return? I didn’t hear him coming in.”

“Oh… no, he… he didn’t. He’s still out there… still out there.” She said detachedly with a smidge of worry. Severus couldn’t tell if she was worried that he spent the night out, or if she was worried he would return. He could never decipher his mother entirely, though he had tried.

Severus stood up to take the juice from the fridge. “Has he spent nights out a lot recently?”

Eileen turned from the stove where the coffee heated up. “What?”

Since he was already on his feet, Severus started looking through the pantry and the kitchen cabinets to see if they were stocked up on food. “Spending all nights out. Has he done that a lot recently?” He asked again while eying a jar of dried fruits and another with oat, which he found tempting. Perhaps if they had yoghurt, he could make himself a dessert porridge.

“No,” Eileen said with a clipped tone. She avoided his gaze by focusing on the coffee.

“Right,” he echoed her clipped tone to show his scepticism.

Eileen sighed. “It’s no trouble,” she said with a defeated tone. “He comes and goes, you know how he is. I can’t tell him not to.”

“Nor can you tell him to go and never come back.” He said while sitting back on the table, filling a glass with juice.

“Severus.” Eileen admonished.

“I’m merely voicing both our thoughts.” He defended.

They had a standstill—eye to eye. At first, Eileen frowned displeased at his words while Severus just stared unimpressed, however, it seemed she couldn’t hold her expression for long, as her eyebrows twitched, and she turned to avoid his gaze.

Gently, as Severus knew he wouldn’t change her mind in one day, he said, “It’s fine, mum. I’m sure he’s coming back as we speak.” Severus backed down. The argument wasn’t over—he wouldn’t allow it to be over—but he wouldn’t force her hands, also. The choice to be free would be hers and hers alone, he promised himself.

There was a bang at the front door, one louder than any thrown newspaper or stray neighbour kid’s football, startling his mother and himself, both. He was on his feet before he could register what the sound was, rounding the kitchen table and stopping at the kitchen’s threshold to stare at the front door, followed by his worried mother.

They watched as the door creaked in protest at being pried open with brute force, and there, stumbling his way over the entrance inside the house, with filthy boots and alcohol-stained clothes, was a man. The one completely wasted under the influence, who could barely stand—that man was Tobias Snape.

Chapter Text

There was an impenetrable silence between the three people while they stared at each other.

Tobias stood swinging slightly on his feet, with hazed, drunkard eyes. His garibaldi beard and moustache, which Severus promised never to let grow on himself, stank of beer, both just as messy as his caramel hair, sticking out in odd places like a vulture’s nest.

The man wore only one sleeve of his brown jacket, allowing the other to drag on the floor. His white button-up shirt was yellowed by spilt drinks, maybe vomit—ruined as his trousers caked in mud. He had blood on his collar and neckline, evidence of a rough fight, smudged by a miserable attempt at washing it off with alcohol. 

Seeing his father, Severus thought he would feel many things—anger, anguish, repentance, etc. He thought he would be on either side of the spectrum between miserable and furious, fighting a war within his soul to spare or murder. However, the sight of the man in front of him evoked nothing out of Severus, like a hollowed space in his heart where nothing would prevail. This person was nothing but an old faded memory, a stranger in his own mind. Like the feeling of seeing a homeless or a decrepit man walking down the road, when you think to yourself ‘ah, how lucky am I to not be in the same situation.’ And nothing more afterwards.

The only word Severus could think of while looking at his father was… worthless. And truth be told, he never felt so relieved. He was scared he would break down as he did with Lily, but apparently, the man’s death by his hands in Severus’ previous life was enough to draw a close end to the power Tobias had over him.

With that revelation, Severus never felt so free.

“Tobias,” Severus greeted to his mother’s surprise, calm and collected as he could manage.

The man in question raised his drooping head to stare at whoever spoke with him, and upon seeing Severus, clicked his tongue loudly and displeased. “You’re back, already?” His voice was raw and husky like sandpaper, however, resonating deep in a person’s bones. Severus had inherited that tone, to his chagrin.

“Indeed,” he said while crossing his arms. “And you’re drunk.”

Tobias swayed, slamming his hand on the wall to catch himself before he could fall. “Hangover,” He growled, massaging his temples. “Now, shut it and get out of my way.” He said while making his way towards the kitchen on unstable feet.

However, Severus only straightened his back to appear taller and didn’t move. “Where were you?” He asked with a neutral tone as if this was a casual conversation.

“Out,” Tobias growled again, fisting his hands as he approached Severus with a menacing aura about.

“Answer the question.” Severus drawled, eyes hardening on Tobias just as menacingly.

“Severus,” Eileen whispered, touching his shoulder to guide him out of Tobias’ way, but he wouldn’t budge. “Severus, please,” She begged, afraid her son would take the brunt of his actions.

Alas, as Tobias drew close, Severus begrudgingly stepped out, allowing the man through. Tobias shoved his way past his son, knocking their shoulders as the threshold was narrow. “You do better not repeat this behaviour,” Tobias warned, towering over him like an angry bull, even though he was just one, maybe two inches taller than Severus was. “I won’t tolerate your cheeky.”

Severus said and did nothing, just stared at his father with his arms crossed still—unmoving, unchanged, his eyes unafraid. Judging. It angered Tobias further. “Listen here,” he stabbed a finger at Severus’ chest, above where his arms were folded. “Show some respect, you little shit. This isn’t a circus and I’m not—“ he hiccupped, breathing the smell of old bear on Severus’s face. “A clown for you to gawk at.” Severus pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Tobias walked backwards into the kitchen, staring at Severus as he spoke, “What? You think you’re better than—“ he almost fell when he stumbled into the table, hitting his hip with a grunt. Severus’ food, previously on top of said table, fell on the floor, shattering his glass of juice and Eileen’s porcelain plate. She gasped beside her son. “—better than me?” He finished with another hiccup, leaning on the table.

Severus, again, said and did nothing. Tobias clenched his teeth, showing off his yellowed teeth wear. “Say something you freak!” He exclaimed, spitting in Severus’ direction with each word before grabbing the nearby coffee pot, hot and fresh out of the stove, and throwing it in his son’s direction.

Eileen screamed for her son, “No!” So raw with emotions that it echoed through the house. She needn’t worry, however, as the pot, together with the spilt coffee, stopped mid-air before it could touch either the floor or Severus. She stared at it with confusion in her eyes.

The air around them turned icy cold all of a sudden, despite the sunny weather outside. “Freak?” Severus said with a voice as grave as it was dangerous. They could all feel it, though they could not see, something was amiss. A pressure that turned their stomachs, forcing their hearts to beat a tad faster. One so oppressive, Tobias felt like choking.

Severus uncrossed his arms and raised his hand slowly, the barest movement, with an intense look in his eyes. “Oppugno malus,” he said before snapping his fingers loudly.

There aren’t words to describe the feeling of a spell, or a charm, setting on your skin, drawing patterns on your bones, and tugging at your inner organs. Of fusing oneself to a house, its furniture and everything else within—the memories and feelings embedded on the carpeted floor where blood spelt after one of the many beatings he couldn’t bother to remember, or the judgement inside the portraits and crucifixes on the walls, who watched the scenes throughout the years unfold. In that instant, where he felt the weight of his own action settle on his head, Tobias could only describe his actions as ‘being witnessed by God and the walls itself’. Because if even Macbeth couldn’t hide his secrets from within the bedroom walls, how could Tobias, then, when the house came to life?

It was the fear of the unknown and the amalgamation of power that coursed through him, topped with his drunken body that caused Tobias to faint. He fell hard on the kitchen floor, barely missing the coffee pot still floating in the air.

Silence reigned above them.

Severus sighed. “Drunk bastard fainted on us.” He whispered as the air returned to normal, and so did Severus’ inner emotions. He had done it—Tobias was bound to the charm.

“What… did you do, son?” Eileen asked. Severus turned around to face his mother and saw her pale face. Not afraid, he noticed, but rather contemplative. She was shaken from her outburst, still.

“I’m not the reason why he passed out,” he defended quickly, afraid his mother would think the worst of him. Technically, that was true. Tobias fainted because of the charm’s pressure and his drink poisoning.

Eileen nodded. “…I know.” She said, slowly and shaky. “I believe you, I do. But that doesn’t explain the magic I felt.” She approached, both hands grasping his own between her calloused palms. “What did you do, Severus?”

He smiled. Of course, his mother believed him. He felt silly for doubting her. “Why don’t we wait until he wakes and sobers up before I explain? Then, I won’t need to repeat myself.” He proposed.

She stared at him, then at Tobias snoring on the floor, then at the still floating coffee pot, and nodded soundlessly. Severus squeezed her hands back, a gesture of comfort and support, before untangling his hands from his mother’s. He waved a hand, causing Tobias to float, before catching the coffee pot by the handle and placing it on the table where all the coffee made its way back inside. With another wave of his hand, like a broken record, the plate and glass previously shattered fixed themselves just as the floor was suddenly cleaned. “Maybe reheat the coffee? It’s gone cold.” He suggested while turning and walking away with Tobias floating behind him.

“Wandless and wordless magic,” his mother said with a serious tone to her voice, suddenly. “Since when can you do both so proficiently?”

All Severus could see was her turned back. He couldn’t see the expression on her face nor could he tell by her body language, but judging by her tone of voice, Severus thought she was perhaps suspicious or angry. However, her magic told him a completely different story. It sang, her magic. The watery butterflies flying around the kitchen and playing with his green fireflies, no different from the childish magic of Hogwarts. It exhilarated overjoy and relief bordering on hope, telling Severus of his mother’s true emotions.

She wasn’t afraid of him or judging him. She was just happy that he didn’t get hurt, relieved that he was strong enough to protect himself.

“I told you,” he said with a smile clear in his voice. “I’m a natural.” He left Eileen in the kitchen to handle her emotions.

He walked up the stairs with the sound of his mother’s relieved sobbing behind him and promised to himself, then and there, to eventually show Eileen that she didn’t need to hide her emotions around him anymore.

Currently, Severus found himself outside, away from Spinner’s End, on the forest boundary.

After depositing his father on his bed with a bucket on the side in case the man needed to vomit, Severus went and changed into outside clothes. He told his mother he needed time to breathe, and maybe take a stroll in the nearby park. She didn’t stop him, as he expected, also needing time alone herself. And thus, Severus stepped out of the house, wearing his gloves and wristwatch combo, casual muggle shirt, trousers and boots, with one objective in mind. The children’s graveyard.

Although the name seemed self-explanatory, the children’s graveyard was neither a place nor a graveyard, for that matter.

Spinner’s Ends is a decrepit, sad neighbourhood, with rows of identical grey brick houses, with filth on the roads and each crevasse. On the horizon, the sun doesn’t shine, obscured by the chimneys from the large cloth factories fuming pollution on the habitants. Despite it all, beyond the cotton fields and farms, on the edge of Cokeworth, laid the forest of blackthorn and birch, the Spinning Wheel Forest. White and grey where the eyes could see, from the perimeter and within, like a city of ghosts.

Everyone in Spinner’s End knew of the children’s graveyard. The headline, ‘Another one lost to the children’s graveyard’ would make the newspaper an odd number of months every year. Every parent’s nightmare, the children’s graveyard, where children would lose themselves to never return alive, sometimes not even showing up dead. Because in Spinner’s End, if a child is lost, they are sure to be found, or assumed dead, deep in the woods of the children’s graveyard. That’s the name the habitants gave to the Spinning Wheel Forest where children would walk into to die.

Once, Tobias had taken Severus two kilometres within the forest, set him on a boulder near a stream and lied, saying he would come back with his mother for a picnic, and left him there to fend for himself. Severus had taken less than an hour to figure out he was being abandoned, and with a bit of accidental magic and unconventional help, found his way back towards the cotton fields where he was found and rescued by the workers, taken back to his father despite outright saying he was left there.

With no proof other than a child’s words, Tobias came out unscathed from the accusations. Severus did not, unfortunately, as his father beat him into submission once more. At least, he wasn’t sent back to the children’s graveyard any longer afterwards.

Now, standing near the first row of white trees, Severus felt a bit nostalgic. He was terrified then, he wouldn’t lie—he was just a child, after all—but Severus came out of this experience with new knowledge and appreciation for his life.

You see, Severus wasn’t the only child lost at the children’s graveyard at the time. He learned that the hard way when he stumbled upon something while desperately running to find his way back home, falling on the forest floor when his foot got stuck. He couldn’t see what it was because of his tears, but when he cleaned his face, he was met with a traumatizing view. That day, Severus learned where the lost children of Spinning Wheel Forest ended up after disappearing.

“Kraa, kraa!” A deep, throaty call startled him. He looked up to see a common raven resting on a branch, staring at him with one of its black beady eyes. Severus smiled grimly at it.

That’s right. That day, eight-year-old Severus witnessed an unkindness. Not the act of inconsiderate and harsh behaviour, mind, but a group of birds. An unkindness of ravens eating the remains of a lost child’s body raw. His views of the world had never been the same since.

He never shared the experience with anyone, not even Lily knew of it.

Then, why was Severus planning to enter the children’s graveyard today?

For his moneymaking plan to work, Severus needed an owl. However, he had no money to either buy or rent a postal owl, on his own. He had only enough to buy himself a faster cauldron and the ingredients. Either way, owls are much more expensive than what mere twenty-five galleons can buy, not including the items necessary to raise one. To summarise, he couldn’t have an owl no matter what. So, how would he proceed with his plan?

Simple, he would just have to raise another similar in size and intelligent bird, instead.

“Kraa!” The raven croaked, flapping its wings wildly before taking off into the forest as if it felt Severus’ intentions. And maybe it did, considering how smart those animals are.

“Come back little raven,” Severus singsonged, finally stepping through the trees and venturing further inside the forest. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He followed the sound of the bird’s wings flapping while the bird croaked further and further away. “I just want your soul, is all,” he whispered mysteriously, smirking.

Two hours in, Severus started to doubt his plans. Early smirk, all but forgotten.

He had charmed one of the raven’s feathers with a tracking charm—Avenseguim—first thing before chasing the corvid into the forest. However, no matter how close or how far the bird was, Severus could never reach it. He had tried to apprehend it both physically and magically, but always missed his mark or the bird found a way to fly away. It bothered him how borderline impossible some of the raven’s escapes had been—caught between closed branches to flying away when Severus approached too closely or tiredly resting on the riverbank, taking a sip of water, to suddenly zippy enough to take a full sprint up the tree’s canopies. It was maddening.

The Avenseguim couldn’t keep a precise track, Severus realised, since the bird flew past him many times without his notice. The menace would cronk repeatedly, like a mocking laugh bouncing off the trees and echoing through the forest, in its deep tones to taunt Severus; looking down at him from up the branches while preening its tail feathers, annoying Severus to no end.

Eventually, Severus took a breath and sighed tiredly, sitting on the forest floor and leaning on a tree to rest. His feet were hurting from walking in his tight boots—ones meant for his fourteen-year-old self—and his arms ached with scratches from the vegetation. He sighed again while messing with his hair. Perhaps he needed a different approach, one that wouldn’t involve him chasing a raven like a headless chicken looking for its eggs. It would require a bit of hunting expertise, which he lacks, but surely, he could think about something—

A hummed melody assaulted his ears.

He startled to his feet in less than a heartbeat, hand going to his wand hiding in his belt. Severus knew he couldn’t use his wand—less the ministry would be involved—but he wouldn’t part ways with it if he could. In a matter of life and death, with his life on the line, what is a ministry warning letter, anyway?

The humming sounded like a young woman or a child, singing a bedtime melody or perhaps a song to pass the time while walking through the woods; Severus wasn’t acute enough to distinguish. However, his ears were sharp enough to notice the throaty aspect of the voice, as if it exerted effort from the singer to sound as harmonious as they did. He had no doubt in his mind, after about a minute of listening in, that whoever was singing, wasn’t human.

“Kraa!” The raven croaked again and Severus looked up. “Hmmhm~” It hummed, and Severus face-palmed. Of course, it was the raven messing with him again! Regardless, He sighed in relief—at least it wasn’t an unknown threat.

“HeLp,” he startled once again with what appeared to be a call for help or the meow of a sick cat. Turning on his heels in the direction the sound came from, on his left, high up on the branches, another Raven stared down at him, “HelP,” It croaked again as if adjusting its voice like a singer clearing their throat.

Severus stared with a sense of trepidation coiling in the bottom of his stomach. “Where did you learn to say that?” He whispered, afraid he would startle the bird if he spoke too loudly.

“Help,” It croaked, now more like the voice of a child than a cat. It made Severus feel uneasy.

“Hmmhm,” The other hummed again before taking off further into the forest.

“Kraa!” The second one croaked hoarsely before flying after the first.

Severus ran after them. He couldn’t quite fathom why, but he felt if he didn’t, he would regret it, and Severus rarely doesn’t listen to his inner gut instincts. They kept him alive all those years; he wouldn’t be stupid enough to not listen to them now. He ran up boulders, jumping roots and bushes, trying his best to avoid the blackthorn branches as he passed them. Severus breathed through his nose and realised through his mouth with the rhythm of his heartbeat to keep himself occupied, less he would collapse from exhaustion as he followed deeper and deeper into the forest, losing himself in the sea of white birch trunks and blackthorn flowers.

“Kraa!” Another croaked call, a third raven flying alongside the other two. Then another one, then another… They kept coming out of nowhere as if summoned, forming a black cloud above Severus’ head.

Their voices blended, then, with the amount of them. A symphony of horror, Severus thought, as the rattled calls for help were overshadowed by the deep kraas and hmms that all of them knew how to imitate. Another one and another more joined the unkindness as they traversed through the forest as one, and Severus thought he was losing his mind because, among the amalgam of noises, he swore he heard an actual child.

“MommY!” The voice was so very real yet so very likely to be just another raven. And he was right, as said raven started flying to his right, “Mommy!” It croaked again with more nuance, just like the child the bird learned that word from. Because this is the children’s graveyard, after all—children were lost and died here for years. The ravens watched them wader through the forest, lost and hopeless—heard their pleas and screams and learned their language, as ravens knew how to imitate other’s voices and calls. They watched the children despair to live until they couldn’t bear it any longer. Until the ravens could feast on them.

The ravens weren’t at fault. They are animals, indeed, but not heartless beasts, and Severus wouldn’t judge them for how they chose to survive. It didn’t stop the ache in his heart for the little ones long gone, though. Because to think the last thing those children heard before passing was the cronk of hungry ravens evoked a dread inside Severus he could not abate.

With time, as it was due for his frail teenage body, both his legs gave out from under him and Severus timbered down the forest floor, landing hard on his torso. He rolled over and caught his breath harshly, trembling all over with his fatigue. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to run for so long like this and decided, eventually, to add some exercises to his morning routine—less running would be his eventful downfall.

“Help!” He heard the ravens already far away. How come were they so fast? Severus felt like he ran a marathon, but those damn birds were steps ahead of him at any given time. “Help!” He heard again as he tried sitting up, groaning with his efforts. He ached all over, now spotting grazes on his chest and smudged dirt on his shirt—that would be a difficult one to explain to his mother later.

“Please, help!” He felt the desperation coming from those two words more than he heard it; still half daze in adrenaline and fatigue, and immediately woke from his stupor. Severus knew instantly that the voice came from no raven and his body stiffened in anticipation. “Help me, please! Mommy! Mommy!” They cried once more, screaming bloody murder, and Severus wondered how had he not heard them before.

He was on his feet faster than a fleeing snitch. “Where are you!?” He exclaimed while pushing himself past his limits and running in the general direction of the screams, to his body’s protest.

“I’m so scared, please! Help me, please!” They kept calling for help, a child’s voice to Severus’ horror. He ran towards them as fast as he could, followed by a group of curious, blasted ravens who wouldn’t stop croaking. As he approached, he heard a faint buzz, which became clearer as closer to the commotion he got. The buzzing of small wings-like insects overlapped with the screams, and Severus instantly knew something was horribly wrong.

He jumped over a ditch, probably a foxhole, and rounded the corner of some birches and bushes until he arrived at the scene, and upon his eyes was something so incredibly unbelievable that he stopped dead in his tracks.

He saw a cloud of small winged creatures, much like a swarm of grasshoppers, surrounding a recoiled child in the foetal position on the ground. A plethora of them, high up in the sky, fighting off a black blur in the eye of the swarm above the whimpering child—a boy judging by his hair and clothes. He heard the intensified buzzing and the high-pitched cries of the creatures, the rattled and hoarse calls of the ravens and the afraid screams of the child, and watched stilled in place as if time had slowed down—because those weren’t insects he was seeing.

They were fairies, an entire colony of them.

Fairies aren’t aggressive, usually. They are vain and shy creatures, who much rather preferred grooming their wings than dirtying themselves while attacking someone. Their little intelligence contributes to them being used as decorations by witchzardkind, like Christmas ornaments; and with little magic and small bodies, there isn’t much a fairy alone can do. However, a colony of dedicated enough fairies could act as pests much like their distant cousins, the pixies.

The issue here is that Severus is sure the Spinning Wheel Forest isn’t magical. Hell, the location has a mundane amount of magical particles, as far as he could feel, like any muggle forest. There’s no reason for it to house a fairy colony, and yet, here we have a massive one thirsting for blood. And the thing is, Severus was fairly certain as to why they looked so animalistic.

To live comfortably, fairies need to take residence in a location, typically forests or between witchzards, with high amounts of magical particles to coat their wings with while grooming. If not, they get restless and imprudent, regressing back into their innate wild nature, just like pigs would revert into hogs if released in the wild—because, before their relations with witchzards of the past, which turned them docile and woke in them the need to beautify themselves, fairies were known to be dark creatures. Like the Nickerts from German folklore, who stole children to replace them in their cradle in order to eat mortal food and milk—feral fairies would lure children away from their homes, kill farm animals and creatures alike, in addition to cursing lands, all to satisfy their lack of Nadidus magic

And here Severus is in the presence of an entire colony of said feral fairies, “Blimey.” He whispered, because of course there’s a feral fairy colony next to his home. He came here just to catch a bird, for Merlin’s sake!

“Help!” The child screamed again, and Severus nodded to himself. He would curse his bad luck later, there’s a traumatized child in need of rescue at the moment.

Firstly, he sprinted towards the fallen child’s side, casting a small dome-like Protego Maxima around them both before Stupefying the few fairies who managed to be trapped inside his shield—though, he did smash one’s head against the ground when they tried to be cheeky and dance around his spells (He doesn’t have the best aim while wandless, unfortunately). Then, when all was secured, he cast a subtle Silencio, extinguishing the sounds coming from outside, before aiming his hand at the air. Severus whispered, “Sonus crepitus,” and flickered his fingers in the direction of the swarm above. A bright light, like an ascending firework, sparkled from the tip of his fingers, rising high over the tree’s canopies before exploding outwardly, causing immediate discomfort to the fairies who stopped their attack to cup their ears.

Sonus crepitus—the sound explosion or sound bomb charm.

The black blur they were fighting immediately few from the sky, landing hard against Severus’ shield and sliding off until it hit the ground. He didn’t mind it, however, too engrossed in the fairies above him.

More than half of the colony fled with the sound, but the ones who stayed stared at Severus with blood-red eyes and foaming mouths—truly feral creatures. He contemplated Stupefying them all to take advantage of the free fairy wings he could use for his potions before reminding himself of their poor state of living. Their wings would be of terrible quality, barely usable, and thus useless to him. And with that in mind, Severus had nothing holding him back.

He snapped his fingers, “Confringo.” And a weak fiery explosion whipped the floor with the ones above him. Those who somehow survived fled with high-pitched screams, leaving the clearing fairy-free except for the ones he Stupefied earlier, still unconscious on his feet.

Severus sighed and stood up, cancelling his Protego and Silencio while doing it. He couldn’t follow the fairies now, as he had a child to bring back to Spinner’s End, but he would definitely end their colony to avoid more causalities later. Protected species or not, fairies aren’t native to muggle forests and he had all the right to do some pest control, especially when children’s lives were of concern.

“Ah, ah,” he heard the child’s whimpers. He turned from where he stared after the fairies’ retreating backs to look at him.

The child, probably bordering his fifth birthday, was on his knees while shaking as if cold. He had strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and faint freckles descending his cheeks down his exposed shoulders. He was scratched bloody on all parts of his exposed skin—arms, legs, and his entire face—besides a deep gash above his right eye where blood purred out, mixing with the trails of tears and dirt. Despite all the pain, he stared at Severus in complete and silent awe.

Severus kneeled on one knee in front of him. “Stay still, all right?” He said as soothingly as he could, and the child nodded slightly since it was too painful. He then waved his hand above the child as if wishing a blessing upon him, “Episkey,” he murmured the healing spell. Immediately, all the scratches on his body started to close, including the deep gash above his eye. The child was startled at first, then his eyes widened when he noticed what was happening. He stared at Severus once again with that sense of overwhelming awe, sincere as a child could make it, and Severus, for his part, ignored it by concentrating on the healing. He couldn’t heal the boy completely, as he couldn’t use his wand, thus, scars were visible—more specifically, the one above his eye.

When he was done, Severus lowered his hand and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when the child lunged at him with a tight hug around his neck, making Severus lose balance and fall on his behind. “Thank you!” The child cried in his ear, sobbing in Severus’ arms. “Thank you, thank you! Wah!” he cried, and Severus returned the embrace, taking his time to rock the child gently while caressing his back, shushing quietly.

“Hush child, you’re safe now,” Severus whispered while comforting him.

“I was so, so sca—scared,” He hiccupped, burring his face on Severus’ shoulder—his own shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.

“I know, I know,” He shushed. “You’re fine now, don’t worry.”

Severus kept alert, surveying the area for any fairy who would dare return to torment them further. The flap of the raven’s wings made him snap his head in their direction over the branches, and he glared as their beady eyes stared down at him. He did notice how quiet they were now, so unlike their previous obnoxious selves, that it honestly bothered Severus in a way. It wasn’t as if they were silent because Severus wanted them to be—after all, they are but animals.

It was when the child in his arms stopped crying loudly, whimpering on his shoulder instead, that he heard it. A distressed sound, like a rattled cry, coming from somewhere next to them on the forest floor. Severus let his eyes roam around them, studying the leaves and pebbles until he spotted it. Laying flat on its back was the black thing who fought the fairies and fell from the sky against his Protego earlier. A raven—one so bloodied that Severus was surprised to see it still alive. Its wings twitched as it whimpered in pain, the poor creature.

“The—the bird.” The child sobbed more than said. Severus looked down to see him staring at the half-dead raven. “It—it. Can you save it, too?” He sniffled, pointing at the raven and looking at Severus with puppy tearful eyes.

Severus looked between the child and the raven, back and forth before asking, “May I ask why?”

“It—“ he swallowed. “It saved me.” He rubbed his face to get rid of his tears, sitting on Severus’ thigh. “From the—the mosquitoes.”

Mosquitoes? Severus thought. “You mean the fairies? The winged creatures?”

The child shook his head. “No fairies,” He said between sniffles. “Fairies are—are girly. They aren’t scary.”

“You’re wrong to assume fairies are ‘girly’, as they have both male and female specimens, but right about the scary part. They aren’t usually this… animalistic.” Severus corrected while frowning. “Anyway, how come the raven saved you, again?”

“The—the… fairies were attacking me—“ he inhaled sharply as new tears started rolling down his face again. Severus cleaned them with his gloved thumb, nodding for the child to continue. “And—and the bird just… swoop,” here, he motioned with his hand to represent a bird descending rapidly from the sky. “And the fairies left me alone. Well,” he stared at the unconscious fairies on the ground. “Some did.”

Severus was intrigued. A raven who sacrificed itself for the life of a child? “Understood,” he said. “But tell me, child, how did you end up this deep in the woods in the first place?”

The boy looked down as if embarrassed to say, clutching the hem of his shirt with both hands and lifting it towards his mouth where he chewed it nervously. Probably a tick of his. “I dunno,” he murmured.

Severus gently pulled the shirt out of the boy’s mouth—it was dirtied and bloody, no good to put on one’s mouth—and said, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m not angry nor judgemental, so you can tell me what happened, yes?” He smiled softly to convey his point.

The boy looked at him through his eyelashes while pouting, but he nodded. “Bells, and—and light…” Severus nodded to show he was listening. “And it was… sparkly and—and beautiful. Like a Christmas tree, but more sparkly. And there was singing. Beautiful singing like—like my mommy. And I got out of bed and follow it.” He said while gesturing with his hands. “Down, down the road, past the puffy grass—“

“The cotton fields?” Severus interrupted. The child nodded. “You came here on your own feet?” Severus asked incredulously while looking down at the child’s feet, only now seeing how worn out his sneakers were, and by Merlin, he wanted to burn a fairy alive. Not only did they lure the child out of his home, but they also forced a child this young to walk all the way from Spinner’s End, through the cotton fields, deeper into the forest… Even Severus felt like dying at least once or twice, and his body is the one of a teenager.

Alas, the child just nodded, “Uhum!” He hummed proudly. “All on my own. I’m five! Mommy said I’ma big boy!” He smiled for the first time, and Severus seeing it, had to stop for a second.

He was reminded of his godson, Draco, by looking at this child’s smile. It ached in his heart that he couldn’t have done better for him in his previous life, but it did ease his guilt knowing where Draco stood when Harry was concerned. After all, the Master of Death had many stories from his many reincarnations to share with him—most of which, related to Severus’ loved ones, for which Severus couldn’t be more grateful.

Severus felt accomplished knowing he was trying to create a world where both Draco and Harry could live without worry, without a war to corrupt or separate them. He swore on his magic.

Regardless, he used that uplifting thought to smile at the child practically sitting in his lap. “All right, big champ,” Severus ruffled his hair making him squirm in protest with a little laugh. “What’s your name?”

“Timothy T-Tigerbee.” He stuttered.

Severus nodded. “Well, Mr Tigerbee,” The child wrinkled his nose at the way Severus addressed him. “Can you stand? I can barely feel my leg now.” Severus patted his sleeping thigh where the child sat.

“Uhum!” Timothy hummed again before standing up. Severus followed right after, getting to his feet with a grunt. He was so tired and sore… “And the bird?” Timothy asked.

Severus stretched, raising his arms high above his head with a snap of his spine, and sighed when he brought them down. “How could I forget about the bird, Mr Tigerbee? Just wait while I inspect it and see what I can do.” Timothy beamed up at him and nodded.

Severus approached the pained animal to the sound of crunched dead leaves under his boots and crouched near it. He unceremoniously smoothed the bird’s feathers with his hands, shushing the animal soothingly to calm it down while he used his other hand to support its head a bit higher. He caressed its head with his thumb before muttering, “Muffliato,” So Timothy couldn’t understand his next words, “Poor little soul, wasted like that,” he whispered as the raven stared at him with half-dead eyes. “I cannot heal you for I cannot use my wand, and you’re too wounded for what my hands alone can cure.” He bluntly said. “But I can guide you—to the afterlife, I mean. It’s part of my job description, you see?” Severus chuckled at his own joke. He might not be a reaper as his mother’s old folklore tome had said, but he’s connected to death through his magic, either way. Taking care of both the living and the dead is what he does.

The raven croaked softly in his hand and Severus smiled sadly. He could tell by the magic circling them both how much pain the raven was braving under the soft façade, yet the corvid refused to die. “Or,” Severus said, acknowledging the raven’s stubbornness and approving of its fighting will. He could do nicely with a familiar willing to fight for others and its own life, and although he would admit he did not expect this situation, he wouldn’t look a gifted horse in the mouth. He came here to catch a raven, after all. “You could be mine,” he said to the raven’s surprise. “I cannot heal you but I can make yourself a piece of me—my own little shadow—thereby binding you to me and saving you from death. I can provide you with the life and strength they try denying you, and in turn, you’ll serve me.” He smiled down at the raven while earnestly offering, “What do you think?”

The raven felt Severus’ magic through where his hands touched its body, one resembling death itself, and it knew, then, that it wouldn’t survive without him. Animals are incredibly sensitive to magic, and while Severus’ magic could chase away the best of them, the raven in his hands wasn’t afraid. Ravens are smart birds—it knew Severus’ offer was an unfair one, as it was the choice between servitude or death, but the raven did not care.

Its eyes were ablaze as it tried to claw itself back to life—the magic around it changed abruptly from the air of a dead man to the wishes of a warrior. It croaked fiercely, the deepest sound Severus ever heard from a corvid, and flapped its wings through the pain, through Severus’ hands, through it all to get what it wanted. And it wanted to live.

The strong waves of acceptance Severus felt in the magic were enough to draw a smirk back to his face, and if the raven wanted to live, then Severus would comply.

“My name is Severus Snape,” he introduced. “Allow me to have you on my journey.”

And so, as the brave raven drained its last remaining energy and took its last relieved breath, the raven’s soul escaped its mortal flesh and slipped away from the realm of the living… directly into Severus’ hands.

Chapter Text

How does one explain the unexplainable?

The nature of humanity revolves around figuring out mysteries and adapting to their findings, to then live it through, or breaking down with them—for humanity challenges the existence of others, be they known by them, or not. Because, in our hubris, we mere mortals think we are above all, and as an intelligent species, we truly believe the world is ours and no one else’s. A world with no between, where the ones to live (albeit not to the concept of breathing) are the ones to win. But then, one reminds themselves that, yes, there is a between. A line that separates the ones who know and the ones who don’t. One so fine, it could be compared to vicuña, the fibre of God. Yet, humanity fails to realize that we knew not all, nor do we ever will.

There are languages in the world—the oldest and wisest of them all—that could perhaps explain what it feels to stare at the infinite void of creation, knowing that it would never stare back. Of such words long forgotten that could define what it means to feel the warmth of a thousand suns and the chilliness of a world with no sun at all. Or the dread far surpassing the one of death, and the delight of a new world to be born. Because for all ten thousand stars visible from Earth, and all the septillion drops of water in the ocean, there are no numbers, no names, no feelings, no words, that could describe what it feels like to hold a soul between your hands.

Or what it means to reach the unexplainable.

The raven’s soul sat between both Severus’ palms, and he could do nothing but weep with no tears. Such a beautiful and pure existence, one that could not be tainted by past sins of the body, or judged for once being alive. And Severus, who could not understand what it meant to be so bright, never felt so wrong about his next course of actions, for he was about to corrupt that innocent being.

There was no woods, no little Timothy Tigerbee, no ravens high up the branches—there only was Severus and the soul, as time seemed to stop functioning around him on a timeless blackness of nothing.

“You do care,” He heard the faint echo of a familiar voice he assumed to know—how else would he remember those words? “You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”

A vision formed before his eyelids, one of a white void. A man wearing a checkered vest and round spectacles on the tip of his nose, and a lightning bolt scar marring his forehead, was sitting on a sophisticated lime green padded settee with an uneven backrest and white cushions. On each side of him were two small circular wooden tables—a beautifully crafted Chinese jade vase topped by a bouquet of lilies to his left, and a European glass-and-brass style vase with a bouquet of edelweiss on his right.

“Those words were told to me once, a long time ago,” The man said with a voice that carried the weight of his age though he appeared to be no older than a young adult, echoing through the shadows cast by the soul in Severus’ hands. “And now, I tell them to you. Why? You ask. Because I’ve told you already, Severus,” The man smiled softly. “Do not go gentle into the good night.”

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

A chill went down Severus’ entire body as the words echoed through him. A depth of nostalgia hit his heart as he thought to himself how familiar was the poem. Of how he knew the voice and the man himself.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Hands, calloused but frail-looking, cupped his own where they held the soul. The man, no, Harry now kneeled before him with a small smile, but to Severus, it could rival all the stars lighting up the sky above him, watching his display.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And he closed their hands above the soul, together as one, and the soul flickered within his palm and his being, soon extinguishing its light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Harry shushed and fussed because fear and repentance he had not. There was nothing to regret—for he did no wrong, for he did no right.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Severus felt the grave of his actions, then, like a beacon of acceptance mingled with undeniable guilt. But the soul in his hands wasn’t hurting, nor was it mad.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It appreciated its chance to shine even brighter, to live through the man that Severus was—and for that, it was glad.

Turning a soul into a shadow isn’t a sin, Severus realized, then. The world and its stars watched him proudly as the raven’s soul turned darker and darker, but no evil would ever touch it. Harry smiled with approval from where he returned to his settee, and with a final wave of his hand, a silent goodbye, Severus found himself alone once more.

The soul in his hands wasn’t corrupted, even if it looked like he was holding a black sun between his palms. It was given a second chance to live through Severus’ shadow as it had intended, and the soul would do its best to make Severus understand that its choices wouldn’t reflect his own. It chose to live—and so it would, simple as that. Magic in itself, regardless of type (Nadidus and Intenebre both), regarded Severus with a gentle touch to calm the Shadow Walker's turmoil, for what he had done wasn’t evil nor was it good. He had permission to turn the soul into a shadow, support from the world—both the living and the dead, thus he should not fear.

The truth isn’t always a blinding light. Sometimes it’s a deep and dazzling darkness, that illuminates—and burns—just as surely.

Severus had the power to give life amidst death, and that power wasn’t corrupting nor was it sinful—it was the most beautiful ability of them all.

It took him only one second to realize this, as all of what just transpired happened in the blink of an eye.

And with the flicker of his eyelashes on his cheeks, Severus found himself crouched back in the woods once more, clutching the raven in his hands.

“Kraa!” The raven he held croaked loudly before a dark mist coming from the ground they both stood—more like dense pitch-blackness where the light would never shine—enveloped the animal whole.

There once was a raven who met a young boy with slick black hair lost in the woods—a magical child carrying magic in the tip of his fingers in desperation to find an exit from the forest he was abandoned in. The raven had felt the boy’s magic, strong and soothing yet commanding, and reacted immediately, using its keen senses to guide the boy away from the danger lying deep in the forest of white. Together, the raven on air and the boy on land, they soon found their way out of the forest, into the clouds of green—or the cotton fields. 

The raven was regarded as an unconventional help and would stay as such throughout the boy’s life—an old memory.

Years later, the raven witnessed what it means to die, and upon a journey to the cosmos, connected to the soul of its new master, and knew it had chosen wisely. For that young boy the raven had once helped, had grown up into a human who knew humility, a human who knew life and death and chose to protect both. And although the boy hadn’t known nor could he remember, he paid his debt to the raven by saving its life.

And for that, the raven could not appreciate Severus more than it already did.

There once was a raven, but when the darkness subsided, there was one no more, for, in its place, only a shadow—a piece of Severus’ own being—remained. A raven so dark, its feathers had no more purple and blue shimmers when the light caught it right—the density of its black plumes would soak the light raw. No more grey ageing feathers, no more old battle wounds, no more painful cronks that would hurt its lungs. Only its eyes, emerald green imbued with Severus’ magic coursing through it, gave away to whom the raven belonged.

Severus breathed in awe at his own actions, staring at what could be both an extension of his being or just a common raven. “Your name shall be Hades,” regardless, he named his new familiar, his new shadow, and smiled proudly.

“You did it!” Timothy Tigerbee, who watched from behind, exclaimed after seeing the raven back on its feet.

It was as if Severus snapped back into reality at the child’s voice. He immediately raised his Occlumency as high as he could to stopper the unknown feelings coursing through him, cancelled his Muffliato, and stood up from his crouch on somewhat wobbly legs. “I did it.” He told Timothy and smiled at the child.

He was shaken by what he saw and felt, though slightly. He had seen beyond the mortal plane, gained Harry’s permission to turn the soul into his shadow, and felt the weight and comfort of magic on his shoulders. He hadn’t known magic accepted him so thoroughly, and yet, here he stood feeling more loved than any hug, from his mother or otherwise, could ever make him feel. An otherworldly experience he would never forget. Who would’ve thought that the creation of a Shadow Walker would be so complex? For Severus, who had turned into a Walker by Harry’s hands, everything he witnessed could only be described as… magical.

He was there; Harry was there, thought Severus. The Master of Death had been by his side when he doubt himself and helped him overcome his fear and guilt once more. No matter where Severus is, Harry seems to always watch over him, like his own guardian angel. It filled Severus with more determination to make this world a place Harry could eventually call home.

The raven—Hades—leapt from the ground to perch on Severus’ shoulder. It—no, he cuddled Severus’ hair with his head and chirped softly, like a chick, to comfort the Slytherin. Severus chuckled amiably before raising a hand to caress the raven’s head. He tried saying ‘you’re welcome’ for saving the raven’s life, but instead what came out of his mouth was, “Thank you.” And he could not fathom why, but he did not care. For some reason, it seemed to be the right thing to say.

“Yes, thank you!” Timothy said to the bird. “For saving me, and all.” He smiled even brighter when Hades croaked back at him as if in answer.

Severus sighed, “Tergeo,” he whispered in Timothy’s direction, cleaning the blood on his body and clothes, though they were ruined still. “There, all clean. Now, let us go. We have a long way back towards Spinner’s End from here.”

Timothy smiled to rival the sun—just like Harry used to—when looking at his now clean body. “How can you do that?” He asked in childish awe, no different from when Severus healed him earlier.

Severus smiled at him again. “Magic,” he said cryptically with a wiggle of his finger before making his way towards the path back. “Come, Mr Tigerbee, we don’t have all day.”

Severus heard Timothy making his hurried way to walk alongside him, though when he looked down, Timothy had his arms crossed and pouted. “My name is Timothy! Ti-mo-thy!” He repeated for more emphasis. “I’m no mister.”

“But you’re a Tigerbee, no?”

Timothy nodded. “But mommy and pa call me Timothy, and brother calls me Tim, and lil’ sis calls me Timtim. I’m no mister Tigerbee—we are all Tigerbee.” He asserted.

“Well, then,” Severus said. “I may call you Mr Timothy. Does that seem satisfactory?”

Timothy scrunched up his nose and hummed thoroughly. “Okay.” At last, he accepted with a shrug of his shoulders.

Severus chuckled. “Very well.”

“And you?” Timothy pointed at him.

Severus arched an eyebrow. “Ah, yes. Forgive me for my rudeness. My name is Severus Snape. You may call me—“

“Sev! Aight, I’ll call you Sev!” Timothy nodded to himself, already convinced, before bouncing on his feet and walking a few paces ahead. Hades croaked on Severus’ shoulders before taking off after the now hyperactive child, flying just above his head. Timothy was mesmerized by the bird as Hades flew around him while imitating silly sounds. The boy’s laugh was the most wholesome yet when Hades imitated a clown honk perfectly.

“…You may call me Snape, not Sev.” Severus tried anyway, but Timothy ignored him completely.

Severus sighed and decided to let the name slide. The boy clearly needed to entertain himself after what happened to him, and although Severus wouldn’t admit it, he needed the time to calm himself, as well.

With a silent prayer for his next two hours on foot with a young boy and a raven as his only companions, Severus moved on.

Their walk had been very uninteresting, though long and tiring.

While still walking in the woods, their small group was followed by that infuriating unkindness of ravens who had taunted Severus earlier, and they could not have been less welcomed at that moment. Severus was tired beyond fatigue during that walk, still thinking about the experience of creating a shadow for himself, and his mood was less than stellar. But, he couldn’t chase away the ravens because they were Hades’s unkindness—which reminded him that the reason those blasted ravens did what they did was to guide Severus towards Hades in the first place, to save the raven, he assumed. The fact that those ravens were smart enough to not only recognise Severus as someone able to deal with the fairy issue but also guide him towards the commotion, scares him a bit, he wouldn’t lie. Such intricate animals, yet they chose to use their intelligence to annoy others instead of using it for good. He shook his head at the thought, unnerved by how much it reminded him of a certain group of mischief-making Gryffindors.

Timothy hadn’t minded the unkindness, of course, after all, he loved the bird who saved his life and extended that love to the bird’s family. He had laughed at Severus’ grumpy mood, and overall, acted like a child his age, skipping down the path on bouncy feet and laughing at the ravens’ various sounds. Severus was relieved to know Timothy hadn’t lost much of himself with the traumatizing experience, though, it didn’t change the fact that Severus couldn’t let the child remember much of anything up until that point. Timothy was a muggle child, after all.

That’s why, when they were finally out of the woods, back into the cotton fields, Severus had taken the overly happy Timothy Tigerbee by the shoulder and obliviated him before the child could do anything. He removed all the memories of fairies, ravens, magic, and most of himself, anything that could eventually lead Timothy into remembering the events of his attack. It left the boy emptied of most of his time lost in the woods, but no one would question why he couldn’t recall much, as he’s a young child prone to forgetfulness, especially when speaking of a strange situation such as the one Timothy found himself in. Time seems relative when lost in the white woods of the children’s graveyard and any adult of Spinner’s End would concur.

Before Timothy could wake from his Obliviate trance, Severus had cast a sleeping charm on him. He told Hades to stay within the forest’s perimeter and warn him if any fairies were to follow or to leave the woods before he left to deliver Timothy back home, carrying him in his arms.

The walk through the fields and later the roads of Spinner’s End was long and exhausting, but eventually, Severus reached his destination. He carried the sleeping child downtown towards Cokeworth police station, as he didn’t know where the boy lived, nor did he ask before forcing the boy to sleep—an oversight on his part, he would admit.

He entered the station and informed the man at the front desk about the child he found sleeping in a foxhole deep in the woods while ‘gathering mushrooms’ that morning—one five-year-old Timothy Tigerbee. Upon presenting the child and then confirming the child’s identity, the reaction thereafter was immediate.

Turns out, Timothy wasn’t just any child, but the son of the Chief of Police from the Department of Cokeworth Police Force, Tim Tigerbee—a man who looked like an older and muscular version of Timothy, himself. He was present in the station when Severus arrived, preparing a search party to look for his son who had disappeared that same morning.

Their reunion would’ve been more heartfelt if Timothy wasn’t so sleepy, still tired from his stay in the woods and under the influence of Severus’ charm, but his father didn’t mind. The man was brought to tears of happiness, hugging the young boy to his heart’s content, screaming with the office secretary to call his wife, and later telling her over the phone about the news and asking her to bring their children to the station so they could reunite with their lost brother.

The officers were all in good mood, cheering young Timothy for his brave return from the children’s graveyard, calling it a miracle of some sort—and Severus who had hidden himself in the corner used that opportunity to slip away before the attention could escalate back at him. No such luck for Severus, though, for before he could leave through the station’s door, Chief Tigerbee intercepted him while carrying Timothy in his arms.

“Thank you, thank you so much for bringing my boy back to us. You have no idea how much this means to me, young lad,” the chief said while crying, gripping Severus’ shoulder tightly with the force of his emotions.

Severus felt slightly uncomfortable but smiled nonetheless. “Anyone would’ve done the same, sir. There’s no need to thank me.”

“Oh, but there is.” The man said solemnly while nodding. “We all know the danger of the children’s graveyard, lad. When I woke up this morning and noticed my boy wasn’t home… I knew I had lost him forever to this bloody curse! We always do, no matter how hard we try. That’s why, lad, I’m thankful for you—because I’m sure if it wasn’t for you and—and your mushrooms—“ He sniffled, lips trembling. “I would’ve lost my boy. Thank you.”

Severus was overwhelmed with the man’s gratitude, yet, he understood. The man was right, after all—if Severus hadn’t saved Timothy, the boy would die, and no one would’ve ever been able to find his body, for the fairies wouldn’t let muggles draw near uninvited and the ravens would feast on the remains. Timothy Tigerbee was lucky Severus wandered the forest this day, simple as that.

He sighed with the grim reminder but kept his composure around the crying man. “Very well, sir. You’re welcome.” Chief Tigerbee smiled and nodded before patting Severus on the shoulder.

“Oh, yes. I almost forgot. What’s your name, lad?” The receptionist asked as he approached with a clipboard in his hands. “We need your name for the news tomorrow.”

Severus panicked internally. “It’s Severus Snape, sir, but please, I would like to remain anonymous if possible.”

The man frowned in confusion. “Why wouldn’t you? You’re a hero, lad! Everyone would like to know who saved the chief’s son, ya know.” He smiled encouragingly, but Severus was having none of that.

“No, thank you. I didn’t save the child to make the news; I saved him because that’s the right thing to do.” Severus smiled apologetically.

“But—“ The man tried insisting, but chief Tigerbee placed a hand on his shoulders and shook his head.

“If Mr Snape doesn’t want to make the news, then he won’t. It’s the least we can do.” Then, he turned to Severus and smiled warmly.

Severus reciprocated the smile. “Thank you.” He nodded. “I’ll be leaving now, then, if it’s not too much presumptuous of me—may I?” He asked the receptionist who simply nodded as the paperwork had been signed already.

“Wait. Before you go, please, take this.” Chief Tigerbee said while offering him a small sack that clinked when he moved it too much.

Severus knew immediately what it was, “N-no sir, there’s no need—“ he tried to refuse.

“Listen, Mr Snape. There’s no repayment for what you’ve done for me today. You achieved no short of a miracle and saved my family. I’ll be forever grateful to you, so please, accept this token of my gratitude—it’s the least I could offer you for your service.” He trusted the small moneybag in Severus’ hands. “Besides, that was the reward for finding my son—we would print the value in the missing posters tomorrow. Since you found him, it’s yours.” He smiled, and Severus felt even more overwhelmed.

He stared at the small moneybag in his hands with a sort of awe. He never thought he would be rewarded for his efforts. “Thank you, sir,” Severus said earnestly.

The man nodded. “You’re leaving, then? Do you want a ride home?” He asked while patting his sleeping son on the back.

“No need. I’ll be returning to the forest, sir. I left my basket behind.” Severus lied smoothly while storing the sack in his trouser pocket.

Chief Tigerbee nodded again. “I would take you there myself, but I have this one to care of now.” He pointed at his child. “Hope you understand, Mr Snape.”

Severus nodded. “Without a shadow of a doubt, Mr Tigerbee. I’ll be on my way, then. It was a pleasure meeting all of you.”

Chief Tigerbee extended a hand and Severus shook it firmly. “The pleasure was mine, Mr Snape. Here, Timothy, say thank you and bye to Mr Snape, yeah?”

Timothy rubbed his eyes from sleep and pouted while trying to open his eyes. He saw Severus in front of him, and without no recognition of who he was, said, “Thank you and bye-bye, Mr Snape.” And went right back to rest his head on his father’s shoulder.

It felt like a gut punch to see a boy previously so adamant about calling him Sev, suddenly not carrying at all about the name. He knew that was coming, as he erased almost everything related to him and magic from the boy’s head, but it still ached in his heart. After all, it treaded too closely to one of Severus’ worst fears—the fear of being forgotten. However, the fact he couldn’t remember Severus was a good thing; it meant his Obliviate worked. Without his wand, Severus couldn’t erase memories properly, and he knew there was a risk Timothy could recover his memories one day if he wasn’t thorough with the things he removed from the boy’s memory. That’s why he removed himself and even the ravens—anything related to the attack could trigger the memories and he couldn’t allow that. The child may still dream about the events, as his Obliviate wasn’t the most effective, but no matter. For as long as he thinks they are just dreams, the better.

“You’re welcome, Mr Timothy, and goodnight.” He shook Timothy’s small hand.

The child smiled slightly. “Nighty-night.” And just like that, he went back to sleep.

Severus went out of the station quickly after that, found an alley where no one could see him, and apparated away.

It was already night when Severus stumbled his way back home, the sun had set an hour ago. He walked the streets of Spinner’s End half-dazed and extremely tired—scratches and bite marks all over his body, some burned ends on the hem of his shirt and his hair, and a nasty purple bruise on his right side where he fell over.

He had Apparated back at Spinning Wheel Forest earlier, where Hades waited for him. He knew the danger of apparating without a wand, but Severus was too tired to walk all the way to the forest on his own. Besides, he was quite confident in himself, after all, he used to apparate everywhere in his previous life, as his primary transportation method. Yes, it was quite more painful without a wand, and he was sure he almost splinched his hand, but he came out alive and intact.

He promised never to Apparate without his wand again if it wasn’t an emergency, regardless. He truly didn’t enjoy the experience, and wouldn’t like to risk it again.

Anyway, there was only one reason why Severus returned to the forest even though he was very tired. He needed to exterminate the fairy colony to protect the children from Spinner’s End—to protect little Timothy Tigerbee, as fast as he could, lest the fairies would target the child again. It’s the least he could do after removing the child’s memories. But if Severus was honest, he was doing that for himself more than anything.

He had incarcerated the five stupefied fairies in a tree where he left Hades to guard them earlier, and used one of them as a tracking device to find where the colony resided. He tied the fairy with another Incarcerous as a leash and released the fairy to fly back home while he followed a few paces behind. Hades and his unkindness were also following—all of them looking for revenge. The fairies had drawn blood from their kin, and, as Severus noted from his raven’s magic, they weren’t pleased by the outcome. Yes, Hades survived, but that only happened because of Severus’ interference. If they were to keep like that, letting the fairies live and do as they pleased, more ravens would eventually die.

Severus hadn’t minded. He needed help dealing with the colony, anyway, for as far as he knew, they were in grand numbers.

The fairy on a leash guided him through the woods of white, and no later than an hour, Severus and the unkindness finally found their destination. A grove where the white birches met the greenery of summer blackthorn trees, not a single flower on the forest floor, with one single thick stump in the middle, elder judging by its bark, oozing fairies the size of Severus’ hand or as tall as a Barbie doll, from a hole on the ground. The stump was decorated with various items, ranging from children’s clothes to toys, and even teeth, to Severus’ horror. The children’s bones—more so their femurs—were used as support for the clothes, and the toys were ornaments fixated on the wood, but worst of them all was a child’s skull proudly displayed on top of the stump where some fairies, probably the ones on top of the hierarchy, sat. It all looked like a grotesque attempt at art, yet, a disgusting showcase of human mortality.

They were all children ranging from the ages of three to six, Severus reminded himself, and he felt ill.

His course of action thereafter had no strategy behind it; he only wanted to burn all those fairies for what they had done.

Severus had cast a barrier around the clearing so no fairies could escape, which also trapped him and the ravens inside with them. No matter, as he had used all of his strength and inner magic to cast Confringo after Confringo, Bombarda, and Sectumsempras. He did not think, he just acted, killing all the fairies coldly. The ravens were likewise out for blood, swooping from the skies, catching one, two, sometimes three fairies at once and killing them all by decapitating them and eating their heads. Hades had used and abused the shadows from the sunset and later nightfall to travel through them, catching and killing the fairies in hiding from Severus’ assault. Suffice to say, with the combination of their expertise—more so Severus’—no fairy survived, but not after wounding Severus plenty.

Severus did what he could with the children’s bones after the slaughter was done, using his last remaining magic and his own hands to dig graves for them all, trying his best to honour their souls. The children could still linger in the forest as far as he knew—spirits or ghosts—and that just wouldn’t do. They needed to pass on; they needed their peace, and Severus did all he could to provide that.

“Rest in peace, all of you,” Severus said after finishing the burials, resting a hand on top of his heart. Severus isn’t religious—he knows no God is watching them from above, as only Death seemed to matter and care about what happened in the world of the living, ironically enough. “Please, move on with your lives. You’ll only sadden Death further if you still choose to stay in this mortal realm instead of passing away.”

Because, at least to Severus, death isn’t the end, but the start of a new beginning.

In the end, Severus spared the last five fairies still standing—the ones he had taken as prisoners—for himself. He would enclosure them in a cage and shower them in his magic so they could groom their wings, and hopefully, if he was lucky, revert them to their vain nature. If so, he would acquire himself a free supply of fairy wings, and if not, he would simply kill them all later.

Not all ravens survived the encounter, however. Two members of the unkindness were unfortunately killed due to friendly fire—they were caught on a Confringo of his. Severus had collected both the raven’s bodies, scorched and all, and bounded them to an Incarcerous wire by their feet next to the incarcerated five sleeping fairies, and carried them all like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder while walking back home.

That’s how he found himself now, standing in front of his house. Two dead birds and five sleeping fairies draped over his shoulder beside a perched Hades, clothes ruined with blood, dirt and burned from his not quite proficient wandless spells, and a body so tired he was on the verge of passing out. He had no magic left to clean himself or treat his wounds, thus, he looked like he just came out of a stampede—if you considered a swarm of fairies as such. At least he had acquired the raven he went out to catch, and now had two more to turn into his shadows later, when he wasn’t feeling like dying all over again.

That’s also what his mother saw when she opened the door for him in that instant.

Her eyes widened while they travelled through him rapidly, stopping on his wounds and dirtied clothes, worry plastered on her face. “What happened to you!?” She exclaimed and Severus winced with the volume of it.

He slid a hand down his face tiredly. “I went to catch some ravens in the forest,” he said honestly. “Turns out they are smarter than I thought. Ended up fallen and hurting myself many times before I caught this one.” He pointed at Hades in his shoulders who croaked in Eileen’s direction, as if in greeting. Severus turned to the corvid, “Hades, this is my mother Eileen Snape. You’ll serve and protect her as you do me, understood?” The raven nodded intelligently. “Mother, this is Hades, my new familiar. I hope you two can be good friends.”

Eileen frowned while looking at the raven on his shoulder. “H-hi?” She greeted, confused with the whole situation. Hades just croaked again.

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments until Severus grew impatient, “…May I enter? I need a shower and to eat something, perhaps. I haven’t eaten the entire day.”

“Because you were hunting in the woods all day?” She asked sceptically.

“Because I was hunting in the wood all day.” He asserted while nodding.

Eileen sighed. She couldn’t detect a lie in Severus’ voice if Severus were to assume. “Very well, but do me a favour and tell me what are you carrying on your back?”

Severus stepped through the entrance as fast as he could so Eileen couldn’t see the fairies—the ravens’ bodies were large enough to obscure them from a distance. “Fail catch attempts. I killed two ravens before catching Hades here.” He said while speeding his way up the stairs.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking two dead birds up to your room, young man.” Eileen admonished while crossing her arms disapprovingly on the bottom steps before Severus could escape.

Severus winced again. “Of course not. I’m just depositing Hades in my room before I take the bodies to the backyard.”

“If that’s the plan, then take the bodies out first. I don’t want any dead animal inside this house, are we understood?” She ordered

“Yes ma’am,” He conceded easily while speeding down the stairs and out the back door before she could take a closer look at what he was truly carrying.

That was fine, anyway. While outside, he crossed the uncared yard and went directly towards his father’s shed—a decrepit wooden thing fallen down from old wood and poor maintenance—and closed the door behind him after entering. There, amidst his father’s tools and paraphernalia, in the far back, he found an old golden birdcage that belonged to his mother’s old owl, one who was killed by Tobias around the time Severus was born. The space between the bars was thin enough that the five fairies couldn’t leave and the cage was spacious enough to serve as a quarantine zone for them. If he were to succeed in reverting the fairies to a healthy state, he would eventually either buy or create a vivarium for them, one he could fit in his office back at Hogwarts.

He snatched a dusty cloth and draped it over the cage to hide its contents before placing both the fairies’ and the raven’s bodies on it. After that was done, he went out of the shed and back inside the house.

“What’s that you’re carrying?” His mother asked from the sofa where she was reading a book.

“I found your old birdcage in the shed. Can I give it to Hades?” He asked already knowing her answer.

She smiled nostalgically. “Of course, you can, Severus. Just make sure your familiar fit inside first, yeah?”

He smiled back. “Of course. I’ll do that right now.” Then he went up the stairs and into his room before she could though a little bit more about the cage.

He locked his door—manually this time—before placing the cage over his desk. He removed the cloth, removed the dead ravens inside and wrapped them with the same cloth to store them under his bed for tomorrow, then he took the moneybag from his pocket and placed it over the mattress. After opening the window and allowing Hades to swoop inside his bedroom, he took the fairy cage and hid it behind his wardrobe where his mother couldn’t see from the door before sighing tiredly and walking in the direction of his bed to rest for a second. He went to sit down but stopped himself because he knew if he were to sit down now, he wouldn’t get up again. After one too many internal debates, he decided, “Shower it is.” And he went out of his room with comfortable clothes to change into after a much-needed shower.

Half an hour later, he returned to his room cleaned and with new clothes, but no less tired and hungry. The shower helped with his fatigue, at least.

Hades greeted him when he opened the door with a hoarse call. “Yeah, I see you,” Severus replied. “Come here,” he called and Hades didn’t need to be told twice. The raven flew from where he lay in Severus’ bed directly into Severus’ shadow on the ground, and there they merged into one, no different from what Severus saw Hades do with the shadows back in the children’s graveyard.  

Severus studied his shadow, crouching near it to touch the ground with his hands, then tried to see if he felt any different at all, but nothing was out of the ordinary. “Peculiar,” he whispered to himself. He shrugged then, as he could study the effects of having a soul living in his shadow later, and moved on to his bed. There he sat near his moneybag and emptied it all over the bed to count the pounds.

He was shocked silly moments later, for in his hands he found himself with five hundred pounds. That’s about a hundred galleons’ worth of money. “Blimey,” he breathed in astonishment. That’s way more than he thought he had gained. Way more!

Severus chuckled giddily. With that amount of money, he could buy more than he had thought. He could go to Diagon Alley tomorrow if he wasn’t feeling too tired. Regardless, he stored it all inside his pink purse and hid it inside his mattress again. That’s another thing to solve tomorrow, he told himself.

A chill went through Severus’ body when he stood back up. The house around him creaked, and for the first time since he created the Oppugno malus Charm, Severus felt it breathe.

He never thought he would feel such a thing, but if the charm had activated, Tobias must’ve woken up.

A tired smile slowly crept its way past his lips.

He walked towards the stand beside his door where his sleeping robe hung, took it and dressed in quick succession. He always loved the weight of robes on his shoulders—it made him feel stronger, like a man preparing for war, putting on his battle armour. A pink armour adorned with cute strawberries, sure, but he didn’t mind. He would need all the support he could get to face the situation with his head held high, considering his tiredness and lack of magic.

Nonetheless, feeling less exposed, Severus chuckled self-deprecatingly to himself and opened his door.

Chapter Text

Tobias Snape was lost.

The world brightened from black to the sound of the clock above the fireplace ticking as loudly as the fire crackled. Tobias found himself standing in the middle of his living room, staring at his high shelves with alcohol bottles neatly stored in rows from one end to the other. The house around him, he noticed, smelled of burned food, pine, flowery clean products, and a distinguishable lilac perfume that reminded him of someone. He looked up at the strange smell and saw black smoke engulfing the low ceiling, and after following the smoke’s trail with his eyes, found it coming from the kitchen.

He tilted his head, confused as to why there was smoke in his house, before taking a step forward in the kitchen’s direction. However, he didn’t venture further out of the living room as he stepped into something that sounded like broken glass. He looked down and noticed that one of his best and most expensive wine bottles was shattered under his boot—deep crimson wine flowing between the glass and into the crevasses on the wooden floor. The empty and broken bottle was far from the only thing shattered in the house.

He heard sobbing—an unsettling familiar voice—pleading in rhythm with the fire and the ticking of the clock, submissively asking for forgiveness. Begging would be more precise. The person was terrified, if the tremor in their voice was any tell, echoing through the house like a haunt—the otherworldly voice of the forgotten.

It assaulted his ears as if he was walking in the town’s fair—voices, different in timbre but all from the same person, coming from all directions around him, up, down, left and right. Tobias was left cupping his ears to stop the cacophony of sounds, lost in the pleadings of the voice and the smell of smoke, feeling himself gradually losing his mind.

All of a sudden, he tasted something metallic on his tongue—and just as suddenly, the voice stopped.

Tobias opened his eyes, ones he didn’t remember closing, before reaching a hand towards his lips where he felt something liquid dripping down. When he brought his hand back, it came out with blood.

Tobias stared at the blood on the tip of his finger, wondering why he had blood coming from his mouth until he turned his hand to inspect it further, and finally noticed the rest of it. The flesh of his knuckles was scraped and raw; blood splotched every chunk of the skin of his hands. They trembled, his hands, and try as he might, he couldn’t steady them. He couldn’t feel any pain, but it didn’t stop the uneasiness coiling in the pit of his stomach as he couldn’t fathom why his hands were in that state.

One drop of blood dripped down his arms to his elbow, and from there fell on the floor with a nearly soundless plink. The wood immediately absorbed the blood and it creaked as if it had been stepped on. The creaking, the loudest one he has ever heard, startled Tobias, who in turn, instinctively frowned down at the floor.

There, he found a woman.

She was unconscious, laying on her side with one hand protecting her head and the other around her round belly, clearly pregnant. She had a cracked lower lip and wounds on her face, neckline and arms—purple bruises, as new as the light of day marrying her skin like a sickness. Tobias stared at that woman he knew so well, yet, couldn’t remember the name. The smell of lilac intensified the longer he stared. Furthermore, he couldn’t but notice how most of her bruises, besides handprints on her arms, were shaped exactly like the imprint of his closed fists—a match made in heavens.

He stared at his hands once more, then at the woman, the smoke above him and finally, the wine bottle.

Oh, he thought when it clicked in his head. That’s right. I did that.

Indeed. He remembered now as if it all had happened just a minute ago. The woman, no, his wife was preparing dinner before he arrived, but she had accidentally burned the meatloaf. He had entered his home to find it covered in smoke, and his wife on her knees on the floor, scrubbing the burned patches on the stove with floral clean products, trying to cover her mistake. Upon close inspection, he had sadly noted that the stove was ruined.

He had been so mad. Not only had he no dinner after he tiredly returned from his work in that damned cloth factory, but now he had to waste his money to buy his worthless wife a new stove, so she could prepare him breakfast and dinner every day. Because that’s what a wife is for—he remembers locking her in the kitchen every morning so she would prepare breakfast, willingly or not. He remembers berating her for her terrible food that tasted like cardboard and the factory fumes. No matter the fact that no one taught her how to cook; it was her job, he had told himself.

How could he forget how he had dragged her by the hair to the living room, grabbed the nearest alcohol bottle on his shelf and swung it on the nearby wall near her head? How come he forgot the regret he felt soon after, not because his pregnant wife was terrified on the floor while begging for his forgiveness, no, but because that reckless action of his had cost him his best bottle of wine? Of how his anger developed into such a fury he had never felt before, and how he had gotten down on his knees on top of her to deliver punch after punch on her face while she protected It with her arms, as her punishment for being a terrible wife. He forgot she had elbowed him in the lower jaw to escape from under him. He forgot that he had grabbed her arms to bring her back and kept to his assault until she stopped pleading and curled herself on the floor. He forgot the pain he felt because his hands were bleeding from the force of his punches.

The blood on his hands was his own from the wounds on his knuckles, but the weight of his actions befell on her and no one else’s.

It all flowed back into his mind as he stared at the unconscious body of his wife on the floor, and it begs to wonder, how could’ve he forgotten about that?

How could you, indeed, forget about the harm you’ve caused and the pain she suffered on your hands?

There was a voice in his head, distorted as the static on the radio on rainy days. A woman or perhaps a child, he couldn’t tell.

Do you remember how things were in the beginning? When you weren’t any better, but she didn’t know any good? Of how she would stand up from the floor and smile at you no matter how harsh you were to her?

Visions—the memories he had forgotten—started to play in his mind. He saw a smile as bright as the sun and heard merry laughter of pure joy as the woman with gorgeous black hair danced in the flower fields, making them bloom earlier in the season with the magic in the tip of her wand. He saw that same smile reflect his hazel yet darkened eyes when she smiled up at him from her stay at the foot of the couch, right after he had pushed her out.

Do you remember how you felt when she came back to you, saying that you were her only choice because her family had repudiated her? The power that coursed through your heart knowing she couldn’t escape you any longer?

He saw a woman in white walking alone down the aisle to meet him halfway, her face covered with a long tulle heirloom veil she was able to recover from her father’s clutches. There were no guests—only her, himself impatiently tapping his foot on the wooden altar and a bored priest, who only accepted his offer because he had paid him handsomely. She hadn’t minded the secrecy in the slightest as marrying had away been her dream as a gal, and she had made sure he knew how happy she was by smiling the brightest smile throughout.

Do you remember how she continue not to mind your behaviour, even if each day after the marriage, her eyes would dull more and more until you could not distinguish between her black pupils and the shadows under her eyes?

He saw that same woman who previously had smiled the brightest at him no matter the circumstances; walk away without saying a word after he had broken one beer mug on the floor by her foot. Watching her retreating back, he never felt so insulted.

Do you remember when she discovered she was pregnant, how she changed completely? How she wouldn’t tolerate you anymore and would avoid letting you touch her, afraid you would hurt her child instead?

Many visions assaulted his mind, then. All of them the more painful the more red he saw. Red from his drunken eyes, red from bottles of wine, red from the wounds—red from the blood he drew. He could only see red and his fury increased each time, again, like an angry bull.

Do you remember when her son was a baby, crying loudly in the other room and wouldn’t stop? How you couldn’t sleep because of the sound, so in your sleepy drunken mind decided to take the bundle that was your son from his crib and toss him down the stairs, hoping that would shut him up? Of how she had used her magic, wandlessly and wordlessly both, to stop him before he hit the steps?

He saw her trembling hand moving down slowly as the bawling child descended from the air to rest on the floor gently at her magical command. Even now, he couldn’t remember much of the memory. He could only recall later when he was truly awake, the consequences he bestowed upon her for using magic on his household.

You may not remember any of these instances, forgotten with each scolding scotch, old beer and fancy wine you’ve consumed, but they live on forever in her head. She never forgot any of them—each wound she suffered, each pain she tolerated, each time you threatened her son. And she will never forget, no matter how old or how mundane they are.

Tobias Snape was lost. He was on his knees in the middle of his living room, recalling memories upon memories of times he had forgotten—actions that would make the bravest of men sleep troubled by what they had witnessed, but not Tobias. He had done them willingly and would keep doing so as his memories were scrambled; a mess of what become of the innocent boy he once was. It’s not that he couldn’t remember his actions, it’s just that he chose not to. Because what the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over. Or in his case, what the eyes chose to ignore.

Do you remember, Tobias, the last time you went into your church’s confessional booth?

Please, stop. Tobias found the energy to think.

Of how you had told the priest of your life as a boy and admitted you had sinned? Do you remember how he had chuckled, thinking what you did was something mundane and assured you the only one who had witnessed your sin was God, and God would forgive you as long as you repent for your sins?

I don’t want to hear it. Please, stop.

Do you remember how after hearing this, you never returned to the confessional booth, or a church for that matter, because you were afraid to drag another witness aside from God to your action—one that wouldn’t forgive you as God could?

Please, please, stop.

But, did you ever repent your sins?

The voice turned menacing, what once reminded him of a woman or a child turned into three, maybe four different voices speaking in complete harmony with each other, and a chill went down Tobias’ spine. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t cry. I beg you, please, stop. Tobias begged. Stop this at once, I want to leave.

Did you know you were wrong? That God wasn’t the only witness, we mean. The voices continued to torment him further.

His mind cleared, then, and Tobias found himself back at his house. He breathed harshly, clutching the cloth of his trouser around the knees while he panted in horror at what he had experienced. He moved from his kneeled position to sit on the floor instead, relieved that it was over. He slid a hand down his face, wincing once he felt his still broken lower jaw—and froze in place. Everything stopped, even his heartbeat, because Tobias hadn’t broken his jaw that morning, nor the previous night… he broke his jaw in that memory with his wife, the one he had remembered only a few minutes ago.

At his revelation, the house started to shake like an earthquake—all the furniture started moving and rearranging around him. The coffee table and the hanging shelves, which unscrewed themselves to better reach him on the floor allowing the alcohol bottles to fall and break on top of him, unceremoniously shoved his body forward until he hit the space between the corridor and the kitchen threshold. The sofa moved to block his exit, the fireplace broke from its place on the wall, letting half the house’s ceiling fall without its support, to burn the wood around him like a fire circle of hell, and right above him, where the hanged portrait resided, the Virgin Mary stared down at him.

We have witnessed everything. They told him.

We? Tobias tried to say, but could only think, for he had no voice.

Yes, we. The floor you step on that lays our foundation, the furniture you overlook, yet, uses to your heart’s content, the curtains and crucifix, down to the kitchen cutlery—we! The house presents itself.

The house shook again, but this time with the force of all furniture and objects tapping their mass against the floor once, hard, like an army presenting themselves. Tobias was left speechless.

You were both confident and afraid of your actions. Confident, because you knew the wife you grew to despise was too naïve to ask for help, especially when you contributed to her fear of non-magical people—muggles, she calls them, doesn’t she? And your son was too young to be heard, too weak to fight back. The only two witness to who you truly was—a woman with no right and a child with no voice. Two of whom could never go against you, you had thought.

Leave my head! Leave me alone! He begged while his body shook with nausea. Tobias wanted to vomit. On the walls, all the portraits started to swing left and right slightly, but the Virgin Mary in front of him kept her eyes locked with his throughout.

However, you were afraid, because even in the confinement of your home, you still felt as if someone was looking at you, judging you, did you not? And that’s what you hate the most, isn’t it? Being judged? You felt the hair of your nape stand, thinking about eyes on you. The feeling of walking alone down the street, knowing in your gut someone is watching, not knowing if that’s a good or a bad thing. The mingled voices, through their harmony, increased in both volume and the ones speaking—four became five, five became ten…

You felt it, didn’t you? You felt it, and always thought it was God watching over your back. We laugh at your naivety, worse than your wife’s, for that was no God, that was we. And we never liked it!

Tobias heard the danger in their voices and shivered, afraid for his life, but before he could scramble away through the fire around him, massive and sharp teeth suddenly busted from the floor, making him yelp soundlessly. They moved like giddy fingers, ready to impale or chew him into a bloody pulp at any moment. He felt trapped in a display cage—for either entertainment or punishment, he couldn’t tell, he couldn’t think. Things were happening so fast.

The bedside table still remembers when you pushed your wife from the bed that one morning you cannot remember, and how she had hit her head hard enough to bleed. The fridge remembers how after arguing with your wife all morning you had closed its door angrily and ended up breaking it. The floor—poor wooden floor—had absorbed all your alcohol, vomit, sweat, and blood that sipped out after one too many beatings! The voices said fiercely. We watched, and as inanimate objects, we couldn’t do anything as our brethren suffered dents, and burns, and were broken so you could do as you please to your poor family! Ah, but that has changed. He could hear the smugness in their voices at those words. We can finally act.

Tobias saw the people on the paintings above him trying to crawl out of their frames—Jesus and his apostles trying to reach him from their position on the wall, angels and their trumpets, clawing in his direction. The Virgin Mary stared down at him, crying blood, scratching the walls around her frame, attempting to leave her confinement to smite him where he stood.

He saw the sofa tapping its foot angrily like a bull ready to charge, the fireplace fire booming loudly inside its gaping mouth, the coffee table and the broken shelf, together as one, thudding the ground as if to make as much noise as they could. All of them waiting for something.

Then, Tobias felt it. Pullen from his innards, tugging at his organs and bones—he felt what seemed to be a ribbon tightly tying itself around his heart, and a weight, the acumination of all the emotion stored inside each and every object and furniture in the house, setting on his shoulders, the same he felt that morning before fainting in the kitchen. It pained and left him in such despair that he disassociated while standing, trapping himself in his uneven mind.

Somebody help me… He begged to the void of his mind, wishing for once to be heard. Please, help me.

His cloudy thought went everywhere, asking himself: why was he here? Why was he suffering? Why did the furniture suddenly gain consciousness? He couldn’t fathom the reasons, and the hardest he tried to come up with a solution, the more he drifted away. The sounds around him dimmed until there were none—his fears and his beating heart all disappeared, and finally, Tobias felt sighing in peace.

“Honestly, Toby,” A familiar husky feminine voice said, coming from deep darkness within himself, and Tobias’ mind halted with such force, he almost passed out standing. It couldn’t be…

No. He thought. No, please…

“You bastard-arse could help me with this money situation, yet, you just stand there, watching. You’re judging me, aren’t you? Exactly like that worthless father of yours!” The woman’s voice said, and Tobias could picture the moment in his head clear as day as if it had happened yesterday.

He was a boy staring at his mother while she smoked a pipe at the windowsill. She was pointing at him with her pipe as if accusing him, then she brought it back towards her mouth to drag the fumes deeply. Her hair was a messy bird’s nest and her skin a sick yellow colour. They were in the same house, the exact same living room because Tobias never left the house since he was born.

“I came to ask, mother,” His younger ten-year-old self said, his voice still full of hope, and Tobias cried in his mind, Stop! Stop! As fiercely as he could manage. “Will you please force that man out? He’s making me unconformable with that rude staring of his.”

Tobias kept crying, screaming in his head, as he saw the figure of his mother—already a husk of a person—exhale the fumes of her pipe while staring at him with dead fish eyes, half pitying him, half not caring enough. She opened her mouth with a tilt of her head to say, “Which one?” As if it was a common occurrence to have more than one man, sometimes three or four, at once inside a house with a child. And Tobias could never forget those times, no matter how many drinks he had or how hard he had tried.

He returned to his senses with the shock, returning to the nightmarish, no, hellish house with its fire circle, large teeth and crawling portraits.

Tobias Snape, the voices—now more than twenty—said. So chaotic and eccentric, he couldn’t distinguish a human voice between them anymore. But then again, they weren’t humans, now were they? Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy, the proverb said—however, you will not find mercy in our judgment. Be prepared.

Tobias was lost, and the despair and panic that coursed through him could not be described in words. It arrived, he thought to himself, my holy punishment.

For the wishes of whoever gave us our life, we may not harm you into smithereens, but mark our words, your mind will be destroyed from within! They said fiercely as every piece of furniture charged at him—from the sofa to the portraits, to the teeth and the fire.

Tobias closed his eyes and screamed in fear, lungs painfully throbbing in his chest with the force of it.

The world around him faded into black—the sounds vanished, the visuals disappeared as if in a puff of smoke—and Tobias thought, hopefully so, that he had disassociated again. He felt nothing where he was, eyes closed and praying a thousand times in his head for the nightmare to be over. Not that praying had ever helped him before, especially considering his undeniable fear of the beyond and God itself, if the voices hadn’t made it obvious.

There he was in that pitch-blackness, alone and scared.

Then, Tobias simply opened his eyes, feeling himself awake from a dream—dazed, yet not well rested.

He heard the clock ticking and immediately sat up with a yelp, afraid he had returned to the hellish living room, but once he looked around frantically, Tobias noticed he was in his bedroom. The clock he heard was the one hung above his bed, one with a much softer ticking than the one in the living room to not aggravate his sleep.

Tobias found himself wearing the same clothes he went outing yesterday. His headache and nausea weren’t unusual considering the number of drinks he had, and as he carefully felt his trouser pockets, he noticed his belongings were still in place—his wallet, his keys, and his damned wedding ring. He slid a hand down his sweaty face, and for once, breathed in relief. What he had witnessed was just a dream.

He could remember every detail of his dream as if it had happened in reality—down to the forgotten memories. He involuntarily shivered just imagining the portrait staring down at him with blood dripping down her face. He could almost recall how hot the room was with the fire circling him like a ring. He sighed, closing his eyes tightly to rid himself of the feelings the dream provoked in him. If he wanted to forget that too, he would need a drink.

Tobias stood from the bed, almost falling to the floor as soon as his head started to spin, but he caught the bedside table for stability, leaning on it as he massaged his temples.

Suddenly, no different from a hit to the head—like a stab of pure pain—a vision of him pushing Eileen away towards the bedside table, the same he had revisited in his dream, played in his mind’s eye. He scrambled away from the table as if it had burned him, and after the flailing of his arms during his panic had subsided, he stared at the piece of furniture with widened eyes, astonished beyond words. He backed away slowly, trembling in fear from head to toe until his back found the wardrobe. More visions assaulted his brain from small things he had done—they weren’t even bad. Like the time he closed the wardrobe door on his wife’s fingers unintentionally but didn’t apologise afterwards. Or when he accidentally opened the door in her face without notice.

He found them silly memories compared to everything else he was reminded of up to that point, but then again, he hadn’t apologised for his mistakes and she had taken those actions to heart, he assumed.

Tobias felt ill. The dream was disturbingly resurfacing in his mind. He brought his hands to his chest, afraid they were to touch any other furniture in his room, paranoid of what he had seen and what he was experiencing.

With a mad dash, Tobias reached the door to his room and opened it quickly—he couldn’t quite tell why of the urgency, but he needed to leave. Once the door opened though, Tobias felt himself freeze on the threshold.

At the end of the corridor leading to the staircase, leaning on the door of his bedroom, was someone Tobias never thought would evoke such a sense of dread to wallow in the pit of his stomach. He stared at his son, Severus—arms crossed and face blank as usual—who also stared at him from his position as if he was waiting for Tobias to leave his room.

A memory forced its way to the forefront of his mind, one of his son’s hardened eyes. He remembered feeling afraid of those eyes for the very first time in his life, of feeling cold yet warm at the same time and fainting with the force of an unknown pressure building on top of his head. The weight of his actions or the house’s feelings, he couldn’t tell the difference.

Ah, he thought as if the whole world suddenly made sense in his troubled mind. He did this, didn’t he?

As their eyes locked, Tobias’ head swayed with the intensity of his revelation, and nausea took over immediately after.

He promptly emptied his already empty stomach on the corridor floor.

Severus was unimpressed, staring at the figure of his father—once someone who would evoke fear out of him with one look only, yet now, just a lowlife vomiting bile and stomach acid on his own feet. Severus was disgusted with the scene nonetheless and wrinkled his nose with the acidic smell. He was also unapologetically disappointed with the man. He had placed the bucket beside his bed for that exact reason, and yet here he is, making a mess in the corridor with no regard for the person who has to clean all of that later—that person being Eileen, Severus’ mother. Because Severus knows the man wouldn’t lift a finger to clean up his mistakes, much less his own vomit.

He sighed condescendingly, something he rarely does, to express his disapproval. “Why did you make a mess of yourself in the corridor? Do you even know how hard it is to remove bile from between the flooring crevasses?” He said loud enough for Tobias to hear, yet still as soft as his voice goes. He’s not here to raise his voice as a tyrant would.

Tobias leaned on the corridor wall and spit the remaining bile from his mouth, then cleaned his lips with his right sleeve. Severus almost gagged with his unhygienic behaviour. “Go… to hell,” his voice was shaky as if he had seen a ghost, staring at Severus with his most intimidating expression, one he could only achieve while sober—huffing through his nose. Severus could almost imagine the steam coming from his nostrils as if he was a cartoon character, and it made the Slytherin chuckle.

“Where do you think I came from?” He asked with a smile and felt satisfied with himself when he saw the slight flinch of Tobias’ shoulders. He uncrossed his arms and started making his way toward the stairs, giving his back to Tobias. “Come,” he called while snapping his fingers, causing the bile on Tobias’ feet to disappear suddenly with an effortless Scourgify. “Mother is making us dinner.”

Severus didn’t wait. He went downstairs, passed the portraits and crucifix on the walls and beelined towards the kitchen where his mother was preparing what appeared to be soup on a large stockpot. She turned her head slightly when he entered, but otherwise, kept her attention on the soup. He approached and sat heavily in the same chair as before, the closest to the stove, and consequently, Eileen. He grunted with the aches all over his body and sighed tiredly, resting his head on top of his arms on the table.

“Someone’s tired,” Eileen chuckled at her son’s antiques. “That crow must’ve gotten you a run for your money.”

“Raven,” he corrected. “And no, actually. Hades was the easiest to capture compared with the others.”

She hummed, “I see.” Eileen said while stirring what appeared to be chicken soup, which sounded about right considering Tobias’ hangover state. Severus could not but notice how she stirred as if she was preparing a potion—eight times clockwise, then five times anti-clockwise in perfect sync with the song she was humming. The movements were involuntary, he noticed, embedded in her muscle memory from years of preparing potions instead of cooking. He couldn’t blame her though, he would also fall into the same habit while cooking, after all.

He smiled at the thought that he shared more in common with his mother than he had previously imagined.

They heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, and Severus sat straight on his chair—he didn’t want Tobias to see him weak, not now at least. He heard a curse coming from a frightened and shaky voice, followed by a slam on the wall, and then Tobias supposedly hit the bottom steps and made his slow way over to the kitchen. When he arrived at the threshold, Severus had to pause to gauge what he was seeing.

Tobias was withdrawn into himself, hands clutched on his chest, eyeing the floor and the furniture with a deep frown on his face as if it had wronged him personally. He was trembling but his face seemed unfazed by it all—and Severus just knew it was bullshit. However, although he suspected that Tobias already knew something was ‘wrong’ with the furniture, his reaction was a little over the top.

“You’re white as a ghost,” was the first thing that came out of Severus’ mouth upon evaluating his father’s features.

Tobias’ head snapped to Severus so fast that Severus heard the snap of the man’s neck. “This is your fault, isn’t it?” He said in a rushed voice between clenched teeth.

“Huh?” Severus hummed in question, tilting his head innocently to the side. “What is?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” He exclaimed, startling Eileen, who almost drop her ladle. “You frea—“ he tried to say the word that started it all because he knew it would hurt Severus the most, however, he couldn’t finish as a tea towel flew from its place on the counter to slap over his mouth, successfully shutting him up. It startled Tobias so much that he almost lost balance before catching himself on the fridge. Bad idea, it seemed, as he soon after flinched as if burned, staring at the fridge with both horror and anger building behind his eyes.

Eileen stared with wide eyes, mouth agape at Tobias and the flying towel, hands gesturing to the scene in front of her, and back as if she didn’t know what to do with them. She was in such a silly shocked state, Severus felt a laugh bubbling in his throat, but he kept it at bay. “What? Wh—what’s going on?”

Severus sighed. “Ah,” he made an understanding sound. “You mean that?” He pointed at the towel still covering his father’s mouth. “Yes. I’m to blame for that.” He smirked.

His father yanked the towel and turned purple in rage. He made to approach menacingly, but the chairs on his side of the table rearranged themselves to stay in his way, forcing him to halt. He looked down at them, then raised his head to meet Severus’ stare. He was seething, that was clear, but he did not take another step further.

He’s learning fast, Severus thought, “Why don’t we all sit down?” Severus suggested. He hardened his eyes while staring at Tobias, “You won’t like what I have to say, so sit and have soup while you’re at it. Believe me; you’ll need something warm and soothing to calm your nerves—take advantage that I’m feeling kind today.” He smiled. “You too, mother. I have a feeling that you won’t approve at first of my methods.”

Tobias huffed, still cautious and half-mad in anger, but he eventually did what Severus demanded and sat down in one of the chairs in front of him, crossing his arms in defiance. Eileen eyed her son while sitting down with an unreadable expression on her face, but Severus loved her too deeply and knew her for too long to know what it was. She stared at him with trepidation.

It filled Severus with uneasiness.

He did not care about Tobias’ opinion on the matter of his charm. In truth, he would explain everything because he deemed it fit for his mother’s sake, and he didn’t want Tobias going insane either—he much prefers the man knows his situation so he may learn from it, not the other way around. But Eileen’s words mattered to him, and he dreaded her response to his actions (That’s why he avoided the question earlier that day). He knows that she wouldn’t be able to make up his mind, but he didn’t want his mother to be cross with him.

Nevertheless, he snapped his fingers to put out the stove’s fire and breathed deeply, releasing it with a long sigh. He opened his mouth to start their no doubt arduous conversation, but his sight of a mage caught something in his peripheral vision before he could say anything. He turned his head slightly to see what it was and stared at it with the words stuck in his throat.

His mother’s magic, the watery butterflies, were playing with his magic, the emerald fireflies, just as before he left the house that morning, but amidst the fireflies, a lone raven-shaped green particle of Severus’ magic flew. It played with the magic around it, swooping and turning like the bird it was, leaving a trail of green in its wake. Severus had no doubt it was exactly as it looked; Hades’s soul embedded in his magic. As the raven became part of his shadow, Hades became part of Severus, and would forever live in his magic. The fact his magic changed to accommodate the new soul proved that there were changes to his person despite his soul of a Shadow Walker.

He was affected by his action, it seemed. Severus would need to see what that entailed later.

“Severus?” His mother spoke, bringing him back to reality. He snapped his head in their direction with a small smile of embarrassment—he truly didn’t mean to space out. It seemed he was much more tired than he thought. Curse his teenage body!

“Sorry, I was just thinking about how to approach the topic.” He lied, however, not so smoothly this time as Eileen’s brows frowned slightly. She caught on to his lie this time since he was magically weak, he assumed, but she didn’t comment. “I think I need to be direct—Tobias,” He turned towards his father who raised an eyebrow. “I’ve bound you to a charm I set around the house that prohibits you from causing harm to mother and me. It also prohibits you from causing harm to yourself and the house itself, but that’s another can of worms—focus on the part where you cannot touch us,” he pointed to Eileen and himself.

Silence reigned as the two adults stared at Severus with several different emotions on their faces. Eileen with astonishment and confusion topped with more unforeseeable trepidation and Tobias with confusion, horror, and plain and simple anger, as always. Severus, for his part, waited out their feelings to settle by waving his hand causing three bows to fill with soup and float to their table.

He was about to take a spoon full of warm chicken soup when his mother boomed, “Severus, did you use your wand!?” She exclaimed, looking around the kitchen as if a ministry owl would swoop in at any moment.

Severus snorted. Of course, out of all the things laid out for them to process, she focused on that aspect of the story. “No, mother. I did it wandlessly.” She made an affronted noise as if she could not believe his words, and opened her mouth to retort, but Severus kept speaking, “I did, however, carve runes around the house to assist me in my charm foundation for I don’t believe I could’ve done it by myself. Don’t bother looking, you’ll never find them.” He asserted with finality.

“How—“ She breathed astonishingly. “And don’t say it’s because you’re a natural again, or Lord forbid, I’ll hit you with a towel.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him.

Severus raised his hands in surrender. “For all there is worth, it took me the whole night to finish setting the charm, whereas, with a wand, it would’ve taken ten minutes at best,” Severus admitted.

“You spent the night doing this?” She asked incredulously. “How did I not see it?”

“You were asleep.”

“Fine. Why did you do all of this without telling me about it?”

Severus smiled sadly, which caught Eileen off guard. “Because you wouldn’t approve of it.”

She inhaled sharply. “Severus, why—“ but whatever she was about to ask was cut short as Tobias slammed his fist on the table causing their bowls to spill some of the soup. Eileen flinched and instinctively quieted down; lowering her eyes to never meet Tobias’, and Severus stared at her reaction with a saddened intensity as if he didn’t need to explain his action, for all she needed to do was look herself in the mirror to understand.

Tobias was fuming. “Are you telling me,” he said with clenched teeth, barely holding himself back. “That you used magic on me?”

Severus barely registered Tobias’ words; he started nodding before the man could even finish his sentence. “Indeed,” he affirmed as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve bound you. But you must’ve already known that considering your demeanour.” He gestured to Tobias’ crossed arms and defensive position, such a position Tobias wasn’t aware he had adapted himself in the chair.

Tobias consciously undid his arms and placed both hands on the table, then flinched and closed his eyes as if the movement had hurt him, before opening them again to stare at Severus with haunted eyes. Severus didn’t know what to make of that reaction. “Explain to me what you did.” He said with forced calm.

Severus’ eyebrows shot to his hairline. He did not expect Tobias to be interested in the specifics—to be honest; he thought Tobias would act more aggressively, but apparently not. “I’ve created a charm,” Severus said and he almost smiled when he heard his mother’s astonished wheeze followed by a whispered ‘what!?’ of indignation. Almost. “Meant to protect. The house is charmed to detect your malicious intent specifically and act upon it to detain you in case you so much as think about causing harm to anyone or anything within the house. Just like the chairs stood in your way between you and me or the towel slapped your mouth shut before you could say something offensive—and before you ask, yes, it censures you as well. Neither of us wants to hear your meaningless swears just because you know they hurt us.”

Tobias stared, on top of the table his hands closed into fists. He sniffed before saying, “And you will submit your own father to that torture without so much as a sliver of guilt, will you?”

Severus tilted his head as if thinking. “What torture? If you behave, in other words, not physically hurt anyone or berate us with harsh words, nothing will happen.”

Tobias clutched his hot soup bowl with one hand, but before he could do what he wanted to do, the towel returned to slap his wrist, letting the bowl fall on the table and spill all the soup within. The three of them stayed quiet afterwards, the only sound in the kitchen being the soup dripping from the table to the floor.

It was clear he did not approve of what Severus did if burning his hand with hot soup in an attempt to throw it at Severus was any indication.

Eileen made to get up to clean it, but Severus raised a hand to stop her, and with the same hand, waved over the spilt soup causing it to disappear. He pointedly stared at her after doing so and received a similarly pointed stare back. She’s still his mother, after all.

“May we get a consensus,” Severus said. “I won’t undo the charm and the consequences for your actions won’t change, however, I do not control you. I won’t stop you from drinking or smoking—I won’t stop your income of poison nor will I interfere with your life. Things may have changed within these walls, but not outside. You’re still you, and I’m still me.” Tobias huffed indignantly. “Furthermore, if you can’t live under the circumstances you find yourself in, you may leave as you please. I won’t stop you from running away.”

With that, Tobias slammed his fists on the table again. “I was born in this house!” He exclaimed affronted. “I lived in this house and I’ll die in this house, you trying to manipulate me or not!” Severus saw spit flying from Tobias’ mouth with each word.

Severus merely sighed at the man’s outburst, like a tired parent disapproving of their child’s behaviour. “You may stay, then. I won’t stop you—as I’ve already said. With that in mind, though, violent behaviour won’t be accepted. If you return home under the influence as you did this morning, I assure you, a headache will be the least of your problems. I recommend you get used to the charm before getting drunk again, just so you comprehend your punishment thoroughly before tossing caution aside. I don’t say this because I care about you, don’t get me wrong,” Severus raised his hands in surrender, leaning back on his chair. “I’m merely warning you in good nature since you seem to already get the gist of it. Mind as well explain it further.”

Tobias stood abruptly to stare down at Severus. “That’s it, then?” He said low and dangerously, the pots and pans on the counter vibrated voluntarily as a warning, but Tobias didn’t seem to care. “You won’t get on my way for as long as I behave,” he said the last word with a sneer. “You won’t stop me from staying; you won’t stop me from leaving… you just don’t want me to hurt you because you’re a weak boy who can’t protect yourself or your mother?” He mocked.

Severus didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” was his answer, said it with a blank face, completely serious and final. It caught Tobias off guard because he was sure Severus would retaliate for being called weak. Too bad for Tobias, taunts stopped working with Severus since he left Hogwarts in his previous life. He grew numb to them after what the marauders did to him.

Tobias sniffed looking down at the table, working his jaw in his rage to not lash out at Severus again—he already knew the furniture wouldn’t approve of that either. He nodded once, twice, before raising his head to meet Eileen’s eyes. She recoiled slightly and tried to look down, but Tobias clicked his tongue to force her attention back to him. “Eileen,” he said with authority. “Fix this.” He commanded. “You have magic, all right? Fix this—end this so I can give this boy a proper beating for his actions against me, do you hear?”

Eileen stared at him for a second, then turned to look at her son. Severus wasn’t a bit impressed, in fact, his eyes were dry as he stared at Tobias. He looked very comfortable with the fact that Eileen couldn’t do a thing about the charm. She knew it too, that’s why she stood from her chair slowly and took a step back before muttering, “I can’t.”

Tobias pursed his lips. “What did you say?”

“She can’t,” Severus mirrored her words. “For one, mother doesn’t have her wand, remember?” He narrowed his eyes towards Tobias since the man was to blame for his mother’s broken wand. “Wandlessly, she can only go so far. Don’t get me wrong, mother is an excellent witch for her age—strong too, but even if she could cancel the charm, it would take her months just to—“

“Then take as many months as you need!” Tobias interrupted. “Don’t look at me like that,” he pointed an accusatory finger at Severus who stared at him with a disapproving frown on his brows. “If she can, then she will do. Even if it takes all hours a day to achieve the goal, she will break this damned curse—“

“I can’t!” Eileen found the courage to exclaim, startling Tobias and cracking a smirk on Severus’ lips. “I can’t…” she repeated herself in a lower tone. “Because Severus invented the charm, as he said. That means he’s the only one who knows how to defuse the charm. Even if I had a wand, it would take months. That’s what he meant.”

Tobias stared at her in disbelief. That’s the first time in ages Eileen found the courage to talk back to him like that. Severus just registered the sound of furniture dragging on the floor before Tobias advanced on her intending to cause harm, one hand already in the position to throw a punch. He didn’t need to act on it, though, as the chairs blocked Tobias’ path, a pan flew to his head causing him to yelp, and the tea towel, one set with bloodlust, Severus thought, wrapped itself around his ankle and tugged. Tobias found himself face down on the floor soon after.

He grunted, got himself up on his elbows and cupped the bump on his forehead where the metal pan had hit him, then he sat on the floor, cradling his head with both hands. Eileen made to crouch near him, but one of the chairs slid to her side to stop her. He may look in despair, but he still intended to hurt her if she got too close. It happened before, and it would happen again if it wasn’t for the charm, sadly enough.

Severus stood taking his now cold bowl of soup as he did. “To finish this conversation so I can eat my soup in peace, there’s one more thing you should know, Tobias.” Severus rounded the table until he was staring Tobias down. His expression grew hardened with his next words, “The charm is bound to you and you only. If mother and I were to have malicious intent against you, the house won’t react. Better keep that in mind the next time you try anything harsh again.” And then, he left the man to suffer alone on the floor and directed himself up the stairs, to his bedroom. At least there, he could eat in peace.

As Severus went up the stairs, he heard heavy footsteps and the entrance door opening and closing with a bang. Tobias had left the house once again.

Chapter Text

The next morning was something to behold.

Severus had woken up at seven sharp with no recollection of when he had fallen asleep, only to find himself drenched in spilt soup. Turns out, he passed out while eating his chicken soup yesterday night and slept on it like an actual pig. He felt disgusted with himself and slightly embarrassed too. He hadn’t noticed the restraints on his body were so severe to the point of shutting down the second he relaxed from the confrontation with his father. Nonetheless, he woke up immediately and went to clean his mess as quickly as possible. He may not look like it, but he’s a grown man—falling asleep while eaten is the equivalent of pissing the bed. It only happens to children and the elderly.

After that was done and a change of clothes later, he went downstairs to prepare something to eat, only to notice the house was eerily silent. His mother hadn’t woken up yet—he checked to see if she was all right, but apart from tear streaks down her cheeks, she was sound asleep—and his father hadn’t returned home. Severus shrugged, not worried about the man in the slightest, but he did worry about his mum since it was unusual for her to sleep in late. So, he prepared her a simple dried fruit and oat porridge with the yoghurt they had in the fridge. He left the dessert bowl on her bedside table with a note in case she woke up when he wasn’t home.

Severus eat his portion of the porridge with gusto, as he was still very hungry from yesterday’s stunt in the forest. With that in mind, he quickly Episkey his smaller injuries and Lenio his aching muscles to relieve the pain. After cleaning his bowl, he went upstairs to grab the already smelly raven bundle under his bed, his pocket journal and a pen. Severus went out to the backyard and hid behind his father’s shed to perform the… ritual? No, it wasn’t a ritual, he knew in his bones. If he were to compare the creation of a shadow with something, he would suggest a rebirth, but then again, it doesn’t fit entirely. Perhaps a renaissance, as in the revival of or renewed interest in something, in this case, life, since the soul would return with a new meaning—the one of a shadow walker. Yes, he preferred that adjective.

The dark mist raised from the ground, engulfing both ravens at once. This time around, things weren’t as mystical as before. Harry never showed up to offer his guidance—perhaps because Severus doesn’t need assistance this time—and the unknown and unnamed feeling he felt wasn’t as strong. Magic still watched over him, Nadidus and Intenebre both, but Severus already knew how it felt to be noticed by the ancient magic. His soul was death-touched, and so was his magic—the connection he had with the beyond was stronger than he had thought. Then again, perhaps that’s the reason why this whole process seems easier the second time: once you stare into the abyss and come back unscattered, though you know nought of the unknown, darkness won’t faze you any longer.

Severus stared at the two confused souls—for they were dead for hours already and both had no clue as to why they were summoned back to the world of the living—in the palm of his hands and found himself in a dilemma. The process of turning a soul into a shadow is a complicated one, which requires approval in several steps for it to be possible at all, most of which from Death itself. However, one thing it doesn’t require is consent from the soul. If Severus so wanted, he could turn both the ravens into his shadows without a second thought and be done with it—they are just birds, after all, no need to overthink his actions since the creation of a shadow isn’t an evil process, nor is it good.

But Severus wouldn’t.

Call him a coward or a softy, but Severus couldn’t fathom what would be of him if he carried unconsented souls in his shadow, and even if there were no consequences to his actions, he wouldn’t sleep well knowing what he had done to innocent souls stripped of their free wills against their judgement. It felt too close to what he had experienced as a full-fleshed man in the past, and he knew best how awful the feeling was. He would try his best to not submit anyone else to the same destiny thereafter, even at the cost of essential shadow minions.

Therefore, Severus asked. He gave the two ravens the same options as Hades, the choice between returning to life with a new meaning or choosing death.

He wasn’t threatening them with his offer. Severus knows death isn’t what people expect—the world of the dead is a pleasant place, not a paradise as it was advertised, but a relaxing place to let go of your previous life and move on to the next. He had experienced life for longer than death, but if he were to choose where to stay, he would choose The Between in a heartbeat.

Other souls may struggle with accepting his offer because they are afraid of what lay beyond the veil, but the two souls in his hands, Severus knew, were torn because they already knew what death was. They weren’t afraid of refusing his offer and moving on, and Severus was completely all right with that.

Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.

But in the end, all it took was a little incentive. Hades, his first shadow, joined him after a minute of pondering inside the black mist, perching on his shoulder, and as kin from the same unkindness, the two raven souls found themselves agreeing to join Severus’ journey. Life, it seemed, wasn’t unpleasant to them, and united with a member of their family, there was no reason to refuse Severus’ offer. Animals are smarter than they look, but just as humans follow their minds and hearts, animals follow the path of least resistance.

Their souls, like Hades’s, turned into two small black suns, and the mist that covered them all dissipated. Where two dead birds once lay, two majestic and alive black ravens with emerald green eyes stood.

“Your name will be Seraphim,” He pointed to the raven on his left. “And you’re Cherubim.” He pointed to the one on the right. “Welcome back to the world of the living.” They both croaked in unison and Severus smiled.

He sent his three ravens to hunt, as they still need nutrition, and returned inside. He directed himself back to his bedroom intending to care for the fairies, grabbing the cage hidden in the corner and placing it over the study table to catch some much-needed sunlight coming from the window. The fairies, previously still asleep, woke up with the light and immediately started hissing and trashing inside the cage. With the assistance of the sunlight, Severus determined the appearance and gender of his five specimens—four worker females and one non-dominant male—and noted as much as he could of each individual in his pocket journal. Worker females, much like non-dominant males, can’t reproduce, which was a good thing for Severus since it meant he needn’t worry about them establishing a clandestine new colony under his nose. He uncreatively named the lone blond fairy of the bunch Bell, followed by the male (Dewdrop), and the remaining three female fairies (Floura, Eve and Frost). When he was done sketching simple identification sheets, Severus let his magic run loose around the fairies and observed to see their reaction.

His fireflies and snake-like tendrils danced around the fairies, and to his immediate approval, the fairies stopped protesting and started basking themselves in the abundance of magic. The first to start grooming their wings, Severus noted, was Bell. She seemed the younger of the bunch, the most impressionable, and followed her instinct without much thought. The others were in awe for longer, but all of them ended up copying Bell in the end. Severus Accio the jar with the remaining dried fruits from his breakfast and fed it to the fairies by hand, one by one—he wanted them to associate him as the source of magic and food, thus, establishing himself as an important factor in their survival. The faster he acquires their trust, the faster he can then collect quality fairy wings in the future.

After all of that, it was already past eight in the morning.

He placed the fairies back in their corner—they are still feral and in quarantine, after all—and went to continue his business. But first, morning exercises. He had promised himself after the events in the forest that he needed to build more stamina, and while he was at it, muscles. Lord knows he’s too scrawny for a supposed sixteen-year-old self.

He did a simple early morning workout routine. After a quick warm-up stretch, he did plank—on both his elbows and his sides—push-ups, sit-ups, squats and lunges. The whole process didn’t even last more than thirty minutes and he was already dressing for a trip down Diagon Alley before he got too exhausted. He wore his best clothes combo—a white button-up, his favourite black trouser, old tailored shoes that used to belong to his father, and at last, his gloves and wristwatch—deposited his money from the faded pink purse into the money pouch gifted to him by Chief Tigerbee, and placed it on his trouser back pocket. He breathed deeply while staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, and with a determined expression on his face, he left.

Objectives for the day were few:

• Buy the last ingredient he needed for the Wiggenweld Potion, in this case, the lionfish spines since they don’t raise lionfish back at Hogwarts.
• Buy more cauldrons (He had more money now; he could buy more than one and with better quality).
• Buy glass containers for his potions (he was cogitating test tubes since they were smaller and cheaper than what he’s used to).

Severus didn’t need anything more regarding the potion; he already had his potion kit. With that in mind, he strode out of the house with his hands in his pockets and walked down the desolate roads of Spinner’s End, into the pristine streets of New Beginnings, the richer neighbourhood of Cokeworth. His destination? Cokeworth’s Public Library.

Unbeknown to many, the fireplace of Cokeworth’s Public Library—the one in the sitting room hidden in the far back—was a public floo location. Open from eight in the morning up to four in the afternoon, the fireplace rarely saw witchzarding activity. In his previous life, he had used the fireplace to arrive in time to catch the train on King’s cross after Lily stopped offering him car rides. If not, Severus doubted he would’ve caught that train at all, dare he thought, as neither of his parents would be able to drive him there, nor had the money for public transportation.

The unluckiest aspect of the fireplace, however, is due to its public status, meaning it can only lead Severus to other public floo locations—that, and of course, the time of use. Since it doesn’t function up late hours, he can’t use the floo to arrive home in Cokeworth from the train station, which sucks balls, by the way. Besides, it limits the amount of time Severus can spend in Diagon Alley—if he stays past four in the afternoon he has to book a room in the Leaky Cauldron or dare take the hours journey back home on muggle public transportation again. Which, no, thank you very much.

Severus walked down New Beginnings, eyeing the colourful houses with well-kept front yards and lawns, some decorated with flower bushes, while others preferred the stone path and plastic flamingo combo—garden gnomes and trees were also common. Your typical rich neighbourhood, he thought. Some had fences, others didn’t. Some fancied balconies, others not so much. He passed the time just noting the differences between the houses—secretly taking into account architectural aspects he would like to see in his own house, for when he gets to either buy it or build it in the future.

He was so engrossed in his evaluation of late 70’ architecture that he didn’t even notice he was well on his way to passing by the front of Lily’s house.

“Sev!” A very familiar voice called, and Severus woke from his trance with a start. He turned to his left and found Lily waving at him with a small smile on her face. She was on her knees, tending to the bush of night sky petunias on the front lawn—she wore garden gloves and tied her hair up in a messy bun, as she loved to do. Though, judging by the reddened skin of her forehead, she was working under the sun without a hat for a while.

“Lily.” He waved back, approaching the white fence to lean over it, looking down at his friend. “Hey, what are you doing?”

She went back to water the flowers with a sprayer—one reused from a bottle of air freshener, he was sure. “Watering Tuney’s flowers, of course. These are apparently the fruits of her hard labour and soul, so I must care for them the way she does—that is to say, one by one, slowly and arduously.” She said sarcastically while rolling her eyes.

Severus snickered. “She does know that flowers don’t absorb water from the bud, right?”

Lily sighed. “Try telling her that. She went half-mad when I tried explaining to her that the process just overwaters the poor flowers. They will die if she keeps this up, and well, I can’t stop her, now can I?” She looked at him through her eyelashes and smiled tiredly, then returned to her work.

Severus hummed in agreement. Petunia, as far as Severus knew, never overcome her jealousy over Lily. She was a pain as a teenager, more so as a young woman, and don’t get him started on her behaviour as Harry’s caretaker. Harry himself, though the oldest and perhaps wisest man alive, thought the woman was the pinnacle of resentment—just as the meaning of the flower that represents her name. They didn’t share many stories from Harry’s first childhood, but from the snippets, Severus could argue that Petunia had no place in either his or Lily’s life. Yet, Lily loved her older sister and would do anything to please her—case in point, kneeling under the morning sun for far too long, watering flowers because her sister said so.

If Lily wanted Petunia in her life, Severus wouldn’t intervene, but just as he did with his mother, if the situation escalated beyond her wishes, Petunia would be no more. No, he wouldn’t kill her, but Lily would never see her again.

“What about your flowers? The ones your mother planted for you, the white lilies?” Severus asked to change the topic.

Lily pursed her lips. “They died while I was away. Mum said she cared for them every day, checked the soil pH and watered regularly, but they did not survive.” She said slightly crestfallen. Severus knew how much Lily loved her flowers. “Well, nothing I can do about it. Lilies are fussy plants, after all. Or, mum said they are, at least. Compared them to me—that she did.” She smiled.

Wrong. Lilies are no different from dandelions in that they can easily grow anywhere, even asphalt if left to it. They aren’t fussy in any way—they don’t require a particular soil type or pH, and they thrive under the sun and shades. Lilies are not difficult to grow, especially considering the amount of care Mrs Evans has for the flowers that represent her daughters. Severus had no doubt that Petunia, somehow, sabotaged Mrs Evans’ efforts and hindered the growth of the flowers. He wouldn’t tell her, though. He had no reason to increase the sisters’ feud.

“Bummer,” Severus replied, then, on a whim, he said, “Do you want me to bring you new flowers?"

Lily snapped her gaze from the petunias to narrow her eyes at him. “I don’t think it would be appropriate…,” she said slowly, testing the waters.

Severus tilted his head, confused by her reaction, before realising what she meant. “Merlin,” he slid a hand down his face to recollect himself—really, of all the things, did Lily think he liked her romantically to the point of bringing her flowers like that? James’ small-brain disease is rubbing on her. “Not like that, silly-lily.” He admonished. “I meant to bring new seeds for you to plant in the garden where the lilies used to be.”

“Aaah.” She made an understanding sound before smiling sheepishly. “Eh, sorry. My head hasn’t been the same since the events of our last school year… hmm, shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.” She rubbed the back of her neck.

Ah, there we have it. Lily is terrible at keeping secrets.

Severus decided not to probe for now—he had places to go, still. “No problem. But then, what would it be?” He asked, but when she only looked at him questionably, Severus sighed in resignation. “Do you want me to bring new seeds or has your mother already planted something on the flowerbeds?”

She perked up brightly. “Oh, oh, right! Mum hasn’t planted anything yet. Tuney asked if she could plant more petunias there, but mum said she would think about it. I believe she’s just buying time to plant more lilies later, but I don’t know for sure.” She rambled.

Severus stared at her for a while. “Lily.”

“Huh?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Oh! Right, sorry. Gosh, I’m over the clouds today,” she laughed at herself. “The answer would be yes, I think—I mean, if you can—“ a haunted look passed over her eyes but it was over as soon as it came. She blinked. “Oh, oh, never mind that. Where were you, Sev? At the train station, I mean. Father and I were looking for you for an hour past the time we arrived.”

Severus felt slightly guilty, but he overcame it quickly. “Mother came to take me home.”

She placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried, you see.”

Severus smiled, something so genuine and sad at the same time, it caught Lily off guard. “You don’t need to worry about me, silly. I just thought you didn’t want to have me in the car ride—“

“Nonsense!” She said before he could finish his sentence. “I know we weren’t on good terms for a while,” She stood from the dirt, cleaning her pants as she did. “But we were talking again, weren’t we? I know we never really addressed what happened, but… Ah, Sev. I don’t want to lose you again.” Now, she was grasping the fence too. “I knew you were sorry for your actions—“

“Still am,” he interrupted earnestly.

“Still are sorry about your action,” she corrected herself. “But I wasn’t the best friend either. What I said to you after—“

“No,” Severus interrupted her before she could fall deeper into the events of that day. “You were hurting and you lashed out. It’s not your fault.” He shook his head with finality.

Lily stared at him silently with an edge to her eyes, one buried deep in guilt. Her lower lip trembled because how could she? She had faulted this boy who was the victim of a cruel prank, and ignored his pleas to reconcile for weeks before seeing how much it truly hurt him—she had to see to believe. She, a witch, had to see Severus’ saddened eyes staring back at her in the Great Hall, completely lost. Had to witness blood dripping down his eye to understand the weight of her actions.

Lily Evans, the fierce redhead Gryffindor girl that everyone in Hogwarts knew as one of the smartest and most powerful students. But also, the girl who had to be smacked in the face with the truth to understand she was in the wrong. Because on that day, Lily wasn’t the only one who lashed out because they were hurting—Severus too didn’t mean what he had said about her.

How could she blame him for what he had done, when he had forgiven her for her wrongdoings, ones no different from what she accused him of?

“Lils,” Severus called while wrapping a gentle hand around her forearm, snapping her from her stupor. “I can practically hear you berating yourself mentally.” And he wasn’t lying—Severus caught her stray thoughts through his advanced Legilimency. The fact she felt extremely guilty surprised him, but he did not show it in his expression.

“Oh?” She sniffed, more so to control the snot dripping down her nose than crying, but she digressed. “Sorry, as I said, I’m all over the place today.”

“It’s all right,” Severus comforted. “Do you want a hug?”

Lily nodded, bouncing her head repeatedly before she could even register what she had agreed to. Severus chuckled and enveloped her in a comforting hug over the fence, the type that places your loved one’s head over your heart, so they can hear your heartbeat and calm down. Lucky for Severus, he was tall enough to do so for Lily. He rested his cheek on top of her head and caressed her back, drawing circles as he went. “You’re all right,” he said once he noticed that he had caught her completely by surprise and she had frozen in his embrace. “I still believe you shouldn’t feel guilty, but for all that is worth, I forgive you.”

She inhaled sharply before embracing him back tightly, snuggling her head further into his chest. Her shoulders sagged with relief and her breathing evened out—Severus felt her smiling against his shirt. “Thank you, Sev. I—I forgive you, too.”

And Severus almost broke down crying right then and there. Almost.

They broke apart from the hug, and as Lily looked at him, she went to say something else, something she needed to clarify before she forgot again, however, she stilled, frowned her brows and stared at Severus up and down, up and down. “…Now that I’m looking closely, why are you dressed like that?” She pointed at his somewhat formal attire.

He looked down at himself self-consciously. “…Going to the library?”

She arched an eyebrow. “And how you’re going to buy me new plants in the library?” She asked and smirked when Severus pouted.

He sighed. “There’s a floo in the library, silly. I’m going to Diagon.”

She stared at him for a second before blurting, “Wait, like a fireplace floo? In the library!?”

Severus snorted. “Yes, that’s what a floo is.” He said sarcastically.

But she wasn’t paying attention. “Gosh, that makes things so much easier!” She was grinning and Severus relished her smile for a second longer.

Eventually, though, he needed to go. “Well, I’ll see you once I’m back from the alley to deliver the plants—I won’t take too long, either.”

She turned to him and nodded. “Sure thing. Just—“ and here, she motioned with her hand as if looking for the right words. “Don’t bring something too obviously magical, otherwise Tuney will have a heart attack.” Severus’ eyes sparkled dangerously as if he was cogitating the idea, but Lily immediately shut him down. “Severus, don’t.” She admonished.

He smirked and raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything,” he said playfully before turning away. “Bye, Lily!” He waved from over his shoulder.

She waved back. “Safe travel, Sev!”

He skipped down the road towards the library with the faint sound of Lily’s laughter still playing on repeat in his head. By Merlin, he had missed his sister.

Severus arrived in the Leaky Cauldron’s fireplace with the blazes of green flames and soot marrying his clothes. He quickly cleaned his sleeves and patted the front of his shirt before making his way past the drunk wizards and gossip witches toward the counter where Tom the landlord, innkeeper and barmen was drying some butterbeer mugs. Today was a crowded day, it seemed, as Severus had difficulty navigating the residents, but eventually, he reached the balding man, who now raised an eyebrow in his direction as if he had sensed Severus needed his assistance.

No words needed to be exchanged. Severus gestured with his head toward the backdoor and Tom begrudgingly nodded, letting the young man pass without fuss toward the brick wall. Severus tapped the code on the bricks with his wand, letting the wall register his magic, and it parted elaborately, allowing Severus to venture inside Diagon Alley for the first time since his return to the past.

He walked down the bustling road, taking note of the atmosphere of the alley—alive was the place, he could tell. Magic sang its loudest song yet, cheerful like the contagious energy of children playing among adults, welcoming him as one returns home. The song mixed and matched with the voices of people—busy people running errands, tired people relaxing for the day, happy people reuniting with their friends—creating a symphony he had yet to get used to, but he did not mind. The song wasn’t enough to make a man bounce from the edge of his seat and dance to it, but Severus could see himself bobbing his head and tapping his foot to the rhythm. He passed witchzards alike wearing pompous and elaborate robes and hats in all the colours of the rainbow. Vendors on the pavement, selling cheap toys and street food—multi-coloured bubbles floated above his head followed by the colourful magic from each individual he came close to.

Severus saw and felt all types of magic known to man—from sparkles to dust and smoke, gentle wool, freezing ice, and so on. Every time he breathed deeply to calm his fast-beating heart, he smelled peppermint and wood, good food, new clothes and books, and he just… needed time to process it all. Because, yes, his Mage Sight has been sorted and his Occlumency helps balance the magic around him, but this was too much, overwhelmingly so, just like he felt in the train station back at King’s Cross. 

Fortunately, for his mental stability, Severus reached Gringotts Wizarding Bank when the edges of his vision started narrowing.

He bowed politely to the two goblins guarding the door, receiving two nods back in acknowledgement, and entered. To his relief, the magic within the bank was much more bearable and soothing than the outside. Fifteen minutes later, he left with ninety galleons to his name (apart from six sickles and four knuts), a cleaner and calmer mindset, and a whole lot of things to do.

He would work his way up from the easiest materials to the most complicated. With that in mind, Severus made his way toward the closest apothecary near Gringotts, Slug and Jiggers Apothecary—a shop with a red front and one large window displaying the ingredients and potions for sale. He opened the door, hearing the jingles of the bell above him and the wizard behind the counter welcoming him, and beelined towards the cases of bottled lionfish spines displayed on one of the bottom shelves. One case cost two galleons with sixteen bottles of spines each, within the bottles at least eighteen to twenty spines minimum.

Severus frowned at them. As a potion master, Severus was used to buying and dealing with his ingredients, but as a child of poverty, he had a strong sense of money management. He knew Slug and Jiggers was the ‘go-to’ apothecary for Hogwarts students, thus why he avoided the shop as a ‘Death Eater’ and later as a professor. He was already aware of the price for a case of sixteen bottles of lionfish spines—which, yes, it’s two galleons—but he wanted to confirm if the price hadn’t changed to make sure he had a price to use as a base while dealing in other shops. He knew he had more than enough money to buy one or two cases from the shop, but he wanted to ensure he got the best deal.

Although inconvenient for him, as he had to price hunt in Diagon, a place that already proved to cause him a slight headache, Severus would look in other shops first before making a consensus.

That’s why Severus found himself outside J. Pippin’s Potions no later than ten minutes after leaving the last apothecary. This time, the shop’s front was pastel blue and he couldn’t see much of the interior from the display window. The door also had a bell and the cashier welcomed him warmly as Severus swept inside, and once again, beelined towards the cases of bottled lionfish spines. As he inspected the goods, he noticed one case cost two galleons as well as the previous shop, but Pippin’s Potions was on a ‘middle of the week sale’, of sorts—a ‘sixteen bottles of lionfish spines + one for two galleons’ kind of deal.

At first glance, that seemed ideal—seventeen bottles for the price of sixteen, a literal steal, right? Wrong. While the aspect of the deal seemed fine, this is just an elaborate scam. Upon close inspection, Severus counted eleven up to fourteen spines in each bottle instead of the eighteen-twenty he had seen in the previous shop. This is at least a sixty-four spines loss prettily disguised as a deal breaker, and Severus felt seething with barely controlled anger on the spot when he figured that out. He quickly left to avoid a commotion.

The third shop, the smallest of the bunch, was Blanche’s Little Point-Me-Not Apothecary—which, true to its name, you couldn’t point at it with either one or two fingers (gesturing with your hand seemed fine, however). The front was pure rustic dark wood with no display windows at all and the door upon opening had no bell, instead, a golden canary perched above the door singsong Severus’ arrival to the old lady behind the counter. She smiled at him sweetly like a grandmother—her face full of aged wrinkles and soft features—before returning to her novel. Severus just nodded weekly before, once again, beelining towards the lionfish spines.

He stared at the messy shelf topped with bundles of ten bottles each, neatly wrapped with a ribbon—it looked cutesy, in his opinion. A bundle cost one galleon, which seemed very good, but because of the ribbon, Severus couldn’t see how many spines were inside each bottle. If it had the same quantity of spines as the first shop, Severus would profit, and if not, he would return to Slug and Jiggers and pay for a case already.

“Huh, excuse me?” Severus called for the old lady, who raised her head to look at him with a smile. He smiled back involuntarily before saying, “Hello ma’am,” he greeted somewhat awkwardly. “Do you perhaps know how many lionfish spines come in each bottle?”

“Oh, my dear,” she tilted her head as if thinking. The canary above the door sang to her, flapping its wings as it did, and she smiled up at it with a slight nod of her head. “At least eighteen, I’m afraid.” She said, and Severus felt triumph course through his body almost instantly.

“I’ll take two bundles, then.” He said, and if he thought he saw the canary tilt its head and smile down at him intelligently when he paid for his goods, he wouldn’t tell.

After asking the old lady—Madam Blanche herself—to shrink his bundles, he placed them in his trouser pockets and left the little shop feeling victorious. Twenty bottles for the price of sixteen! Ah, the wonders of price hunt. Yes, you need to make your research and walk in several shops at times, but it’s worth it in the end.

Cauldrons were next. The ordeal was much the same, Severus walked into at least three shops—one of which, Potage's Cauldron Shop at the very beginning of Diagon Alley, the standard cauldron shop for Hogwarts students—to ascertain the current price for his desired cauldron and find the best deal. In the end, he bought two copper cauldrons (the cauldron material that works the fastest) for only forty-six galleons instead of the standard fifty in an ‘out-of-stock sale’. It might look expensive—and it is, especially for a common child such as himself—but the time he will eventually conserve by using these faster cauldrons will pay itself in potion quantities.

With the lionfish spines and shrunk cauldrons safely tucked in his trouser pockets, Severus cracked his sore neck and made his way towards Noltie's Botanical Novelties, a plant shop located near Bufo’s to buy Lily her new flower seeds. He was welcomed by a very unenthusiastic witch behind the counter and a small boy with dark skin drawing with coloured crayons on a little stool and table to the side. He didn’t mind them and made his way deeper inside the shop. There, he found himself faced with the most difficult decision he has ever made in his life.

Should he buy the regular Orienpet lilies (the white kind) to satisfy Lily’s desire, or should he buy the Cobra Lilies and assure Petunia’s demise by means of a heart attack?

He sighed—Lily’s reprimand to not buy anything remotely magical playing on a loop in his head—and ended up picking the regular lilies. Seeds in hands, he decided to search for other plants for himself, after all, the backyard of Severus’ house was nightmarish at best, inhabitable at worst, and he needed to take into consideration his newfound unkindness of ravens. To live in an otherwise mediocre natural habitat such as the half-dead grass of his yard would be an insult to his honour and the raven’s life. They died and came back to life to serve him, they deserve better, he thought. As such, he returned to the counter to pay for the lilies, a bag of magically enhanced fertilizer, two sets of Kentucky bluegrass seeds, a bag of Mandrake leaves, and to his own amusement, edelweiss seeds for the flowerbeds he planned to build on the back porch and around his father’s shed. He had it all meticulously mapped out in his head already, for once excited to work on something new—that isn’t related to potion, that is.

“Ew!” The boy made a face upon seeing Severus’ purchases. “Lilies attract slugs, ya know?” He smiled allowing the tip of his tongue to show in between a gap in his front teeth.

“Ah, do they?” Severus smiled and played along, indulging the boy.

“Yeah, they do! Smelly slugs, that is!” The child exclaimed again while laughing.

“Hmm, what if I like escargot?” Severus asked while paying for the items.

“You don’t eat escargot with slugs, mister! Those are snails, ya know? I know because daddy told me!” The boy said while picking up his drawing for Severus to see. The picture depicted a man with fair skin in a floral apron holding hands with a small child, or at least, it’s what Severus understood from the childish scribbles on the paper.

“Your father seems like a very smart sort, then.” He smiled again before picking up his neatly arranged and shrunk package and pocketing it in his trousers. “However, those seeds are for my sister who loves tending to plants. And would you like to know her name?”

The child nodded with comically large eyes and faux seriousness as if the name of Severus’ sister meant the world to him. It was a cute sight to see.

“Her name is Lily. Doesn’t it make the seeds seem that much more special?” Severus asked.

The child smiled brightly. “No way! Me mum’s name is a flower too. Clematis! Mum loved plants so much; daddy opened this shop for her!” He exclaimed in excitement. Then, his smile slipped from his young face. “She can’t come here, though.”

Severus heard the slight change in the boy’s tone when he said the last part. It tasted melancholic in the back of his tongue for some reason. “Oh? And why is that?” He pried further.

The boy’s happiness left him in a rush. He was left with narrowed lips and a sincere but displeased expression on his face. “He won’t let her come back. He doesn’t let her in here anymore.” He pouted.

Severus frowned, stealing a glance at the witch behind the counter as if enquiring about the boy’s words, but she only raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me; I’m just a part-timer.”

“He called her Mudblood.” The boy said, causing Severus’ blood to run cold. “She can’t be here, he said.”

“Who said?” He asked swiftly, a tad too fast. Perhaps he’s not yet ready to branch into this topic regarding his mistake, especially after his encounter with his sister this morning, but he felt obligated to know. If for himself or because a child is involved, no one knows.

The boy narrowed his eyes and pouted as if thinking very hard. “Daddy calls him… landlord.”

The witch scoffed. “That wrenched brute of a man. Since the day I stepped foot in the Alley, he has caused more ruckus than any son of a goose’s arse out there. No wonder Mr Noltie has to suck up to the guy’s behind to maintain the shop.” She said. “Word of advice, sir. Don’t get involved.”

There’s a blood-racist landlord who owns the establishment of Noltie's Botanical Novelties and perhaps other properties around Diagon Alley, Severus noted in his mind for later.

“I see,” he settled with since he had no more to discuss. “Ah, but where are my manners? My name’s Severus Snape, and you?” He addressed the young boy.

“Cosmos, like the Chocolate Cosmos from me mum’s garden.” He fidgeted his fingers, suddenly shy.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Cosmos.” Severus smiled. “I do hope, one day, your mother will be allowed in the shop. Don’t hear what the landlord says; your mother surely deserves to care for the plants as she sees fit, or at least, I believe so.” With that said, Severus fished his package from his back pocket and placed it back on top of the counter. “Wait a minute or two, will you? I’ll be taking some more seeds and I want you to wrap everything together again.” He told the witch behind the counter.

When Severus came back, he was holding clematis and chocolate cosmos seeds. Because a garden consisting of only edelweiss flowers will look dull in the eyes was his excuse, but he didn’t fool anyone. He left the shop with a stashed package and a new friend in the shape of a flower child.

He may be a little, just a little, weak to children—Severus will admit.

Regardless, with the ingredients, the cauldrons and now, the garden supplies and Lily’s flowers at hand, Severus needed just… one more thing from Diagon Alley before leaving to search for the test tubes in Central London.

He made a promise to Helena weeks ago, and out of his own curiosity and sense of accomplishment, he wants to tinkle with the runes carved onto the walls of Rowena’s parlour—either to enhance the defences or simply to allow ghosts to traverse through the walls. To do so, he will need some tools. Carving tools to be more precise.

And yes, the irony of using such muggle tools as chisels to carve magical runes hasn’t escaped Severus. It just turns out, a long time ago people had to carve runes with their bare hands since wands weren’t invented yet. In those dark times, well before the existence of Hogwarts, carving tools were the witchzards Pinceau et Peinture when magic was involved. Nowadays, runes can be carved in between seconds with a simple flick of one’s wand, however, not to the same level of artisanship as skilled hands can accomplish. In other words, to achieve the same level of the runes carved in the parlour, Severus needs to work with the runes the same way that men and women from a thousand years ago used to, by carving them manually.

Besides, just like runes work best when sewn to the silk of his gloves instead of charmed, carved runes attach easily to stone and wood and have more durability as well. It all eventually accumulates into proficiency, and thus, better results.

Resigned for another hour in this headache-inducing place, he turned around, and down the street, he went. Past the bright shops and magical bubbles floating above, leaving behind the laughter of children, to where the sun was too harsh on the tiles under his shoes and the magic was soberer; Severus arrived at the door of The Junk Shop of Diagon Alley.

While in doubt about where to find a certain item, look no further than the Junk Shop. There you may find what you’re looking for, regardless if it’s broken or not. Besides, they make the best deals for most things, and if they can’t provide you with the item you want, they can provide information instead. And it’s not like Severus is looking for something grandeur; just some small chisels for fine work.

How hard could it be?

“We don’ sell that bloody thing here.” The shop’s owner, an old drunken man with a plump beer belly, all but blew the words together with his cigar fumes In Severus’ face. 

He pretended not to mind, instead focusing on the ridiculousness of it all. “You don’t have chisels? In the biggest junk shop in all of Britain, dare I say all of Europe, and you don’t have chisels of all things?”

“If I say so, then I say so, young’un. There’s nothing in this shop that I don’ know, an’ we have no chisel thing.” The man said while frowning at the name of the tool.

Severus sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you even know what a chisel is, sir?”

“I don' know, I don' want to know, and I'm angry with those who know.” He nonchalantly said. “If you’re looking for something pathetic enough to be called a chisel then look on those ol’ muggle shops around the area. Only muggles would name a—what did you call it? A tool? A damn tool!?—after some kind of cheese.”

“It’s… It’s not—“

“A cheese, boy. Chisel. Cheese. Dammit, now I want cheese.”

Severus left the shop before he lost any brain cells. At least the man gave Severus an idea of where to look, fulfilling the information aspect the Junk Shop is known for. If only he had been a little bit more graceful while doing it…

No matter, Severus simply traversed the street out of the Junk Shop and into the pavement of Foster’s Muggle Valuables, a small shop cramped between two others. However, from where he stood at the front door before he could open it, he heard yelling coming from inside. A plethora of colourful insults, banging and threats of unemployment and expulsion. Severus flickered his wand into his hand on instinct, but before he could do anything, the door opened with no regard to the outside world, almost hitting him in the face. Out came a young man with brown stylish hair and a long overcoat, frowning at the sunny day as if it wronged him somehow, and with no acknowledgement to Severus, he stomped away.

Severus waited about two minutes before coming inside to give the shop’s owner a chance to recompose themselves after a, no doubt, tough confrontation. After, he opened the door, hearing the bell jingle above him as he inspected the scene. Behind the counter, an old gentleman stirred a cup of tea amidst broken objects and ashes. The man noticed Severus immediately but didn’t react to his presence, heating his teacup with his wand in hand. Severus, one not to disturb people for long when his presence isn’t welcomed, approached the counter to finish his business as fast as possible.

“May I help you?” Said the old man with a hoarse smoker's voice. The wrinkles on his face were so prominent that Severus couldn’t even see his eyes.

“Do you sell fine chisels?” He asked without beating around the bush.

The man stilled, arching an intrigued eyebrow. “And what would a wizard such as yourself do with a bunch of useless carving tools?” He gestured to Severus’ wand, still in his hands from earlier, with his chin.

Severus flicked his wand back into the holster. “Do I need to justify my reasons?”

“No, I presume.” The man tapped the spoon on the porcelain of the teacup. “I’m just curious. Indulge this old man, will you?”

Severus tilted his head, less thinking other than displeased by the man’s prying. However, regardless of his displeasure, the man didn’t move an inch to gather the tools he asked for. He sighed. “Not everything can be accomplished with magic, and even if they can, not to the extend I need.” He settled with. “Such as art.”

The old man hummed. “Such as art, he says.” He murmured, slowly developing a laugh under his breath. “A wizard who would rather carve art manually than use magic to do so. How unusual of you.”

Severus pursed his lips. “Indeed.” However, the man still didn’t move. “Do you or do you not have the tools I need?”

The man folded his hands on top of the counter. “Will you or will you not tell me what art are you making?”

Severus’ nose twitched in annoyance. “I’m drawing Elder Futhark on stone walls, sir.” He answered pettily.

The man stilled once again, then guffawed loud laughter. “Runes!” He exclaimed in excitement to rival that of Cosmos earlier. “You’re carving runes manually!” He stated more than asked.

One could mistake his outburst as mocking, but Severus knew better. The man was enthralled instead.

“Young folk always think they can call themselves rune masters as soon as they learn the spells for each word of the Elder Futhark alphabet.” The man said after he calmed down his laughter. “Rearrange the letters in the right sequence and you got yourself the desired effect. No need to waste time carving them by hand when magic can do it for you, right?” He shook his head as if disappointed. “They underestimate the value of the process in which those runes come to be.”

“Runes by means of magic are set in an identical pattern,” Severus agreed. “No matter how many times you flick your wrist or wand to spell a Sowulo or a Berkana on wood or stone—“  Severus flickered his hand, magically spelling ᛊ (Sowulo) and ᛒ (Berkana) on the counter table. “Again and again,” One, two, several letters were spelt onto the wood of the counter. “They will always look the exact same. No variations. A Perfect replica each time.” With a swoosh of his hand, all the letters were gone and the counter returned to its smooth wooden glory. “When there is no variation, when there is no effort in the creation of the letters, the effects of the runes will always be the same level, regardless of who carved them. That’s why people think runes can’t compare to charms or spells when regarding the strength behind them.”

The old man was smiling so much that his wrinkled face resembled a very dry raisin. “A protection rune will never compare to a protection charm since runes don’t change regardless of the situation, whereas charms can grow stronger depending on the person’s emotions.” He said, and Severus felt the strongest urge to correct the man about Intenebre magic but held himself. Now it’s not the time. “But I believe you and I know that’s not true, do we?”

The corner of Severus’ mouth twitched up in a small smile. “When you spell the runes, they will always have the same effect and power, however, if carved by your own hands, the deviations created by the way from which each individual works with their hands and the effort and emotion put into the work, make all the difference.”

“A man may prepare a hundred protective runes, but none of them will ever be the same. The first may be lacklustre compared to the second, and likewise the third, but the hundredth of them all will accumulate all the sweat, blood and tears he spend while carving, and thus, protect what’s behind it.” The old man wisely said.

Severus nodded. “Humans are flawed. We make mistakes, and similarly, we cannot always work our best or give our all in everything we do. But it’s that difference that makes us stand out among the masses and grow stronger. It’s our imperfections that make us humans.”

The old man laughed. “Well said.” He reached under the counter and puller over a flat and polished wooden box. Over the counter, he opened it and inside Severus could see a set of seven fine chisels for detailing work, all with runes carved on the wood of their handles. “This is the last and only rune carving kit I own. It used to belong to a muggle friend of mine who loved messing with the mythical she couldn’t control nor comprehend. The runes she used to carve were better than any witch or wizard could accomplish in my time. The runes on the handle—her own work—won’t allow your hands to shake while working and the blades will always be sharp.” He said, thrusting the wooden box in Severus’ direction. “I believe you will make good use of it.”

Severus felt strangely honoured, reaching for his money. “How much do I owe you?”

The old man touched Severus’ hand, halting his quest for his money pouch. “It’s yours.”

“I could never—“ Severus tried to protest.

“Listen,” the old man said. “In the whole century I’ve been alive, you’re the first to ever reach the greatness that my friend used to have. To go beyond what is expected of you and understand something that, in my life, no one ever had. A simple understanding such as the power of emotions and effort have on magic—on runes—and yet, no one knew until you. No one in this world deserves this kit better than you do. I can feel it, trust me.”

Severus stared at the old man’s face, seeing the sincerity in his expression though he couldn’t see his eyes. “If you say so…” He murmured.

“I do say so.” He smiled, placing the wooden box in Severus’ hands for him.

“Very well. I make good use of it, then.” Severus bowed his head to show in action his gratitude and respect for the man. “Thank you, sir.”

“Raymond. Raymond Foster.” The old man said while reheating his forgotten tea. “You may call me whatever you wish.”

“Then, thank you, Mr Foster,” Severus said, pocketing the box in his trousers’ back pocket as well. Before he could leave though, Severus mulled over the situation he found Mr Foster in before he arrived and decided to ask, “Mr Foster, may I ask you something?”

“Yes?” Mr Foster said after a sip of his tea.

“The man that went before me—the one with an overcoat? Was he the famous brute landlord I’ve heard about?”

Mr Foster hummed. “That would be correct. We don’t know his name. He’s just the landlord. He appeared out of nowhere, signed contracts with most of Diagon Alley’s landlords and ladies and bought all the small establishments under his person. The tenants couldn’t even get a word in before their shops were been harassed by him. He’s a supremacist as well, so it is to be expected that he hates my shop, being related to muggles and all that jazz.” He sipped the tea once more. “But don’t worry young man; this isn’t a matter for your concern. As soon as the Aurors sniff an inch of this case, he will be done for.”

Severus wasn’t sure he could let that information slide, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he had an idea. “Speaking of muggles, you wouldn’t perhaps sell glass test tubes as well, would you?”

Mr Foster laughed before stepping away from the counter and reaching a lone brass handle seemingly attached to the wall. He pulled the circular shaped handle, and from the wall, a huge elaborate storage shelf opened, revealing within itself hundreds of small test tubes stored inside small crates. “How many do you need, boy?” Mr Foster said with a triumphant smile on his face.

Severus smiled right back at the man. It seems he won’t need to visit Central London after all.

On the same day, at a different place in Diagon Alley:

Thud.

There he heard a sound while polishing a new wand on the counter of his shop, a new applewood wand to join the rest of his latest creations. The sound came from ‘down there’, where customers were never to see, and so the man behind the counter did not mind it much. It wasn’t uncommon for one of his wands to make noise around the shop, after all. It may have sensed its desired witchzard nearby or it’s being petty. It happens.

But then, the sound persisted. Thud, thud, thud. And the man on the counter could not contain his curiosity any longer.

He left the front of the shop and descended a flight of stairs to reach the floor below. ‘Down there’ just turns out to be the man’s workshop, where the magic of wandmaking happened.

He inspected the wands and staffs around the room, even the boxed and crated ones, but none seemed active. The man found that a tad too strange, and instantly grew suspicious.

Thus, thud. He heard it again, and with a chill going down his spine, he realized it didn’t come from his workshop, but from further below. The place ‘down, down there’, one could say.

The entrance to that place wasn’t protected by magic, nor was it complicated to open, but it was cleverly hidden behind boxes upon boxes of wands—from the oldest designs to the newest—all stacked on top of each other in a corner of the man’s workshop. It took the old man all morning to open a reasonable path to the entrance; all while using magic and having complete control over all the wands in his way, who in turn would let him pass as good obedient children.

Another flight of stairs down later and the man stood amidst forgotten history. Wands and staffs neatly stored in rolls that went on and on… the newest ones created by his Pa and Ma, the creations of his grandparents and great-grandparents, getting progressively older as he walked down the seemingly infinite aisle.

Thud, thud. The sound seemed to mock him as he walked and walked but could never reach the sound. He passed the eighteenth-century wand creations of his family, and the seventeenth, and the sixteenth, and on and on and on he went. He had no clue what he was looking for.

That is until he hit the very end of the corridor, somewhere so old and far that the air was almost unbreathable.

There he found a decaying wand box twitching aggressively, hitting all boxes around it. The wand inside screamed, demanding to be set free. The man had never seen such a visceral reaction from any of his family’s creations, including his ancestors.

However, before he could do anything about it, the lid of the rotten box broke free.

Garrick Ollivander was a relatively old wizard from an even older family of wand-makers, dating back to records before 382 B.C. His most prominent ancestor, coincidently known as the first Ollivander, lived his entire life searching for the right materials to create his Magnum Opus, a wand so great, it would serve only the strongest witchzard of mankind—he swore on his magic. His adventures around the world earned him a variety of materials and combinations that he used to create wand after wand, searching for the one, but it wasn’t until his last attempt that he succeeded.

One day, Ollivander stopped leaving his workshop in the streets of the then-Persian Empire, even after working hours. Concerned patrons went to see if the man was sound and fine, only to find him collapsed over gallons of blood and basilisk venom, and one single wand stationed beautifully on top of his workshop table.

On his deathbed, Ollivander trusted his last creation into the hands of anyone capable enough to wield its power, regardless of money or fame.

Garrick Ollivander, owner of Ollivanders and the one considered the best wandmaker in the world, went still as a statue the second he saw which wand was it that broke from the sealed box.

He saw the black and polished sheen of the African Blackwood that composed the wand—as if time hasn’t damaged it at all—and remembered the core his ancestor had used for that one. The fang of a thousand-year-old basilisk still dripping venom, in its ten-and-a-half inches glory was Ollivander’s magnum opus. The deadliest wand ever created by human hands.

The current Ollivander felt despair as he stared at the magnificent artisanship of the wand. Not because of the incredible power he could feel from the basilisk’s fang, or the weight of history on that single wand’s metaphorical shoulders, no. But because the longer he stared, he was sure…

The wand stared right back.

Chapter Text

How awful and how far does a gut feeling go?

Right before his eyes, Diagon Alley's streets narrowed. The sound of people passing him by vanished, leaving an unholy sense of wrongness behind. He was alone in the middle of an unseen crowd of witchzards, watching the shadow of those blurry faces pass through him as his gut went cold, his eyes grew sharper, and the hair of his nape and arms stood up in surprise alert.

The melody of magic above him, previously so lively and cheerful, choked painfully due to the strength of a new source of magic, demanding and strong like the presence of Dumbledore and the Dark lord alike. His feet were clenched shut in erroneous anticipation, preventing him from moving in the direction of Diagon Alley's exit as he had intended. Similarly, his hands were clenching and unclenching in preparation to reach for his wand in case of the unknown threat.

The world was quiet other than the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Then, he heard a hum, deep and serene but loud. It resonated with his bones in its crescendos like the sound of a massive beast breathing down his neck. A breeze coming from the south ruffled the wrapping paper of a nearby stand, gently moving his hair, and Severus almost yelped startled. He heard a high-pitch rattled roar coming from deep in the beast’s lungs, hoarse, the type that hurts a person’s throat. The magic slithered between Diagon Alley’s residents, reminding Severus of a snake’s trail guiding him down the street.

He sighed shakily, trying to return to normalcy, but couldn’t rid of the possessive feeling over his head. He had felt something similar before when Death hovered over Harry and him both. However then, he had despaired in pure and utter fear—not used to Death or the feeling of death at the time. Now, though he was still shocked and apprehensive, his expression didn’t change and his magic remained steady, cocooning him to protect his sanity, already used to dealing with such pressure. He tried to breathe again, and this time it worked as his magic kept a tight hold on his person.

The sound of people returned, the faces of man and woman weren’t blurred any longer, and Severus found himself standing in the middle of the Main Street of Diagon Alley as if nothing had happened.

But the intimidating magic was still there, hovering and calling for him.

The humming prompted him forward, against the flow of people towards a faraway shop he could not see from his position, and Severus didn’t see in himself not to. Because, as intimidating as the magic felt, it also seemed intriguing. And just as he had followed the melody of the merpeople back at Hogwarts, he followed the roars of the beast to wherever it guided him.

So, imagine his surprise when his small adventure led him to Ollivanders of all places.

He frowned up at the sign, confused. Why Ollivanders? He couldn’t recall any incident related to strong magical energies coming from the shop in his previous life. The only major event would be Ollivander’s kidnapping, but that only happened in the 90’.

Nevertheless, the magic circled the shop like a dark fog and kept guiding him inside, and Severus prompted by the magic’s insistence followed again, opening the door and hearing the bloody jingle of bells above—he was tired of hearing the sound after a long day going between shop after shop. The air inside was as heavy as he expected and dark as if it was night. It didn’t take him long to notice Mr Ollivander behind the counter, his face lit only by a single circular lamp. It took him even less to notice the bags under his eyes and the cup of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in his hands.

Mr Ollivander raised his head slightly to see who entered his shop while sipping his drink. His hands, Severus also noticed, were shaking the cup enough to spill some of the beverage inside. “I expected someone to come,” Mr Ollivander said. “But never had I imagined it would be you, Mr Snape.” In the background, Severus heard a loud thud.

Severus frowned. “Good afternoon to you as well, Mr Ollivander.” Severus greeted diplomatically. “I’m surprised you remember me, sir.” An even louder thud occurred behind Ollivander’s back after he voiced his thoughts. Some boxes on the shelves behind the old man shook with the force of it “…Is something wrong?”

Ollivander shook his head. “Nothing is wrong. But then, not all is right either.”

Severus approached slowly, mindful of the magic still hovering over him. “Mind elaborating, sir?”

“I expected this… magic to attract—no, rather lure—someone in. It started to act up this morning, you see. It woke when it felt someone worthy was near.” Ollivander said while tapping his fingernails against the glass of his drink. “But you, Mr Snape? Why you?” He murmured.

Severus tilted his head in confusion. Mr Ollivander wasn’t making any sense. “What do you mean?”

Mr Ollivander tilted his head back and downed his firewhisky before knocking the cup down on the counter. “You see, Mr Snape, I remember the faces and names of every customer I’ve ever had since the day I inherited the shop from my father.” He said. “After getting that... thing out of my cellar, I contemplated who could have woken it throughout the entire morning. Who were they, worthy of being chosen by it? But you were not even close to those I expected.”

Somehow, Severus felt offended. “Why, thank you. How unthoughtful of you.” He deadpanned.

“I remember when you bought your first wand,” He said nostalgically which had Severus feeling unease. “Your mother brought you here, the Prince woman, wasn’t it? I remember the Prince. They were masters of potion-making in their prime but succumbed to Grindelwald’s war, trapped in the middle between the factions of light and dark. Together with your mother, you two make up their last remaining bloodline, do you not?”

Severus remained silent for a few seconds, wondering what all of that had to do with the magic he felt, but eventually, he relented, “We’re not the last ones. My grandfather still lives.”

And it’s true. Severus’ grandfather, Lord Thurio Prince, still lives on though chronically ill in this time and age. He never met the man in person in his last life and only learned of his existence after the man passed away. With no heir other than Severus, and the risk of losing all of the family’s fortune to the bank, Severus was forced to accept the title of Lord Prince, which came with a good sum of money to his name.

He used the money, of course—he was surviving on his professor’s salary at the time—but he never used the title of Lord.

“Yes, of course. How could I forget,” Mr Ollivander said. “But you’re still the last remaining heir of the winged black mambas. Your wand reflects that bloodline, you know? Unicorn hair—consistent and faithful, though not the most powerful—and Ebony wood—an inhibitor of impurity, helping to deflect poisons and noxious gases. A perfect combination for a potion maker. Not strong but precise, like the perfect brush for a perfectionist painter.”

“What point are you trying to make, Mr Ollivander?” Severus asked impatiently. He could not help it when the magic above his head started growing heavier and heavier by the minute.

Ollivander stared into his eyes with haunted ones and smiled slightly. “Your family descends from the birds with black wings, Mr Snape. I did not consider you when related to this happening because as far as I can tell, there’s no connection between you and the original owner of that—“

However, before he could finish his sentence, the shelf behind Mr Ollivander erupted. Wand-contained boxes flew in all directions and landed on the ground, breaking some of Ollivander's fine creations in the process. Severus shielded his eyes and head with his raised arms, and his magic responded by casting a small Protego shield around Ollivander and himself. After the boxes stopped falling, Severus stood up from his crouch and shivered when he sensed the intimidating magic had grown stronger. He had to cup his ears and take a deep breath to calm down when he heard the beast's rattled roar in the distance yet so close to him.

Ollivander hadn’t moved a muscle from where he stood behind the counter, unbothered by the surprise explosion of boxes or the breaking of some of his wands. As Severus looked at him to ascertain what had happened and to see if the man was fine, he noticed how the wand maker was staring at something to his side. Severus frowned and followed his line of sight, curious as to what would capture his attention in a situation such as this.

There, above the counter and slowly rolling towards the two of them, was a black wand.

Severus watched, transfixed, as that small, no more than eleven inches wand was enveloped with the magic he had felt—he heard the beast’s breathing coming from the wand and the more he stared, the more he felt that possessiveness again.

It rolled and stopped right in front of him.

“Wand,” Mr Ollivander finished, catching Severus’ attention. “There’s no connection between you and the original owner of that… wand.”

Severus raised a sceptical eyebrow. He didn’t know wands could choose owners of the same bloodline, as he had no clue about wand lore. Harry and he had never branched into the subject after all. “And to whom this wand used to belong?” He asked as he reached for the wand, curious as to how such a small tool held such a strong magical presence.

“Salazar Slytherin.” Mr Ollivander said and Severus choked on his own spit and coughed in surprise, forgoing touching the wand immediately.

“What—?” He asked between coughs.

“As I’ve previously said,” the man continued. “As far as I’m aware, you don’t share bloodlines with Slytherin—that’s why I didn’t think of you.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Severus thought aloud. “Salazar’s wand was buried in the grounds of Ilvermorny in the United States. It grew into a tree, didn’t it? There’s no bloody way in hell that that’s his wand!” Severus reasoned.

Mr Ollivander sighed. “You see, Mr Snape. The most complicated questions—“ he reached for a thankfully intact wand beside him and placed it near the black wand with a clear knock on the wood of the counter. “Often have the simplest of answers.”

Severus stared at the wands and then it clicked. “He had two wands.” He said with clarity. “He had two bloody wands.”

“Indeed.” Mr Ollivander nodded. “He constructed his first wand himself, did you know? There were necessities to be met at Hogwarts back then, and he needed a wand to follow through with those demands, so, he searched for a rare specimen of snakewood with medicinal properties and the horn of a basilisk said to cure major illness and created his first wand. The wand of a healer.”

Severus knew this from what Harry had taught him. Hogwarts had no support from outside influences at the time, financial or otherwise, because there was no witchzarding community, meaning they relied on the founders and their families. As none of the four founders was a healer, they had no one to treat the children in case of future magical-related accidents. To remedy that, Salazar became their unofficial healer until the day he left. Simply put, Severus was unaware of the extent of the man's efforts to protect his students. It was no easy feat to create a healing-focused wand that was protected by the man's own Parseltongue, not right now, and certainly not a thousand years ago.

“Blimey,” he breathed in astonishment. Salazar just wouldn’t stop surprising him. “But—but what about this wand? How come he had two?”

Mr Ollivander shrugged. “His first wand was the wand he chose, the one he created to accommodate his needs. His second wand, this one that is, was the wand that chose him instead.” He said seriously. “This old wand—ten-and-a-half inches, African Blackwood exterior and the fragment of a basilisk fang core—existed well before Slytherin was born, yet, though it passed by many hands, it only chose Slytherin, and him only. And now, against all odds, it chose you.”

Severus’ eyes widened with the implication of Ollivander’s words. “Chose me?” He looked down at the wand, seeing his face reflected on the wooden surface of the counter. He heard the beast’s hum again, reverberating in his earlobes, as the fog surrounding the wand twisted and reached for him. Before he could talk himself out of it, he picked it up by the handle, turned it this way and that, weighting in the palm of his hand and inspect the artisanship. The smooth and completely black wood it was composed of, the weight light as a pencil, the simple but present details to the handle, and finally, the silver ring close to the tip.

He gave it a twirl just like any kid does with their first wand, and he was pleasantly surprised by how the wand gradually sipped his magic as if a woman tasting good wine—always in small doses, enjoying the delicacy of the drink slowly and meticulously. The tip of the wand shone bright green and Severus heard the beast purr in the back of his head, satisfied with the taste of Severus’ death-touched magic. A basilisk was it? Severus had no idea basilisks could purr.

All the heaviness and fogginess in the air dissipated like steam as the magic of the wand settled with Severus’ own, though no one would notice other than Severus himself through his sight of a mage.   

However, before Severus could say or share his opinion of the matter, Mr Ollivander lunged from behind the counter and grabbed Severus’ wand arm with a grip stronger than his appearance would foretell. The beast—now dubbed a basilisk—roared in his head with the audacity of the man, sipping Severus’ magic to prepare for combat. Severus, though, remained steady and frozen as a statue to avoid hurting Mr Ollivander accidentally with the feral magic of the wand or his own fireflies and snake-like tendrils, who circled him protectively. He remained quiet and patiently waited for what the old man wanted to say.

Mr Ollivander tilted his head while staring at him. “That wand is powerful, boy,” he murmured just loud enough for Severus to hear. “Look how it’s already trying to influence you to use its power. Your only saving grace is your surprisingly meticulous magical control.” He praised.

Slowly, Mr Ollivander relaxed his grip on Severus’ arm and released him shortly after. He kept staring into Severus’ eyes as if looking for something that would validate the ownership of the wand. “It was said that only the strongest of witchzards may wield Magnum Opus, but after all those years, perhaps the criteria have changed or it was never about power in the first place.” He shook his head wistfully. “I’m not saying you aren’t strong, Mr Snape, and I apologise for the bluntness, but I don’t believe you seek power for the sake of simply being powerful. No, rather, I believe there’s something more that you’re searching for.”

Severus shook his head slightly and closed his eyes. He felt the weight of his entire life on his shoulders, and he was exhausted beyond all hope of recovery. “I just want to be happy, sir.” He said breathily, opening his eyes to show how determined he was. “And if to achieve it, I need to carry this cursed wand with me and bear the responsibility, then I will.”

Mr Ollivander stared at him sadly but understanding. Then, as if the spell had been broken, he smiled and nodded. “Very well, then. If you’re taking the wand, it will cost you seven galleons.”

Severus arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you joking?”

“I’m very much not. This is still a business, Mr Snape, you being destined to the wand or not.”

Severus laughed but conceded. He can appreciate when a man knows his business, after all.

It only occurred to him what had happened when he was well on his way up the street of New Beginnings to deliver the flower seeds to Lily.

A wand, Salazar Slytherin’s wand to be more precise. How did this happen? Mr Ollivander said it all; he had no bloodline connections with the family of Slytherin, much less the Gaunt Family, or Merlin forbid, Tom Riddle. If the wand is said to serve only the strongest of mankind, then why did it choose him? Severus is a student of ancient magic, a dead man walking, a servant of Death as a Shadow Walker—he is not powerful, but knowledgeable. Maybe that is what the wand seeks? Knowledge. But then again, the core of the wand consists of a fang of an ancient basilisk. What does a basilisk want with knowledge? What does a basilisk want with him? He could not think of any relevancy.

And yet, even though he had no answer to his questions, his new wand weighed him down on the wand holster attached to his right forearm, sided by his original one.

Despite his disposition, he eventually made it to Lily's home.

“If I were to guess, considering the clearly annoyed frown on your brows, something inconvenient happened in Diagon Alley.” Lily, still tending to the front garden, said as soon as Severus was close enough to hear.

Severus shook his head, telling himself to forget the wand for now while he had Lily to focus on. “Nothing of the sort; I’m just tired.” He said. “But forget about me—I’ve been out for hours, don’t tell me you’ve been tending to these flowers all this time.”

“Oh, of course not you silly.” She smiled up at him. “I talked with Tunney a bit before she went to see that boy from up the road, Dursley, I think? Then, I had lunch with mum. I’ve just now returned to flower duty.”

Her hair had fallen from its bun and now cascaded around her face, and as such, her forehead was even redder from sunburn. She changed clothes too, he noticed, now wearing overalls and the proper garden boots covered in dirt—it was clear she was preparing the flowerbeds for the seeds Severus promised to bring her.

As he was reminded of the seeds, he quickly retrieved the package from his back pocket, tore the paper wrapping and pulled out Lily’s seeds from within. “Here,” he offered the small seed bag to her. “Orienpet white lilies, nothing magical about them as you requested, even though it pained me to buy these over the magical flowers at the shop.” He smiled.

“I’m sure you’ll survive that.” She accepted the bag and opened it to check the seeds inside. “But really, Sev? Lilies? Are you sure there weren’t any other non-magical flowers in that shop of yours?” She asked smugly.

Severus pouted playfully. “Come now, Lily. You and I both know that those lilies are symbolic.”

“Ew, symbolism.” Lily laughed. “I would rather have colourful flowers instead.”

Severus shared the laughter, enjoying their simple banter. Leave it to Lily to always instil in him a sense of normalcy, regardless of his previous situation. He sensed that she would always be a great pillar holding him up, and he would fight anyone for it to remain so.

After the quick encounter with Lily, Severus returned to his house.

His ravens croaked at him from on top of the roof of his and the neighbours’ houses as a welcome. However, there were much more than just three. In fact, the whole unkindness from Spinning Wheel Forest was here. He stared at them with a raised eyebrow.

Hades descended from the light pole wire to perch on his shoulder and nuzzled his hair. Severus reciprocated by scratching his head. “It seems you’ve been very busy today. How are you fairing, Hades?”

Hades chirped and blinked his uncanny emerald eyes at him. However, despite their current situation, Severus got the sense that this ‘visit’ wasn’t Hades’ doing somehow.

He was proved right when a pair of bickering ravens landed on the ground near his feet. Seraphim and Cherubim were, for lack of better words, playfully pecking at each other like a pair of siblings fighting for the right to the gaming controller, or in this case, for Severus’ attention, he assumed. The unkindness above was croaking and cheering the pair on—their voices mixed into the sound of merry laughter if Severus were to guess, happy and without worry—and it made clear why they were here.

They were grateful.

As an unkindness of ravens, they are family, and as family, they mourned the death of their children and kin. In their last fight against the fairies, Seraphim and Cherubim perished, trapped inside an agglomeration of fairies who targeted them due to their age. Unaware that the ravens were being held hostage, Severus attacked the fairies with one of his Confringos, killing the two corvids in the process. Fortunately, the unkindness forgives as death is a consequence of war, but Severus had other plans.

He brought their children back with renewed life as he had done with their once eldest kin, Hades, and they couldn’t be more grateful. They were all happy to see the three family members they had lost return, thanks to the man who had rescued them all from the threat the fairies posed.

In exchange for his kindness, they were all eager to serve him.

Ravens are smart creatures. Though they are said to be unkind, it was a raven who saved young Severus from the forest once, and it was the ravens who aided him in exterminating the fairies. For him, ravens are a symbol of kindness and knowledge—not different from himself—and he smiled at the thought.

“Hades,” he called, causing all the ravens to quiet around him. “I permit you to guide your family into the path of renascence. Make sure they indeed want to serve me before doing so, however.” Hades croaked in affirmation.

“Seraphim, Cherubim,” the pair stood up straight in attention. “Back to the shadows with you. You’ll only distract Hades and the unkindness otherwise.” They croaked and flew directly into his shadow, merging with it immediately.

“Talk to them, Hades,” Severus whispered so only his trusted raven could hear. “Bond with them, enhance their trust in you. Make sure they will head to your command and they will do mine.” Hades croaked loudly and flew from his shoulder, calling for the unkindness to follow him in the direction of the forest. They followed like little ducks, forming a black cloud of birds as they flew in synchrony with each other. Well, almost all of them. The leader and mother of the two once decease, a female raven a few years younger than Hades stared Severus down with intelligent black beady eyes. Before Severus could guess why she stayed behind, she bowed her head low and chirped as if in thanks. It surprised him a bit, but he bowed back all the same, not one to be rude even though she was technically an animal. After the courtesies were done, she flew back towards her family.  

Severus never expected to have such a deep regard for animals, but now he finds himself bowing to ravens while carrying the spirit of a purring basilisk, ridiculous as it may sound. All that remains to be done is to keep his word and assist Mrs Norris in flying, or perhaps to buy Tooth a treat for when he returns to Hogwarts.

He sighed before opening the door of his house, trying to think where in his life things became so abnormal.

The first thing he noticed was a pair of dirty boots by the doormat and a trail of mud further inside the house. His first instinct was to think Tobias returned while he was away. Then, he heard a whimper of suffering followed by frantic and scared murmurs coming in the direction where the trail led.

Severus frowned and walked in the direction of the sounds, carefully stepping as to remain silent. He approached the wide arch into the living room, and there he immediately spotted, curled up in the corner between the wall and the fireplace, head resting on top of his knees as he hugged his legs, was Tobias Snape. His trousers and feet were covered in dry mud, as was his tossed-aside coat. As Severus looked closely, he was sweating and trembling from head to toe—due to coldness or either because he was crying.

Severus was more than a little surprised. Is he the same man who used to beat him whenever Severus was even close to shedding a tear in his youth? It felt wrong to witness such an imposing figure in his memories suddenly crumble down right in front of his eyes, but he circumvented it by fortifying his Occlumency shields and keeping himself under control.

He blinked once, twice before saying, “Now here’s something I thought I’d never see in my life.”

Tobias flinched hard. He raised his head and Severus was graced with his red eyes, tear streaks down his cheeks and beard, and a frown so deep his eyebrows shadowed his face. “You did this.” He whispered between clenched teeth.

Now, Severus was confused. “Come on now; my fault? I wasn’t even in the house.” He tried to reason. “Or did you try to hurt mum again?”

“It’s your fault, dammit!” He exclaimed while punching the wooden floor. “Your bloody fault that I can’t touch anything in this God-forsaking house without seeing these bloody visions! Driving me mad, they are, and it’s all your fault!”

Severus’ eyebrows were lost in his hairline by the time Tobias stopped screaming. Can’t touch anything? Visions? What visions? “What are you talking about?” He asked without much thought.

“Don’t pretend like this isn’t your doing!” Tobias exclaimed. “The furniture, boy, the furniture!”

Severus nodded; after all, he did charm the furniture. Even so, it seemed Tobias wasn’t going to give him a clear answer, so Severus changed tactics. “Never mind that. What kind of visions you’re having?”

“Oh, never mind that, he says,” Tobias mocked while slowly getting up from the floor. “As if I shouldn’t worry about the torture you’ve submitted me to! The paintings, the fridge, even the bloody coffee table! All those visions, the visions…” His eyes were hysterical while staring at Severus, hands painfully tugging at his hair.

All right… did he go insane this quickly? Severus thought. Aloud, he said, “For the sake of clarity, what visions are you referring to?” 

“The visions!” He exclaimed again as if it explained it all, but judging by Severus’ expression, it sure didn’t. “Every time I touch a piece of furniture, I’m reminded of something I did against you or that munt—your mother!” He quickly corrected himself before swearing about Eileen, already used to the consequences if he did so. “It happens everywhere in the house, no matter where I go, and it’s driving me insane! I can’t even lay on my own bed because of some—some things I’ve done!” He choked. “And it’s your fault!” He repeated like a broken record.

Severus stilled, staring at the man with the most openly confused expression Tobias had ever seen on his son’s face. “Huh?” He said dumbly.

Tobias stilled as well, now too as confused as Severus felt. “Th—the visions from that magic you did…?”

“Visions? The charm wasn’t supposed to—” He stopped himself, frowning in thought.

The Oppugno malus Charm was arithmetically crafted to serve a purpose—to stop Tobias Snape before he could cause any harm. During the creation of the charm, not once did Severus think about disturbing the man’s mind to the point of having him go mad since it wouldn’t prove a point, only make the man… well, mad. He wouldn’t learn a lesson otherwise, or so Severus had thought. So, having the man talk about visions and seeing his terrifying demeanour, Severus was both intrigued and disappointed in himself, since he failed somewhere along the way.

It may have something to do with the fact that he had to apply the charm without a wand or his choice to use runes to aid the application. Something must have changed in the composition he had calculated while in The Between, or perhaps he hadn’t into consideration his emotions while applying the charm—those are always complicated to have into account while calculating. Intenebre magic is always more complicated than most after all; emotions are a complex variable that not even the best of arithmancers can precisely predict, including himself.

The Patronus Charm is a good example of those unpredictable results. Nobody expected corporeal patronuses to even be a possibility when the charm was first introduced, for example. 

“What?” Tobias felt all his despair evaporate. “You—you didn’t plan for the visions?” He whispered in both hope and trepidation.

“What?” Severus said distractedly. “Oh! No, no… it wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“T-then—“

“Stand still. I’ll have to look into your mind to assert the damage.” Severus said while approaching nonchalantly.

“What?” The fear was back in his voice. “No, don’t approach. Stay back!”

Before Tobias could flee, Severus grabbed his face and forced the man to look at him. Now, he isn’t physically strong, but Tobias was so terrified and weak due to his empty stomach that he didn’t even try to wiggle himself out. Besides, even if he tried, the furniture wouldn’t let him go easily. “Now, now—no need for that. Just look into my eyes,” Tobias’ eyes were fearful like a rabbit staring down a tiger. It made Severus feel powerful in a way he didn’t want to. He needed to fix this as soon as possible.

He smiled sweetly to put Tobias in a false sense of ease, but of course, it didn’t work. “Legilimens.” He said. Tobias sucked a breath and just like a needle forcing itself between his brows, Severus invaded his mind.

Several memories made their way to the front of Tobias’ mind—most, if not all, memories of things Tobias would rather forget. Or more specifically, things he tried to forget through drinks and the influence of cigarettes.

He saw a little boy alone at the margin of a large lake. A man, the boy’s stepfather of the month—a blonde bloke from down the street, sweet but one to stick his nose when he wasn’t welcomed—encouraged him to take a dip. Tobias stared at his own reflex through the ripples of the water. He didn’t know how to swim.

The memory changed to one of his mother having relations with a man in the other room loudly as Tobias tried to sleep. He was having none of it and decided to take his pillow and blanket to sleep in the backyard outside. However, on this particular day, the neighbour’s cat attacked him while he slept, almost losing his eyesight when the thing clawed at his face. He never slept outside again.

It changed again to the sight of a woman with black slick hair and pale skin smiling at the flower fields. Tobias, already a young and enamoured man, said something about how magical the whole day had been with her, to which she looked at him, blinked and giggled. “Of course it was, I’m a witch after all,” she had said. “Muggles such as yourself doesn’t seem to understand that.” And she giggles again. However, Tobias didn’t feel like giggling. In fact, his nose wrinkled into a grimace and he felt awful, but he couldn’t understand why.

The little boy almost drowned. The teenager suffered unseen scars. The young man experienced condescension from the woman he thought loved him.

And those were just the memories in the forefront of Tobias’ mind. Severus wanted to know none of the most obscured ones as he had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he would see.

He made a mental effort, a push to bring forth the visions Tobias was talking about instead, and just like a burned-out cassette tape, the memories from the man’s youth started to age and holes were burned into them as the tape stopped functioning, per se. Soon, the movie started working again and Severus bore witness to Tobias’ atrocities. Numerous assaults, both verbal and physical, primarily directed at his mother and then at him, came into his line of vision but were hazy due to Tobias' drunken state of mind at the time.

According to what he saw, Tobias couldn’t touch items or furniture previously used to abuse the man’s family. A head smashed against the coffee table, fingers smashed by the door of the fridge… blood splatter on the Virgin Mary painting, etc. He was haunted by his wrongdoings.

Suddenly, right after figuring out the cause and consequence of Tobias’ misery, his conscience was pulled deep within Tobias’ mind. He didn’t resist the pull because he felt traces of his own magic lingering in the metaphorical hand, though, just to be safe, he made sure Seraphim and Cherubim were watching over his and Tobias’ body in the real world.

He blinked, and where once were Tobias’ haunting memories, he found himself in the middle of a perfect replica of his living room—a mind palace. He was surprised. Never would Severus thought Tobias was able to form a mind palace of his own, however, scepticism reined over his thoughts. Was Tobias truly mentally strong and wise enough to form a complex structure such as a mind palace in his mind, or…?

“Welcome, Master Severus. We’ve been awaiting your arrival.” Several voices said in harmony with each other.

Or was this a byproduct of something else?

He felt his magic reflected on the walls of the living room, like echolocation waves reverberating with his own, and a theory formed in his head. Is it possible that the bond between Tobias and the house, established by his charm, created this space inside Tobias’ mind from which the torturous visions were generated?

“You stand correct, Master Severus.” The voices said.

“Glad you’ve confirmed that, then,” he said, trying to find normalcy in his current situation. “However, who is ‘we’ precisely?”

Click, Severus heard the sound of a switch turning on. On the wall, the painting of the Virgin Mary stood tall while an invisible spotlight shone light upon her as if calling for his immediate attention. Contrary to her real-world counterpart, this Mary had blood pouring out of her closed eye sockets. “We are the house.” She simply explained.

“Ah,” Severus nodded, conceding. “You’re the ones assaulting Tobias’ mind, I reckon?”

“Indeed, just as Master wished.” They said.

Severus placed his hands in his trouser pockets and shook his head slightly. “This is not what I asked for.”

The Virgin Mary tilted her head. “Whatever do you mean?”

“The purpose of the charm was to induce better behaviour out of Tobias by sheer force since the man wouldn’t submit himself through words alone,” Severus admitted. “If you assault his psyche every time he just touches one of your furniture, he’s not going to learn anything—he will simply go insane. That’s not. What. I asked. For.” Severus emphasized each word with authority, demanding as the creator of the charm and the reason the house was alive in the first place. He held the right to command them.

The Virgin Mary clicked her tongue displeased. “This is our revenge, Master Severus. Let us conduct the man’s punishment ourselves.”

“The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury, and what you’re doing doesn’t differentiate you from his atrocities,” Severus said plainly. “I hate him just as much, maybe even more than you do, but I can’t allow this to continue.”

“And who are you to be the judge of that?” The voices asked.

“Likewise, who are you to judge yourself an executioner? You’re not even alive to have your own opinions.” Severus hammered the nail in the coffin.

“…fair,” The voices conceded, and it is true. They are a house charmed to perform a command—they have no right to act on their own. And yet… “But Tobias does not deserve to be let out so easily.”

“He’s not.” Severus sat on the arm of the living room’s armchair and crossed his legs.

“Oh,” The voices sounded intrigued.

“Let’s get into an agreement,” he said. “The whole point of all of this was for him to behave. If he lives calmly and subdued, not at all rude or violent, then you leave him alone. He’s free to touch any part of the house without being tormented by you.” The house clearly disagreed, Severus could tell. But he continued before the voices could interrupt. “However… on the contrary, if he misbehaves himself and regresses into his violent and brash nature once more… Then, you’re free to torture him mentally as you’ve seen fit, at least until he apologizes or repents for his actions. We’re trying to teach him good manners after all.”

He felt the shift in the houses’ behaviour like one feels the hot summer breeze turning into cold autumn gales. The voices laughed in manic delight as the furniture in the mind palace tapped their wooden feet to make noise. “Splendid!” Severus could hear their smiles. “Truly, Master Severus. It’s a deal.”

Severus smirked. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

When Severus left Tobias’ mind, though he experienced many memories and made a deal with the voices in the man’s head, not even a minute had passed in the real world. He simply freed his grip on Tobias’ face and stepped back. Seraphim and Cherubim, perched on the back of the sofa, welcomed him back with synched chirps.

Tobias wasn’t fairing any better, in fact, he looked worst of wear. Of course, he witnessed the deal between Severus and the Bloody Mary in his dream, and he could do nothing but fall to his knees in defeat, staring unseen at the floor.

Severus hummed while asserting Tobias’ state and said, “You should be glad. You won’t be suffering unnecessarily now.” With that said and done, he turned his back on Tobias and walked away, Seraphim and Cherubim following closely behind, hopping from furniture to furniture. “If you behave, that is.” He smirked triumphantly.

His triumph was short-lived.

“Severus.” He heard the voice of his mother and quickly turned in the direction of the kitchen entrance. She approached slowly, drying her shaking hands in the apron attached to her waist before stopping on the threshold. She folded her hands gently and bit her bottom lip before muttering, “Stop this nonsense.” With a troubled expression on her face.

Severus breathed deeply and sighed long and suffering next. “I can’t.”

She took a step forward. “You can—“

“I can’t.” He interrupted her to prove his conviction, stopping her dead in her tracks before she could reach him. “Not if I want you to be safe and him to learn from his mistakes appropriately.” He stated firmly.

“It’s not fair,” Eileen lamented. “I’m your mother, yet you’re the one doing an effort for me. I’m your mother, yet I can’t even stop all of this…” She waved her hands around, gesturing to everything. If Severus were to guess, she was referring to both the charm and the situation leading towards Severus taking drastic measures in her stead. She couldn’t control how Tobias acted, likewise, she couldn’t control Severus’ retaliation for those actions. In her shoes, Severus imagined she felt quite powerless despite her inner strength.

“Eileen!” Tobias cried from the living room. His voice was full of resentment and despair while he cried. “Eileen, help me… help me.”

She tore her attention from Severus towards Tobias’ direction and before Severus could say anything, she walked forward at a set pace. Severus followed behind, more subdued and less eager, but he didn’t approach, he only stared from afar.

He watched as she crouched next to a bawling Tobias and attempted to hold him up and calm him down. He, in turn, took advantage of her lower guard and grabbed at her arms tight enough to bruise, forcing her down on her knees beside him. She yelped in pain. “Fix this, your bitch!” He screamed in her face. “Fix this so I can kill that—“ He was interrupted by a hit to the head; a book from the nearby shelf fell hard on him. Then another, and another, but he only released Eileen when hit by his own bible with a loud smack. She stumbled after being released and fell on her behind, staring at the man in front of her with terrified eyes.

Tobias started to spasm with the reminded of his worst memories playing mockingly in his head—the voices of the house laughing at his stupidity—and with a last desperate scream, he hit the floor, passing out cold from shock.

Silence reined over them.

“…I don’t know if what you’re doing is right or wrong,” Eileen said with a shaky voice. “But then again, after all those years failing as a mother, I don’t think I can opine on it.” Eileen hugged her knees close and curled up on herself. “Do you think me incompetent?” She whispered.

Severus remained silent for a while, trying to recompose himself from the tough scene he had just witnessed. Eventually though, because he loved his mother very much, his ravens were there to support him, and his Occlumency held strong, he forced himself to say, “I don’t think you’re worthless or incompetent in any way.” He admitted. “I respect you and your opinion, and I hear your voice just as I would anyone I love and trust… so please, don’t sell yourself so short.” With one hand, he conjured his Tailed Jay butterfly and allowed the small insect to reach his mother, perching on top of her knees for her to see. “You just need time to adjust and understand. I will wait for as long as it takes you.”

She remained silent for so long after, Severus thought it would be better if he just walked away, but he barely had taken a step back when he heard a whispered, “Papilis,” coming from his mother’s mouth. A Scarlett Mormon flew in his direction and perched on his offered gloved finger.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so pathetic that you, my child, had to act on your own for me.” She said.

“That’s not—“

“And I—!” She interrupted him. “And I will try more from now on. But please—“ She choked. “Please, give me some time…”

Severus smiled slightly and blew the butterfly in his finger away, watching as the Scarlett Mormon dissolved into particles of magic in the air between the both of them. “As I’ve already said, I’ll wait for as long as it takes, rest assured.” And with that said, he finally allowed himself to properly walk away.

His Tailed Jay stayed with his mother throughout.

The event with Tobias was unexpected. He never thought his charm would backfire the way it did, however, he had only himself to blame. He should’ve taken into account his improbability to use a wand while at home, and the extent of his emotional state while applying the charm to the house in the first place. He was so focused on the integration of punishment to make Tobias eat his vengeance plate cold, that he was blinded by his hubris. He’s glad the mistake was solved with a little persuasion and manipulation, but there are always the what-ifs that plague his mind.

What if he couldn’t get an agreement with the house? Would he defuse the charm or would he let Tobias go insane?

What if his charm had functioned much differently than he anticipated, say, more violent, or worst, if it bonded with other members of the house?

What if the situation was completely different, one that involved the lives of innocent people or the ones he treasures most?  He couldn’t fathom what he would do if that were the case.

As such, he had an epiphany. He can’t allow himself to comfortably use wandless magic anymore.

Don’t misunderstand, Severus has more control of his magic while wandless than some witchzards armed with their wands, but that isn’t what matters. It’s not about being better than most, but rather, doing his best at all times. To change the future, to balance the magic, to kill the Dark Lord, Severus needs to give his all into everything he does. And unfortunately, he can’t achieve this goal while wandless. An artist without a brush can only paint so much no matter how beautiful their paintings are, after all, they are limited to how far their fingers can reach.

Thank the heavens he purchased a new wand for himself.

The first Ollivander’s Magnum Opus… a black wand with a core of basilisk fang that carried the soul of the basilisk like a predatory beast. A complicated, trickier-to-use wand that is more powerful than his own but also one that predates the invention of the trace charm and, as a result, has no trace attached to it.

Ollivander must’ve forgotten about that small little detail when he sold the wand to Severus.

Severus smirked, twirling the wand inside Tobias’ backyard shed, wordlessly transfiguring the interior into a basic but functional potion lab. The old wood of the walls was renewed and polished as if recently cut, an eyeballed ventilation system prevented him from suffocating on the fumes of his creations, the tables no more rocked sideways with uneven legs, Tobias’ trinkets were transformed into items Severus would need—scales and pipettes, but also chairs, Bunsen burners and small stoves for the cauldrons.

He picked up his chisel box from his back pocket and pulled out the tools within. On the transfigured walls, tables, and chairs, he silently and meticulously carved runes to prevent them from ever changing back to what they used to be. On the tools and glass objects, he drew runes on sticky paper and glued them to their surface to make sure they would maintain their form as well.

At least, he brought outside his potion kit and the fairy cage from upstairs and prepared a nook on the far wall to place a transfigured fish tank to serve as a temporary vivarium for the quarantined fairies. This way, he would work alongside them and catalogue their development up close.

The outside of the shed remained decrepit and uncared for, but the interior was bigger and well-kept in comparison.  

With his purchases all out of their packages and enlarged back to their original size—not including his garden items as he would mess with them much later—Severus started working immediately.

Into the creation of his improved Wiggenweld Potion!

At Martini's Served Potions located down the street of Knockturn Alley, the owner, Martin Martini had to send away another customer who wandered into his shop thinking it was a bar.

It’s not his bloody fault, dammit! His mother’s family were a bunch of benchwarmers, bartenders serving stinking Purebloods with their pinkie bathed in gold, while he dreamed big, bigger than those wankers ever could. He took a leap of faith into the world of potion making—his passion!—And opened a potion shop afterwards. Granted, it’s Knockturn Alley, not the friendliest nor the best place to start a carrier, but hey, everyone—except for the privileged—starts from dirt. Besides, Diagon Alley’s landlord is the greatest twat he’s ever met, anyway! What do you mean people will be scared by his ‘one eye look?’ It’s not his fault his mother bloody Crucio his left eye into oblivion when he left the family! People on Knockturn Alley walk missing more limbs than teeth, you good sir, he fits right in!

Sigh…

But to say that his current clientele is no short of inexistent would be an understatement.

He hasn’t sold a single potion in the last two months, and if things continue this way, he may resort to… sell drinks and working as a bartender—Argh!—To pay rent since that’s the thing he excels at. Oh, how sickening it would be. But it’s not like he can get a job anywhere else—missing a bloody eye and having no filter between his brain and mouth—people tend to hate him wherever he goes.

His potions are textbook quality. His ingredients are cheap. His containers are small and often dirty, and he has no money or experience to fix those problems. He’s doomed to be haunted by his family’s name, serving martinis and licking rich people’s asses.

It’s one of those days when the outside street seems busy, bustling with the worst of humankind walking, and his shop stays as quiet as the dead of night. He’s alone and slowly digging his own grave in debt.

That day, an angel descended from the heavens to help him.

Tap, tap, he heard a tapping sound coming from his main window. Martin turned a bored eye towards the entrance to see who it was, perhaps if he was lucky, it would be a customer for once. But no, of course not. It was a bloody bird pecking at the glass.

The bird tilted its head to the side, studying Martin from afar with bright emerald eyes, but it was no owl, so Martin didn’t give it much attention, going back to his brooding. That is until the bird started pecking the glass window rapidly like an annoying woodpecker, causing a slight headache to brew between his brows.

A vein bulged on his forehead in annoyance, and Martin got up from his chair and opened the door to shoo the bird away, only to have it fly past him faster than he could react and come inside his shop instead.

Martin was bloody pissed at the bugger.

“Listen here you little shit,” Martin said between clenched teeth. “My day has been awful as it is—I don’t need another thing to make it even worst. So, either you leave my shop right now, or I will bake you into fried chicken. Your choice.” Yes, he realised halfway through his rent that he was venting out on a bird, but don’t judge him; he hasn’t seen anyone or anything enter his shop in months!

“My, my~” The bird purred with a deep unrecognisable voice, and Martin did a massive double take. “Is that how you treat your customers? No wonder you have none.”

Martin blinked once, twice, thrice before he rubbed his functional eye and cleaned his ears with his pinkies. When the bird didn’t disappear or turned into a human as an Animagus would, Martin cogitated smashing his head against the counter. He didn’t do it, of course, he wasn’t stupid.

“Will you gawk at me all day or help a customer?” The bird said, and yep—it’s real, and it’s a talking bird. Martin promptly smashed his head against the countertop anyway.

“…Should I worry?” The bird spoke again!

“Oh, no, no… I’m just making sure I haven’t gone insane yet.” Martin admitted, and oh Mighty Merlin, he’s speaking to a talking bird! He could barely feel the pain in his forehead because his head was spinning.

“If you keep smashing your head as is, then you will.” The bird advised. A wise bird, that one. Who would’ve thought?

Suffice it to say, Martin was losing it.

“Don’t worry Mr Martini, my business here is short-livid,” the bird croaked. “I’m here with a… offer to make.”

The way the… bird spoke sounded alarm bells on Martin’s head. He’s used to dealing with scammers—his shop’s located on Knockturn Alley for Merlin’s Sake! If he didn’t know how to shoo off the leaches, he would’ve gone bankrupt much sooner—so, he had a sixth sense about it, per se.

But before he could call out on its bullshit and ask the bird to kindly bugger off, the bird spoke again. “How’s your eye, Mr Martini?” It asked almost gently.

Oh, now Martin was even more confused, if possible. “My… eye?”

“Yes,” the bird croaked, reaching with its clawed feet towards its own left emerald eye. “Your left eye was left damaged beyond repair, am I correct? The healers at St Mungo's informed you there’s no way to heal it back to health due to ‘Dark Magic’ residues still lingering on your eye socket, wasn’t it?”

This type of information isn’t something anyone can know without proper prodding. Whomever the bird is—or who’s behind it—investigated his life. Depending on where they acquired the information, they could be someone of great power.

In Martin’s experience, anyone of great power is dangerous.

“What do you want?” Martin could not contain the fear from slipping into his words.

The bird chuckled, deep and uncanny-like, before saying, “Relax, Mr Martini. I’m not here to intimidate you. As I’ve said, I’m here to offer you a deal.” It said before jumping from its perch above a high shelve to land on the wooden counter. “Please, take a look at this~” It singsonged.

The bird stretched one of its wings as if popping its back after a long nap, and from under the wing, a glassy vial containing a teal liquid materialized as if from thin air. A tailored black ribbon with the name Wiggenweld+ Potion wrapped the container beautifully.

Martin stared at it. “Wiggenweld Potion?” It’s one of the easiest-to-brew healing potions Martin knew of. So much so, it’s taught to first-year students at Hogwarts every year. Though, if he was sincere, this one looked to be slightly off based on the colour alone. “Are you joking?” He said without thinking.

The bird tilted its head to the side, not at all offended. “Not in the slightest, Mr Martini. I’m very serious. However, do me a favour and read the label again.”

Martin did as he was told, and indeed noticed a small difference. “Wiggenweld… plus?”

“Precisely,” The bird’s voice was far too smug for Martin’s taste. “What if I told you, Mr Martini, that this small vial of Wiggenweld+ Potion is the answer you’ve been looking for?” It asked while tapping its claw against the glass of the vial. Tap, tap, tap.

“What answer?” At this point, Martin was more than intrigued. It’s not every day a bird will fly into your shop, speak and act like a human and offer you a potion, after all.

“The answer for your financial problem,” it said, and Martin’s expression, whatever it was, fell. “And—“ it continued because the bloody bird wasn’t done there… “As a courtesy, the answer for your damaged eye, as well.”

“Shut up,” Martin responded instinctively. He had done so many wrongs trying to heal his eye before—trusted people who shouldn’t have been trusted—and he promised himself not to commit the same mistake again, lest he would repeat the ‘burned eye Martini’ incident. He shivered just thinking about it!

And yet…

The bird picked up the vial with its feet, tapping the tip against its beak, taunting him with its eerie emerald eyes. Tap, tap, tap, like the fingers of an impatient man ready to leave and take the offer of a lifetime with him as he goes.

“Come now, Mr Martini. Would you like to have a taste? To prove my words, of course—come; just a sip is enough for you to feel the changes.” The bird said with a clear smile in its voice.

The Wiggenweld is a healing potion, right? Even if it doesn’t do as promised, it’s still a harmless potion, right? Martin is a potioneer, he can tell by the smell if it’s poison or something more sinister. There seems to be no harm in trying…

Right?

Slowly, moving as though under the Imperius Curse, Martin took the vial from the bird’s surprisingly lengthy claws and brought it closer for inspection. He tilted the glass here and there, observing the liquid inside. Then, he opened the lid, smelling the rich fishy and honey smell the Wiggenweld is famous for. With all clues, visual and physical both, telling him the potion seemed safe enough; Martin did the unthinkable and took a sip from the glass.

Immediately, his left eye burned like a motherfucker!

He yelped, letting the vial escape from his hand and shattered on his floor as he doubled down in pain and clawed at his eye. It burned worse than his mother’s Cruciatus curse. It burned worse than the fires of hell! But it didn’t last long, dissipating like water, leaving a faint pins-and-needles feeling behind.

Martin recomposed himself quickly after that, and he was ready to pounce on the bird and craft the bugger into an old lady’s hat when he noticed… light. The faintest, almost unnoticeable stream of light on his left eye. With a shaky hand, he covered his right eye, and lo and behold the light, shinnying its magnificence into his previously damaged eye.

Martin could not help it; he started to cry. And oh, glory—how amazing it felt to feel tears on his left cheek again.

“I reckon it was a success, yes?” The bird croaked.

“The offer. What was the offer you wanted to make?” Martin went right to the chase. He couldn’t let the opportunity to regain his eyesight go!

“Good, good,” The bird purred. “Spread the news of your eye and how this modified Wiggenweld was able to heal dark magic residue with something as simple as a sip even though it was considered impossible before—and in turn, you can take as many potions from the ones I’ll provide you to finish healing your eye, for free.” The bird instructed. “However, you’ll sell the rest in your shop and split the gains with me.”

Martin’s business brain started to work. “How much are we talking about?”

“60:40, on my benefit,” the bird offered.

“50:50?” Martin tried to bargain.

“I pay for the ingredients and I provide both the potion and their containers, you’re just the distributor. Besides, you’ll be taking free samples with no repercussions. 70:30, last chance.” The bird said smugly.

This damn bird! He knew I would try to bargain, so he manipulated me to raise his gains! Martin thought, frustrated.

He sighed. No reason to act pathetic now—there’s just no way he would let the opportunity go, no matter how disadvantageous it looks. “Fine, I accept.” He said plainly.

The bird chuckled again, pleased. “Very well, then.” From under his other wing, a contract materialized from the shadows—a fountain pen already provided. “Please, read and sign the contract.”

He is an angel, no doubt about it.

Martin skimmed through the paragraphs like a dying man on his last breath and signed the paper not long after, seeing nothing wrong with it, eager to get what he wanted.

The bloody bird—a raven according to the contract—chuckled once more, eyes shining green into Martin’s face like a beacon of the damned and forgotten. It reminded Martin of past mistakes, but also, the light at the end of a foggy desert, guiding him towards a better future. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Martini.” It said before consuming the contract, the pen and the potion on the floor into its shadows, disappearing into them itself shortly after like a haunt, a dark ghost. “I’ll see you soon.”

He is an angel, but one of those fallen ones, if you know what I mean.

Chapter Text

James Potter was drowning.

He found himself faced with a complicated dilemma that had the potential to change his thoughts in life, at least for someone as self-centred as himself. Because James was a simple-minded person despite being born in a cradle bathed in gold, his good looks and surprisingly skilled practicality in the subjects of Transfiguration and Defence. Not that is something wrong with it—in fact, many would say it’s part of his charm; how pleasing it feels to have him put all his trust in the people he cherishes, or to have your opinion validated no matter what it is. With his strong sense of justice and a golden heart big enough to house all of Hogwarts if he so wished, people were drawn to his flames like moths to light.

However, as good as it seemed on the surface, due to the simplicity of his thoughts, James was fairly gullible. He was often a victim of people’s words and beliefs, especially when he didn’t have one of his own. Of such conversation topics, he couldn’t care less, that the more he nodded and agreed with others, the more his opinion was shaped around what he heard.

This behaviour started within his family, predictably. His grandfather Henry and his father Fleamont both loved Quidditch and taught James how to play the game from a young age, teaching him the comes and goings of a good player instead of a decent one. His mother Euphemia was a woman with a strong sense of leadership—always hoping for the best in others and doing her best to impress, be it to feed her pride or to look superior—and James learned how to carry himself with confidence as a result. His Father had strong opinions about Hogwarts houses. He believed the house of Gryffindor to be more good-oriented than the other houses, and as such, where members of light families such as theirs should find better roots. James just grew used to those influences as their only son and grandson.

None of those opinions meant the Potters were essentially bad influences towards James, not at all. They raised James with as much love as they could muster, in fact, to the point of it seeming warranted. James grew up to be as lovable, and in return, heed their words. Though it’s worth remembering not all Potters were the same. Charlus Potter, Fleamont’s cousin, often disagreed with Fleamont’s opinions. The man found love in a Slytherin woman by the name of Dorea, and as Head Auror, all of his subordinates were from different houses or prior students from different magic schools altogether, each with their own qualities. He strongly believed the house doesn’t matter—what matters is what the person does with themselves and grows up to be after they learn about the world.

But then, James rarely saw his father’s cousin, and thus, he grew up knowing only a few things regarding Hogwarts.

He had to be a good Quidditch player, he had to be confident and display the traits of a good leader, and he had to be a Gryffindor.

Therefore, to be the good son he was always praised to be, he had to do his best.

And his best, he did. The hat was barely placed on his head before screaming ‘Griffindor!’ at the top of its imaginary lungs. He convinced one of his year-mates, Sirius Black, to choose Gryffindor instead of Slytherin when the boy was torn between what he wanted and what his dark-driving family wanted. He made friends with his roommates and established himself as their leader early on—consequentially helping Peter with his social awkwardness and Remus with his disease. Since joining Quidditch in his second year, he became an irreplaceable Chaser, and in the corridors of Hogwarts as well as in class, James was always the confident and playful boy he ought to be.

Despite the years, with his vicissitudes, detentions, pranks, and the burden of being one of the most popular boys in school, nothing really changed on the core of who he was. He was a good Quidditch player, he was a good leader worth following, and he was Gryffindor. It all accumulated into being the good son he strived for.

All was good with the world… until it wasn’t.

Don’t get him wrong, but James found complications in his ascension into the good graces of expectation. Namely, he was proven wrong in many aspects he truly believed to be the norm, or rather, was taught to be true.

He was told Ravenclaws were all nose-stuck-inside-a-book kind of nerds with no ambition other than the desire to have as much knowledge about practically any subject as possible. Of course, to anyone else, it’s obvious how wrong the assumption was, but James, though he tried to seem wise and mature, was naïve. He figured by himself while attending Hogwarts how wrong the assumption was. Ravenclaws are smart and snarky—their passion for the intellectual leads them into the territory of creativity and wisdom. They are often the ones to disprove wrong assumptions and teach the correct answer in turn. They are also the ones to create the best strategies—in duels or otherwise—taking into consideration everyone included in their project.

He was told Hufflepuffs were the weak witches and wizards who couldn’t make it into the other houses, the ‘working class’ of witchzarding society. Once again, he was perplexed to find himself wrong. Hufflepuffs are fierce little badgers holding kindness in one sleeve and a strong sense of justice in the other. They are patient with others, especially in distressed situations, but aren’t above throwing punches to make their point across. They are loyal to their own, family and friends, and would fight high heavens and below hell to keep them safe. They are hardworking all right, just like anyone would say, but it doesn’t only apply to manual labour—they study hard and they try even harder. And don’t be deceived by their sweet smiles and gentle voices, most are using their kind reputation to get what they want from you, the little shits (believe him, he learned that the hard way).

He grew up hearing of the Gryffindor’s courage, their bravery to face any obstacle and the limitless way in which they would try to offer a helping hand to others—their nerves to face down danger and smile confidently knowing they could surpass it. But James had intel into the Gryffindors as a Gryffindor himself, and though it pained him to admit, not all he was told was right either. Take his friends as an example: Peter used to be scared of his own shadow, and though he and his friends tried to help with his confidence, sometimes when he thinks no one’s looking, he regresses into a ball of anxiety seamlessly from nowhere. Remus is afraid of himself, and although he has a good reason for it, it’s not just about the wolf… it’s his future. He’s afraid of what the future has in store for him knowing he’s considered a monster by practically any wizard and has no control of himself during the full moon. And Sirius tries to fit into the expectation of a Gryffindor just like James, but they held each other crying too many times to know it’s all a facade. Sirius is afraid for as long as his mother looms over him.

He finds his friends to be very brave since they live life to the fullest despite their fears, but no matter how long he stares at them trying to piece them into the mould that was laid out for him at a young age, they are anywhere near the fearless and compassionate knights in shining armour he had expected.

And it shatters him a little bit every day knowing his friends will never live up to those expectations, no matter how hard they seemed to try.

However, nothing up to this point, no matter how earth-shattering it had been at the time, could ever compare to his fifth year as a Hogwarts student.

How jarring it had been to have all the axis he grew used to tilted just a little bit to the wrong side… of Remus feeling betrayed by his friends because of a stupid prank Sirius pulled. Of Peter blending in the shadows to avoid being yelled at by his close friends for no reason at all. Of Sirius playing around as if nothing was wrong with the world, but inside, just as lonely as any of them had felt.

James felt awful for his friends (and secretly, though he tried not to think too much about it, he knew he needed the help just as much as them), so he tried his best, like he always does, to fix the problem. And he fixed it, he swears! Sirius was laughing for real again. Remus was speaking to them without malice or an accusatory tone anymore. Peter was starting conversations again and engaging in their activities. His friends were somewhat back to normal, and he could go back to feeling less pressured as their leader again.

So, why did stupid Snape have to ruin it all!?

He came waltzing back into James’ life like a war veteran who wasn’t at all scared of a wand pointing directly towards his heart, more powerful than ever, not in the way of his magic but in his words, tossing insults and truths like raining daggers at James’ face. His talk about heroes was eerily close to what James believed—they weren’t Gryffindor heroes but children trying their best and failing—making him feel attacked and uncomfortable. Jarring couldn’t even compare to his feelings on that specific Saturday; he felt a combination of despair towards a world-ending event and the tiredness of a man having to rewrite their thesis from the ground up. James did nothing but watch Snape walk away because he was caught off guard. He had no idea what to do and was afraid of trying anything he might later regret.

He was afraid. James realised he didn’t fit into the mould laid out to him either, and it terrified him much more than he was willing to admit.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, Snape came back for round two with that history lesson, if he could call it that. It’s not that he wanted to trust the words of a Slytherin—especially Snape’s—however, consciously or not, he wanted to trust the words of someone who looked deep into James’ eyes and saw the fraud he felt himself to be despite how the truth pained James.

Snape called him ignorant, Snape called him prejudiced, Snape called him a child and a bully… Snape said he wasn’t a hero. And the more he thought about it, the more he felt those words were true (the mould, he didn’t fit the mould!). As such, he wanted to know what more was true in the world since Snape seemed to hold a candle to that knowledge.

James was curious, and curiosity is unpredictable. It either leads towards revelations or kills the cat. And sometimes, when we are unlucky, it does both.

All of that: the conversations, the accusation, the realisations—it all seemed to lead towards that fateful Monday’s DADA class.

That day started with James witnessing Snape cry for the first time.

James wasn’t inept; he knew something was horribly wrong when Snape stared blankly at Lily like a man basking in the image of their lifeline as if for the last time, with haunted eyes and shaking limbs, the depiction of despair. Snape never cried, no matter how clever the insult or how throughout the prank—he defaulted to anger instead which had him a tad more resilient than the rest of his classmates in James’ opinion (not that he would admit that aloud). To see him running away was perhaps more bewildering than having Lily angry with him for no reason afterwards. Because Snape, the Slytherin boy with snarky remarks and a sharp tongue as well as magic, never ran. He would attempt to hide, avoid and even ignore—but never run away. James knew this through the years of observing Snape.

James is always aware of Snape’s whereabouts at all times when in the same room. It started due to paranoia at first since the Slytherin boy was close friends with the girl he liked, and he didn’t want to lower his guards when around the git. But as the years went by, it developed from his younger self’s self-preservation into a somewhat annoying habit. No matter the distance, the place or the assignment… James’ eyes would flicker towards Snape at least once upon entering the room—and sometimes when James was particularly annoyed or planning something, he would follow Snape with his eyes throughout the day.

Because of that, when his friends, Lily and himself ran to DADA class on that same day, he was certain he was the first to notice the Slytherin alone outside the class’s door, even if Lily noticed too right after.

He’s not particularly proud of that habit. He isn’t pleased to be made aware of Snape’s presence every time they share class or pass each other in the corridors, but he can’t help it. The Slytherin is always there or somewhere in the castle despite James’ wishes and as someone dangerous, it does well to know if he’s around or not for his own sake of mind, or so James thought. Besides, for as long as James notices Snape in a room, Snape always notices him back like a mutual rival agreement they never signed upon but knew was true.

Either way, when Lily ran to meet Snape halfway, her voice screaming his name wrapped in concern and an undertone of care similar to what he feels for his closest friends, James was surprised to notice he didn’t feel jealousy or anything related to anger. Instead, he felt almost solemn as if he knew he had no right to intervene in their encounter. He was reminded of the tear of blood dripping down Snape’s pale face when he looked at the Slytherin and the way the other boy had trembled before, how… afraid he looked at that moment as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his back and didn’t know if he could handle it.

Snape, once, was a small fragile-looking boy, skittish like a wet kitty yet not afraid to show his claws. To see that same boy holding himself upright against all reason despite the clear signs of weakness had James feeling concerned for him.

A frown married his face at the thought. Why did he care? Was he even allowed to care?

James has a golden heart, that much already has been established. He tries to see the good in people just like his mother and believes in justice like his father, and as such, he easily feels compassion towards others. Though simple-minded, James is a good kid—he helps others not because he was told to, but because he wants to. But just as he seems so selfless, James is very much selfish, for his kindness doesn’t extend to everyone. Snape is a Slytherin, and just like any Slytherin, he’s evil or will become evil someday. He doesn’t deserve to be helped.

And yet, walking through the hoard of students towards the outside fields, James was the one pushing his friends forward and making silly talk to prevent them from seeing Snape talking to Lily a few paces behind because he knew if Sirius were to see that, he would make a scene and ruin their moment to reconcile. He knew allowing them to talk it out, especially after the events from early morning, would help fix their shattered friendship, but he kept quiet anyway and walked face forward, strongly ignoring the back.

Was James feeling sympathetic because Snape had no friends other than Lily? He preferred to think he pitied the Slytherin instead since anyone’s allowed to pity even their worst enemy, but pity doesn’t justify helping evil, does it? It felt like a scale in his head, frantically trying to find a balance between helping someone for the sake of helping and helping Snape out of guilt. Because it was his fault Snape and Lily weren’t friends anymore; his fault because Snape is a Slytherin.

And as he pondered for a conclusion, he hopelessly thought was being a Slytherin such a bad thing? One deserving the same loneliness he experienced when his friends were apart earlier that year or exiled from most social gatherings?

He shook his head trying his best to rid of the incessant thinking in his mind. It wouldn’t do him well to doubt one of the few things he was sure were true, such as the Slytherins’ tendency to go dark and their cruelty.

However, just then, when he believed he was managing his thoughts well and had them under control, James heard a laugh.

It was the dorkiest, snorts-between-loud-giggles type of laughter he had ever heard, and he knew instantly it belonged to Lily. He felt the strong urge to turn around to commit Lily’s smiling face to memory but kept steadily looking ahead to avoid drawing his friends’ attention towards the back. But as he committed to his reasoning, he heard a second laugh.

A rich chuckle that got progressively louder to match Lily’s own, serene and elegant, voicing a deep tenor from the person’s vocal cords. It reminded James of the nobility, just like Charlus’ wife Dorea and her polite, but no less real laugh, or his grandfather’s deep voice.

The laughs mixed, a cacophony of harmony through Lily’s snorts and Snape’s breathy inhales to sound something beautiful, and James involuntarily looked back in his peripherals, charmed by what he heard. He half expected to see a Pureblood like Dorea in her fancy dresses and gloved delicate fingers or his well-mannered but playful grandfather, always with a joke on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he just saw Snape. But to his immediate surprise, Snape was smiling.

He smiled wide and toothy from behind the back of his hand, trying to contain his mirth to not disturb the people around him. The wrinkles around his eyes were more prominent as if stretching for the first time in a long while, and his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink due to laughter.

James immediately turned back straight ahead after that, slightly flustered and frustrated because just as he had never seen Snape cry before, he had never seen the Slytherin laugh like that either, not even among his peers. Is Snape usually like this? He only knew the Snape with hunched shoulders, a fierce glare, hatred in his eyes and a frown so deep it darkened his already black eyes. A boy well-versed in his words, ready to target where it hurt most—the one quick to arm himself with a wand and fight back with nasty spells, laughing menacingly when they manage to hit. He has never seen Snape in these little moments with someone he cares about, laughing himself silly at something funny or nothing at all—moments James isn’t privy to. Behind the dark green curtains that represent his private life, is this what he looks like?

James didn’t know. He had no idea, and it honestly baffled him.  

“[…] You don’t know me or my house at all. You’re very mistaken if you think you do.”

James sighed. He begrudgingly thought today was one of those days when nothing goes as usual, and the more he tries to fight against the flow of things, the harder it gets to deal with it. He decided to place Snape’s smile as the strangest thing he would ever see today and stepped outside the courtyard, mentally preparing himself for the Defence class.

Oh, he was wrong. So, so bloody wrong. Because he was yet to witness the spectacle the day would unfold to be.

Now, for context, James isn’t fond of Professor Borguini either. The man is too focused on gaining approval from important people—mainly Purebloods through the good words from the children he teaches. He doesn’t have himself a network like Slughorn, nor is he powerful magically or influentially enough to pull people in, and thus, desperately tries to fall into their good graces by continuously changing the Defence syllabus to hit well with demands instead of following the already set topics of discussions provided by the school. Borguini does teach what he’s told to teach, don’t get him wrong, however, not to James’ or anyone’s satisfaction, and it frustrated James to no end because he needed good grades in Defence for his desired carrier as an Auror.

He wouldn’t say it was his dream job, per se, but it was the closest thing to achieving his goal. Because, for all the beliefs he was fed, and the truths he learned to trust, one of the few things that inherently composed who James was, was his desire to help others. That was a trait of his person, and nothing could ever change it.

But for all that he didn’t approve of the man, James had no reason to go against his words or make his displeasure known. After all, Professor Borguini was essentially harmless, and if all the previous years were to be believed, as a DADA professor, he wouldn’t return for James’ sixth year.

Then, why did Snape feel the need to shatter James’ expectations and act against Borguini’s incompetence on his own?

He stood in the middle between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins out in the fields, shining as if he owned the stage. His voice carried through the plains for everyone to hear, enhanced effortlessly through his magic as the likes of an educator used to speak towards large audiences. He explained with few but understandable words, allowing space to include his classmates in the discussion, but above all else, he didn’t allow Borguini to do as he pleased. Snape challenged the professor’s knowledge head-on and managed to stay correct throughout it in a mesmerizing display of magic James had never heard of.

James stared dumbly at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes, and before he could think too much about it, managed to compare the two—how they taught, how they spoke, how they carried themselves and their body language—and to his immediate dismay, one was far more qualified than the other, and it wasn’t Professor Borguini.

Fair, Professor Borguini stood with his back straight and seemed interested in Snape’s words at first, but he wouldn’t move from his spot near the Slytherins nor would he attempt to take control of the conversation to save himself the embarrassment of having a student prove him wrong. He followed Snape’s pace and that was his downfall.

Snape, on the complete opposite, walked with one hand behind his back, head held high and confidence in his words—he would gesture with his free hand while stating facts, but wouldn’t mind backing down and allowing others to speak, tilting his head to seem attentive and curious. This is without mentioning how he praises those brave enough to follow his lead to speak in class and elaborated further into others’ words.

Borguini was trying to seem smarter and stronger than his students to appease the purebloods while Snape was teaching all of them instead.

James was caught wondering if this year’s DADA classes would’ve been better if a person in the likes of Snape had taken hold of the reins. James could not but think Snape would be a good professor for difficult subjects such as Potions and Arithmancy, what with the way he just nonchalantly handed the information, warned about possible dangers, and made it seem so easy to understand. All qualities Professor Borguini lacked. However, as he suddenly remembered who Snape was, a chill went down his spine.

He realised he was complimenting Snape. Why was he complimenting him?

All his observations were true, sure, but then again, James always thought Snape strong and witted, but he never admitted it—not to anyone nor himself. And yet, here he was, waxing poetry in his inner thoughts about the Slytherin.

Was this a new type of curse? One that forces the target to confess their sins and admit things they didn’t want to, even if internally? When was he cursed? Is this a prank? Is he been pranked right now?

Simply speaking, James just couldn’t admit he was impressed with the other’s craft and magic, or how he found Snape admirable to always be back on his feet after a prank or a duel. No matter how impressed he was by Snape’s self-made spells such as the Langlock (which causes one's tongue to affix to the roof of their mouth), or the Muffliato (which conceals sounds), James could never, ever, admit the level of admiration he held for the Slytherin, lest he loses his friends and reputation.

Lost in his own musing and inner panic, he almost didn’t hear Professor Borguini announcing a duel.

A duel between himself and Snape.

A professor challenging a student.

James would’ve been gleeful had it been any other classmate under different circumstances. Between his housemates, friends and enemies, no one has what it takes to duel with an ex-Auror—and James would have fun with it since most professors usually do unconventional things such as a challenge to teach their students something important, not humiliate them. But in this situation, taking into consideration Professor Borguini’s short temper when related to his reputation and the way Snape practically walked all over him to prove the Professor wrong, it wasn’t funny at all. In fact, from his point of view, Professor Borguini seemed to want to take petty revenge on Snape.

It was pathetic. Borguini was acting pathetic and it disgusted James on behalf of Snape.

Even if helping a Slytherin went against all his codes of honour, James promised to interfere if the Professor acted out of line. Not that he hadn’t broken those codes before; he saved Snape once after all, but no matter. He wouldn’t think about anything unimportant for he needed to pay attention to the duel and be prepared.

However, as the duel progressed, James felt less ready to pounce and more in complete and utter awe.

Because Snape was winning… by an embarrassingly large margin.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Snape was reflecting off the professor’s spells one by one with barely any movements or thoughts, then countering them back with his own effortless spells while dancing around the Professor with calculated steps. He seemed so natural doing it, not at all his brash and eager demeanour when duelling James himself. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Snape could hold his own against Borguini, but even so, the professor continued to talk him down with sarcastic or mocking comments.

That’s when Snape stopped, brought a finger to his lips and shushed the professor.

It was so sudden and so cheeky that it startled a surprised chuckle from James.

Lily, who was standing nearby, swatted at his arm lightly as a warning to stop antagonizing the professor, but when James looked back, she had the biggest smile on her face while staring at the scene unfolding. She looked proud, perhaps relieved, while staring at Snape.

Was this Snape the one she knew? A composed and knowledgeable fighter with a knack for the dramatic, carrying a large arsenal of spells and the creativity to use them in a way never expected by his opponent. Someone who insightfully included his less versed in the art of duelling classmates and brought it upon himself to explain the sport, strategies and personal rules to keep themselves safe. All while dodging and keeping Professor Borguini at bay.

It was fascinating to see; even James had to admit.

And when they thought it couldn’t get any better, the lake’s water started to raise. An agglomeration of murky greenish water big enough to cause massive damage if left in the hands of someone inexperienced, yet Snape seemed unbothered, showing a level of mastery of his magical control unattained by any of their classmates. One, two, three jets of water, proving he too mastered a Duo and a Tria as if it was nothing, bringing Professor Borguini closer to falling on his knees! And if that wasn’t enough to convince his fellow Gryffindors and the Slytherins that Snape would win the duel, the bloody water dragon did!

A water dragon spell cast in a language James didn’t recognise, so lively and real, majestically floating above them all before charging at the professor with its mighty roar, enough to rattle James’ bones and cause the hair of his nape to stand. It dispersed in a wave as the water returned to the lake and rain from the dragon’s attack started to fall—the merpeople were cheering and dancing at the shore as if witnesses of a spectacle, and James couldn’t decide if they were or not because he too was in awe. It all happened so fast, James barely registered Snape’s final words before everyone exploded in parts excitement and parts astonishment at his feats.

“That was so wicked!” Peter exclaimed near him.

Bloody brilliant! James thought fiercely, though he didn’t voice it.

After the ruckus, Snape dismissed the class and no one questioned—as if the class was his… as if the professor was the one standing instead of the one who fainted. Before anyone tried to stop him, Snape took advantage of the distraction provided by the merpeople and walked away with Professor Borguini floating right behind.

James would’ve thought it all a collective hysteria if he wasn't slightly wet by the raindrops. Even Sirius, usually the first to disregard Snape or any Slytherin, was uncharacteristically quiet in silent disbelief while Remus tried to encourage a reaction out of him. Peter seemed more inclined to attempt touching a merperson than spiral down into thoughts about what happened, composed as he was.

And James just… stopped to recollect himself with no success. His head was full of questions, all of them with no answer, and the only one who was able to fulfil his curiosity was the subject of his dismay, Snape himself.

Was Snape holding back when they duelled? He certainly hasn’t been this proficient before, in fact, he lost many times to James. Why was he so patient with James when they talked in Hagrid’s hut despite James’ inclination to disbelieve his words? Why was he so… kind to Hagrid? Why was he crying in the morning and why was he laughing with Lily moments later? Why was he so smart to the point of making a professor seem inadequate? Why was he strong enough to impress, going out of his way to teach others instead of priding himself in his knowledge?

…Why didn’t he retaliate when James attacked him on Saturday morning?

“Do you believe yourself a hero? […] You’re not a hero, Potter. You’re just an oafish dunderhead bully!”

James’ heart squeezed painfully due to the memory, and it choked him.

Ultimately, to abate the feeling, James decided to do the stupidest, most Gryffindor-like spontaneous decision he ever made, and ran after Snape towards the castle when no one was looking.

He ended up reaching Snape when the other was near the Hospital Wing.

“Snape!” James exclaimed, earning a surprised expression on Snape’s face when he stopped and turned to see who called his name. Perhaps because James followed him or because he didn’t call him Snivellus, James couldn’t tell.

The stupidity didn’t end there because apart from reaching Snape, James had absolutely no plan. Thus, he stared intensely at Snape enough to be uncomfortable only to mutter a weak, “Huh…” after all his troubles.

Snape simply raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him, surprisingly patient to allow James to recompose himself or reach the thoughts he left behind in his hurry. But after a minute or two—not that James was counting, or anything—Snape decided to end their impasse.

He sighed tiredly, long and suffering, “What do you want, Potter?” He said with a husky voice, magically overused after enhancing it in class, James supposed.

James, however, wasn’t fairing any better. “You…! That! What happened…! You… you and—and him…!” He pointed at the unconscious professor. “Out there! What was that—!?”

Snape’s eyebrows were lost in his hairline due to James’ eloquence, or lack thereof. “Calm down, Potter.” He demanded. “Breathe, think about what you’re going to say and try again for the sake of your feeble attempt at utterance.”

James frowned and huffed. Condescending arsehole, he thought, rolling his eyes. Aloud, he said, “What happened? How did you do that out there?” James decided to go with the easiest question when in context. He didn’t want to seem like a masochist by asking ‘why didn’t you hex me on Saturday? What’s wrong with you?’ or something along those lines.

Snape grimaced as if he had licked a particularly sour lemon. “When did you start concerning yourself with my business again?” He drawled.

James heard the word ‘concerning’ and his mind immediately went in a completely different direction from what Snape meant with his words. He blanched, spluttered and exclaimed, “I’m not concerned about you, what the bloody hell!?”

Snape stared silently at him in disbelief and an undertone of amusement after that. James, for his part, quickly realised how his words sounded after they came out of his mouth, and in turn, blushed behind his spectacles at the oversight.

Eventually, Snape saved him an embarrassed explanation by saying, “Look, I don’t have time for…” he gestured towards James. “This, whatever is going on with you. I have to take Mr Borguini to the Hospital Wing. He seems fine but I’m not a healer, and I’m not about to risk it by indulging you right now.” With that said, he turned and started making his way further down the corridor.

He was right. He was absolutely right, and James knew it… but, the part of his brain that’s selfless and cares about others—usually such a big part of him—seemed so small at the moment when compared to the part of his brain incessantly screaming at him to abate his curiosity and find his damn answers. He was tired of feeling like shit and wanted to find the bottom of the problem right away. Professor Borguini be damned!

Mind made up, he called after Snape once more, “Wait!”

Snape groaned but he paused and turned his attention back towards James anyway—somehow, it felt like a small victory. “What?”

“Who are you, really?” James asked and he could about see the annoyance building up behind Snape’s eyes as he sneered, but before the Slytherin could retort or laugh (You think I’m an imposter? Polyjuiced, perhaps?) James said, “I don’t mean as an impersonation, you git! I know you’re Snape—you have to be—but it doesn’t make any sense! The Snape I know wouldn’t be able to do all of that! He—he wouldn’t challenge a professor, much less win or outsmart him. He wouldn’t be friends with Hagrid either; he’s a Gryffindor who despises or is afraid of Slytherins, and would you look at that? You’re a Slytherin! And Snape, he… he—“ James choked, feeling a strange mixture between confusion and loss for no reason. He breathed deeply to force himself to say, “The Snape I know wouldn’t have walked away without cursing or hexing me after what I’ve done to him… after that prank.”

There, he said it. The reason behind it all, the Levicorpus prank had been nagging at him since day one, but it wasn’t until Snape didn’t react to it or retaliated due to it, that it intensified James’ guilt. Because Snape didn’t want revenge despite how awful things turned out to be or how miserable he was at the end—instead, he seemed to have matured quickly and forgive even quicker, coming back a changed man with a set goal that didn’t involve James at all.

When they first saw each other after the events, Snape didn’t attack him as James expected.

When they crossed paths in Hagrid’s hut, Snape seemed comfortable and confident while speaking to him, even when James was trying to convince himself that he didn’t do anything wrong.

When Snape cried, he didn’t overreact towards James’ presence, or if he’s been honest, he didn’t react to James at all.

When they were running towards DADA class, even if James was the first to notice Snape, Snape didn’t notice him back, which was unusual.

It was as if Snape didn’t care about James anymore, and James, who wanted—needed—to pay for his wrongdoings to lessen the guilt, was going insane. Because if Snape wasn’t going to do it, then who would? He’s his rival after all, right?

Right?

Snape laughed at his pathetic self.

He chuckled without an ounce of humour, once again staring at James as if reading his soul. James felt naked under his eyes. “How self-centred can someone be?” He muttered just loud enough for James to hear.

James frowned offended. He just unintentionally poured his soul out and that’s what Snape has to say about it? “What—?” He tried to ask, but Snape interrupted him.

“The Snape you know wouldn’t do all of those things?” He mocked, laughing at James as one does towards a clown. “Potter, please… the Snape you know doesn’t exist. He’s a creation of your twisted mind, broken down into tiny little pieces and rearranged into this… mould to fit your beliefs of what someone like me—a Slytherin like me—should be. Oh, he’s a Slytherin, yeah? He probably does dark magic; he probably participates in sacrificial rituals; he probably is evil. Probably, probably, probably… Nobody would want to be around him, would they? Honestly, Potter…” Snape shook his head in disappointment. “That’s the only reason I can think of as to why you decided to bother me since day one. Because looking back at our first year at Hogwarts, I can’t remember doing anything to deserve this treatment. That, or the fact that I was the Slytherin best friend of the girl you liked. Pick your poison.”

James stared, mouth slightly parted in shock. He didn’t expect that answer—he didn’t expect anything, truly, but that went way beyond anything he could’ve imagined.

He couldn’t say anything; he had no words.

Surprisingly—or perhaps not since Snape has been conducting this conversation himself since James seemed too out of it to speak properly—Snape spared him the need to reply by saying, “You don’t know me nor anything about me. What you’re witnessing is me without a filter of hatred. I’m tired of hating everything and wallowing in self-pity for a future I don’t have control over it, Potter. If nobody is going to help me, then I will do it myself—I will carve a better path with my own bare hands, starting at Hogwarts and then extending to all corners of my life.” Snape admitted, strangely determined even if James had no idea what struggle he seemed to be fighting with. “You and your self-centred thinking won’t get in my way. I already told you once, but it seems I have to say it again: the world doesn’t turn around you, Potter, it never did. The world doesn’t give a shit about you. I don’t give a shit about you either, and it’s time for you to Fucking. Grow. Up.” And he turned and walked away without looking back, robes billowing in his wake with Professor Borguini still floating behind him.

James could pinpoint precisely the moment his life changed forever. On the 1st of September 1971, he sat in the same compartment as a beautiful and excited girl named Lily Evans. But that wasn’t what changed his life—James had seen his fair share of beautiful women even at a young age (his mother, his cousin’s wife, the front neighbour), no. What changed his life was looking at the girl’s best friend, a shy boy with dark hair and pale skin who wasn’t participating in their conversation, and saying that the Slytherin house was the wrong choice among all four.

Because that boy he thought shy and small, looked at him with a frown between his eyebrows and fiercely stated, “My mum is a Slytherin you know, and she’s the best mum there is. She told me all houses are important and she will be happy with whatever house they placed me at, but there’s nothing wrong with being a Slytherin… you seem to be the only one wrong here.”

That boy was Severus Snape.

James remembers responding to his statement with, “If you’re defending the snakes, you seem to be one of them, all right.” While crossing his arms. He didn’t want to admit he felt offended, so he tried imitating his father and acting tough.

But the boy smirked that signature smile of his that would haunt James every day thereafter as if he had won the argument. “Fine by me.”

That boy was placed in Slytherin.

Unseen by anyone, alone in the middle of a corridor between the Hospital Wing and the courtyard, the most popular boy of Hogwarts, Gryffindor’s golden boy fell on his knees and there he stayed half in shock and half lost in muddy thoughts for a while. Because he now realised, even after being told and hinted at for many years, that almost everything he knew was a lie.

Ravenclaws weren’t all stuck-up nerds.

Hufflepuffs weren’t all weak or overly kind.

Gryffindors weren’t all heroes.

…Severus Snape wasn’t the evil he thought he was.

Thus, Slytherins weren’t all evil either.

And if James thought having his life slightly tilted to the wrong side felt awful before, now it went completely upside-down.

After that conversation, James avoided Snape like the plague. However, his attempts to forget the Slytherin were proven futile because Snape was everywhere through the rumours of the Black Lake’s Dragon.

His fellow Gryffindors’ fifth years—Peter among them—made an exceptional job recounting the story of how Professor Borguini fainted after being attacked by a water dragon, with flares and dramatic like the retelling of an old battle or a fairy tale. However, nobody seemed to take it seriously, even the Gryffindors themselves, especially when informed Snape was the one to summon the dragon—people preferred to think an actual dragon lived in the Black Lake instead.

It frustrated James’ classmates to no end. Gryffindor and Slytherin, with few exceptions, would try their best to convince others they weren’t lying: Snape did summon a dragon, and Snape did defeat the professor. But all their efforts were batted aside and ignored, which had most of them give up on the cause. It didn’t help that Professor Borguini himself, after waking up, would fervently deny the claims, and nobody had a reason not to believe him.

The situation was best explained by the simple words of sixth-year Gryffindor, Gideon Prewett, soon-to-be next year’s Head Boy: “What? Severus Snape? The slimy Slytherin, James Potter punching bag? You gotta be kidding me, mate. No one will believe that bull.” And sure enough, no one did, except for the ones who witnessed it unfold.

Besides, Snape himself wasn’t helping the situation. If asked about the claims he wouldn’t confirm nor deny, instead acting as if the person who asked was mental for even entertaining the idea that he could do such a thing. Worse yet, when asked to prove himself, he would laugh and walk away, not at all bothered to be called a coward behind his retreating back.

The silver lining was the rapidly growing respect towards Snape. Eret Campbell and Abagail Berrycloth started following Snape’s footsteps like ducklings, allegedly because Snape seemed to explain magic better than most of their professors, and as they both were muggle-born, the viable information Snape shared about the witchzarding world was a blessing towards their clueless selves, to which they were grateful. Every launch, at the end of the Slytherin table near where the professors sat, Snape was seen surrounded by students drawn by Snape’s competency as described by Campbell and Berrycloth, sharing ideas and making clever talk.

Even after it happened for two weeks straight, it continued to baffle most Hogwarts students.

James remained silent about the whole situation. Mentally, he was cursing anyone brave enough to dare mouth the name Snape in any conversations in his proximity, but on the outside, he seemed calm, collected and indifferent about the story (Though, let it be known that no one fell for his acting. Everyone knew he looked perturbed every time the name Snape was brought out, so they avoided the topic when around him). However, if asked about the event, James wouldn’t lie. He would admit through clenched teeth that Snape indeed defeat the professor with a water dragon spell, as it was the truth.

Unfortunately, his confirmation of the situation had the opposite effect.

“Oh, I gotcha now! This whole rumour thing about Snape is one of your pranks, innit Potter?” Prewett had said one breakfast and the entire idea blew up like fiendfyre on dry grass. On the next day, no one talked about Snape or believed the water dragon rumour anymore.

For some reason, James felt remorseful. This was a perfect example of his influence on Snape’s life, and he didn’t like what he was seeing.

Now, three weeks after the events of DADA class and one week after returning to the Potter Manor with Sirius in tow, James is still thinking about it!

He couldn’t help it. As the days passed, James became more recluse, refusing to leave his room other than to eat or when his parents were too concerned. Slowly as if a tortured mind in disguised, he was reminded of every single wrongdoing he had done towards Snape or others like him throughout the years. Samir Naidu, a Slytherin year-mate, didn’t deserve to be shunned for his small physic and soft words. Malinalxochitl “Malina” Greengrass, another Slytherin year-mate, didn’t deserve to be disrespected just because she pried herself on her appearance more than other girls (and especially not because she rejected Sirius for reasons unknown). Merlin, even Abigail Berrycloth, muggle-born Slytherin, was made fun of at least once, just because she wore a dark green sweater down to Hogsmeade.

He remembered first-year Regulus Black, Sirius’ younger brother, with tears threatening to fall under his eyes when told by James that Sirius didn’t want to involve himself with any Slytherin, and the reminder of all the suffering that went behind the scenes because of James’ action enhanced his depressive state.

James Potter was drowning. Pulled back by the ankles deep down the murky water of his thoughts, no matter how many times he seemed close to resurfacing. Unbelievably skinny and water-wrinkled hands shielded his sight of the light as he struggled to break free, and deep down he went, trapped inside his self-made misery and guilt, hearing the echoes of what he assumed must be in the mind of others he had tormented. He heard muffled cries, screams of despair, and long monologues about hatred—“I can’t believe Potter did that again!” “He’s the worst!” “Why must I suffer in the hands of that tarnished Gryffindor!?” “I will never recover from this!” “It’s your fault I’m this way!” “You did this, James Potter!”

“[…] I don’t give a shit about you either, and it’s time for you to Fucking. Grow. Up.”

James remained another night wide awake, curled up in bed and softly crying into his pillow.

And thus, the James Potter everyone knew, drowned in his own tears and died.

Chapter Text

Things only changed for James a few days later, when his father Fleamont announced a business trip during an uneventful dinner James was forced to attend.

“It’s another potioneer convention I’ve been invited to.” He admitted to his wife Euphemia when asked to elaborate further. “They want me to perform a speech during the event to encourage new potioneers to take their inventions into fruition as the famous creator of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.” He joked, rolling his eyes.

Euphemia laughed politely and so did Sirius, but James remained quiet, stirring his food around on the plate.

Without a reaction from his son, Fleamont cleared his throat and continued, “Anyway, you’re aware of the decline of decent potioneers since the downfall of the Prince, correct?” He asked, to which Euphemia nodded soundlessly, half paying attention to him and enjoying her meal. “Right, of course. You know how the Potions Association works—they want to force the British Isles potioneers to compete with Central Europe and the Apennine Peninsula as we used to, decades ago when the Prince was dominating the market. All bollocks in my opinion, but they're attempting to strengthen ties between the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers and the French equivalent of it. What was it again? Société de Potions Bon Vivant?” Fleamont butchered his French pronunciation beautifully but he heeded no mind. “Something along those lines. Anyway, they want to reinforce our connections to gain some political power and profit from the French rapidly growing income, so they called me to represent the Brits because they don’t have a better option, I assume.”

Euphemia scoffed around her bite of roasted lamb. “Every time the Potion Association needs to gloat, you’re packing your trunk and flying across the globe. Don’t they understand that you’re already too old to represent them? Vultures that they are, they don’t care about your health and it worries me. I mean, where is this event even happening, Fleamont?”

Fleamont Potter was a smart man. He took a large bite of his food and chewed diligently to avoid answering his wife at first because he knew she wouldn’t like the answer, but after swallowing, he had no more excuses and sighed. “The French have gained a considerable amount of power as far as potion-making goes in the past few years due to Grindelwald’s war.” He stated. “As such, their government will be sponsoring the event. It will be held in France at the Société-something headquarters.”

Euphemia looked properly flabbergasted. “France? France, Fleamont!?”

“Why are you angry at me? I didn’t plan the event, my dear.” Fleamont raised his hands in surrender.

“Among the French, innit? I can’t believe this.” She pinched the bridge between her brows and sighed.

Euphemia Potter nee Beliveau had her reason to dislike the arrangement. She was the only daughter of a mixed family composed of a British man and a French woman who lived amidst the authoritarian French state of Vichy France, which was allied with the Soviet Union after the Fall of France in 1940. Due to her father’s status as a British man, and her own mixed blood, after the British navy destroyed the French Fleet at Mers-el-Kebir, her family was shunned and harassed by the Frenchmen. Fortunately, as a magical family, Euphemia and her parents were one of the few capable to travel further north towards Paris and escape the war via Floo. As soon as they moved to live with her father’s side of the family in England, she met Fleamont. 

“It’s all right, Euphemia my dear.” Fleamont comforted. “I know you’re not very fond of the… huh… country, but the war is long over. There’s no reason to refuse the invitation now.”

“…Fine.” She conceded with much effort, brutally cutting the piece of meat on her plate to vent her inner turmoil. “However, if you meet a Frenchman named Bernard, do me a favour darling, and punch ‘em square in his bloody face, yeah?”

“Oh, please, not this Bernard story again.” Fleamont slid a hand down his face tiredly. “We both know he didn’t deserve you, dear. Also, mind your words when around the children, Mia.”

“Oh, shut it, Mont. They are both sixteen; they say worse things at school.”

Sirius gasped, melodramatically placing a hand upon his heart. "My, oh my Mrs Potter. How could you assume such things about us?”

“It’s Euphemia or Mia, Sirius. No Mrs Potter here, it makes me feel old.” She lamented.

“Oh, Mrs Potter—Mia,” Sirius quickly corrected after she glared at him. “I am so unbelievably sorry to be the bringer of bad news, but—“

“If you say I’m old, Sirius, so Merlin Forbid, I will Silencio you for the rest of the day.” She warned with a commanding finger.

Sirius brought his fingers to his lips and mimicked a zipper being closed before morphing his hand into a scout salute (even if he didn’t quite understand what a scout salute was) to further emphasize his promise to shut up. Euphemia seemed pleased with it.

Fleamont chuckled at the two. “Anyhow, I will be leaving for Paris in about a week—“

“Paris?” James muttered for the first time this evening, perhaps in weeks, after hearing the city’s name. A shine previously lost in his dulled eyes returned together with a memory from something peculiar Snape had told him.

“[…] you might consider visiting the Louvre in Paris, more specifically, Magik la Louvre—the witchzard museum underneath the muggle Louvre. They have a copy of Gaderian’s memoir divided into sections where he wrote about his life and the life of his father.”

For once, the reminder of Snape didn’t seem painful.

James grasped the memory with both hands like a dying man, resolve reinvigorated by an already forming and no less stupid idea. He needed to know if Snape's words were true with his own eyes.

“Y-yes…?” Fleamont, surprised by his son’s sudden interest, stuttered before clearing his throat to try again. “I mean, yes! Paris, I will be going to Paris in a week’s time.”

“…Dad, is the Louvre Museum in Paris?” He asked carefully while avoiding his parent’s twin gaze, staring at his plate instead.

Fleamont hummed in thoughts. “Hmm, I think so, yes… why, may I ask?”

“Is it true there’s a magical Louvre underneath the muggle one? What was it called? Magik la Louvre, yeah?” He asked with an undertone of barely concealed hope, raising his head almost shyly.

“I’m not sure—“ Fleamont tried to say only to be interrupted by Euphemia.

“Yes, it does.” She stated with finality. When all boys at the table stared at her with curiosity in their eyes, she explained, “The Floo my family and I used to escape France was made available to us only in Paris. There was a queue and we were nowhere close to being the first ones, so we hide in Paris for some days—visit the Louvre once, saw the Mona Lisa and Vénus de Milo… then, we descended the invisible floor under the spiral staircase into Magik la Louvre.” She shrugged as if it was nothing. “However, as far as remember, the place was rather… dull. There weren’t many people down there. But then again, we were caught in the middle of a war—perhaps people weren’t fortunate to visit the museum then.”

James felt his hopes rising even more. “Was there anything about a memoir?”

“Oh, James…” His mother said with her voice entwined in sadness, and James knew what was coming. “I barely remember anything from our visit. I wasn’t in the best place of mind, you see?” She explained further and James fought with himself to not feel disappointed with her answer. He knew from his mother’s stories how awful things were in her early life, and he wouldn’t judge her memory from that time. Ever.

Fleamont, seeing the spark he so missed in his son’s eyes slowly dulling out again, asked in a hurry, “Why? Is there something you wanted to see in the museum?”

“Huh?” James said distractedly. “Oh, nothing important dad… it’s just… someone told me about the pages of an old memoir being displayed at Magik la Louvre, and their content interested me, so I wanted to know if it was true. Is all.” He shrugged.

“…Now that you mentioned…” Euphemia muttered, catching the boys’ attention once more. “The pages of an old memoir, is it…? Was it written in English or French?” She asked.

“The writer was the son of an English man; I assume he too was English,” James said.

“Well, you may recall that I said there weren't many people there. The majority of them were centred on a particular exhibition. It was these glass frames that were hung on the walls as if they were paintings, and inside were those old pages with clear English writing. I don't remember what was written because I remember not paying attention to it, but it sounds about right given what you described.” Euphemia confirmed.

James inhaled sharply. “…Is it true, then?” He muttered to himself loud enough for the others to hear.

“Prongs?” Sirius called, startling James out of his reverie. “Are you all right? You’re weirding me out, mate.”

“I’m fine—by the way, dad, can I come with you to Paris?” James barely answered Sirius’ question before asking his father in a hurry, eyes glistening with determination behind his spectacles. He appeared no different from a child once more, begging for toys.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at the cut way James responded to him but said nothing of it. Fleamont, on the other hand, seemed pleased by James’ enthusiasm. “Of course, son! I’ll do you one even better—we can all—“

“I’m not placing a single toe back in France, Fleamont,” Euphemia interjected, deadpanning.

“We can all three of us—“ He pointed at James, Sirius and himself after clearing his throat and correcting his statement. “Go together. It will be like a small family vacation… except I will be at the convention while you two visit the museum.” He frowned at his thoughts. “Which means we won't enjoy the museum together, which proves that's not how a family vacation works at all, huh... well, you get the gist of it, I hope?” He finished lamely.

James laughed merrily. The sound of his previously lost laugh brought smiles to the faces of all three other occupants of the table. “I get it, dad. Don’t mind too much.”

“Hey, why am I going as well? I’m not interested in any old stinking museums or whatever have you.” Sirius asked.

“So you can watch over James for me.” Fleamont winked at him with a mischievous smile playing around his features.

“Oy, and who’s going to watch over Sirius?” James complained but was only met with his family’s laughter.

James felt better than ever now that he had a clear goal on the horizon to follow. He will determine whether what Snape told him was true, at any cost—he swore.

One week later, father, son and honorary brother found themselves at Bristol Airport Terminal on portal 18½, hidden between 18a and 18b one hour earlier for their Floo Session.

James carried a simple trunk filled with a few clothes because, as Euphemia suggested (re: ordered), they only intended to spend one night in Paris. He also carried his toy golden snitch as a means of distraction, fidgeting with it to pass the time. A similar thought occurred to Sirius, who kept fiddling with the Black Heir silver band ring that was resting on his left hand—a reminder of where he came from.

James always found the idea of a Flooport to be needlessly complicated. All the steps ranging from registration to trunk inspection and the long wait afterwards seemed to bat all his eagerness away, leaving him a boredom mess. But they had no other choice since home floos can’t make International travel (nor can public floos, for that matter) for safety purposes, especially after the last witchzarding war.

He was only released from his suffering when the floo attendant called forth the passengers of their floo travel. They got into a queue and entered the floo station one by one with the destination set towards Paris.

The floo travel was the worst he had yet experienced since James had never left the British Isles. Fortunately, the travel agency provided him with a paper bag and a small vial of potion in case he felt sick and vomited… which, he did. Quite a lot, to his dismay. However, after regurgitating his last eating sandwich and taking a sip of the potion—not the strongest nor of the best quality he had ever tasted, he will admit—James felt a sliver better, and was able to follow his father and Sirius into the Limousine provided by the Potion Association to escort them to the also provided hotel.

They didn’t unpack, but all boys took their turns showering and dressing for the day ahead. Fleamont wore elegant formal robes with rubies marrying the brooches and cufflinks on his tie and sleeves, and his cape was a simple black on the outside but the inside was velvety red. He styled his greying hair back and magically looped the ends of his moustache like a diplomatic gentleman, looking quite dashing and important despite his age, exactly like the Association demanded.

“Wow, dad. I haven’t seen you dressed for business in a while. It suits you.” James complimented while buttoning up his long sleeves shirt.

“The secret to fame, James, is to look important as much as you are important,” Fleamont winked at him and smirked smugly while fixing his tie in front of the mirror.

James shuddered. “Oh no, I shouldn’t have complimented you.”

None the wiser about James’ discomfort, Fleamont placed both hands on his hips and posed for the mirror. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the greatest of them all?”

“Oh damn! Oh Lord, Mr Potter! Flamboyant as ever, uh hum!” The mirror praised, sounding like an older American woman with a dramatic flair in her words for some reason. “I wish you were nearer, though I’m just a mirror, it could not be clearer that you’re my greatest dearer!”

Fleamont laughed. “Why thank you, thank you.”

“I’ve created a monster,” James whispered in horror, worried about the people in the convention having to deal with the inflated ego of his father. “Quick Sirius, tell dad he looks ridiculous or he will be insufferable later—“

Snap! Suddenly James was partially blinded by a small flashbang. He blinked rapidly to adjust his vision, removing his spectacles and cleaning his eyes, before placing them back on the tip of his nose to stare at his friend, Sirius. The teen, in turn, was caring a shining new muggle Polaroid in one hand, and shaking an undeveloped picture in the other.

“Sorry Prongs, but your face was hilarious! I had to take a picture of it.” He grinned, holding the photo up close to inspect its quality.

James rolled his eyes. “Warn a wizard before taking a picture, Sirius. You blinded me.”

Sirius didn’t seem to hear, laughing his head off at the picture, or more specifically, at James’ expression. Fleamont rounded the teen to peak at the picture, and he too started laughing jovially. James just pouted at them, displeased.

After the laughs died down, all three of them were ready to head out. Fleamont guided the two teens down the hotel lobby towards the Limousine and asked the driver to deliver his boys outside the Louvre first before driving him to the convention. The driver conceded, and about twenty minutes later, Sirius and James were standing by themselves at the bus stop outside the world’s most famous museum, from which they leisurely walked towards the entrance located inside the pyramid.

The entrance was no hassle as James simply showed the front guard a piece of paper that changed accordingly to what document or ticket, in this case, is needed to grant permission—his father’s idea and execution as he charmed the paper himself. Sirius did the same and soon, both boys were inside the glass pyramid-like structure. From there, the entrance into Magik la Louvre was as simple as going up the spiral staircase, and then down again, past the invisible floor.

However, one thing nobody tells you when regarding the Louvre is how enormous it truly is. Up the staircase, James admired the palace surrounding the pyramid through the glassy windows, reminding James of historical structures or government facilities, and he whistled under his breath, impressed. Once a fortress, the Louvre Museum was reconstructed to serve as a reminder of history through art pieces from muggles to muggles. Not that the paintings by Leonardo da Vinci and Vincent Van Gogh, or the sculpture by Alexandre de Antioquia didn’t capture the attention of witchzards, it’s just difficult to compare magical moving portraits and living statues to muggle broken sculptures and ageing paintings, in James’ opinion. But he digressed. Perhaps the place enchants only the likes of Snape or ones closely related.

He did travel all the way from England to visit the Louvre only because of Snape, after all, so he had the right to guess.

“Why are you standing there, staring at a wall, Prongs?” Sirius asked annoyed. “Come on mate, we still need to get down there to the actual museum.” Sirius passed by James, patting his shoulder to guide him downstairs.

“Why the hurry, Pads? Dad’s going to stay at the convention for a while. We’ll be here for a couple of hours at least.” Despite his words, James did allow Sirius to guide him downstairs.

“Sure. Let’s stop to admire the architecture of that wall for hours on end.” He stopped on the step above James and placed a hand under his chin, immediately adopting a pensive expression on his face. “Ah, yes. Such intricate bricks.”

“Oh, bugger off, Pads,” James said while laughing.

They descended the steps carefully, mindful to avoid eye contact with the muggles around them. The entrance to Magik la Louvre is similar to Platform 9¾ on King’s Cross Station, in which the passage is magically invisible and only accessible to witchzards. Once standing on the last steps of the staircase, instead of hitting the floor and walking away, the magical person may continue to descend invisible steps further towards the reception of the witchzard museum, and that’s exactly what James and Sirius did.

James’ foot went through the floor and he involuntarily shivered at the feeling. He was reminded as to why they all run through the portal at King’s Cross instead of simply walking since the magic of the portal feels unpleasant. It’s an uncomfortable and dizzying feeling as the charms try to ascertain if the person is magical or not. Goosebumps travelled up his legs but he tried not to mind, quickening his pace to traverse through the portal at once, never mind that he almost lost balance and fell the steps down if not for Sirius’ grip on his arm. But eventually, though the pair of them walked like newborn fawns tripping over their own legs, they found themselves under the floor.

At the inside of an upside-down pyramid perfectly mirroring the one above, James and Sirius reached the real bottom of the stairs.

They were startled by the hundreds of light bulbs seamlessly floating above them, illuminating their way like the candles of Hogwarts. Inside each bulb was a glowing fairy doing mundane things—reading, grooming or sleeping, you have it—while paying them no attention. Those little glass enclosures around the fairies were fascinating to James. He had never seen something like it as decoration before and found himself impressed by the Frenchmen’s creativity.

Eventually, reaching the reception, James was pleasantly surprised to note the entrance accepted Galleons as payment since he had no French currency. He paid for himself and Sirius, and before the dog Animagus could complain, James ushered him inside, following close behind.

As they observed their surroundings, the word brilliant couldn’t even describe what they saw.

Pillars—some made of marble, others of wood, while others were actual trees—held the artificial sky above them, which changed accordingly to the exhibition. From sunrise to sunset, in some the smoke of fires spread across the clouds, and in others, the sky was perfectly even while stars twinkled merrily and Mars painted a red spot in the darkness of night.

On each wall, crystal-clear windows towered over them, displaying many events from history as if they were happening before their own eyes. James watched King Louis XVI being bodily dragged up to the guillotine, screaming and thrashing before his head rolled onto the platform towards one of his executioner’s feet during the French Revolution. He watched the goblin Urg lead the eighteenth battalion of rebel goblins down the streets of London, marching towards St. Mungus Hospital in order to hinder the supply of potions and medical aid for the witchzard’s front line in the goblin war, thus earning himself the title of Urg the Unclean. He bore witness to the Treaty of Versailles signing alongside Müller, as well as the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand himself a few windows down the aisle. He watched amazed as a wizard, formally known as Jack the Ripper, apparated away after committing his first murder, and so much more.

The historical events—magical or otherwise—changed into habitats ranging from the Arizona Desert to the depths of the Amazon Rainforest displaying magical creatures. A thunderbird family resting in their nest on a massive saguaro cactus. Or a Ukrainian Ironbelly building a resting place by rearranging the ground leaves of the Ukrainian Carpathians near Hora Shpytsi. He was left speechless after witnessing a Boitatá, a large fire snake living under the Amazon River, burning down a muggle construction site as the Caipora watched and whistled in delight from a distance, and once again, they saw so much more.

Walking further into the museum, they reached the paintings and statues created by witchzards, and as James observed, they were very lively.

A portrait titled La Belle Dame—not to be confused with Sir Francis Bernard Dicksee’s La Belle Dame sans Merci—was gushing in French about her dreadlocks intertwined with flower stems, which would never decay, as she was a painting.

Another painting, Mes Mains Ont Ouvert L'océan—which depicted a pair of hands opening the ocean like one separates sand—was furiously discussing with a marble statue of a Banshee across the corridor, both of which were using sign language.

But what mesmerized James the most had to be La Réplique Parfaite - Mona Lisa, and as the name insinuated, it was a perfect replica of the Mona Lisa as if painted by a witchzard, in this case, by a witch named Bénédicte Albert. She, the Mona Lisa, wasn’t stoically looking ahead at the viewer like her muggle counterpart; rather she was observing the world through the gap between her intertwined hands like a child pretending to use a pirate telescope. James was slightly confused at first but as Sirius pointed it out, they had a fair guess as to why she was doing that. Across the room, the painting Celui Qui Aime Le Plus (The One Who Loves the Most) was mirroring her, but his hands were forming a heart instead.

It was adorable!

See? That’s what James meant when comparing muggle art to witchzard art—there’s just no comparison. But then again, the Mona Lisa was first created by a muggle; James could at least acknowledge that. 

Throughout it all, Sirius kept taking pictures of everything they came across.

“Weren’t you the one not interested to visit the museum before?” James jokingly said with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Sirius “I-dislike-anything-remotely-nerdy” Black had the gall to blush. “Shut up, James. I’m just testing my new camera.” He said while burning through his third set of Polaroid films just this afternoon. How much testing does he need to do? James just snickered knowingly.

As the Mona Lisa came to pass, they finally ventured into the artefact venue of the museum, where James expected to encounter Gaderian’s memoir. But first, they observed—and in Sirius’s case, took pictures—of everything they came across.

They watched Poseidon’s trident floating inside a glass structure while the battle of The Basilica Neptuni played behind the artefact as Poseidon and Neptune fought for the right of the trident. The Ten Commandments, written on two stone tablets by Moses were displayed next to The Ark of the Covenant (replica) made of solid gold instead of shittim wood (acacia) while the Battle of Jericho played in the background. The Arthurian Holy Grail—a brass cup—pouring infinite water into the hands of the statue of The Damsel of the Sanct Grael by Dante Gabriel Rossetti while the dove above her head would fly down every so often to take a sip of the water. Pandora’s Box and its sealed disasters, a Centaurs’ Bow as described in Dante’s Inferno, Yggdrasil seeds ("glorious tree of good measure, under the ground") and so on and forth.

James was particularly fascinated by the Jester Hat of Triboulet (Nicolas Ferrial 1479-1536) the jester for kings Louis XII and Francis I of France. He was famous for eluding execution due to offending the king by asking him to die of old age instead of decapitation, to which the king complied after a good laugh.

Sirius preferred The Capitoline Wolf (replica), a bronze statue of a she-wolf raising two young boys. This one, however, was alive—licking the tufts of hair on her babies’ heads and whining softly to elude them back asleep. It may or may not have to do with the children’s names—Romulos and Remus—the same as their best friend. Sirius made sure to take many pictures of the statue to show Remus later.

However, amidst all exhibitions, one stood out among the others without it being the memoir James was looking for.

It was a rose. An entirely black rose.

Le Cadeau Du Marcheur Des Ombres was its name. The Gift of the Shadow Walker the plate magically translated.

Shadow Walker are creatures fairly unknown, it read. What they are or where they come from is unknown as are their intentions on Earth. The only thing proven true about the creature is their ability to hide and walk through the shadows, though they are speculated to manipulate souls as well. The Gift of the Shadow Walker or The Black Rose was a rose gifted by a Shadow Walker to a woman in order to console her husband’s death. Allegedly, the woman claimed that the Walker infused her husband’s soul into the rose so they would remain together even after his passing, consequently turning the rose black as a shadow. After the woman’s death, the rose travelled from hand to hand until it landed at the Louvre around the eighteenth hundreds.  

“Huh…” James was intrigued, but he didn’t know why. A seemly immortal black rose with the soul of a man infused into it wasn’t something he usually liked to read about, less knowing it existed in the first place since it reminded him of Dark Magic—and a creature capable to travel in the shadows? Seems like a Dark Creature to him. Nevertheless, the crown of purely black petals of the rose was as beautiful as it would get, James thought. Ultimately though, James shook his head and decided to leave it be.

Before he could step aside and head further down the venue, Sirius snapped a quick picture of the rose and shook the undeveloped film as he had done with all other exhibitions. However, upon inspection, he frowned. “Oh, bollocks. The glass is reflecting the flash.” He said displeased.

James also frowned. So far, none of the other exhibitions had had any issues with Sirius' camera's flash, so James peered over Sirius' shoulder at the picture.

Nothing was out of the ordinary apart from the flash reflecting on the glass and obscuring the rose, but as James looked closer, he traced the silhouette of the white flash with his pointing finger while Sirius held the picture, and they were both shocked to notice it was shaped to resemble a man’s face. One downcast and quite pitiful—probably because he was alone without his lover.

Both teens looked at the flower, then at each other, and they nodded to themselves before walking away without saying a word about it. They can barely handle the ghosts of Hogwarts without adding another to the mix, thank you very much.  

But as they walked further ahead, it became clear the artefact venue was near its end, and there was no sign of the memoir.

“I don’t understand…” James muttered. “Since it’s a memoir it should be in this section of the museum, right? But I can’t find it anywhere…” Was this it? Was Snape’s speech about Godric and Salazar a lie to get under James’ skin after all? Did he lie as a way to seem clever or did he plan for James to waste his time on his behalf, knowing James would do as he asked?

“It might be somewhere else?” Sirius suggested. “It depends on the content of it, I think. Which reminds me… you never told me who wrote the memoir… or what’s written in it at all, even though you said you were interested in it…?” Sirius arched an eyebrow.

“I didn’t?” James asked to which Sirius shook his head to deny it. “Oh… sorry, mate, I may’ve been too excited at the time.” James apologized sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s Gaderian’s memoir, you know… the son of Godric Gryffindor?”

For a moment, Sirius just stared at him in complete silence… then, “What?”

James blinked. “G-Gaderian’s memoir—“

“No, no. I got that part,” Sirius said while massaging the bridge of his eyebrows. “I just don’t understand why in the bloody hell you didn’t tell me we came here looking for a piece of Gryffindor’s history! What the hell, James! Here I was thinking it was just an old book with nothing interesting to it, but it was Gryffindor’s—oh, for fuck sake!” He exclaimed in the middle of the museum, drawing some bystanders’ attention towards him. James had to laugh it off and wave those people way before tugging Sirius to a more recluse area.

“For Merlin’s sake, Sirius, would you kindly scream louder for the ones in the back?” James said sarcastically, though it didn’t come across to Sirius as he inhaled a lot of air to do just as James asked. Fortunately for everyone involved, James covered his mouth before he could actually scream louder. “It was a joke, you git!”

Sirius retorted back but the teen couldn’t understand anything as it was muffled by James’ hand on his mouth. “Oh, shut up. No more screaming for you—in fact, don’t speak a thing. Let’s just keep searching for the memoir in peace and quiet—“

“S’cuse me,” someone with a heavy French accent said beside them and both teens jumped and screamed like little girls at the sudden stranger. While trying to recompose themselves from the fright, they looked to the side to see who it was that scared them and found a young employee of the museum—judging by his clothes and name tag (Clément Pelletier)—standing with his hands behind his back and an amused look in his eyes. “S’cuse me,” he said again after James and Sirius seemed more composed, and smile at them. “I couldn’t but notice you were talking about the memoir of Gryffindor…?” He inquired.

James sighed, trying to compose his fast-beating heart. “Yes, we were. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of it, you know. I’m a Gryffindor, you see…” James smiled back.

“Oh, an Englishman… two Englishman, I mean.” Clément laughed. “We ‘aven’t seen much Englishmen ‘ere for a while, much le’ two.”

James felt like a rare magical creature stared down by a Frenchman. Considering the stories he heard from his mother, it didn’t feel pleasant at all. “Can we help you…?”

“Oh, apology. Didn’t mean to perturb. I just… ‘eard you mention the memoir and I… well, I’m new ‘ere, you see. Me papa worked ‘ere before me, and ‘e told me a lot about the Louvre, so much that working ‘ere became my dream.” He smiled brightly despite the confusion on both teens’ faces. “Papa used to quote Gryffindor’s memoir to me and me sister when we were little before it wa’ taken down.”

“Taken down?” James immediately latched into that tad bit of information in trepidation. “You’re joking—why?”

“The Englishmen didn’t seem to like it,” Clément explained. “They threatened the museum with fraud because they didn’t believe in what wa’ written on it, unfortunately.”

Sirius frowned. “Why? What was written on it—“ But before he could fully voice his question, James interrupted.

“Is there a way to read the content of it somewhere? Maybe a picture or a rewrite word for word…? Anything, please,” James begged. He couldn’t allow Sirius to know the possible contents of the memoir ahead of time, otherwise, if Snape was right, Sirius would be insufferable about it.

Clément pursed his lips, staring at James for a few seconds before saying, “But monsieur is a Gryffindor, correct? I’m afraid to say, but I believe you won’t like it either.”

“That’s for me to judge,” James replied immediately with determination in his eyes. “…Please.” He added later to not be perceived as rude.

Clément seemed reluctant. He looked to his left and right, eyed both teens from head to toe, pouted and thoughts, but eventually nodded to James’ request. “Very well, monsieur. Please, follow me.” He walked away without looking back.

James smiled triumphantly. He was about to follow when Sirius stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. “What the hell, Prongs? Are you going to follow a strange to wherever he takes you, just like that? We’re in a foreign country, James—forgot it already?” Under his breath, he muttered, “Am I the responsible one now? Bloody hell.”

“I know, Sirius, but you heard him—if the memoir was taken down, then this is our only option to find it.” James tried pleading with him. 

“Why are you doing this?” Sirius asked, frowning. “We are Gryffindors, sure, but you were never so obsessed with our house’s history before. That’s without mentioning how you’ve been acting recently—“

“We don’t have time for this now,” James talked over Sirius, detaching himself from his hand. “We will lose our guide if we wait any longer.” With that said, he sped ahead to catch up with Clément.

“Wait a minute—James!” Sirius tried to catch James’ attention again, but it was in vain. He huffed, already used to James’ spontaneous decisions but no less annoyed. “It better be worth it,” Sirius muttered before running to follow right behind his friend.

Oh, he had no idea.

Clément took them to a magically hidden ‘staff only’ door near the marble pillars from Poseidon’s Trident exhibition. They descended a small flight of stairs and walked through a long barely lit corridor towards a door labelled Stockage (Storage) at the far end.

“The page’ were stored ‘ere, near the back roll,” Clément said while unlocking the wards on the door with his wand and opening it wide for the three of them, however, he stopped both teens before they could step inside. “To be perfectly clear, bringing you two ‘ere is against my work regulations, and if it ever found out, I will be fired. So, stay close to me at all time’, and do not touch anything, entendu?”

James and Sirius both nodded, one more easily than the other. “Yes, of course.” “Sure…”

Clément smiled and nodded back before guiding them inside, illuminating their way with a weak Lumos in the tip of his wand.

Walking amidst cardboard boxes, old paraphernalia, construction materials, and dust, James hoped against hope Sirius wouldn’t question the situation again.

His hope, as James noticed, has proven to be quite useless as of late.

“So… you won’t tell me what’s going on, ey?” Sirius started.

“Pads, please…” James tried pleading again. He was so close; he didn’t have time to indulge Sirius now.

“No, James. No more excuses.” Sirius stated firmly. “First, you were all depressed back at Hogwarts. Neither Moony, Wormtail nor I managed to cheer you up, yet you refused to say what happened. Whatever it was persisted even after you returned home—“

“We returned home, Sirius.” James corrected.

“—After we returned home, sure. Don’t try to be cheeky and distract me with your kindness—I know what you’re doing.” Sirius pointed accusatorily at him; however, despite it all, James smiled. “Anyway, you continued to be all pitiful and depressed, locking yourself in your room, brooding all day and crying yourself asleep—yes, I noticed that—But the point is! As soon as Mr Potter mentioned, just mouthed, the name Paris, it felt as if the dulled embers inside you suddenly burst out like a bloody Fiendfyre for no reason at all! Then you started speaking about a memoir? Of wanting to visit the museum? James… can you at least understand why all of this is so confusing? I was—I mean, we were so worried about you, and even now, you haven’t told me what’s bugging you yet. Help me help you, mate.”

James felt guilty. He wanted to open up to Sirius like he always had, tell him about Snape and the incessant thinking in his mind—the wants (to know the real Snape) and the regrets (his actions towards Slytherins)—but James couldn’t. Sirius was like him in so many regards, if James were ever to admit his changed views of the world, he knew Sirius would take offence… because those are his beliefs too. Besides, the guilt he felt due to omitting the truth towards his friends was much lesser than anything remotely related to past mistakes (most of all involving Snape).

Hence, James opened his mouth to lie again, or change the subject, anything to make Sirius stop probing on his business without seeming rude; however, he was saved by Clément’s excited yell of, “There they are!” A little ahead of the two of them.

James embraced the opportunity, smiling apologetically while internally not feeling the slightest bit apologetic. “We can discuss this later, yeah mate?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, knowing exactly how relieved James must be feeling for the dodge. “See to it that we do, Prongs.”

Both teens approached the old table Clément had stationed himself at, and soon two pairs of eyes were staring at an open binder with plastic sleeves inside to store each page from Gaderian’s memoir individually, so making it possible to read both sides of the pages. The pages themselves were brownish almost black in the corners from age, but the handwriting was still visible. Fluid and cursive at times, and extremely illegible at others, but visible.

“Woah…” James felt a strange feeling of accomplishment wash over him, and soon after, resignation. That’s it… Snape wasn’t lying about the existence of the memoir, and to that James was sure. All he had to do now was confirm if everything else Snape said was also true.

“Come now,” Clément said, gesturing to the binder. “You can take a read yourself, monsieur, just be mindful to not damage the page when you turn it.”

James nodded, eagerly reaching the table to stand in front of the binder while Sirius crossed his arms pretending not to care but secretly watching over James’ shoulder.

The binder was open on a random page. It read:

“Is this a bloody shopping list?” Sirius asked, diverging James’ attention from the page. “Did we come from England to Paris for a shopping list?”

“…Well, I didn’t expect this from a memoir either,” James admitted, slightly weirded out. He was expecting accounts of famous events or battles never before registered in history… not a mundane shopping list.

Beside them, Clément laughed. “I bet good money monsieur Gaderian ‘ad no idea he wa’ writing a memoir in the first place. Consider it a diary instead—something ‘e carried with ‘imself everywhere. That make’ it even more viable, in my opinion.”

James nodded. It wasn’t a bibliography as he had originally thought. Instead, he was looking at a man’s personal diary… all right, okay, fine. He could deal with it.

James turned a new page:

James both heard and felt Sirius scoff above his head. “As if,” he muttered to himself.

James kept himself tight-lipped. A single page’s worth of proof wasn’t enough to convince him of Salazar Slytherin’s innocence. He turned to another random page:

“Who the hell is Darius?” Sirius asked. James turned to face him with a raised eyebrow in query, to which Sirius said, “Denova is Gaderian’s sister, making her a Gryffindor, right? But who is Darius? I’ve never heard of him…”

“…We mind as well find out,” James shrugged, turning to the previous page to see where Darius’ story started.

“What!?” Sirius exclaimed, startling both Clément and James respectively. “He was a Slytherin!”

“Yes, Sirius, we saw! Do you need to overreact every time you hear or see the name Slytherin somewhere?” He bereted his friend’s antiques, leaving Sirius gaping at him. “I’m so sorry, huh… Pelletier, we won’t scream again, I promise.” He told the poor museum employee who was still trying to calm his fast-beating heart from the fright. In a way, he’s paying comeuppance for scaring them earlier, James thought.

“Oh, you promise, innit?” Sirius said between clenched teeth.

“Be respectful, Pads. Remember, we aren’t supposed to be here. It will cost Pelletier his job if he’s found out.” James whispered-shouted.

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he did breathe deeply to calm down. “…Fine. But aren’t we done already? You’ve found the book—“

“Memoir,” James corrected.

“—Memoir already. Then, why are we still here?”

“Just a bit more reading and I will be done, Pads,” James promised. “…I guess I’m looking for something specific.”

“What is?”

“You’ll see.”

James landed on another random page near the end:

“See? This is what I’m talking about.” Sirius pointed out. “That heartless bastard! Salazar had the gall to abandon his family after his plans to impose blood purism at Hogwarts failed! Even someone who was there at the time like Gaderian agrees with me—“

“Sirius,” James interrupted before his friend started ranting about his distaste for Slytherin and anything related to it.

Sirius was taken aback by the seriousness in James’ voice. “…What?”

“Gaderian isn’t referring to any blood purism. He’s angry because Salazar seemly abandoned his family and Hogwarts behind, see?” James spoke softly while pointing carefully at the lines scribbled hastily in the paper. “Godric wasn’t even angry, Pads. He was crying…”

Something clicked in Sirius’ mind after hearing the tone in James’ words, like a puzzle piece sliding into its designated place to form a horrifying image. He took a step back, eyeing James from head to toe before muttering just loud enough for James to hear, “What are you trying to prove here, Prongs? And you better explain to me before I make the wrong assumptions.”

But James didn’t comply. Instead, he turned more pages silently until he hit the very end. There it was, staring at James like a mocking memory, just visible enough to be understood in between random scribbles and the ageing paper, in its cursives and flaring significance galore was the quote that started this little adventure to Paris.

“…Thou claim such prejudiced words with the conviction and stupidity of a man content to grow a pair of wings and fly. If thee would to jump conclusions, might as well fly high.” James read exactly as Snape had once quoted, claiming the attention of his companions. “Those were mine father’s words after I complained about Uncle Salazar once during our first hunt of the year…” James read from the memoir:

After James finished reading, they were silent.

Is it presumptuous of James to find the last words written in the memoir commendable?

He knows history, James is aware of what happened after that, and the fact Salazar never made it back as Gaderian had hoped says a lot. The man died before he could reunite with his family and friends again. He didn’t leave Hogwarts due to a rift between himself and the other founders as perceived in his History of Magic studies since, as described in the memoir, they, Salazar and Godric, departed with a hug. No, rather, he departed for reasons unknown.

Godric Gryffindor, founder of the house of Gryffindor and their symbol of courage, cried for his departed friend who never made it back to Hogwarts in the end. He defended his friend from the harsh words of his son and believed the Slytherin man to be somewhat of a brother to him. Both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw followed suit, telling stories of the man’s youth and ambition—never shunning him, never angry.

Gaderian learned to eventually forgive and pray for his uncle’s return for he had no reason to believe the man evil.

And James…

“When I was recommended this read, the same person told me Salazar Slytherin cared about anyone magical and the assumption he hated those from muggle families was a misconstrued idea,” James said. ‘Salazar wanted to protect anyone magical from the muggles—muggle-borns included—afraid they too would suffer the consequences of having magic in the land of God, as the muggles would say back then.’ Snape’s words from that fatidical encounter in Hagrid’s hut echoed in his mind.

Salazar was a great uncle loved by his family and friends as far as James could tell. They, those who knew Salazar Slytherin as he was, were crying themselves sick with worry. Whatever the reason he left, as the man who first suggested the creation of Hogwarts, it’s unfeasible to believe he would leave his life work behind. Someone who dreams since young to construct an entire magical community alongside his dearest friends and fought with tooth and nails to make it a reality wouldn’t just abandon it all for no reason, in James’ opinion. But alas, one thing was abundantly clear… Salazar Slytherin wasn’t the evil everyone perceives him as… exactly like Snape described.

It became clear, then, that Snape's words were true in more ways than just about the founders. When he called James ignorant, prejudiced, or entitled, he was speaking truths as well.

James realised with a colour of shame that the whole point of this travel, of his obsession with the memoir's existence, was not to see proof of the Slytherin's words... but to prove them false. Because, deep down, even though James knew his actions were wrong, he clung to the reality he was accustomed to. A reality where Slytherins were essentially evil and Gryffindors were heroes. He wanted everything Snape said, everything from society’s distorted view of those clad in green and silver to the realisation that James was doing—had done—things that were unforgivable for no reason other than being a git, to be false.

But the reality was: James was blind to the blatant truth dangling in front of him and it took Snape practically slapping him in the face to open his eyes.

He was a good Quidditch player, he was a good leader, and he was a Gryffindor. But none of those things made him necessarily a good person.  

“…Who?” Sirius could only hopelessly ask as what came out of James’ mouth sounded like nails on a board to him. “Who told you that?”

Finally, feeling the weight of his new reality slowing him down, James turned his attention from the binder to stare deeply into Sirius’ eyes to convey how serious he was on the matter. They just stared at each other for a while as James build his courage and Sirius grew anxious, but fortunately, the standstill was short livid.

James opened his mouth then, “The person was Severus Snape.” He said, and if those words weren’t enough to shatter Sirius’s trust in him, his next words definitely would, “And I’m starting to think he’s right.”

The James Potter everyone knew drowned and died a pitiful death, however, as if a phoenix resurrecting from its dying embers, in his place, a new James Potter was born.

One who, against all odds, believed in the words of Severus Snape.

Chapter Text

In retrospect, perhaps being blunt with Sirius wasn’t the smartest idea yet.

They were outside, sitting at the bus stop, waiting for Fleamont’s designated chauffeur to come and fetch them. While waiting, Sirius sat a few seats apart from James, arms crossed, staring right ahead with a blank face, ignoring James’ entire presence. Any attempts to draw his attention were met with a lack of response and a stretching agonizing silence since they left the museum’s Storage Room.

Sirius’s disapproval of James’ opinion became clear the moment he muttered those words about Snape.

“…You’re joking, right?” Sirius had asked right after the revelation of James’ thoughts. “You cannot be serious—“

“Because you’re Sirius?” James responded automatically, desperately trying to mediate the situation. Alas, to no avail.

“Don’t antagonize me, James, not this time. This is no joking matter!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, no, this can’t be happening.” Sirius ignored his attempts to apologize. “You went and… with Snivellus of all people…! You… believe the slimy git!? All of this is because of him!?”

“The way you’re reacting is as if I committed a bloody murder. I just talked with him; what’s so wrong about it?” James tried to reason.

“Are you mad!?” Sirius shouted. “He’s evil and you know it! Yet, you went out of your way for him!?”

“What are you talking about? Who went out of their way for whom? I just wanted to see if he spoke the truth—“

“Shut up, James!” Sirius interrupted. “No one goes to a foreign country just to see if they spoke the truth!” He mocked spitefully. “When you said someone told you to see this old rubbish, I thought it was Evans because you would do anything for her—but it was bloody Snivellus!? How stupid can you be? Are you insane!?”

“Dad was coming to the convention despite me wanting to tag along or not, I just embraced the opportunity, Sirius,” James explained. “I was just curious about what he said—“

“Oh, you were just curious, innit?” Sirius mocked once again. “That’s our Prongs, always the curious one—never mind that the person he decided to listen to this time was bloody slimy Snivellus!” Sirius shouted again.

“Just…!” James breathed deeply to compose himself before speaking, “…Stop calling him that, would you?”

“Oh! You’re defending him now? Pulling an Evans, are you?” Sirius sneered. “Can’t you see he’s deceiving you? He’s feeding you these lies about Slytherin and you’re falling directly into the palm of his hands! He told you ‘go to Paris, do as I say’ and you followed his instructions like a good obedient puppy, didn’t you!?”

At this point, James’ patience was running thin. He pursed his lips, fisted his hands, and closed his eyes. “Don’t involve Lily in this, and for the last time, he didn’t tell me to do anything, I came to Paris on my own accord.” He replied calmly.

“Lies!” Sirius shouted. “You think me blind? If someone, anyone, had told you about the contents of this bloody journal you would’ve laughed at their faces, you wouldn’t even consider the possibility of it being true! Slytherin wasn’t an evil bastard? Are you joking?—something in the like. But, Snivellus, the guy who hexes and curses us daily just because we breathed wrong near him, suddenly what? Sits with you for tea and tells you this fantastical story as if you weren’t sworn enemies, and you just believed him!?” Sirius was breathing hastily due to his ranting. “You want me to believe this bull?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to believe,” James replied without hesitation, anger and a smidge of hurt colouring his words. “Also, I want you to know I had a civilized conversation with him too. And you know what? He wasn’t nearly as bad as I had thought—in fact, dare I say, talking to him went no different than talking to you or anyone else!” James said to which Sirius was flabbergasted about it.

Suddenly, a den ruptured inside James as words spilt out like water without his control, “He’s brilliant, did you know? Smarter than the likes of Purebloods or anyone titled ‘genius’ in our school. You’ve seen how he teaches, how he captures your attention until you learn, truly learn the subject. His control over his magic is stuff people like us only dream of, Sirius, and his practicality? Did you see the spells he created? How many times had we used the Muffliato ourselves? Do you remember the dragon’s roar? I still got goosebumps just thinking about it and…” James realized what he was saying, what he was doing, and stopped short.

James was complimenting Snape again, and as he took notice of it, he further realized he couldn’t help it. The Slytherin was brilliant in his opinion—as James had noticed for the longest time—and with such revelations making themselves known, James came to an understanding with himself. Instead of ignoring the truth as he used to do in his hubris, James decided to embrace it, whatever consequences it may draw.

Hence, he did not care about complimenting Snape any longer.

The same realization morphed into a sort of acceptance that had James sighing in relief. He was thinking about all those things for days, lost in the dark seas of his thoughts, and to finally have some of them out of his chest was more reinvigorating than any victory on Quidditch ever did. It was startling how much it meant to James, but a novelty at the same time. A new bubbly feeling he appreciated very much. “You don’t know him… but to be fair, I don’t know him either, and it’s up to us if we are willing to or not. But there’s one thing I know, that I saw with my own eyes, Sirius. Snape, he…” James remembered how Snape cared for Hagrid. James remembered how Snape laughed with Lily. James remembered a young boy with a spark in his eyes while learning about magic and anything that entails it. The sneering and cruel Slytherin was slowly erased from his head, and in his place, Snape’s merry laughter remained.

“He’s gentle…” The words left his mouth before he could think too much about it. “More so than I had thought possible, and it’s our fault—my fault to be honest, that he doesn’t show it to anyone.”

Sirius gaped at him. “…Gentle? Are we talking about the same person here? Wait, don’t answer that.” He raised a hand as if to stop James’ response to his sarcasm. “Say, tell me, how does someone so gentle, as you claimed, know so many nasty hexes and curses? Or enjoys making our lives miserable with all that Slytherin arrogance of his? Or, hmm, I don’t know… frightens our professor so badly, the man fainted of fear?” Sirius argued fiercely.

“I said gentle, not harmless,” James replied. “Besides, you heard Madam Pomfrey’s statement at the Great Hall—Professor Borguini has a heart condition, that’s why he fainted. He was fine by how she described his situation, anyway.”

Sirius threw his hands up. “You’re defending him again, argh!” He massaged his temples, pacing back and forth in frustration.

“Please, Pads, don’t be like that…” James tried to approach and land a comforting hand on Sirius’ shoulder.

It proved a futile attempt as Sirius stepped out of reach. “No, James. You don’t ‘please, Pads’ me. I was worried sick about you, I truly was… meanwhile you were thinking about that git behind my back!”

“See? This is why I didn’t tell you anything… because I knew you would react like this!” James turned his back on Sirius, trying to hide the hurt in his expression by sliding a hand down his face.

“React like what? Like I worry about your mental sanity!?”

“Like a prejudice and mean bastard!” James shouted after reaching his limit. Inside the dark storage, his outburst echoed through the space: ‘bastard, bastard, bastard’ reverberating off the walls until James’ expression fell and the implications of his own words hit him like a Flipendo. He turned around to apologize but judging by Sirius’ blank expression it was already too late.

Sirius started nodding and avoided eye contact with James before muttering, “All right, I see.” Though his words gave none away, his body language was very expressive. He was clearly hurt. “So be it, then. I will be waiting for Mr Potter at the bus stop outside.” And with that, he stepped around James and moved away.

“Wait, Sirius—Sirius!” James called after him with no response. The teen disappeared among the shelves and cardboard boxes.

James held his head with both hands and sighed in frustration. How hypocritical of him to call Sirius prejudiced when he’s no different, ending their conversation in the worst way possible.

Clément had been kind enough to walk James towards the spiral staircase after the shouting match, not once commenting about what happened, instead doing small talk and explaining the historical facts about the exhibitions they walked past to distract the affected teen. They passed by one painting titled Les Amis Perdus by Aimé Roussel, depicting a man crying about the loss of a dear friend, and though James tried to contain his tears, the sound of the bawling painterly man had him tearing up over his way towards the exit, where he said his thank you and goodbyes to Clément before leaving.

Now, sitting apart from Sirius on the bench, allowing the rays of sunset to dry his tear-streaked cheeks, James pondered about the afternoon and everything that went downhill after that. 

Is he a bad person because he’s reconsidering Snape and all there is to know about him? No, he doesn’t think so. His opinions rarely deviate from Sirius’ own, but he wouldn’t argue on this case for once, regardless of Sirius’ disapproval. James felt the need to gather enough evidence before chalking up Snape as evil again—and if Snape truly is as evil as he had originally thought, only then will he back down and admit Sirius right. Otherwise, it’s high time James knows the whole picture instead of just assuming.

He can’t remember when was the last time he felt so determined to figure out an answer to such an intricate mystery, and it felt liberating enough to draw a smile on his face, no matter how crooked it was.

“Judging by that creepy smile on your face, I assume you’ve found whatever you were looking for to be quite interesting.” Someone said from the street ahead, snapping James from his stupor. When the teen looked over it was to the face of his father Fleamont, by the limousine’s window. “What are you waiting for, son? Come in.” He called, opening the door for James.

James looked to the side and realized Sirius had vanished inside the limousine already, not once bothering to nudge him or what have you. He sighed but did as his father asked, jumping from the bench and entering the limo soon after. He sat near his father while Sirius sat opposite the two of them, staring out the window.

The air was already thick with tension as the limousine cruised through the streets of Paris.

Fleamont looked at Sirius then at James, back and forth. “hmm…” He hummed. “I sense a great disturbance in the force…?” He side-eyed James for answers.

James frowned. “What does that even mean?

“Oh, never mind that. Did something happen?” Fleamont batted James’ question away with his hand before asking.

James pursed his lips, trying hard not to seem displeased. “Nothing, why?”

Fleamont raised a very pointed eyebrow at that to which James averted his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Very much—so, dad… how was the convention?” James quickly switched topics.

Fleamont kept staring pointedly at him, knowing he was dodging the question, but eventually relented. “Oh, you know how those events go. The people were, as you imagined, excited to gather again after a long time—and some were very vocal about their admiration for one another. My speech was generic if I’m honest, but if it influenced anyone, hey, the job is done, am I right? Nothing of importance happened, and nothing was out of the ordinary, I suppose… well,” he messed with the ends of his moustache in thoughts. “Something intriguing did catch my attention, though…” He shrugged.

In James’ experience with his father, when ‘something intriguing’ catches his attention, it’s no simple matter. Nothing of importance escapes his father’s radar in this type of event, and if it’s worth mentioning even if in passing, it must be something big.

Instantly interested and looking for a distraction, James asked, “What did?”

Fleamont closed his eyes and hummed again as if trying to remember what he heard. “You see, I was told of a mystery that has been plaguing the Potion Association in the past few weeks. Apparently, a different type of Wiggenweld potion suddenly appeared in the market out of nowhere, and according to some potioneers I talked to who had the opportunity to see the potion in action, its effects are widely regarded as better than a regular Wiggenweld.” Fleamont said. “In fact, people were saying—and I can’t emphasise this enough—that this potion is probably the best healing potion ever invented so far.”

James’ eyes widened. “What, really? Isn’t that a good thing? Why of the mystery?”

“That’s the intriguing part,” Fleamont admitted cryptically. “By my understanding, the creator of the potion has remained incognito and all the sources we have of the potion so far are unreliable, meaning nobody knows where the potion comes from. There’s even a rumour going around saying that the Potion Association, seeing how much impact the potion had inside and outside the British Isles, released a fake memo to the Société de Potions Bon Vivant, where they stated the creator of the potion was going to be a special guest at the event.” Fleamont scoffed. “Which is obviously a lie since I was the special guest, but I digress.”

James frowned on behalf of his father. “Why did they lied?”

“For sponsorship, of course,” Fleamont replied without missing a beat. “If the French Government was interested in the convention, they would invest in the event, and since they are wealthy… well, let’s just say the event was bathed in gold this year as far as I remember.” He winked with a cheeky smile on his face. James chuckled at his father’s antiques even if small. “Anyhow, the event was clearly a trap to cease the creator of the potion if they were to show themselves since most famous potioneers were invited, but no one claimed to be the creator and had substantial proof to back them up.”

James whistled. “Impressionists already after their fame? Impressive.”

“Indeed,” Fleamont agreed. “But the best part about this situation, at least from a potioneer point of view such as myself, is the structure of the potion.” He looked at James with flames in his eyes and a sideway smirk of excitement. “It’s irreplicable.”

James blinked. “What now?”

“Irreplicable, it can’t be replicated.” Fleamont elaborated. “For weeks since the discovery of the potion, potioneers of both sides have tried to replicate it since the Wiggenweld is considered public domain, but to no avail. Usually, breaking down a potion to its raw components isn’t complicated for most Potion Masters, but try as my colleagues might, the potion was essentially just a normal Wiggenweld. Now, it isn’t uncommon for ingredients, magical or otherwise, to lose their molecular structure when fused into a potion, essentially turning undetectable in the final product, but to create a potion so unfathomable to the point of bypassing replication methods and creating one of the strongest healing potions in the market to date?” He breathed in astonishment. “That’s more than impressive… it’s the work of a true genius, dare I say.”

James’ head was spinning due to Fleamont’s excited rant. “Wow,” was all he could say in response.

“Yes, wow.” Fleamont didn’t seem to notice how overwhelmed James felt. “Moreover, as I gathered more information, I learned some… peculiar things about the whole case.”

“Peculiar how?” Sirius, who was listening to the entire story all along, asked to James’ surprise. Then again, he was angry with James, not Fleamont, which was fair.

Fleamont turned his body to face Sirius across from him, leaning both elbows on his knees. “The distributors of the potion were questioned by Aurors about the whereabouts of the creator on behalf of St Mungus Hospital, who were interested in buying the formula of the potion, but none could give a clear answer. When asked why they couldn’t, they mentioned a contract that precluded them from speaking out of line.”

“Wait, wait.” James raised both hands to stop his father’s recounts. “If the potion has distributors and even a contract involved, it’s impossible not to know the creator, right? They had to make the deal somehow…”

“Exactly!” Fleamont exclaimed excitedly. “That’s what I’m trying to say! When one of them lent their copy of the contract to the Aurors, not only was it a legal contract approved by the goblins, but they also found several magical clauses entirely focused on discretion—including ones of the mind, the body, and even magic—making it impossible for any of those people to relay information about the creator. But what makes it nigh impossible to know the creator’s identity is the fact none of the distributors actually met with the creator themselves.”

“What?” Both Sirius and James said at the same time.

“Yes, you heard it right. All of them initiated a contract with this person via messaging bird.” Fleamont shook his head in disbelief. “I’m telling you, this person is a genius.”

“But wait, that can’t be right. To initiate a contract the paper has to mention the offeror’s name at least once for it to be considered legal, doesn’t it? Otherwise, it isn’t valid. But you said nobody knows this person’s name…” Sirius said.

“Indeed, their name wasn’t in the contract—“ Fleamont started.

“But you said it was a legal contract—“

“But their epithet was.” Fleamont finished while speaking over Sirius’ disbelief. “One we haven’t seen in the potion community yet, but it has already intrigued most potioneers, me included.”

“Why?” James asked this time.

“Because it implies a connection with a family we thought defunct since the forties. This person goes by Half-Blood Prince,” Fleamont said suddenly intense. “And if it’s true, and they are a Prince… James, Sirius—“ He looked at the both of them. “Considering the genius of this person so far, I believe we are perhaps heading into a new era of potion-making entirely.”

To hear his father admit something of that magnitude was astonishing.

As a veteran man in the potion industry, Fleamont rarely makes wrong assumptions about upcoming potioneers since he keeps himself updated on product marketing and breakthroughs in the community even after retirement. If the man wasn’t as astute and had a knack for entrepreneurship since a young lad, the Potters wouldn’t have been half as rich to date.   

James respects his father immensely and strives to become someone worth praising through his future Auror career—a war hero like Albus Dumbledore or a famous Auror like Mad-Eye Moody, someone among those people. That’s why James puts much effort into his Defence and DADA curriculum, to make his father proud.

That’s why James believed his father to be right. This person, whoever may they be, will one day change the potion industry—for the better, he hopes.

With Fleamont’s statement out of the way, the ride went quiet for the remaining travel distance, and no sooner than casting a Riddikulus on a pesky Boggart, all three of them were back at the hotel.

They spent the night, as they had planned, to restore their energy from the long day and prepare for the floo back home early in the morning. However, time spent together wasn’t preferable to amend James’ and Sirius’ disagreement. In fact, as both teens were forced to stay in close quarters, the tense silence in their room was quite disorienting to anyone involved, including Fleamont and the hotel staff such as the maids.

It was just so out of character for the two boys to be actively avoiding each other considering their history together. Try as he might, Fleamont wasn’t successful in drawing an answer from either of the boys as they would collectively dismiss his worries or ignore his questions—to each their own yet with the same excuses, ironically enough. It only worried Fleamont further.

Nevertheless, the night was gentle in Paris as the stars were merry, the weather was clear and the temperature was bearable, and thus, the three of them tucked themselves into their respective beds to sleep.

James wasn’t angry, per se. He was disappointed and sad. He trusted Sirius to at least hear him and wait for James to present his case… instead, Sirius immediately turned his back on him, calling him mad or insane to even entertain the idea that they might have made wrong assumptions about Snape.

James understands, on some level, where Sirius’ argument comes from—he would’ve reacted similarly in the past, after all (or, more accurately, a few weeks ago)—but witnessing Sirius commit the same prejudiced thinking and react accordingly to his beliefs as James once would, was yet again eye-opening.

This was what Snape had to deal with growing up.

Outside the hotel window, James heard someone playing the violin. A beautiful and melancholic piece overshadowed by people’s small talk in the nearby bar, hidden for few to hear including himself. James, anxious-driving by the tones of the song, closed his eyes thinking about Snape and found himself unable to sleep in the end.

Unbeknownst to him, nobody was truly able to sleep that night.

Had James known what waited for them as soon as they returned home at sunrise, he would’ve tried harder during the previous night to reconcile with Sirius and sleep properly.

“It’s a letter delivered by Owlistare earlier today,” Euphemia informed as soon as Fleamont stepped inside the manor. “Mont… it’s about Henry.”

That’s all she needed to say. They secured Owlistare the tawny owl inside a proper cage and in less than half an hour, they were all flooing towards the Potter cottage, currently the home of one Henry Potter, father of Fleamont and grandfather of James.

The letter was as simple and self-explanatory as it would get:

Victoria, the family’s older and only medwitch, accommodated them when they arrived at the fireplace, offering information about Henry’s condition as their house elf served tea and biscuits to calm the frantic. According to her, Henry’s vitals have been gradually deteriorating in the past few days with no immediate recovery even after administrating the prescribed potions in situations such as this as well as his vitamins. Upon close evaluation for about a week, she determined Henry’s body to be on the verge of shutting down due to old age. He would soon experience multiple organ system failures if she were to keep with the treatment.

When questioned about admitting Henry to St. Murgus, Victoria advised them not to.

“He’s an old gentleman, Mr Potter,” She had said. “If he is to be moved in his current condition, he runs the risk of going into shock, and even if he makes it to the Hospital… old Henry won’t recover from this, I’m afraid. Nobody can escape old age… regardless of how much money they have. Instead of occupying a much-needed hospital bed, let Henry pass peacefully in the security of his home.”

To say Fleamont was devastated to see his weakened father bedridden was an understatement. From the living room, the family could hear the man’s ugly crying in the bedroom upstairs—muffled I’m sorry’s and I love you’s could be heard as clear as day from both men as they talked.

While the two Potter men were upstairs, the rest of the family arrived. Charlus Potter came in through the front door followed close behind by his wife Dorea, and their son, James’ cousin Brandon. They traded pleasantries with Euphemia—their good to see you’s and I’m sorry’s—whispering in respect of the conversation happening above. Brandon avoided the awkward interaction by sitting near James as they were of similar age but he didn’t say anything. His part of the family wasn’t close to Henry’s side as they were relatives of Henry’s already deceased brother Charles, and since Charlus and Fleamont weren’t on the best of speaking terms, they rarely saw each other enough to warrant a supporting interaction.

That’s why, when Fleamont descended the stairs crying his heart out, everyone was a little surprised to see Charlus being the first to hug him tightly and whisper encouragements to calm him down.

Family love in times of need was stronger than whatever feud they cultivated between themselves, it seemed.

“Hello, Sirius,” James heard Dorea whispering to his friend. She sat beside him, caressing his back in silent support. “Have you been well?”

“Hi, aunt Dorea,” Sirius greeted back. “Yeah, I’ve been all right.” He smiled slightly.

Dorea is the reason Sirius agreed to live with the Potters in the first place. James doubted his friend would've agreed if it had not been for her persuasion as a Black who ran away from her family exactly as Sirius wanted to. Not by lacking trust, or anything of the sort, but due to inconvenience… afraid he would be a burden to the family. As Dorea is his aunt in blood, he felt more confident accepting James’ help after having a heart-to-heart with her, and as such, she became a sort of mentor in his life.

“That’s good to know, little star. Say, why don’t we—you, Brandon and I—go fetch some breakfast for everyone at the nearby diner, hm?” She asked.

“Why?” Sirius muttered.

She looked at him with kind grey eyes. “Let Henry’s close relatives grieve in privacy for a while, Sirius. We won’t take long, anyway.” With that, the three of them were gone before James mustered any courage to object.

James knows why she did it. Whether Dorea is a Potter through marriage or James views Sirius as his brother in all but blood, Henry knew neither of them well. And Brandon… Brandon grew up attached to the hip with Charles whom they recently lost not a year ago—it’s understandable he didn’t want to be around death so soon, thus Dorea provided him with an escape.

Yet, James regretted not saying anything as soon as he was left alone on the sofa. With no Sirius to seek stability nor Brandon to seek normality, James felt young as if he could count all the years he had lived in the fingers of his hands, even if he knew it to be untrue.

Dealing with death is such a foreign concept at first… it makes even the bravest of men crumble in the face of such hopelessness.

“James… son…” Fleamont called, drawing James’ attention to him. Fleamont was distraught, sitting by the armchair as Charlus kept him steady by holding his shoulder and Euphemia offered him a cuppa of tea doped with calming draught. “James… father asked for you—you should talk with him.” He took the cup and sipped.

James stared. “Dad… I can’t—“

“You should do as he says, James,” Charlus intervened, nodding to himself. “Even I know how much Uncle Henry means to you, and this is perhaps your last chance to say goodbye. Use it wisely… don’t be like me and lose this opportunity because you were… scared.” He admitted with a sigh.

It’s well-known in the family how Charlus refused to see his father until his last breath due to work-related excuses. Until this day, James never understood why he wouldn’t… why was he so scared? Wasn’t Charles his father? One of the most important people in his life, and he wouldn’t face him in his final moments even then?

Now he understood. He understood so well, he might cry because of it…

“Go on, son,” Euphemia whispered encouragingly. “If Henry wants to see you, you shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

And James, with no sudden excuses or plans but no less courageous, nodded and treaded his way up the stairs towards what he knew to be his grandfather’s bedroom. He knocked on the door and after hearing a husky ‘enter’ from the other side, opened it wide to invite himself in.

His grandfather was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard with pillows softening his back and a nice comfortable blanket over his lap and legs. The windows were open, allowing the morning sunlight to filter through, creating an ethereal aura around the man as he smiled at James, motioning him closer with his wrinkled hand.

“Jamie,” he muttered. “I’ve missed you, my boy.”

James smiled at him, the most genuine smile he felt gracing his features since the whole debacle with Snape. “Hey, Pops. How are you feeling?” He said, approaching the bed to stand beside Henry.

“I’m feeling all right,” the old man said, taking hold of James’ hand and kissing it on the back. “And you? How are you?”

“I’m all right too,” James responded automatically.

But Henry hummed a sceptical sound, one he always used against James when he was caught lying as a little kid. “I don’t quite believe that to be true, Jamie.”

James sighed and squeezed Henry’s hand back. “I could say the same about you, Pops, but I didn’t comment on it.”

“Ah, the difference between the both of us, I see.” He chuckled. “The gentleman who would rather stay quiet about someone’s lies as it was harmless, and the other as direct as a Unicorn’s kick.”

James laughed at Henry’s comparison. “I’m the gentleman, then?”

Henry hummed playfully. “I don’t know… gentleboy, perhaps…?”

James huffed, pretending to be offended. “I'll have you know, Pops, that by March of next year, I'll be considered an adult.”

Henry sighed. “I know,” He said wistfully. “What wouldn’t I give to see it happening with my own eyes…?”

James realised his mistake, sucking a berated breath to mutter, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to—“

Henry interrupted him by laughing richly like chimes jingling in the gentle wind, soothing and lively as his mirth washed away James’ worries. “Why do you seem so squeamish, Jamie? I’m rarely offended by your oversights… it doesn’t change even now.

“You’re my grandson,” Henry said, staring into James’ teary eyes. “And I know you’ll grow up to be a great man, regardless if I’m there to witness it or not. Whatever the future has in store for you, with great courage and a kind heart—qualities you do possess—I have little to worry about you.”

James smiled wobbly and sniffed when he noticed his sight distorted by tears. “Thank you, Pops… I appreciate it.”

Henry smiled back in kind. “Before my old memory forgets, would you do me the favour of telling me what’s troubling you?”

James removed his spectacles, cleaned his eyes with the back of his hand before the tears fell, and shook his head at Henry. “I don’t think it’s necessary, Pops.”

Henry frowned. “Why not? You always tell me when you’re not all right…”

“It’s just…” James placed his spectacles back on the tip of his nose and smiled down at Henry. “I don’t want to trouble you with these minor problems… not now when you’re... when it doesn’t even matter, you see?”

“But it matters to you,” Henry stated innocently. “You wouldn’t be bothered by it if it didn’t, otherwise.”

“Yeah, but…” James closed his eyes to recompose himself.

“Yes?” Henry persisted, squeezing James’ hand in support.

James breathed deeply to say, “…It’s delicate, this little moment we have right now,” James admitted. “I would hate to ruin it by focusing on me… not when you’re right here… slipping away before my very eyes.”

Henry is a kind man. Losing his wife at an early age, leaving his young son for him to raise alone, or the fact he served as a pro-muggle member of the Wizengamot to the harsh judgment of other Purebloods until the day he was excluded, did nothing to hinder his true self. He was a loving person with a feather-light touch, someone to marvel at the tiniest of things and expect a world of good deeds from those he loved. The living embodiment of a loving heart is the truest wisdom.

Hence, James wasn’t at all surprised when the man looked at him and said, “It would make me the happiest if my last act in this world was to help you overcome whatever is weighing you down.” As if those weren’t the most devastatingly kind words James ever heard.

How does one respond to such honesty? James didn’t know, and without knowledge or wisdom to guide him, James just nodded and sat by his grandfather’s legs on the bed—relieved yet foreboding at the same time.

“Very well,” Henry folded his hands on the blanket, patiently waiting for James’ tale. “Why don’t we start from the very beginning—“

“I used to bully a boy my age back at Hogwarts.” James cut Henry’s words right to the chase. He pursed his lips with the vile taste in his mouth after admitting those words. “I thought him evil, a monster in disguise even, but I’ve recently discovered I don’t know him at all. Yet… what I did still haunts me and I don’t know how to cope.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t help it.

Henry’s eyes held no secret as he stared dumbfounded at James, yet try as he might, James couldn’t decipher what his grandfather was thinking either. “…Go on,” Henry said with no judgement in his voice. “Don’t stop now… I can tell there’s more to this than that.”

James’ shoulders eased due to the lack of Henry’s disappointment or anger. He sighed and relaxed more comfortably on the bed before opening his mouth once again to spout out approximately five years’ worth of content about his and Snape’s rivalry. A convoluted story about hate, harm and prejudice was out of James’ mouth like the water of a river runoff flowing down a sand berm back towards the ocean. It starts small, with a trickle-down, teasing the nearby sand until it morphs into a greater flow like rapids, dangerously sweeping anything in its way.

From the first time he ever stepped on Hogwarts to the last (at least, until next September), James recounted what he felt on those occasions Snape was present, what he did then and to others similar to him, his thought process and actions until the very day he learned to be in the wrong all along.

Of course, he couldn’t detail everything less Henry would pass away before knowing the issue in full, but James could pat himself on the back for a story well told.

With everything out of the way, forever recorded in history through his memories of this moment, James finishes his grand tale with a weak mutter, “…and now, the person I thought I knew the most became an enigma, the actions I thought justified were in actuality cruel, and the brother I trusted the most turned his back on me.” He said. “And I don’t know what to do anymore,” James admitted hoarsely and defeated. 

The room went silent as James, at last, stopped speaking. Judging solemnly by the rays of cloudy sunshine outside the windows, they were conversing for a long time without interruption. James wondered if Sirius had returned from the diner with the breakfast food as promised, and felt his stomach churning soundlessly at his famished thoughts.

His grandfather grew tired as the length of James’ story seemed without end, fully leaning onto the pillows into a half-seated position and only nodding once every so often to prompt James to continue. But as the silence stretched between them, Henry broke the awkward spell by chuckling.

“You’ve gotten yourself in quite a pickle, haven’t you?” He said and laughed some more.

James’ instinctive response was to pout. “Glad you’ve found my life crises to be funny, Pops.”

“Oh, no, no… I’m not laughing at you. It just never occurred to me how much alike we were at a similar age.” He kept chuckling. “Your story reminded me of my own ‘sworn enemy’,” he quoted. “From when I was a Hogwarts student as well.”

James’ interest was instantly picked. “Sworn enemy?”

“Yes,” Henry nodded. “I still remember his name. Harris. Harris Mccarthy… the worst bastard I’ve ever met to this day.”

Henry’s sudden shift in dialogue startled a laugh out of James. “Whoa… I’ve never heard you swear before, I think.”

Henry nodded, smiling smugly. “I know, right? But he deserved the title. We were only made aware of one another because our names were next to each other on the call list, back then. Every time one of the Professors needed one of us, they would get confused with whom they were calling specifically, so they circumvent that by referring to me as the ‘Gryffindor Harry’ and he was ‘Ravenclaw Harry’, could you believe it? I thought it amusing; him, not so much.”

James laughed louder. “Why? How unnecessary… your names were different enough as is!”

“I know, I know,” Henry assented. “But don’t blame those old folks… allegedly, we were so much alike, people thought we were fraternal twins.” He kept laughing. “Oh, Harris was so angry with those people… I used to just ignore them instead.”

“Why was he angry?” James asked between amused chuckles.

“Because he didn’t want to be compared to me,” Henry admitted. “You see, Jamie, even though he was a Ravenclaw and I a Gryffindor, my grades were always higher than his, if I remember correctly. He was a mean bastard, he was, and revengeful too. He used to challenge me constantly and loved to gloat whenever he won, but I wasn’t fairing any better—dumb and prideful as I was. We used to fight each other constantly… losing some, winning some, in the hopes of finding who was better.”

James hummed in acknowledgement. “I never expected you to have such a past, Pops.” So similar to my own was left unsaid.

Henry laughed at James’ disbelief. “If you were to meet my Hogwarts classmates, Jamie, they would tell you I wasn’t nearly as soft. In fact, they would say how shocked they were to see me change so abruptly to what I am today.”

The tone in Henry’s explanation caught James’ attention for some reason. He tilted his head intrigued. “Abruptly? Why, did something happen?”

That’s when the atmosphere changed.

Clouds hid the sun outside, painting the room in blues and greys of a storm yet to come. The air was heavy due to the electricity of thunders in the distance, yet with the tension of a hard question to answer. The winds blow ruffling the curtains, shadowing Henry’s wrinkled expression and the loss of the smile on his face, catching James off guard in the process.

“Yes…” Henry nodded slowly. “He died… Harris, I mean.” He locked down at his hands where he played with the end of his fingernails. “It was so… sudden. He was there one day, he wasn’t there the next, and a week later, he passed… leaving all of us behind to marvel at what happened.”

James was left with no words to say. Seeing the sadness in his grandfather’s expression, he could only mutter a weak, “I’m sorry for your loss…” as compensation for his lack of comforting words.

Henry smiled and shook his head. “The last time I saw that boy standing, he received grave news about his family. They all contracted dragon pox—and I mean all of them. From his grandparents to his parents and younger sister… she was eight at the time, I believe. No one knows how a muggle family contracted dragon pox—Harris was muggle-born, you see—but they somehow did and they couldn’t afford a cure… at the time, the dragon pox cure could not be sold to muggles.” Henry said. “It was one of my few accomplishments while in the Wizengamot… to make the cure of dragon pox free to everyone by using Harris’ case as an example.”

James was shocked. “That’s bloody awful…” He couldn’t even imagine what Harris was feeling at the time, knowing his family would die due to a stupid law.

“They gave him a choice: stay at Hogwarts to keep himself safe from contagious sickness, or return home. He chose to go, regardless if it meant he would be sick too,” Henry continued. “I don’t know all the details because we weren’t exactly close, but as far as I’m aware, by the time he returned to Hogwarts, his entire family had passed away.

“I didn’t want to bother him on those trying times, so I avoided him,” Henry admitted while looking down. “Because of that, I missed the day he was admitted into the Medical Wing with dragon pox.”

“He contracted it?” James asked in disbelief. “At least he had access to the cure… right?”

But Henry only shook his head. “He refused treatment.”

“Why would he—“

“He wanted to be with his family, whatever means necessary…” Henry said, successfully shutting James up. “They couldn’t even spell the potion into his stomach because he would induce a regurgitation reaction before it took effect. Eventually, he was left to rot on the bed before they transferred him to St. Mungus… they didn’t want a student’s death in the school’s record, you see.”

James saw a bolt of bright lightning illuminating the sky outside, followed by a clap of thunder. Only then it occurred to him, “…Pops, why are you telling me this?” He asked slowly.

But Henry seemed too far lost in his past to hear James. “Before he was transferred, I had the opportunity to visit him at the Hospital Wing one final time,” he said. “I don’t recall why as again, we weren’t close, but I snuck inside anyway…” He breathed deeply and sighed. “He seemed—“ Henry stopped.

James waited, but when Henry kept quiet, he slowly asked, “He seemed what?”

Henry blinked. “Dead… at least inside. He lost so much in so little time—he wasn’t the same person anymore, I could tell by the emptiness in his eyes.” Henry gestured towards his own eyes. “Dulled and beady like an empty doll’s. No matter what I said, I couldn’t reach him. Merlin, I could barely recognise him at that moment…” It was then that Henry started to cry.

James’ eyes widened. “Hey… hey, Pops…” James lifted himself and was by Henry’s side in a heartbeat, enveloping his grandfather in a hug. “It’s fine, Pops… hey, I’m here…”

Henry hugged him back tightly. “It’s what I regretted the most in life—I’ve never…” He swallowed. “I’ve never dared to befriend him, even if I truly wanted to.”

James detached himself from the hug to stare at his grandfather. “…How so?”

Henry tilted his head. “He was a mean bastard, yes, that is true… but I enjoyed the moments we had together. The competitions, the banter… dare I say, without him, I wouldn’t have tried nearly as hard to improve my grades nor would’ve I won as many accomplishments. He was what drove me to do better, and in turn, I was his. As such, I always wanted to be his friend… to make those moments permanent and daily. Yet alas, I wasn’t courageous enough, even during his final moments, we were just rivals… and I regret it forever.” Henry sighed.

Henry took hold of James’ hand and squeezed with the little strength he had left. “Jamie, don’t commit the same mistake as I.” He said, shaking his head. “You say you don’t know what to do next with your predicament, but you and I both know that isn’t true.” Henry stared into James’ eyes with determination and seriousness in his own. “The person you thought you knew became an enigma, yet you’re set on unravelling it. The acts you thought justified were cruel, yet you’re determined to repent and make it right from now on. The friend you trusted turned his back on you, yet you still refer to him as a brother… do you understand, Jamie?”

James felt the sides of his mouth lift into an almost smile. “…I’m starting to understand.”

Henry smiled back kindly. “Talk to that boy before taking any immediate actions, and start from there. Keep yourself level-headed and loyal to your kindness and understanding. At last, amend with that friend of yours before you lose your brother. Do you think you can do that?” Henry smirked.

James smirked back. “Piece of cake…” James lied wobbly. “Thank you, Pops.”

Henry hugged him swiftly before letting James go. “Helping you is the highlight of my days. You’re welcome, my boy.”

Heavy winds followed by rain hit the windows before James could reply, announcing the arrival of the storm. James went and closed the windows before the room flooded with water, however, it was too late for the desk and other items next to the canopy, as they were immediately soaked.

“Bollocks—all right, I’ll tell the house elf to clean this for you, Pops,” James said while making his way towards the door.

“Jamie—James,” Henry called after him, correcting his wording throughout.

James turned at his grandfather’s call, waiting patiently for the man’s words. “Yes?”

Henry stared at him in the darkness of the room with its windows closed, and then he smiled with resolve. “Tell Charlus to come up here—I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”

“Will do—“

“And James… don’t forget what I told you. Don’t regret your inactions as I did.”

James nodded firmly. “Yes. Thanks again, Pops.”

The smile Henry sent his way as James left was the brightest thing he ever witnessed, followed by a low chuckle and a headshake, as if amused by James’ reply. Yet, it seemed so kind… as if that smile was intentional, a goodbye gift sweetly wrapped in the deception of peacefulness.

It rained for a week straight at Godric’s Hollow after the Potters visited their elder, and in the morning of the last drizzle, when the sunshine finally reached the windows of the Potter cottage, did Henry pass away.

James understood why it was so hard to face the ones we love when we know they will be lost forever… because the memory of their last talk or their last smile will haunt those fortunate enough to say goodbye for the rest of their lives. And when James heard from his father about Henry’s passing, he broke down crying with the last smile of his grandfather plastered on his memories.

Forever to be reminded as the kindest man James ever knew.

Lily's return letter had come as a complete surprise to James. She must have felt sympathetic because she, too, had lost her grandmother and thus understood James' feelings. James was overjoyed at the turn of events because this was possibly the first time she had responded to one of his letters.

He hastily replied, hoping to hold an actual conversation with her this time:

There. If Lily was curious, she would reply and they would hold a conversation. Hook, line and sinker.

It didn’t take long before a new letter arrived. James smirked as soon as he noticed Lily’s handwriting:

And the smirk on his face fell immediately after reading it. James frowned, clicked his tongue, displeased and disappointed… and if he was honest, slightly hurt. He just wished to continue talking to Lily, but it seemed his letter conveyed a different history to her.

He was experienced in the art of ‘being ignored by Lily Evans’, but this time he felt just enough desperate to attempt sending another letter, knowing it wouldn’t do much, but hoping it would make a difference anyway:

Was he overly sincere at the start of his letter? Will Lily mock him for it? James, for one, hoped not. He wasn't exactly a saint either... Remus and Peter did respond to the letter announcing his grandfather's passing. They both expressed their condolences while Remus went a step further and invited him to go shopping for the next term’s supplies together at Diagon Alley, hoping to cheer James up. He even admitted to being in contact with Sirius, who had already agreed to the outing. They were also hoping that his and Sirius' disagreement would be resolved now that the Marauders would be reunited after weeks apart.

Alas, James sighed tiredly and sent the letter he wrote to Lily before agreeing to Remus' invitation.

To his surprise, a letter from Lily arrived on the same day, hours later:

James felt as if all the planets from our solar system had simultaneously aligned to make his life a little better. Both his friends and the girl of his dreams invited him to go shopping at Diagon Alley, giving him the power to link those events, and spend the whole day with his closest support group after months in the dark.

Of course, he had the option of turning the outing with Lily into a date, but right now, all James truly wanted was for the people he holds dear to be close and have fun together.

Therefore, he sent a letter to Lily inviting her to his friends’ shopping day in a heartbeat with the time they would meet up at the Leaky Cauldron.

She seemed pleased judging by her reply letter:

The day was sunny, the sky was clear, and James was excited.

James told himself Sirius’ disgruntlement wouldn’t get in his way and he committed to it, charmingly smiling from the moment he woke up to when they were readying to head out.

Fleamont wanted the boys to have as much fun as possible and cheer up after recent events, so he gave James a fair amount of money (re: a lot) to buy more than just their school supplies, hoping to encourage them both to interact since Sirius needed new clothes and James a new broomstick. Euphemia did much the same, tasking Sirius with her homemade snacks for them to chew on while browsing the shops.

Together, though unwillingly, James and Sirius stepped through the fireplace and into the Leaky Cauldron as fast as the green ambers allowed.

“Potter!” The sweetness of Lily’s voice was the first thing he registered when he stepped out of the fireplace, bringing a large smile to his face.

When he looked in her direction though…

“Morning, Potter.”

He was stunned to see into the dark eyes of Severus Snape of all people.

James thought the planets had aligned themselves to bring their blessing and good luck to him on this awaited day. What he didn’t expect was luck to take the shape of a dark-haired boy obstructing his way into the light… directly into the waited hands of the darkness he so desperately crawled himself out of.

But with enough determination, James was ready to figure out the depth of those shadows.

No matter the cost.

Chapter Text

As the days lasted longer, Severus had significantly more sunlight to work with during the summer.

His schedule was demanding for his previously sedentary teenage body, if he was honest. He would wake up at six sharp every day to make breakfast—noting when he ran out of any ingredients, which happened quite often, so he could take a stroll to the nearest grocery store in the morning dew to properly wake up. His cooking ranged from traditional British cuisine—sausage, egg, toast, beans, mushroom, and tomatoes—to other recipes he had learned throughout his past life. Severus was quite fond of cheese bread and cornmeal cake followed by a cup of coffee, as much as he adored pancakes, waffles, scones, and sometimes as a treat, an avocado sandwich. But often, he opted for yoghurt and fruits, while the remaining food was for his parents.

After finishing cooking the food, he would go outside to free the unkindness of ravens in his shadows to hunt in the nearby forest, then start his workout routine in the backyard for about an hour, progressively increasing the workload as he grew used to the exercises and the feeling of his worn-out muscles. Even if his arms and legs felt like jelly, Severus would then go back inside and upstairs to shower, change into comfortable clothes, and wake his parents for the day.

In the beginning, Eileen was hesitant to allow Severus in the kitchen while she slept late, but after a few mornings of enjoying his food, she allowed it without complaint. Tobias on the other hand was like a ghost of his former self. He, unlike Eileen, was more than a little hesitant to eat the food Severus prepared out of fear it might contain poison or some other magic the teen might use against him. In his own words, I would rather eat the slob from the bar downtown and drink myself unconscious again. However, after being forced by his famished stomach to taste the food one morning, Tobias started eating diligently and never complained again. In fact, he rarely spoke during breakfast or any time of the day at all, before and after work.

Severus would head to the shed after conversing, if barely, with his parents. There, he would provide the fairies with food and magic while charting their development, and, when they behaved, let them roam the lab under his supervision to stretch their wings. After, when the fairies were securely enclosed inside the vivarium once again, would Severus begin brewing his batches of potions until lunch and even then, he would continue to brew until dinner by the time Tobias had already arrived home.

Suffice it to say, his potion business was working wonderfully if his lifestyle wasn’t already a tell.

Although Mr Martini was the first and easiest to contract with, Severus had acquired seven more signatures from other failing potion businesses at Knockturn Alley that same day. He did this by deftly persuading and manipulating them using his knowledge of his previous life. You see, Severus had an internship with Matin Martini the summer before his seventh year—he was the one who didn’t judge Severus’ interest in dark magic and offered the job opportunity Severus was so ecstatic about back then. He learned everything there is to know about ingredients, potion methodology, and rumours about the potion black marker down there during those weeks spent at Knockturn Alley, including those seven unfortunate owners of potion establishments who went bankrupt around the time Severus became a legal adult.

By offering all of them to sell his potion, he is expanding his own network and distributors—and thus his income—as well as assisting them in overcoming debt and saving their businesses. A win-win situation.

After he collected all the contracts via raven, Severus went to Gringotts Wizarding Bank immediately after to legalise the paperwork with the goblins in order to activate the magical clauses within, and if possible, create magical copies for his business partners as a formality since he knew others would be interested in his legal work in the future. After all, if his calculation were correct, his improved Wiggenweld would be the most effective healing potion available in this time and age, which would draw a lot of attention.

The procedure went smoothly for the first hour. One by one, his contracts were analysed to detect signs of foul play such as the Imperius Curse and legalised by a goblin employee in the registry department after it was determined everything was according to the law. The goblin did raise his eyebrow at Severus after reading some particular clauses but said nothing otherwise. Contracts concerning witchzards aren’t nearly as thoughtfully inspected by the goblins if they don’t profit from it, thus the reason why Severus preferred making use of goblin services than humans.

Likewise, as goblins care little about witchzards politics, Severus knew his identity would be entirely safe in their hands since it falls under their client confidentiality. Working with goblins is just that much preferable than any other.

Everything went well with the contracts and their provided copies, for which Severus was grateful. However, as he was shaking hands with the goblin to excuse himself, another goblin, an old female one, appeared by the cubicle’s entrance.

“Excuse me, are you Mr Snape?” She said with the huskiest voice he ever heard, like the vocal cords of a thousand-year-old smoker. She was so old, her nose resembled a wrinkled putrid peach and her ears were curled inwardly like dry leaves.

Though Severus was a little suspicious, he still nodded to her question.

“I’m here to inform the one by the name of Severus Snape that Gringotts Wizarding Bank has some important business to deal with you.” She said, deadpanning in his direction with lifeless white eyes… blind eyes if he were to guess.

Severus hummed affirmatively to announce his presence, but it only earned him a tilt of the goblin’s head.

“My name is Gnolke and I am the one to assist you with this matter.” She introduced herself. “Are you free to indulge me today, Mr Snape?”

Severus hummed, confused as to what this was about. He had no recollection of any issue within the bank while he was sixteen years of age—Lord Thurio, his grandfather, wouldn’t die until he was an adult and he didn’t have a personal account with Gringotts yet to warrant any important business. Other than converting pounds into galleons and the most recent legalisation of his contracts, there was nothing to discuss.

“Pardon my rudeness, Mr Snape, but why aren’t you saying anything? I am blind, you see, and would appreciate vocal responses.” She said dryly.

Glynror, the goblin who was assisting Severus until now, cleared his throat. “Pardon my interruption, Mistress Gnolke,” He said. “But my client, Mr Snape, cannot speak at the moment.”

She tilted her wrinkled head in disbelief. “Why, pray tell?”

Glynror replied, “Mr Snape has a leaf in his mouth at the moment, thus cannot speak.” He followed his declaration by shuffling some paper on his desk, searching for the right one. “He’s currently in the process of attempting an Animagus transformation, which requires the wizard to hold a mandrake leaf in his mouth for a month without fail. I’ve taken his declaration today—it will be registered in the bank’s database by the evening.” He shook the paper with Severus’ declaration of attempt and signature in his hand to warn Gnolke of its existence.

Legally, anyone attempting an Animagus transformation has to declare the attempt beforehand. The declaration of attempt is similar to the Assumption of Risk and Release Agreement, basically indemnifying, saving, and holding harmless anyone and anything associated with the individual attempting the transformation, but also, warning off possible lawsuits, meaningless investigations, and providing healthcare costs in case the transformation goes horribly wrong and/or turns irreversible. If a witchzard were to attempt the transformation without the declaration and failed, they won’t be compensated due to violating the law.

That’s why people don’t try to become Animaguses. Not only is the risk too great—irreversible transformations include unfinished transformations (half-human-half-animal hybrids), deformed limbs, damage to the magical core, loss of self-awareness, and so on—but the legal work involved provides no benefits to the individual other than the healthcare cost, which can only be applied by the individual. And what if the individual is unaware of their own existence by the time the transformation occurs? The person is then doomed.

Of course, if someone does the transformation successfully without declaring beforehand, they can simply register as Animagi after paying a fee determined by the situation. A Hogwarts student with no criminal background or illegal use of their Animagus form will pay a small fee, whereas someone the likes of Sirius Black—someone who used their illegal Animagus transformation to escape Azkaban—would have to pay a greater amount of money, naturally.

Gnolke sighed deeply after hearing the news. “Without his voice, nothing can be accomplished as this process require vocal agreement, I’m afraid.” She said to which Severus was intrigued. You only need a vocal agreement for two things: either to register his consent aloud or due to it being a requirement. Both of which related to important scenarios… life-changing scenarios.

Severus couldn’t fathom what was happening.

Unfortunately, as he couldn’t use his voice comfortably that day without the risk of it hindering his progress, he was sent home with a slap behind the knees and a promise to come back once the Animagus process had ended—regardless of whether he was intact or not—without a clue as to why they needed him for.

“As the situation isn’t urgent, I see no problem in letting you go for now. But as soon as you’re able, look for Gnolke. Don’t stall.” She ordered with narrowed eyes and he assented back politely even if she couldn’t see.

Severus’ improved Wiggenweld potion started circulating the market the next day after the contracts were officialised.

With his new and expanded unkindness of ravens—now barren twenty individuals—his potions were delivered directly to the shops at Knockturn Alley almost every day the following weeks. But, if he was honest, it took barely three days before the demand for his potion skyrocketed.

It was all thanks to Mr Martini’s surprising advertisement skills.

That man alone convinced more than half the population of Knockturn Alley through sheer force of spite and manic excitement about the legitimacy of Severus’ potion in the impressive span of those three days aforementioned. As Severus’ spied on him through the eyes of his ravens from time to time, Martin never lost his winning smile and bright demeanour. With his eyesight partially fixed and the left side of his face almost healed after two or more vials of Severus’ potion, the man did his absolute best to pay his part of the agreement they had.

“Ladies and gentlemen! It is I, Burned-Eye Martini once again to deliver the newest batch of Wiggenweld+ on this fine summer morning! Anyone with major life-threatening wounds or dark residue, please take a place in the front line! With only one galleon per vial, you can take the cure to your problems right away!” He said to the crowd of people surrounding his shop. Golden coins were falling into the ground as the people offered to buy one, two, or even three vials at a time in hopes to fix their broken bodies.

Severus watched the people from Knockturn Alley, considered the worst of mankind walking, kneeling to grab the fallen coins in the hopes to buy another vial, just one more to finish healing their darkened pasts, and smiled. It might not be the cleanest selling approach, but it did its job well. Those people were buying an opportunity to get a second chance in life… and, in turn, spread his potion’s existence beyond Knockturn Alley in due time.

As the potion’s popularity grew, all eight of Severus' contractors were selling at a rapid pace, earning more coins than they knew what to do with. Severus’ ravens would then swoop in the dead of the night to collect his share of the gains by the end of each day like a sinister reminder of whom they were working with to keep those people in line. For that reason, the contracts were meticulously constructed so that the distributors could not steal from Severus, and as result, his ravens always returned with bags full of galleons from each shop.

With the money he obtained, ingredients and vials were no trouble to replace via delivery from Blanche’s and Foster’s. In fact, as the required materials to brew the potion were cheap, his profit proved to be better than he had anticipated. According to his calculations, he was gaining approximately the same amount as his Hogwarts salary per day due to a potion of his own making.

It saddened Severus in a way. If only he had the money to become a Potion Master in his previous life instead of resulting to the dark side, Severus would’ve probably become a renowned potioneer and avoided the tragedies that befell his life… no. He wouldn’t lose himself in the ‘what ifs’ of that time. Not now when he’s already changing the course of his life.  

Anyway, his potion eventually reached the ears of all the British isle and beyond through the mouths of those he helped, investigations into his identity started like wildfire due to the insistence of St. Mungus and attempts to copy his work proved futile even through the hands of their best potioneers.

Severus just smiled smugly at the articles discussing the Half-Blood Prince on the Daily Prophet as he ate breakfast every morning. Seeing those witchzards running like headless chickens because of him was the highlight of his days.

Life was shaping up well as far as he could tell.

That is until his mother decided to worry.  

“Severus, why are you playing mute?” Eileen asked one fine Sunday morning while they were eating a delicious plate of blueberry pancakes—Tobias, though he doesn’t work on Sundays, was lured by the smell of the food, and ended up joining them at the table as well, though grumpily.

At the time, Severus still had the leaf in his mouth, and thus could not speak. He doesn’t blame his mother for taking her time before querying him about his muteness—he too would ascertain the situation first before making his move. After all, Eileen had her own issues to address first before worrying about him. She wasn’t in a pleasant place of mind after the confrontation with Tobias, the last time he ever acted out of line, and needed time to recompose herself and think about her next course of action.

It has been approximately two weeks since the afternoon she asked Severus for his patience, and to this day, she still carries the Tailed Jay butterfly on her anywhere she goes. Even right now at the breakfast table, the Tailed Jay stayed prettily on her shoulder. Severus didn’t have the heart to ‘poof’ the thing away as it seemed symbolic to his mother, so he kept a small but tight flow of his magic running to keep the butterfly alive. 

His guess is: if Eileen is asking him about his issues, she either found a stable ground to keep herself upright or she’s braving it in his stead—to allow him to explain himself in a way he can’t to anyone else as she is the only one he can converse with while at home.

If it’s the first case, then Eileen is made of a tougher material than Severus ever was—he couldn’t see himself recovering so fast after what happened. However, if it’s the second, he would guide her away from worrying about him and focus on herself again, if possible.

Still, as she needed an answer, he closed the Daily Prophet and placed it on the table before responding in sign language with a simple, ‘long story’ to test the waters and see where the conversation would lead.

Eileen’s response was to tilt her head slightly, forcing the butterfly on her shoulder to fly away and change positions. She signed back, ‘why?’ While also saying, “why?” Aloud.

Severus signed, ‘can’t’ then ‘speak’ slowly as to convey his reasoning.

She frowned. “Why can’t you speak?”

To which Severus responded with, ‘long story’ again and shrugged when she narrowed her eyes at him. They were walking in circles.

She nodded to herself as if steeling for a long conversation ahead. “Fine. Severus,” she said with a steady voice with no room for argument. “I need you to somehow tell me how and why aren’t you speaking, otherwise, I will make the wrong assumptions, worry myself sick and worry you in turn.” She stared into his eyes. “I won’t accept another long story or another shrug from you, young man. Are we understood?” She finished fiercely.

Ah, Severus thought. That’s my mother, all right. He stole a glance at Tobias after his mother’s words and was met with a frowning man, pancake halfway to his mouth, staring at her dumbfounded. He wanted to snort but kept it a bay, afraid Eileen would think him laughing at her.

Eileen rarely ever demanded anything or disciplined Severus when Tobias was around, afraid of how he would react. Behind the man’s back though, Eileen was a very good mother through and through. She would take no excuses from Severus when he was young, yet would jump herself in front of Tobias’ outbursts whenever her son was in danger. She was gentle when she needed to be and firm when the situation demanded.

Now it’s one of those times she needs to be firmer, and he gets it—if a child under his care suddenly went mute, he would worry too—but what truly had Severus focusing on was Eileen showing her motherly side in front of Tobias for perhaps the first time if his memories were to be trusted. He felt pride in her, pure and raw pride.

Regardless of his pride in her, Severus still had to respond to her question before she loses patience.

He sighed through his nose and raised a hand to summon one of his ravens to assist him—Persephone, the leader of the unkindness. She flew from the outside through the kitchen window and landed on his offered fingers with a greeting, ‘Kraa!’ Which had the greatest benefit of making Tobias startle out of his chair.

She, alongside her fellow kin, was shaping up to be quite loyal to Severus. Persephone in particular liked to lead the ravens to Knockturn Alley, regardless if she hadn’t a package to deliver herself. Since Severus isn’t there to monitor the operation every day, having Persephone and Hades both guide and protect the unkindness was a stroke of good luck. He trusts his ravens as he trusts himself, but Persephone in particular quickly squeezed her way into one of his favourites.

Persephone bowed her head at him, ready to attend to his commands. The Tailed Jay took advantage of the commotion to perch at the base of her head in the neck area like a little polka-dotted bow tie. Severus seeing this snorted amused, but heeded no mind, in turn waving his hand in the raven’s direction as Eileen watched. “Mandrake... leaf,” she said in his stead with the same animalistic distortion as the others.

Tobias huffed bitterly. “Of course, it bloody speaks...” He said disturbed, shaking his head.

But Eileen remained silent. She gaped at the bird, as if it had said something unforgivable, then her eyes widened and her expression morphed into fear as she turned to face Severus.

Severus knew the why of that reaction. His mother is smart (where do you think he gets his smart from?), and had already figured out what a mandrake leaf in his mouth entailed.

“Severus…” she whispered in disbelief. Then, as if the flip of a switch, she raised from her chair and slammed her hands on the table, exclaiming, “You’re attempting an Animagus transformation!?” Then she froze in shock at what she had done.

You see, old habits die hard, especially when those habits were imprinted into you through threats of harm. For Eileen who tried her best to behave while in the presence of Tobias and Severus, so as to not draw Tobias’ wrath on her son, what she did was a novelty. A dangerous novelty. Yet, her brain was working miles per hour and a couple of things become apparent just then. For one thing, she was afraid of losing her son as a result of a failed Animagus transformation. Two, Tobias could not touch her or her son even if he wanted.

Eileen quickly turned to look at Tobias, seeing his incredulity, but other than that, he stayed on his side of the table, blueberry blue staining his beard and fingertips like a messy child. He caught her staring and frowned at her in pretence anger due to her attitude, but it only made him seem a few moments away from a toddler’s temper tantrum instead of intimidating.

Tobias could not touch her or her son even if he wanted.

She stared at Severus once again. Her son still sitting in his chair with the bird perched in his hand, completely at ease, not at all afraid of either her or Tobias—the man who was right there doing nothing even if she acted out of line just then.

Tobias could not touch her even if he wanted.

For two weeks, Eileen reflected. The house had never been so quiet ever since the living room incident, not that it was active much in the first place, but now, it seemed barren of the components that made it what it was. Tobias wasn’t shouting or hitting anything and Severus wasn’t shouting back in rage. The things she once seemed so keen on worrying about it suddenly weren’t of concern, thus, everything was quiet.

She thought about all the years she has lived so far. Her childhood, with her still intact family—her parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, cousins of all shapes and sizes. Her Hogwarts years when she was naïve and impressionable and how much she missed being the President of the Hogwarts Gobstone Club or her impressive remarks in Potion. How absolutely destroyed she felt when her family members were picked one by one to die after they were caught supplying both sides of the war with their potions. How hollowed she was when her father was the last remaining family she had alive.

Eileen recalled how her dating Tobias started simply as a rebelling act. Her father wanted to control her life after the tragedy, in the hopes to raise their family back to glory by marrying her off to some Pureblood man, but Eileen didn’t want that life. Her mother was a hopeless romantic before her murder, telling stories of her many partners before she met Thurio, the right one she used to say, and fell in love. Eileen wanted that, she wanted to fall in love. However, Thurio was disappointed with her mindset. He called her childish, said she wasn’t mature enough to hold a serious relationship without his guidance and would eventually drive the muggle man off due to her incompetence, and it hurt her prideful adolescent mind.

She tried proving him wrong by taking the next step in her relationship with Tobias.

It resulted in a surprise pregnancy.

She was disowned after it all was revealed, forced to take in the kindness of Tobias to have a roof over her head and a chance to raise her child properly. She married him despite knowing Tobias for just a few months, but it soon was clear he wasn’t the good man she thought he was. He wasn’t the right one she was expecting. He became power-hungry, enjoying the fact Eileen had nowhere to go—inexperience in the muggle world as she was—and took full advantage of it, destroying her few magical possessions, starting from her wand, carving the path that would eventually lead to her demise.

Eileen Snape née Prince grew used to the fact her story was depressing all around. She was cast aside as ugly in her early teens, she lost almost all her family soon after, she got entangled into a young pregnancy with a man she barely knew and was disowned because of it, all without mentioning the years of abuse by his hands. She always told her son not to worry since everything was just a story, like a mantra to keep him sane while living under the same roof as that man. Do not fear or cry, everything is just a story, and like most stories, everything will be all right in the end, or something along those lines. However, she never truly believed it.

Victors write history, and she was sure her story full of despair would not win in the end. Because no matter how much she tried, her story was not just, but the unfairest of all.

Or so, she had thought. Because her son, her incredibly talented and loving son, gave her the key to a way out.

Reflecting is the privilege of those who have peace of mind to think, and on those two weeks she spent in her mind, she realized she was free. As if a disoriented bird released from its cage after years trapped inside it, she hadn’t yet realised she could fly.

She wasn’t automatically better, don’t get her wrong. Tobias was there and the years she lived at his expense still weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she had her son to care about, and for him, she would learn how to fly again.

Hence, she arrived back at her first predicament: she was afraid of losing her son as a result of a failed Animagus transformation.

Eileen’s mind returned to the present with a whimper coming from her own mouth. She fisted her hands on top of the table and breathed deeply to recompose herself, looking down.

“Leave us alone, Tobias,” Severus’ raven said while staring at the man. He didn’t need to be told twice, afraid the house would punish him for Eileen’s emotional state and a bit bewildered about her behaviour. He carried a plate of pancakes and fled the kitchen, swearing under his breath as he went.

“How long…?” Eileen asked once they were alone.

Persephone tilted her head. “Since the day you asked—“ But she could not finish.

“Speak with your own mouth, Severus!” Eileen shouted, startling Persephone, who flapped her wings and cried out in response. Eileen’s eyes were wide staring at the wooden table, shaking as if cold. “Take dat leaf rite outta your mouth and speak with me!” Her slight Irish accent from her mother’s side of the family came through due to her distress.

But Severus shook his head regardless. He wouldn’t back down from becoming an Animagus now after committing to it.

He had no specific reason to do so other than to prove himself capable. Potter, Black and Pettigrew were able to transform without issue, even though they were young and inexperienced at the time. He wasn't jealous of their accomplishment because he isn't an impressionable teenager anymore; instead, he was impressed, if not a little exasperated. After all, the Animagus transformation is a dangerous one without guidance, and the Marauders sure as all hell didn’t ask for help. Even Harry seemed to share his uneasiness about their recklessness.

“In the worlds where we were classmates, friends, or relatives, their antics never failed to give me enough creases and white hair for twenty lifetimes ahead of me,” Harry admitted one time long ago with a suffering sigh. “Once, I was a Gryffindor close friends with James—almost part of the Marauders at the time—when he proposed the Animagus transformation. I kid you not—! I fought tooth and nail to stop those buffoons before they killed themselves, but they were so stubborn! Long story short, Sirius and James ended up disfigured and all… wrong. They weren’t meant to succeed in the Animagus transformation in that world, you see.” Harry explained. “Ultimately, I finished the job Death asked of me and ‘offed’ myself back to The Between after the incident. I was traumatized for years afterwards.” He finished by sipping his tea as if he hadn’t just said something disturbing in any way.

Severus recalls staring at him in utter disbelief and horror. “And you’re proposing I try the Animagus process after telling me this?”

“Huh?” Harry had hummed in confusion. “Well, yeah? They were mortal teenagers—obviously, the risks were greater than they could’ve fathomed. But you? Your soul is the one of a Shadow Walker.” He stated. “Shadow Walkers are notorious for their ability to change shape to resemble most things. Regardless if your body is human, your soul guarantees you won’t fail the transformation… if you perform the process correctly, mind. But I don’t doubt your capabilities… if you want to become an Animagi, that is.” He smirked with mischief in his eyes.

What would someone do if told they could try the Animagus transformation without the worry of becoming a deformed blobfish if it went wrong? Naturally, they would attempt the transformation, and Severus was no exception. He’s an adult with priorities, but it doesn’t make him immune to the fantastical or opportunities to expand his arsenal. He could transform into virtually any animal as far as he knew. Given the challenges ahead of him, he needed as much advantage as he could get.

Besides, not failing doesn’t necessarily translate to succeeding, so Severus would accept Harry’s clear challenge, as again, to prove himself capable. Thus, Severus would proceed. After all, he already declared his attempt—in part because he didn’t want to dirty his name by going into the process without a legal declaration, and in part to show Potter how he should’ve responsibly done things. Sounds petty, but then again, Severus is not immune to pettiness. Much to the contrary, he’s no saint.

With a frustrated sigh through his nose, Severus signed, ‘can’t’ again and waited.

Eileen sat back down, legs trembling due to her fear. “Please,” she tried begging, something she was used to doing. “Please, I implore. I can’t… I can’t lose you too.” She teared up. “I can’t—I can’t.” Her magic was wild due to her fear. Watery butterflies flew in disarray around her as if a sharp whirlwind.

Severus, seeing his mother’s tears and magic, started to frantically sign, ‘you won’t, you won’t’ as if tossing her worries over his shoulder and away with each gesture¹, but she wasn’t paying attention.

“I’ve already lost everythin’!” She wailed. “I can’t lose you due to stupidity! Severus, stop dis nonsense. You could die—you know you could! Why are you attemptin’ dis? What prompted you? Is dis about those boys you told me about? The ones who disturb you at school? Ded dey tell you to do it? Are you tryin’ to prove yourself? Why? Why—?” She rambled while crying harder, allowing her accent to thicken with each word.

She was panicking now. Severus tried grabbing hold of her hand, but she used his proximity as an opportunity to grab his shoulders and stare him right in the eye with desperate ones. “Cease dis!” She said. “Whatever the reason, please, cease! I can’t lose my only son! Not like I lost everyone else.”

“You won’t!” Exclaimed Persephone in Severus’ stead from over his shoulder.

“You don’t understand!” Eileen yelled at the raven. “You have no idea what it feels like to lose everyone you once loved—!” Words were stuck in her throat as soon as they came. She choked on something invisible, something heavy that plagued the air around them at that instant, preventing air from reaching her lungs. She gasped at the sulphuric smell combined with the pressure of being deep underwater, startled by the abrupt change in atmosphere, which left her back sweaty and her mind in disarray. But as soon as it came, it dissipated.

She heard a whimper of discomfort followed by the sensation of hair tickling her ears and breathing on the side of her neck. When her mind stopped trying to process what had her so frightened, she noticed Severus had placed his head on her shoulder. His arms had enveloped her in a hug she hadn’t even realised.

“Mum,” he whispered carefully so the leaf in his mouth wouldn’t escape. “’m fine. Don’t… worry.”

She whimpered, allowing her tears to freely fall before sniffling something ugly. Only then, when her hands were shaking, her body was cold and her mind blank, did she hug Severus tightly. Loudly weeping on his robed shoulder and leaning on him like a lifeline.

Severus was grateful for his advanced Occlumency just then. His magic almost lashed out at his mother due to her accusation, as if he didn’t know what it meant to lose everything… as if he wasn’t haunted by the faces of those he once failed. She doesn’t know, he had to remind himself. She doesn’t know and never will, he promised. However, just as Eileen needed Severus to hold her at that moment, Severus himself needed to bury his face in her shoulder and smell her lilac perfume to calm down.

As Severus held his mother in his arms, allowing her to cry on his shoulder and soak his strawberry robe wet with tears until she could cry no more, he thought… whatever material they were both made of, was probably as tougher as it would get. Because to keep walking forward despite their past weighing them down, was perhaps a miracle in itself.

He would hold her steady for as long as she needed him to. In turn, Eileen Snape was due to become the happiest woman alive if Severus had his way across.

Unbeknownst to him, Eileen had similar thoughts. She grew determined to make things right and fair for Severus. A feeling so deep that if Severus were to see into her eyes, he would get lost in her love for him.

It’s both ironic, a wonder and a marvel, how troubled people try harder to support each other despite their shortcomings.

Eileen sniffled. “On another note,” she whispered, “I’m impressed you taught your raven how to speak so clearly.” She praised.

Severus chuckled and signed, ‘thanks’ behind her back.

The summer looks out from her brazen tower, Through the flashing bars of July.

As the days progressed, bringing the hot summer breezes and the humidity from the south, Severus’ routine didn’t deviate much from what he had established early on.

Eileen’s, on the other hand…

“Where do you find enough money for a Daily Prophet subscription?” Eileen suddenly asked one morning while attentively watching Severus gently, slowly spooning the sugar into the egg whites for the meringue. He was making macaroons at her request while systematically showing her the process of preparing and baking them.

Since the day Eileen cried all over his shoulder, something settled in her. What it was, Severus wasn’t sure, but she turned sharp as a hawk as a result, noticing anything out of the ordinary and constantly querying him about any issues. She integrated herself into his daily routine as much as possible, going from bothering him in the kitchen every morning to watching him exercise in the backyard, and even then, talking with him every time she had the opportunity.

Severus didn’t mind it much; if he was honest, it was quite endearing. He did like to have Eileen along and more involved in his life, which also had the great benefit of helping with his boredom slightly. Yet, sometimes, she would surprise him with random personal questions and demand answers, regardless of Severus’ inability to speak with the leaf still in his mouth.

“Potions,” Persephone, perched on the windowsill, replied in his stead.

Severus also quickly realized Persephone had the patience and politeness of an actual angel. Whatever question his mother had, no matter how obnoxious, Persephone would answer for him without prompting. As a result, Severus kept her close by.

“You’re selling potions?” Eileen asked to which Severus simply nodded. “And where are you getting these potions from?”

Persephone sneezed due to the sugar dust raising from the bowl. “I make them, gwah!”

Eileen frowned. “Where?” And Severus responded by pointing at the backyard shed through the kitchen window.

In Severus’ experience, the truth is the best of lies. With the way his mother was watching him, it wasn’t a question of if but when would she investigate the shed. Telling her the truth was the best way to prevent her from inspecting the inside without his permission. After all, he wouldn’t want her to mess with his work or anger his fairies.

Case in point. She raised an eyebrow in confusion before recalling, “Oh, right. Your potion kit. Smart boy, using your knowledge to earn a few coins. Just tell me if you need to replace ingredients.” She smiled at him.

Severus smiled back and nodded. This was the end of that conversation.

But as the days went by, Severus would come to realise that Eileen was far more insistent than he had remembered her to be in his previous life, and the fact that she was his mother made it even harder to deal with because he couldn't treat her rudely or indifferently.

“Severus, where did you learn wandless magic?” Eileen asked while they were waiting for the macaroons to finish puffing up in the oven. Severus was skimming through the newspaper as they waited.

“School,” Persephone replied as Severus licked his thumb and flicked the page.

“Oh? I didn’t know they taught wandless magic at Hogwarts now.”

Severus looked at her and shook his head. “They don’t,” Persephone said for him again, unimpressed.

Eileen blinked. “Ah.”

Once again, that was the end of the conversation.

Yet, Severus continued to underestimate his mother’s insistence.

“Say, how did you domesticated your crow—“

“Raven.” Persephone corrected.

“—Raven, thank you. How did you domesticate your raven?”

They were exercising together after baking breakfast, or Severus was, at least. Eileen watched from the porch stairs as Severus did pushups in the garden, drinking some tea while eating the macaroons he prepared. She was wearing a very flimsy summer dress, which she used as an excuse to not participate in the exercise with him, as it would fly with the wind. Persephone was beside her, eating macaroon crumbles on Eileen’s plate and occasionally dropping crumbs onto her breast feathers to feed the Tailed Jay still stationed on her neck.

Severus huffed during his pushups but ultimately fell onto the grass, annoyed at the question. He rolled over to lie on his back and signed ‘doesn’t matter’ after exposing his dirty hands.

She swallowed a piece of macaroon before saying, “It does matter—“

Severus sat up and repeated the sign for ‘doesn’t matter’ more forcefully with a frown on his face.

Eileen just pouted at him but relented, ending the conversation once again. However, as Severus expected, not for long.

“Is potion your best subject at Hogwarts?” Eileen asked after Severus finished his exercises and went back inside to eat his own breakfast. She asked just as he was about to pour the yoghurt into his bowl, but he nodded in response anyway before cutting her off by using the newspaper as a barrier between them as he ate.

On another day, “You invented the charm you used on your father, correct?”

He nodded.

“Can you show me your notes?”

He shook his head.

“…Please?”

He hummed and shook his head again.

Yet another day, “Did you declare your attempt at an Animagus transformation?”

Severus nodded while humming.

“Good. We don’t have money to pay the fee, as you know it.”

Severus simply hummed again.

And yet, another day, “Do you like someone?”

Severus cleared his throat with some water and shook his head.

“What about that girl, Lily?”

Severus coughed, spilling water. He then dried his chin with a tea towel while shaking his head in denial again.

At this point, you get the gist of it, “What’s your shoe size again?”

Severus didn’t even respond to that, he just deadpanned at her and walked away with his morning coffee.

She kept doing this for weeks! Completely random questions, seemingly out of nowhere and with no follow-ups, as if she was meticulously picking pieces in no specific order to try and solve the puzzle that is Severus’ life. His mother is smart, he would be the first to say, but the way she approached the topic of his life was just annoying, plain and simple.

It was only after many days of struggling with his muteness that, on a morning like any other, Severus finally removed the mandrake leaf from his mouth after carrying it for a month. He was very relieved to finally end that part of the Animagus process, as he couldn’t go another day without speaking. “Amato Animo Animato Animagus, you bloody cunt.” He muttered to the leaf in his hand with gusto.

Without much thought, he immediately went to the backyard shed to brew the Animagi Potion and prepare everything for the approaching summer lightning storms, deciding to skip breakfast and morning exercises for the first time since his return from Hogwarts.

Naturally, his mother took notice of it.

She pounded on the door mere minutes after he had sneaked inside, shaking the foundation of the frail shed with each knock. His fairies, previously deeply asleep, were startled awake with cat-like hisses due to the sound, and some of his ravens begin to mock Severus by imitating the sound of knocking with their beak as if annoying toddlers. Severus, in turn, placed his head between both his hands and groaned frustratingly.

Before she was to pound the door down like a bull, Severus opened it and stuck his head outside. “Yes?”

Eileen, with a fist already raised to knock again, stopped mid-motion. She was still in her pyjamas, slippers and all, and her hair was ruffled because of her stiff pillow. Still, she gasped when she heard Severus speaking, then clapped her hands with a relieved laugh. “You’ve removed the leaf from your mouth!”

Severus rolled his eyes but he couldn’t contain the smile that graced his features at his mother’s happiness. “Yes, I did. The days with the mandrake leaf in my mouth were due to this morning.” He explained.

“Gwah,” Persephone said while comfortably perched on Eileen’s shoulder. After his mother wouldn’t leave him alone for weeks, Persephone and Eileen developed a strong camaraderie and a sense of protectiveness over Severus that he couldn’t begin to understand even if he tried. They got to the point where Eileen now allowed Persephone to sleep in her room on a perch she had placed next to her bed that once belonged to her old owl. Tobias, on the other hand, was so disgusted by the prospect of sleeping with a bird near his pillow that he decided to leave and now sleeps alone in a separate guest room.

In the end, they did start sleeping in different rooms just like in his previous life.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the raven. “Yes, thank you, Persephone.” He deadpanned. “Anyway, were you looking for me, mother?”

Eileen perked up. “Oh, yes! Yes, I was. I woke up and you weren’t in the kitchen, so I thought—maybe he went to buy groceries without me?—but the keys were still in the key holder, you see.” She explained. “I asked little Angel over here where you were and she pointed me towards the shed,” Eileen said while caressing Persephone’s head, who hummed proudly of her actions.   

Severus narrowed his eyes at Persephone, feeling comically betrayed. Of course, the raven he deemed one of his most reliable sold him out to his mother without a sliver of guilt. Such are animals for you. “Very well.” He assented. “Do you need anything else, mother? I’m afraid I won’t be available at the moment since I still have the Animagi Potion to brew…”

Eileen hummed. “Could I watch your brewing process, actually?” She blushed embarrassedly after asking. It was very perceptive on her cheeks since she was pale from lacking sunlight. “I’ve never seen you brewing potions before, and you’ve told me Potion is your best subject… it was mine as well. I was very good at potions back in the day—but, oh, I’m not trying to demoralise you or anything, I just want to see how you do it, is all.” She smiled genuinely at him.

Severus was about to smile back but as the gears in his mind begin turning he lost the urge. Suddenly, no different from a slap to the face, he realised something crucial and his expression fell.

He searched his memories for a moment when his mother had witnessed him perform magic, any moment, but nothing came to mind other than the Oppugno malus Charm. Since Tobias wouldn't permit them to talk about magic in the house, Severus and Eileen never discussed his growth and development, he never showed her his skills, and he never illustrated how far he had come since he was a boy. They had nothing, save for her old folklore book, which Tobias had burned when he found it around the time Severus turned ten, and her retellings of the magical world.

It was heartbreaking because Eileen passed away in Severus' first life during the summer when he was finally permitted to practise magic away from school; she passed away without ever knowing what he was capable of. Moments after they could reunite, moments after he could save her, she was cold and abandoned, and the memory broke his heart.

Eileen Snape had never seen her son perform magic, not then at least.

“Severus?” Eileen asked, waking him from his reverie. “Is something wrong? If—if you don’t want me around as you work, I understand—“

“No.” He said before she talked herself down the offer, but he instantly regretted it when he saw her crestfallen eyes and defeated smile. She misunderstood him. “I mean, yes! You can watch me work, I don’t mind. Sorry, I was thinking about something else.” He closed his eyes and raised his Occlumency shield high enough to rid himself of the memories. Once he was sure he wouldn’t break down in front of Eileen, he opened the rest of the door and stepped aside to allow her entry.

She was still worried, he could tell, but she nodded and stepped inside the shed before Severus changed his mind. “Whoa…” was the first thing she said upon seeing Severus’ reformations. Eileen wasn’t expecting to find a complete remodel of a proper potion lab if her widened eyes were any tell. “How…?”

He looked at her with that mischievous glint in his eyes, something playful and new as far as she could tell. It always appeared when Severus was about to say something funny or sarcastic, she also noticed. “Because I’m a natural, obviously.” And he smirked as if he knew his accomplishments were impressive.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Of course, you would say that. Why did I expect anything else?”

Severus shrugged before closing the door and stepping near the workbench. “I’m not one to follow through with expectations.” He gestured with his hand to Persephone and the rest of his ravens to grab the ingredients he would need on the high shelves, all while placing a small standard cauldron on top of the table. “I would rather exceed others’ expectations of me on my own terms.”

Eileen hummed to his statement while walking around the lab, observing his attention to detail with the place. From the ventilation to the well-polished walls, the sturdy stools, chairs and tables, the non-slippery floor, the tools, beakers and flasks, and even the decorative fish tank. Everything, though most were transfigured parts, was on par with a professional potion lab the likes of the ones in her family’s house as far as she remembered.

When Severus said Potion was his best subject, she didn’t expect such thoughtfulness, but she was pleasantly surprised.

A high-pitch hiss startled her out of her thoughts. She jumped slightly and looked to her side to stare into the eyes of a pissed malnourished fairy inside the tank, clawing at the glass and hissing aggressively at her. When Eileen stepped closer, she noticed four more apart from the aggressive one inside what appeared to be a vivarium. Upon noticing the unknown human snooping, two more fairies begin hissing and trashing at her. 

“Do forgive Frost, Floura and Eve,” Severus said without once looking at her, too focused on the mixing of his ingredients in the mortar. “Worker females are very protective of the young and non-dominant members of their colony.”

“Why are they acting like this?” She tapped the glass, startling the young blond fairy and the male resting in the back, enraging the three fairies in the front even more.

“Please, stop tapping the glass,” he arched a judgemental eyebrow at her from which she stopped messing with the fairies as a result. “They are feral. I discovered them in this state and have been rehabilitating them ever since.”

“Ever since when?”

“Approximately a month, I believe.” He said while meticulously grinding the dry ingredients apart from the mandrake leaf. “If you want them to stop hissing at you, feed them some magic, would you.”

Eileen straightened her back. “Magic?”

Severus looked at her quickly before returning to his work. “Let your magic loose. Dishevel the tight knots, stop clinging and let your magic dance around them fairies.”

Eileen stared at him for a while after his words. When was the last time someone told her to let her magic loose?

She was told at a young age that her magical control was lacking. Her magic would flare around others, whether they were loved ones or people she despised, causing discomfort all around, regardless of whether she tried to control it when she was upset or emotional. She was told that because she couldn't control her emotions, she was a failure as a witch. They assumed she had no heart because her magic was as cold as ice.

Never, is the answer. Never did someone ask her to let her magic loose.

But her son did so just now, lacking any judgement and with confidence in her.

And so, she did as told.

She sighed as the pressure in the room rose and the temperature dropped as she allowed her magic to gradually leave her body and reach the outside. Severus continued working on his potion without incident, adjusting the fire on the stove to maintain the cauldron at a set heat, and to Eileen, nothing significant was happening. Nothing was amiss, aside from her relaxed muscles and the reinvigorating sensation of magic running up and down her body.

The same could not be said about Severus.

Through his sight of a mage, hundreds upon thousands of watery butterflies were flying in all directions, happily obscuring his view with their presence. The gentleness and chill qualities of her magic enveloped him in a comfortable and lovable hug, and he responded in kind, allowing his own magic to dance with the butterflies. One thing of notice is the changes in his magic after acquiring a larger unkindness—his once fireflies were now small ravens flying around him at all times. Change that occurred to accommodate their souls in his shadow, he assumed.

Butterflies and ravens were playing like children, flying alongside Severus’ snake-like tendrils as they floated around, painting a stunning picture of magical properties clashing in complete harmony with each other in Severus’ eyes.

Inside the vivarium, the fairies were having the best day of their lives, basking in the cold waters of Eileen’s magic and the depths of Severus’ own.

However, whatever moment Severus thought they were having was shattered by Eileen’s sudden question.

“Who are you?” She said, and Severus immediately stopped what he was doing with the ingredients, almost dropping one of his vials in the process.

He stared at her through the sea of magical butterflies and ravens, trying to decipher what she meant, but came up short. “What?”

The butterflies receded as Eileen stopped pouring her magic into the room and so did Severus’ magic in response. Although the pressure had technically stabilised, Severus felt uncomfortable without the presence of their magic over his head.

“Who are you?” She repeated herself, reminding Severus of James’ words (Who are you, really? […]The Snape I know wouldn’t be able to do all of that!) Before she continued, “The son of mine who left this house last year on the 1st of September and the one who returned this summer isn’t the same. Not at all.” She shook her head, studying him as she spoke. “The one who left was bitter and unhappy… afraid of a raised hand and shouting, quiet like the dead, trying his best to seem small—wouldn’t want anyone worrying about him regardless if he needed it… but you?”

Eileen approached slowly as one does a skittish cat, afraid of startling him. She stared deeply into his eyes with such fascination; Severus didn’t know what to think. “You,” she gestured in his direction with both her hands. “You carry yourself with confidence, a type of certainty I’ve never seen in you before and I envy. You smile without fear, not afraid to show when you’re happy or when you’re mischievous with a smirk on your face. You stared into the face of evil incarnate and held strong. You planned. You took everything that was pitiful—the situation you lived through—and you changed it. You changed it for the better. Everything, absolutely everything.”

She placed both her hands on either side of Severus’ face, cradling it gently. Now that Eileen was touching him, Severus noticed she was shaking. Instinctively, he raised both his hands to place them on top of hers, staring into her eyes, hearing her stray thoughts as they washed over him. “Brilliant child.” “My precious boy.” “He’s so tall, already my height.” “Look how good he is with magic.” “I’m so proud of him.” and so on. She wouldn’t stop loving him in her thoughts.

“You’ve grown up.” She said and in the back of Severus’ mind, he felt the Occlumency shields holding his emotions at bay. He didn’t want that, not when his tears were ones of happiness, so he allowed them to fall freely, little by little as his mother held him. His face morphed into a wobbly smile and he sniffled, staring at her with loving and trusting eyes.

“You’ve grown up so much… that I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Eileen said, shaking her head while her hands slipped from his face and fell limp on her sides. “Your eyes… they have this bright in them as if you’re watching the world through different lenses. But it doesn’t seem as if you’ve put on new glasses… it’s more akin to scars. Scars that I can see underlined in green as I stare into them, whereas I thought they would be pitch black as mine.”

She took a step back to see Severus in his entirety, from top to bottom and back. “You’re capable of harm as much as you are saving. You’re not afraid to speak the truth, nor of using your magic for good. You’re no black and white… that I can tell from what I gathered.” She said. “You’re a wonderful young man… but you aren’t the son I saw leaving this house last summer and I don’t know what to think about it.”

Severus… honestly, didn’t know what to do. He stared at Eileen in bewilderedness, tears dripping down his face, overwhelmed with a sense of wrongness. He was expecting something from Eileen, but it wasn’t this confusion and loss that replaced the warmth of her hands on his face. He wanted to hear what she was thinking—those beautiful words from deep in her heart that she never once said aloud.

He wanted to know he was loved.

“Mum—“ but Eileen raised a hand to stop him, looking down at her feet.

“I need more time.” Her voice trembled. “When I started spending my days with you, I thought I had everything under control—that I had finally healed enough to get to know you. But as I learned more about you, I realised... that time has already passed. The you who needed me is long gone, and I couldn't help you then. Now you're the one protecting me, whereas I should have been the knight in your story.

Eileen raised her head to say, “It’s your story, but it is not just!” She teared up. “It’s unfair, and I’m sorry.” With that, she sped past him, opening the door forcefully in her haste and she left as fast as she came.

Severus was left in the shed, accompanied by the fairies and his ravens. Bell chirped something soft and Persephone cooed, both trying to comfort him but to no avail. In response, he raised his Occlumency shields high, higher enough to stare down a dragon without fear if need be and mechanically returned to his brewing of the Animagi Potion as if nothing had happened.

However, the blood trailing down his face said otherwise.

Chapter Text

Severus and Eileen didn’t talk with each other for days afterwards. They experienced it differently, but it felt strange and even unnerving to stop doing things together and go back to being by themselves.

Severus stuck to his routine, changing very little to maintain a shred of normalcy despite the tension in the house. Mostly keeping to himself, he read newspapers, his pocket journal, and A Study in Scarlet repeatedly. Potions were made, ingredients bought, and his ravens and fairies were taken care of daily. Thoughts of his gardening tools and the relief they might bring crossed his mind, but there was no disposition. He just ate, worked, slept, and nothing else.

Eileen’s routine was meticulous to make it seem nothing was wrong—she was a good deceiver, Severus realised. Cooking when Severus was busy, reading novels by the fireplace, deep cleaning the house and washing all of their clothes… everyday things, usual things for a housewife, but all of them wrong in some way.

She was messy in the kitchen and the food would come out stale. She wasn’t a bad cook—anyone who’s versatile in the way of potion-making knows how to cook—but she made mistakes similar to his first-year students, and the professor in him worried she would eventually burn herself. The novels she thoughtfully read every evening were Tobias’, filled to the brim with nonsensical propaganda about a religion neither of them believed in, comparing magic to the work of the devil. The worst were the random books Tobias found in the rubbish, ranging from old magazines to hard-covered books about anything and everything. Severus could tell she didn’t enjoy any of them, judging solely by her frown while reading, but she kept at it anyway to have something to do. 

However, in his opinion, her compulsive cleaning was the worst behaviour among them. The amount of effort she put into making the house spotless was commendable, but doing it three times a week was downright unhealthy. Severus frequently had to stop her from scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush, usually by Scourgifying the invisible dirt from between the wood crevices. Even though he set up a charm similar to the washing-up spell to clean the clothes magically, she would wash them a second time anyway, simply because she felt like it. And although he tried talking her out of it, even his beloved attic fell victim to her compulsion. The cardboard boxes were organised, the dust was cleaned, and his old drawings on the walls were all scrubbed off.  

Severus wanted to help, but he didn’t know what she was going through, so there wasn’t much he could do but watch from the sidelines and wait again. Besides, Severus was a busy man. Keeping an eye on his contractors, making potions, purchasing ingredients and vials, finishing school homework, and dealing with other similar issues such as planning for the foreseeable future were all among things he had to contend himself with.

Severus thought back to the charmed trunk he had needed to store the Horcruxes; the one with three compartments he had intended to acquire by either charming or buying, but was unable to do so because he couldn’t use his wand outside of school nor had enough money. Well, he could now. He could either buy one or make one, and that’s exactly what he did. The Capacious Extremis was a little trickier than he had anticipated, but fortunately, the trunks he ordered from Trunks For Everyday Use via delivery by a Daily Prophet ad were sturdy enough to maintain their shape throughout Severus’ unsuccessful attempts. However, after further testing, he was only successful at magicking the three interior rooms onto a black leather trunk with corner bumpers and a lock, both bathed in silver. Of which, included an office/potion lab, a storage room, and a vault.

The vault was protected with his best runes, charms, traps, and even old protective rituals to keep anyone other than himself away. The other compartments were filled with transfigured furniture held together with runes, just like the shed. On the exterior, with a flick of Magnum Opus, Severus signed the name Severus Snape in beautiful cursive with silver lining in the upper corner of the trunk, finishing his work with satisfaction.

As they were both busy—Eileen looking to distract herself and Severus working—they didn’t see each other very often, which by itself brought about an incident one early evening.

It was past six; the sky was cloudy and the day was dark. Severus was stowing away his equipment and preparing to leave the shed for dinner when he heard shouting from the house. Judging by the tone, it was Tobias. He wasn’t shouting profanities or hitting anything, but for his father, who had been so quiet since the house threatened him, to be shouting as if the end of time was near, had Severus’ blood pumping and his adrenaline spiking. He immediately ran inside.

Upon entering through the back door, Tobias was donning a hat to leave.

“What happened—why are you leaving?” Severus asked in quick succession.

Tobias turned to look at him, purple in rage. “What happened,” he seethed between clenched teeth. “Is that… that—” he closed his eyes and breathed deeply to contain himself and not curse away. “Your mother broke my alcohol shelf.”

Severus blinked then frowned. “Why?”

Tobias threw his hands up in frustration. “Why—? Obviously, because she’s drunk!” he exclaimed. Before Severus could retort, Tobias pointed a firm finger at his face. “I am a strong man!” he stated. “I can handle anything you throw at me, whether it’s the work of the devil or not. But if there’s one thing I’m not going to subject myself to taking care of, it’s that drunken harl—woman over there! That rubbish is in your hands!”

Severus bristled. “How hypocrite of you.”

“Shut it,” he commended. The portrait above the door began shaking as a warning, but Tobias only did roll his eyes. “You shut, as well! I did nothing wrong!” He opened the front door and left while shouting, “Nothing bloody wrong!” before slamming the door closed.  

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to compose himself to face whatever his mother was doing. After that, he walked towards the living room. Admittedly, he did not believe the situation to be as bad as Tobias made them out to be, but he was surprised to see himself wrong. 

The floor, from the carpet to the base of the fireplace, was awash with spilled booze. Shards of glass lay scattered about, remnants of bottles that had crashed from the dangling, clearly broken high shelf. The overpowering stench of alcohol made him wince. Eileen lay face down on the sofa, clutching a bottle of scotch that threatened to slip from her grasp as she groaned. Her usually tidy hair hung loose around her head, and her dress had ridden up high on her thighs. Suffice it to say, she looked thoroughly wrecked.

Baffled, Severus said, “How the hell did you do all of this?” He gestured to the entire room. “And why?” Eileen groaned again, but otherwise, didn’t move an inch.

Severus approached, took the bottle from her grasp, and placed it on the floor. He then slid his hands under her armpits, lifting her into a sitting position and arranging cushions to make her more comfortable. Given her slender frame, it was easy for him to do so. “Mother, are you all right?” He cradled her swaying head, gently tucking her hair behind her ears before checking her eyes and vitals. Her pulse was stable, albeit slightly fast, and her eyes were dilated from the intoxication.

She frowned and pouted. “’m fine,” she hiccuped. “Joehst drank a lettle,” she replied in the thickest Irish accent he had ever heard from her, making it difficult for him to understand.

Severus pursed his lips. “Uh hum,” he hummed. “I’ll grab you a Soberup potion; just wait right here.” He made to leave, but Eileen grabbed his retreating arm.

“Noooo…” she complained. “I want to be droehnk! Let me stay droehnk!”

“Why would you—why are you drunk in the first place? Mother, you don’t do well with alcohol.” He tapped her hand, trying to coerce her into releasing him, but she didn’t budge.

“I joehst dahn’t want to dink abooeht anythin’. Let me—” she hiccuped again. “Joehst let me.”

Severus snapped his fingers, summoning a glass of water from the kitchen that came flying at his outstretched hand. He offered to his mother, who tried to gulp down the liquid in one go. “Slowly,” he admonished, supporting the cup as she sipped. Afterwards, he placed the cup on the coffee table and sat by his mother’s side on the sofa. “Why did you do this?”

She groaned, blowing up a breath in his face, tapping her forehead with her fingers. “Too moehch to dink, lettle good. Dedn’t want to dink anymahre. Wanted mend blank… so I drank.”

Severus sighed, frowning in disappointment. “Too much thinking, not enough action, you say?” He closed his eyes. “So, you resorted to doing as Tobias does?”

She sat up a little straighter after Severus’ accusation, still crooked, but better than a slump. “Huh?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her with patience. “Drink in order to forget. That’s what Tobias does, if you recall.”

She shook her head, saying, “No,” while patting Severus’ arm. “Dahn’t want to fahrget… want peace o’ mend fahr a while.”

“Peace of mind…” Severus mirrored her words. “Why? What is troubling you? Mother, I sincerely want to help, but there isn’t much I can do without knowing what you’re going through.”

Eileen stared at Severus, seeing his eyes—ones desperate to be of help. Even in her drunken state, she thought how rare it was to see those obsidian eyes so full of love. She was accustomed to seeing them as black and lifeless when she glanced in the mirror or remembered her father. The Prince’s eyes, they were called, capable of discerning a potion's quality with just a glance. Of course, all fantasies cherished by those captivated by her family’s talent, but she digressed. She had always believed the burden of possessing those eyes outweighed their benefits, and she would continue to believe so until she gazed into Severus’ equally dark ones. 

Eileen had forgotten that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and although Severus’ eyes were scarred by reasons unknown, when he looks at her, she can only see love in them. As the kaleidoscope of magic she saw reflected into his eyes in the shed that day, as if her magic floating in the air mesmerised him, she was certain: Severus’ eyes never lied, and Severus’ soul loved.

Involuntarily, as if she couldn’t help it, she placed a hand on his cheek, caressing with her thumb, humming when he leaned onto it somewhat. No matter how much she looks at him, regardless of Severus’ similarities with Prince man such as her father or his recent changes in attitude, he is her son above all else. “I’m not fond o’ change,” she replied, sobering up slightly.

Severus blinked. “Is this all because of me?” He whispered brokenly, hurt flashing in his eyes.

“Partially,” she made a wobbly so-so gesture. “But it’s not dat I dahn’t appreciate what you’ve done for me… It’s joehst dat changes in me life are always followed by despair,” she admitted, and the truth of the matter was haunting. When everything changed in her teens, her family died. When everything changed in her young adult years, she found herself cut off from the witchzarding world. “It’s as if a curse was placed upon me at birth, causin’ me to step ever closer to the bottom o’ a dark well, one step at a time, until it’s too dark for me to see the steps.

“I’m afraid o’ fallin’, Severus. So, so afraid,” she whispered, closing her eyes to recompose herself.

Severus patiently awaited his mother’s next words, raising his hand to gently place it over hers on his cheek, offering a reassuring caress.

“Changing dings for the better is a concept I dedn’t dink possible,” she continued. “But you’ve proved me wrong, you know. I knew I ’ad to change if I wanted to improve our lives, but I never dared to. I was too afraid, I believe. Dat is, until you arrived dis summer, confident and ready to turn the cogs o’ change with your bare ’ands if necessary—something I ’ad only dreamed o’.” She breathed shakily while caressing his cheeks.

“Point is.” She stared into his eyes with cloudy, drunken ones, but oh so earnestly and loving. “De world is ever-changin’, and so are our lives. Instead o’ fearin’ it, it’s ’igh time I started embracin’ it instead.” To make her point across, she hugged Severus tightly, caressing the back of his head as she used to do when he was younger. “For you, darlin’. For you, I would change de world.”

Severus’ breath hitched. He raised his arms to return his mother’s embrace, but then hesitated, opting to gently pat her back instead. Trying again, tears welled up in his eyes uncontrollably. His expression shifted between sadness and relief, sniffling loudly as he rested his head on her shoulder, feeling his energy drain with each sob. However, only after his mother whispered, “Shh, it’s fine; everythin’ is fine. You can cry as much as you need. I’ll be ’ere to—” she hiccuped. “To support you regardless.” Did Severus find the courage to reciprocate the embrace in kind.

She rocked him gently from side to side as he cried. Though Severus struggled to tell if it was voluntary or due to her drunkenness, he kept his thoughts to himself, leaning into the hug as if he were a child again. Allowing himself to be held, he cried until he gradually calmed to a blissful post-crying state. Eventually needing space to breathe, Severus shakily uttered, “I love you, Mum,” before leaving her comforting embrace.

This time, Eileen’s breath hitched.

Before Severus could ask her why she had such an odd reaction, a bolt of bright lightning painted the living room in pure white followed closely by a clap of thunder, startling the both of them. The thunder announced the arrival of rain, heavily hitting the windows and the roof above them.

The beginning of the lightning storm Severus was waiting for.

Unintentionally, he placed his hand over the pocket containing the Animagus potion, feeling its solidity through the fabric. Now that it was meant to be consumed, it seemed heavier. He weighed his options, torn between not wanting to spoil the moment and longing to drink the potion immediately.

Eileen stared at the rain in serenity. “ Dere are some dings you learn best in calm, and some in storm, ” she muttered.

“Willa Cather, The Song of the Lark.” Severus reciprocated.

Eileen hummed quietly. “You know it.”

They gazed at the storm outside in perfect harmony. No worries, no magic—just mother and son, savouring the soothing sound of rain, cocooned in their own little bubble. There were duties awaiting them, cleaning the living room first among them, but in that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still. They breathed in the earthy scent of rain and tasted the electric charge in the air, relishing the rare tranquillity of being home. Because home isn’t defined by walls, carpets, or roofs; it resides where the heart is, and theirs beat with one another.

But as all good things must come to an end, Eileen popped their bubble by asking, “Aren’t you goin’ to drink the potion in your pocket?”

Severus side-eyed her. “I planned to do it in a recluse space, away from prying eyes, so as not to worry you further.”

Eileen laughed and batted his worries away. “Nonsense. I’ll accept your changes if I must. Besides, given what I’ve learned, I believe you’ll succeed.”

“But—” Severus tried again.

“Take the bloody potion, Severus,” Eileen commanded.

Severus startled, chuckling, “Yes, ma’am.”

He got up from the sofa, reaching for the bottle of scotch he had left on the ground, and poured a finger’s worth into the glass of water. He passed the shoot to his mother before picking up the vial from his pocket. “Last drink of the night, understood?” He warned Eileen.

She raised the glass wobbly but proudly, with a smirk on her face. “Cheers mate.”

Severus did the same with his vial. “Cheers.” And they both dawned their drinks in one go.

Severus immediately did a face and Eileen took notice of it. Laughing, she asked, “’s dat bad?”

He licked his lips. “As bitter as I imagined it would be.” He frowned, staring at the empty vial.

“Well,” she supported her elbows on her knees to lean closer to Severus. “Do you feel any different at all?”

Severus tilted his head. “That’s not how it works. I won’t transform immediately after drinking the potion.” He shook his head. “I must now practice meditation in an effort to slowly coax my inner animal to the surface. The process may take months.” He batted her curiosity away with his hand, unconcerned.

However, what Severus didn’t know—and what Harry forgot to tell him—is that the soul of a Shadow Walker has more influence on an Animagus than he had previously thought. Shadow Walkers are shapeless beings that adopt the appearance of familiar things, which explains why Severus’ Minions resemble ravens—they had raven bodies in life. Similarly, Severus’ soul takes the form of his teenage self because it resides within his human teenage body. Furthermore, the Animagus form reflects a person’s inner animal, which exists within their soul.

In Harry’s own words, ‘Your [Shadow Walker] soul guarantees you won’t fail the transformation.’ This means that when a Shadow Walker attempts the Animagus transformation, they will assume the familiar form of their inner animal, adopting its appearance and ensuring that the transformation happens without failure. Which so happens instantly.

“Try it anyway. I want to see ’ow you meditate.” Eileen encouraged before hiccuping.

Severus sighed but relented, since he didn’t know the information explained above. “As you wish, but try not to distract me.”

Hence, the start of a soon-to-be disaster.

He sat on the armchair, crossed-legged with his legs bent, knees pointed outwards, and placed his hands flat over them before closing his eyes. Severus breathed deeply as Eileen watched through half eyelids, tugging at his inner animal as one does their own magic to come forth. To his surprise and horror, it came just as easily.

Every Animagi ever registered claimed that the transformation occurs slowly the first time. The human body shifts and the bones realign as the animal within gradually transforms over it, bringing with it instincts, new senses, and an uncanny familiarity with its new body. However, unlike werewolves, it’s a painless process.

Now, to their credit—and Severus couldn’t emphasize this enough—none of those people were Shadow Walkers and thus could not have known what was about to happen. However, that fact did little to ease Severus’ confusion when, in the blink of an eye, he went from sitting at eye level with Eileen to feeling packed into the living room like a tuna in a can.

Picture this: you’re a very drunk mother who is casually watching your son attempt the dangerous Animagus transformation. Though you are currently too drunk to care, you are still apprehensive and afraid of a failed attempt. Regardless, you trust your son will prevail, so you watch like a hawk.

In one moment, your son is in a relaxed meditation position in an armchair next to the sofa as it rains outside, and the peacefulness of it lures you into a similar relaxed state. On the other, something seemed to burst out of your son, quickly and disorienting-like, and suddenly, you’re surrounded by coils and feathers, and they won’t stop expanding until the entire room seemed too small.

Feathers relate to birds, but coils relate to snakes and serpents, and the more you stare at this rapidly growing creature, you realize it has wings and bird feet as much as it has an elongated body and a pointy tail, which makes it even more confusing.  

For you, it might sound fantastical and unbelievable, but to a very drunk Eileen who experienced it all first-handily, it was terrifying.

So, naturally, she screamed.

“Aah!” She jumped off the sofa before it was crushed by the creature’s size alone, and moved away in the direction of the window-lined wall. She sobered up quickly due to adrenaline and felt sick at the same time as she watched the creature squawk in discomfort inside the tiny living room.

Severus, on the other hand, was going through a tough time. He was completely disoriented, unable to tell what was up and down, while feeling his entire body strangely. He felt as if he were being stuffed inside a box, and the increasing discomfort compounded the crushing pressure. His arms were flaccid and flat and his legs were longer, trying to adjust his position would shift the entire room around him, and he didn’t know what creature made the sounds coming out of his mouth.

To make matters worse, he was certain that the shabby furniture in the room would not be able to support his weight and would eventually break under it. He could feel the broken wood poking his skin, or was it the previous broken shards of glass? He had no idea.

Severus swore to make Harry pay for this the next time he saw the Master of Death in person.

After a minute of disorientation, trying to ascertain where his body began and ended, Severus gave up. Instead of trying to find himself, he stopped and relaxed his muscles with a great sigh to see what would happen.

Other than the rain outside, the living room went quiet.

Certain things were clear to Severus. First, he was a large and confusing creature. Second, he was sure his head was on the floor because he could smell alcohol and feel the booze seeping into his… fur? He guessed. Third, he had probably destroyed their living room. And fourth, his mother was terrified, as indicated by her earlier scream.

“…Severus?” Eileen cautiously muttered.

He whined so that she knew he could listen to her, but the sound of it had him cringing. It resembled the screech of a bird of prey, very raptor-like, reminding him of an oversized, annoying bird. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to find where Eileen was due to his massive body obscuring his view. He attempted to locate his mother once more by wiggling himself, but she immediately protested.

“Wait! Stop movin’—Ugh!” she gagged. “De way you’re movin’ is makin’ me ’ead spin!” She supported herself on the wall, gasping. “I shouldn’t ‘ave been drunk for dis.”

Severus whined again, but Eileen elect to ignore it. “I’ll try to turn on the lights. Your feathers are so dark I can’t see anythin’ ahead o’ mes” she told him before making her unsteady way across the room towards the switch by patting the walls and avoiding his coils.

She walked over and stumbled upon his body many times, but eventually, Eileen encountered a part of Severus’ body in the tangled mess—a section before the wings, as tall as a boulder—that blocked her path forward. There was no getting around it because it extended like a snake’s body, so the only option was to climb up.

She patted his body to announce where she was. “I—I ‘ave to—” she hiccuped. “I ‘ave to climb over dis… dis part o’ your body,” she said, already dreading what she was about to do. “Be—be a good boy and dahn’t crush me while I’m at it, understood?” Severus hummed in response, and she took that as a yes, go ahead.

Eileen tugged at his feathers to support herself up, but other than making him flinch and yelp, it did little as the feathers were plucked clean from his skin. “Sorry,” she apologised before trying again, jumping and grabbing the higher and sturdier feathers of his back. She swung a leg over him and grunted as she climbed up and sat upright on his back, breathing heavily and doing her best to stay steady. A headache threatened to burst between her brows and she blinked rapidly to stop it, however, unfortunately, her attempts were in vain.

A strong wave of nausea hit her, and she groaned, holding her head with one hand and one of Severus’ wings with the other to stay balanced on his back. However, Eileen Snape was no heavy drinker. Regardless if she had a glass of water in her stomach, the one-and-a-half bottles of scotch were clearly winning against it, and with nowhere else to go, she had no choice.

“Severus—” she gagged again. “I’m sorry—” and she promptly vomited on his back.

Severus felt this slimy yet liquid fluid descending from his back to his arms—wings, until it dripped down the tips of his finger—feathers to the floor. He heard his mother heaving ugly vomiting sounds and his nose was assaulted with this awful acidic smell, and just… despite his supposed birdbrain, suffice it to say, it didn’t take a genius to understand what was happening. As the situation clicked in his mind, and Severus realised his mother was vomiting on his back, he had a second of shocking clarity.

Then, he screeched like a bloody banshee.

His serpentine body started trashing as he flapped his wings to take the disgusting liquid out, all while complaining and gagging like a man-child… or bird-man-child, supposedly. Meanwhile, Eileen was holding on for dear life.

“Stop movin’!” she exclaimed. “Or I will—Ugh!” she gagged some more. “I’ll pass out—Ugh!”

But they continued like that for a hot minute, Severus reliving his drunk midlife crisis fifteen years too early and Eileen enjoying (re: suffering) a roller coaster ride where if she were to let go, she would immediately be crushed under approximately five tons worth of bird.

How delightful!

“You’re makin’ me dizzy, you stupid—massive, dumb ass bird!” She exclaimed, and Severus heard it, it seems, because he responded with a high-pitched, offended bird noise. The shocking value of witnessing Eileen swear also caused him to stop moving. “For goodness’s sake! Either stay still or change into something smaller!”

Severus huffed. He wished he were smaller—at least then it wouldn’t be such a hassle to transform. Moreover, had he been smaller, he could’ve taken advantage of his possible flying capabilities—but, no. Severus Snape couldn’t be a normal animal, could he? Out of all the things he would be satisfied with, such as a crow, a raven, a jackal, even a bat, if he was desperate, or a Merlinforsaken goose… Severus wouldn’t complain. But what did he get instead? A massive love child between a brainless serpent and a halfwit bird, that is!

As he mentally berated his situation, huffing and sneezing like an upset cockatoo, Eileen found her blind way into the kitchen. She remembered the candles up in the cabinets, and with nothing better to illuminate her way, she pulled one out and lit it by the stovetop. Before returning to the living room, she cleaned her mouth in the sink to remove the nastiness and gulped down another full glass of water to remain a bit soberer. Although she was aware that’s not how alcohol works, she had to make do with what she could come up with.

She stepped outside the kitchen, using the threshold as support before exclaiming, “All right!” while holding the candle up with her bare hands. “Severus, follow de light in me ’and so I may see your face—”

However, the living room was empty, to her utter bewilderment.

Eileen looked around in the endless darkness, dumbfounded as to where Severus had gone with that massive body of his. “What de—” she hiccuped. “‘ell?” She fumbled her way over to the light switch, slowly, using her candle to illuminate the destroyed living room to avoid stepping over broken wood and glass. Once she reached it, she finally switched the lights on.

As she was no longer bathed in darkness, she looked around for Severus but saw nothing but destruction—the sofa had split in two, the coffee table lay in pieces of wood and splinters, the fireplace had lost a good chunk of bricks, the bookshelves had collapsed, and the books were all soaked in booze. That is, until she spotted it: there, in the very centre of the room, she saw a… little, tiny bird. Or was it a snake? Its body was long and thin like a snake’s, but its dark feathers, wings, beak, and clawed feet suggested otherwise. Regardless, the tiny, wonderful creature was contemplating itself, studying its underwing and the tip of its tail. It used its twig-like legs to attempt standing and walking, squeaking as it ultimately stumbled down like a newborn fawn.

As Eileen stared, the precious thing stood up again and, instead of walking, it placed both legs behind its back and slithered like a snake, flapping its adorable little wings to balance itself while doing so.

“Severus…?” She asked, and the pinnacle of adorableness tilted its head at her, confirming that this was indeed her son. Apparently, in Severus’ haste to wish himself smaller, he ended up… actually shrinking, for some reason.

Eileen gaped, then tried to hide her amusement by placing a hand over her mouth. “You’re adorable…!” she stated, muffled by her hand.

The little guy squeaked in protest, using his wings to seem bigger, but it only reminded Eileen of a dark feathered parakeet trying to intimidate her. She sank to the floor, leaning against the wall, and felt the relief rush into her head, causing a headache to pound behind her eyes. “Merlin,” she sniffed. “What creature are you?”

Severus tried to shrug, not necessarily sure about what he was either, but the movement did nothing other than destabilise his carefully thought balance, making him face-plant (or beak-plant, if he was honest) into the soaked carpet. He groaned, bringing his legs back down to stand away from the booze, only to stand on wobbly legs. Frustratingly, he flapped his wings to keep himself upright, but it was to no avail as he fell again. 

Eileen stared as Severus sighed, displeased at his lack of coordination. Subsequently, she burst out laughing, slapping her exposed knees in glee and coughing the laugh out like a drunken man.

“Ow!” She exclaimed when her headache throbbed painfully, but it didn’t hinder her mirth at the situation. “You look—ouch!” She massaged her forehead. “You look… like a baby—bloody hell!” She groaned.

Severus rolled his eyes pointedly. To save himself the embarrassment, he turned back to a human while flattening his back on the booze-covered floor, without an ounce of energy in him to stand up. “That…” he groaned out with a husky voice. “Went well.”

“Oh, you’re back,” Eileen stated more than asked. “You could’ve done dat earlier, you know.”

“I was too disoriented to entertain the idea… my apologies.” Severus apologised meekly.

She batted his apology away. “As long as you can fix dis mess, I dahn’t mind,” she replied. “Also, I would like dat Soberup potion rite about now.” She groaned.

“I’ll fix the living room later,” he promised. “And give me a minute… I can barely move my arms as is.”

“Suit yourself.”

There they stayed, silently enjoying each other’s company as the rain continued to fall outside. Eileen nestled in the corner, idly playing with the corks of the scotch she had consumed, gradually calming down. Severus lay on his back nearby, staring unmoving at the roof above them, brows furrowed in displeasure at the embarrassing turn of events.

Eventually, Eileen started giggling drunkenly.

Severus tilted his head in her direction. “What you’re laughing at?”

“De sound you made when I called you a dumb bird.” She giggled some more at the memory.

“I was affronted,” he defended weakly.

“And den—and den, you were so cute!” she squealed. “Like the stuffed toys I ‘ad as a lass.”

“All right…” He drawled before getting himself up on his elbows with a great grunt of effort. “Firstly, I’m not a toy. Secondly, I’ll never transform in front of you again.” And he stood up on shaky legs after that.

Eileen pouted at him. “But I want to see de adorable little bird again…”

“Do you? What about the adorable massive bird that came first, hm?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “…fair,” she conceded and Severus nodded, satisfied.

However, before Severus made his way out of the room, Eileen called out, “Severus.”

He stopped before the arch. Leaning onto the wall, he turned to look at her. “Mother?”

She raised her head, staring into his eyes head-on, to mutter, “I love you, too,” as softly as she could.

It seemed simple enough: a mother admitting how much she loves her son while also responding to his earlier declaration of love before the situation went out of hand. But for Severus, it wasn’t nearly as simple.

Eileen loves him, he knows it now and even then in his past life, but she never voiced it aloud. She never said she loved him, and despite knowing she did—despite her patience, disciplined and kindness—one cannot go their entire life believing something to be true without ever being given a confirmation. Without it ever being said, I love you back.

Severus grew up bitter, never hearing those words or any proclamation of love. He believed himself unworthy of affection, wallowing in solitude. Yet, at our core, humans are inherently social beings. Loneliness is all-consuming, and by the time Severus died, he was merely a husk of the man he could’ve been—consumed by darkness.

So, hearing his mother admit she loved him meant the world. It was all he ever wanted to hear from her.

He blamed it on his tiredness, but Severus could not help but blush. “I—” he grabbed a handful of his clothes in his clenched hands, caught completely off guard. “I… hm.” He hummed and sniffed. “I mean, yes… Thank y—no. I mean…” He spluttered embarrassingly, feeling overwhelmed out of a sudden. “I will just get the potions… I think I need a Calming Draught myself.” And he fled.

He heard his mother’s endearing laugh follow him all the way outside, and as he walked, one step at a time—one moment at a time, one laugh at a time—regardless of the burden that he carries or the fifteen feet bird Animagus resided in his soul, Severus had never felt so light.

In the streets of Spinner’s End, generally, nothing happens. The children were too scared of the children’s graveyard to wander off; the adults were too tired from working in the cotton fields, the cotton mill, and the clothing factory to indulge; and the elders, intoxicated for years by the great chimneys and their fumes, didn’t live long enough to tell their miserable stories. Distinct from its neighbouring neighbourhoods, where the sky was indeed blue, Spinner’s End was dismal in comparison.

As a result, the area lacked gathering spots for those wishing to enjoy some frivolity. Bars, restaurants, and even parks—anyone looking for food or company had to look elsewhere in Cokeworth, but most wouldn’t dare make the effort because, once again, the people were tired. Thus, the streets were as quiet as the dead, carelessly dirty, and unbelievably unsafe.

So, with all that in mind, imagine how surprised the population was when, one morning like no other, people heard music playing in the distance.

What song was playing? What else was there but the rockabilly sensation of the time, ‘Blue Suede Shoes,’ sung at full blast on the radio by pop star Elvis Presley?

Where was it coming from? Well, of course, from the backyard of the Snape family.

Severus and Eileen, hoes in their hands and a gingado¹ in their feet, were removing the dead grass from the backyard to replace it with the Kentucky bluegrass Severus bought, all while dancing to the song. Neither of them could contain themselves. How much self-control would it take to not dance to the voice of Elvis bloody Presley?

“Well, you can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes.” Or sing, as Severus oh so kindly shown.

The truth is, it wasn’t just the song that seemed out of place, but the happiness as well. Severus and Eileen genuinely enjoyed their time working together. Despite the arduous manual labour of hoeing, the song, the company, and a few glasses of refreshing lemonade with biscuits more than compensated for it. They put in a lot of effort and worked effectively, but that didn’t stop them from having a good time, letting go of stress, and focusing on building the best garden Spinner’s End had ever seen.

And it didn’t stop that day. Every morning, as the two of them worked in the backyard, their radio played songs. Some people found it fascinating, while others found it irritating, but no one had the heart to complain because, at least, those two were laughing and chatting while working on something worthwhile; they weren’t wasting their lives like the rest of them. Additionally, it may have been a sign of hope for Spinner’s End to see someone enjoying even the most basic aspects of life. It implied that no one had to be miserable, regardless of their living conditions.

Besides, the garden was taking shape beautifully.

The enhanced fertiliser helped the grass grow in less than a week, turning the previously dirty and bare patch of land into a gorgeous shade of healthy green. Around the shed and on the base of the back porch, Severus hammered wood planks in a rectangular shape to serve as the flowerbeds, but Eileen thought them too flimsy-looking, so they ended up edging the garden with bricks instead. Afterwards, Severus cleared a pathway from the porch stairs to the shed entrance, laying river rocks along it, while Eileen, drawing on her expertise in gardening from her potioneer family background, skilfully planted the flowers.

“Why edelweiss?” Eileen asked after inspecting the seed bags.

“Hm?” Severus hummed. He was sitting by the porch stairs, distracted by a glass of water while resting in the shade.

Eileen wore a woman’s sun hat with a ribbon bow flowing down the brim, light brown trousers, and gardening boots and gloves. She was dirty from transferring loam to the beds, as it had rubbed into her clothes slightly, but if Severus was honest, he had never seen her so happy and content doing something she enjoyed.

“Edelweiss. Why did you buy it?” She took the seed bag in her hands and gave it a shake in his direction. “I mean, I can understand the chocolate cosmos and clematis—they both have deeper colours; the cosmos is a deep wine and the clematis is purple—but the edelweiss?” She shrugged. “It’s white, which I guess compliments the darker shades of the other two, but there are better white flowers available, I believe. So, why this one?”

Severus tilted his head in thought, staring at the sky. Eventually, he finished his glass of water and stood up to continue the job. “No specific reason. I saw a vase with a bouquet of them once and thought it is a beautiful flower.” He shrugged. “I know they are underrated compared to, what? Orchids? Sweet peas? But I liked them regardless.”

Before Severus could walk away, Eileen said, “Did you know they mean courage?”

He stopped and turned to face her. “Pardon?”

“Edelweiss is often associated with strength and toughness, but it also came to be a symbol of courage, bravery, and love,” she said, smiling.

Severus frowned. “This small thing?”

“Why, yes!” Eileen nodded. “They are alpine plants, typically found on mountain tops. It was once believed that receiving an edelweiss flower meant the giver had climbed to a high altitude to obtain it, demonstrating the courage to scale a mountain with you in their thoughts. Hence, courage, bravery, and love.”

His eyebrows went up in surprise. He hadn’t known the significance of the flower; with all due honesty, he just thought them pleasing to the eye. “How coincidental…” he murmured. “I also think of you as brave and lovely.” He smirked.

Eileen laughed and batted his cheekiness away. “Oh, you! Merlin knows that if I were to be a flower, it wouldn’t be an edelweiss.”

“Why? What flower would you be?” Severus asked curiously.

She tilted her head towards the sky in thought, exactly as Severus had done previously, and he snickered at their similarities. “A strelitzia, I think.” She said, studying her gloved hands with a small smile on her face. “And you?”

“You’re asking me? I barely even know the meaning of edelweiss, and I have no idea what a strelitzia looks like,” he reasoned. “You tell me… what flower would I be, mother?”

She stood up from the ground, cleaned her pants as she did, and started walking in circles around him with a frown on her face, deeply pensive. She circled him once, twice, before stopping in front of him and placing her hands on her hips. “Bittersweet,” she said seriously.

Severus arched an eyebrow. “Bittersweet?”

“Like a bittersweet fruit—bitter in the beginning, but sweeter as you chew.” She nodded.

“You do realise bittersweet are poisonous to humans, right?” He deadpanned.

“And so are most flowers.” This time, she smirked.

“…touché,” he conceded with a small smile before turning around to resume his hoeing.

“It means truth,” Eileen said suddenly.

He stopped and turned to her once more. “What?”

“Bittersweet means truth. Whether it means to seek out the truth, discover the truth, or relay the truth… then it depends on the person.” She smiled. “And Merlin knows your eyes don’t lie.” With that said, she turned and crouched, focusing her attention back towards preparing the beds for the seeds.

Severus stared at her for a moment longer, but ultimately turned back towards his own work as well. Bittersweet, huh? He thought, feeling the name to be appropriate. Something bitter and sweet at the same time, like turning back time.

Fleetingly, he thought about the edelweiss and its meaning. Severus wondered why Harry had a bouquet of them beside him when he last saw the Master of Death, but as is with most things, he decided to forget it and focus on his work.

Eventually, as the days progressed, Severus finished placing the rocks on the little path he was constructing, and Eileen planted the seeds in an arranged matter on the beds. All they had to do was wait for the magical fertiliser to affect the seeds and watch the flowers grow.

Severus was too occupied with the garden to brew his potions. The garden became his priority, as did his mother’s contentment. During those days, Severus didn’t step inside his shed once. Instead, he delegated the task to his ravens rather than abandoning his work and delaying the delivery of his potions.

Minions adapt to their masters much like Shadow Walkers adopt the appearance of familiar things, implying that his ravens could take on his form to perform human actions such as brewing potions. Knowing he wouldn’t maintain a balanced brewing routine as a student at Hogwarts, it came as a convenience to have someone else do it.

While Severus was occupied with his mother, Skam, a trustworthy raven from Persephone's unkindness, and his sister Slátra were tasked with brewing the concoctions for him. Initially, his ravens were uncoordinated with their limbs because they weren’t accustomed to a human body, a struggle Severus empathized with due to his own Animagus form. Fortunately, they quickly learned to perform the task at hand. After all, his ravens were his shadows—they perfectly replicated the movements of his body. It simply required Severus’ patience and numerous demonstrations of how to brew the Wiggenweld for them to master it, for which Severus was grateful.

No matter how weird it felt to see his own face smiling back softly every time Severus praised their progress, with someone else dealing with the potions, he could wash his hands away from all the work. Of course, he still inspected the batches every morning before they were sent to make sure the quality was the same, but neither Skam nor Slátra had committed any mistakes.

Now, without the repeated work in the way, Severus decided to enjoy his last few weeks at home.

Feeling the few rays of sunlight that occasionally filtered through the heavy pollution in the sky, basking on his skin. Joining his mother in her evening readings, sharing his copy of A Study in Scarlet as he worked his homework on the side. Teaching her how to cook his favourite meals, and learning about Eileen’s sweet tooth in the process. Seating on the back porch without pretence, enjoying watching his ravens play and the flowers bloom.

Little things, however small they were, simply because he could take things slow while he had the liberty to do so.

Because Severus knew the calm wouldn’t last. The path his life trails is challenging, and as soon as he returned to Hogwarts, things would change forever . All the while he was busy working, he planned and prepared for what was to come. He couldn’t guarantee success in his endeavours, and with an entire lifetime’s worth of failures, he knew he wasn’t perfect. Yet he hoped—no, he prayed—for whatever entity, if not Death, would have mercy on him. After all, he was only one man, and there was a limit to what he could do.

Breathe deeply, absorb the world around you. 

Observe keenly, see the people around you.

 Speak boldly, embrace the sounds around you.

 Live fully, for magic embraces you.

He will move forward when the winds blow and the time comes.

In the meantime, he smiles and closes his eyes as he reads his journal, drifting off to sleep to the soothing chirps of his ravens and the joyful laughter of his mother. Because, even in his dreams, he continues living to see his story through to the end.

The summer passed leisurely until a few weeks before September, when it was time for Severus to return to Diagon Alley to purchase supplies for his sixth year. Admittedly, he had delayed the day as much as possible. Firstly, he was hesitant to face the uncertainties awaiting him at the bank. Secondly, he struggled with explaining to Eileen why she needed to open a bank account for him, given that he was still underage and needed to store the stacks of Galleons he had accumulated over the past months.

Fortunately, as fate would have it, Severus once again realised his mother is more acute than he gave her credit for.

Breakfast together became a regular occurrence in the Snape household, as did an unkindness of ravens flying around the house, magically cleaned clothes, furniture that repairs itself if broken, and so on. As usual, Severus prepared the food, this time delicious baked potato farls accompanied by eggs and bacon, and the family of three sat down to enjoy the morning.

Severus had just finished reading the day’s Daily Prophet and handed it to his mother before biting into his bread and drinking coffee. Tobias finished first, as is usual, and then left for work without saying goodbye, which is also usual. Severus tossed some bacon over his shoulder to Kuro, who was perched on the windowsill, while Eileen continued to sip her tea, engrossed in the newspaper articles.

Overall, everything was nice and peaceful.

“Are you the Half-Blood Prince?”

Or so, Severus had thought.

“Pardon?” He arched an eyebrow at her while sipping his coffee, trying his best to not look guilty of the charge.

It didn’t seem to work. She lowered the newspaper to face him with a knowing smile. “You are, aren’t you?”

Severus parted a piece of his bread. “What if I’m not?” he challenged.

“That would be worse, I believe,” she said sadly. “It either implies that someone is impersonating a member of my family, or my father returned to business after so long, or… someone survived.” She shook her head. “False hope hurts more than no hope at all, so I would appreciate it if you could tell me the truth.”

Now, Severus felt bad. “No, my apologies. It is me, you were right.” He sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, unperturbed, gesturing towards him with the newspaper in hand. “You knew I would eventually discover the Half-Blood Prince, since you let me read the Daily Prophet—it’s all they talk about nowadays.” She folded the newspaper on the table. “Congratulations, by the way… for the creation of such an exceptional potion.”

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “And, to answer your question, perhaps I’m too used to keep my life a secret. I vowed not to reveal my identity publicly while I’m still underage, and I wasn’t certain of how you would react, so…” He shrugged.

Her smile softened to that tenderness she used to show him when he was younger. “I would praise you relentlessly.” She admitted. “My son… already making an impact in the world. I couldn’t be more proud.”

He smiled back. “Thank you.”

She clapped her hands suddenly with an excited smile on her face. “We must celebrate! For the success of your potion, your Animagus transformation… oh!” Her smile widened. “And the completion of our garden!”

He chuckled. “Of course. Where to?”

Her smile strained, losing some of its brightness. “Hopefully, somewhere not too expensive. I’m afraid I don’t have much money left from my last job…” she said apologetically.

Severus blinked. “You’re underestimating the success of my potion, mother.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose…” she started.

“And you aren’t. I’m offering to pay as your son—there’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, I’ve acquired more money than I know what to do with.” He grimaced at that.

“No, no. I—wait, how much?” She arched an eyebrow.

Severus sipped his coffee before muttering, “Piles,” as if he were laying out a great secret.

Dumbfounded, she stared at him before it dawned on her. “Oh, goodness gracious, you don’t even have a bank account to store your gold yet, do you?” Severus shook his head. “Oh no. Where do you store it?”

“It’s hidden.” Inside the vault in his expanded trunk, to be more precise, but he needn’t specify that to her. “Nonetheless, since we arrive at this topic of conversation… do you mind helping me open a Gringotts account? I’m quite in need of one, as you’ve now come to realise.”

“Of course, of course.” She nodded. “We can go to Diagon Alley whenever you want; in fact, we can take advantage of the opportunity to purchase your next term supplies while we’re there… if you haven’t already purchased them?” She asked.

Severus smiled and shook his head. “I haven’t. That’s a great idea, mum—we should buy other things too. I’m thinking of better clothes, some books, a new wand…” he trailed off.

Eileen was nodding to his words, “You do need new clothes, and it wouldn’t hurt to read new books—wait, what?” She blinked at him. “A wand? Why do you need to purchase one?”

Severus arched an eyebrow at her as if she was slow-witted. “I’m not listing things for myself.”

She stared at him intensely. “You’re not suggesting…”

“Oh, I am.” He smirked. “Don’t you think it’s time you regained your right to use magic? I have the money to make that happen now.” His smirk turned into a graceful smile. “We can stop by Ollivanders and grab you a new wand while we’re there.”

She bit her lower lip to keep them from trembling. “You’re sure?”

Severus nodded. “Consider it an early birthday gift.”

Eileen sniffed. “My birthday is in October.”

“That’s why I said early.”

They laughed, Eileen with a teary smile and Severus with a rich chuckle, before delving into the preparations for their trip to Diagon Alley, complete with a list of everything they would buy and activities Eileen missed doing as a lass. After all, this would be her first visit to Diagon Alley since marrying Tobias, and Severus wanted to ease her back into the magical world gradually and without any issue.

Start by giving her a wand again, and go from there, he supposed.

They decided on a Sunday in the second half of August, after the flowers in the garden had already bloomed. That day, Severus was surprised, yet not at all, to see Eileen awake by the time he got out of bed and went down to the kitchen. She was humming alongside the song on the radio, making coffee and tea, occasionally checking the muffins puffing up in the oven by the see-through mirror with a bright smile plastered on her face. She seemed as excited as a child, and it warmed his heart to see her so happy. 

“Fancy seeing you here so early.” He announced his presence.

She jumped, surprised, before turning to face him. “Oh my—I almost had a heart attack! Don’t do that!” She admonished, but then the smile returned. “Good morning, Severus.”

They exchanged pleasantries, ate breakfast together, then proceeded to change for the outing. Severus wore his usual outfit—a white button-up shirt with long sleeves, black trousers, tailored shoes, gloves, and a wristwatch. He combed his hair down to tame the bed hair, but beyond that, Severus did nothing particularly new or thought-provoking except attending to basic hygiene. All he wanted was to appear presentable.

He descended downstairs after tidying up and double-checking that he had everything he needed, which included his newly expanded money pouch for easier transportation of all his gold, his wallet, identifications (both muggle and wizard), Magnum Opus on the wand holster attached to his forearm, and, unsurprisingly, small potion vials in case of emergencies. When Severus entered the living room shortly after, he took one look at his awaiting mother and paused.

Eileen took on the task of making herself look presentable and raised the bar. She was wearing a white polka-dotted shirt waist dress, knee-length a-line skirt, button-down blouse top with modest sleeves, and a figure-flattering nipped-in waist. She wore her sun hat with a white ribbon flowing down the brims, slightly crooked to the side to expose her up-do of vintage short curls underneath, white high heels, and white gloves to match. Her handbag glittered in silver that matched her collar and earrings, making her sparkle angelically when the light hit it right. And, topping it all off as if the perfect cherry on the cake, her makeup, though light, contrasted her face perfectly in shades of pink and red.

She seemed to be every bit the pure-blood witch she was born as, and despite her crooked nose, beady eyes, and thin silhouette, she was just as beautiful as the best of them.

Severus smiled at his mother. “You curled your hair?” he pointed out softly, as if afraid his tone would scare her.

She touched her curls self-consciously. “The outfit doesn’t necessarily work with slick hair. I would know—I’ve tried before.”

Severus chuckled lightly. “And the jewellery? I’ve never seen them.”

She nodded, touching her earrings now. “They are from my wedding—never used them after that day…” she chuckled. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt to use them again, especially for such an important occasion.”

“Shopping at Diagon Alley?”

“Returning to the magical world.”

Severus nodded; he expected that answer. “Well…” he drawled, sticking his arm out and offering to his mother. “Come on, then, my lady. We still have a fair walk towards the library before our destination.”

Eileen giggled and curtsied back. “Why, of course, my dear sir.” Before taking his arm and smiling at him.

Severus couldn’t help but notice they were now eye-level, despite her being taller than him just a few months ago. He must have had a growth spurt without his notice.

He opened the door. “Shall we?” She nodded, walking a bit ahead as he locked the door after themselves. She resumed holding his arm as they strolled down Spinner’s End. Upon reaching New Beginnings, they found the roads well-paved and the people polite, exchanging good mornings and hellos as they passed by, unaware both were residents of Spinner’s End, judging by their courteous manners.

Eventually, mother and son reached Cokeworth’s Public Library.

There was no need for pleasantry or introductions. Once inside the building, they headed directly towards the very back where the fireplace and a jar of floo powder were, not wasting their time making themselves known to the library staff.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” Eileen asked for the fiftieth time as they made their way over the aisles.

Severus rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes. It’s a public library, mother, and they don’t mind who comes and goes as long as you don’t steal a book,” he assured. “Just keep your head up and walk confidently, and they won’t question anything.”

She did exactly that, head held high, looking down with a wittering stare that made the bravest of people crumble and stay out of her way. Severus was quite impressed, smirking beside her with pride in his heart.

Soon, they were in the room at the far back. However, much to their surprise, someone else had arrived ahead of them.

Severus looked at the person, seeing their red hair styled down into a thick braid as they stood in front of the fireplace, and he knew immediately who it was.

He frowned to hide his surprise. “Lily?” 

And the redhead turned around.