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Chapter Text

Undoubtedly, the most elegant feature of Hogwarts’ western wing was the Ravenclaw Tower, with its grandiose and spacious chambers. There was neither a handle nor a key to its entrance; instead, a bronze eagle guarded the way, posing a clever riddle to every passerby. The tower, located on the fifth floor, could be reached by 326 steps from the entrance hall, and only 320 from the Great Hall – provided that the young witch or wizard did not lose their way in the labyrinth of spiral staircases.

Dalia and Pandora had counted these steps numerous times, as the two girls were now beginning their seventh year at Hogwarts. That year, for the first time, they climbed the steps leading to their tower once again.

'Do you think the eagle changed its riddles this year?' Dalia asked.

'I doubt it. It hasn’t for years,' Pandora laughed.

No sooner had the two girls reached the entrance than the eagle posed its first question:

'I come after the night yet leave before sunset. My time is brief, but without me, there would be no day. Who am I?'

'Dawn,' the two girls answered in unison with a deep sigh.

'Correct, ladies,' the eagle replied, and the door swung open.

'Some things never change,' Dalia said, shaking her head.

The two girls stepped through the threshold at the same time. The Ravenclaw common room was a vast, circular space of breathtaking beauty, its graceful arched windows offering a panoramic view. The walls were draped in royal blue and bronze silks, and books filled every visible corner. Beneath their feet stretched a deep blue carpet embroidered with silver stars, mirroring the domed ceiling above them. Upon entering, one could not shake the feeling of stepping into a dream. Moonlight streamed through the glass of the ceiling, casting pale pools of light upon the floor, while the golden embroidery on the midnight-blue carpet shimmered as if it were alive.

Upon reaching the girls’ dormitory, Pandora and Dalia were pleased to find that, once again, they could claim beds beside each other. Their four-poster beds stood neatly in a row, their trunks lying beside them, waiting to be unpacked.

With a deep sigh, Dalia collapsed onto her own bed, her long, wavy hair spreading messily across the pillow. The long journey on the Hogwarts Express had left her exhausted. A strange feeling crept over her as she realized that this might have been the last time she travelled to the castle this way. The thought that, come next year, she might not see her best friend every day was nothing short of terrifying. Pandora had been her greatest support throughout the years; she was like a sister to her.

'You have to tell me about your summer,' Pandora said, sitting down on Dalia’s bed. 'You barely wrote, and what little you did say told me absolutely nothing.'

'Because nothing exciting happened,' Dalia sighed. 'I spent the whole summer locked in my room, studying. I’m terrified of the N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year. And it didn’t help that I can’t stand the heat. But judging by your letters, your summer was much more exciting,' she said, sitting up so she could face Pandora.

Pandora Malfoy was a remarkably beautiful witch. Her long, golden hair cascaded down her back, adorned with a dark blue ribbon. With her porcelain skin and delicate, doll-like features, people often compared her to the fairies from Muggle stories. The ribbon in her hair was a gift from Dalia back in their fourth year – Dalia had the same one, only in white.

'That’s true. My parents took me to parties nearly every week. I only missed one,' Pandora said, her gaze growing distant. 'Regulus Black’s party. My parents wouldn’t let me go. They said I wasn’t old enough. Which is strange, considering Regulus is younger than we are.'

That is strange indeed,' Dalia said, pausing for a moment. 'And why would Regulus even have his own party?'

'My parents said it was something like an initiation ceremony,' Pandora lowered her voice to a whisper. 'Some say he became a Death Eater, but I find that hard to believe.'

'No, I think that’s unlikely too. He’s still very young – only sixteen,' Dalia sighed.

Both girls fell into silence, staring ahead.

Dalia always looked forward to Pandora’s accounts of the grand events of the wizarding world. Her own family, the Dawlishes – despite being an old wizarding bloodline – had little involvement in high society. Most believed it was because of their views on Muggles, though in reality, they simply wanted to avoid the web of politics and intrigue that came with it. And perhaps their views on Muggles did play a role, considering that Dalia’s parents believed them to be fascinating people, from whom there was much to learn.

'We should probably go to sleep soon,' Dalia finally broke the silence.

'Oh, don’t be such an old lady,' Pandora teased, nudging her playfully. 'It’s our first night back at Hogwarts!'

'Alright, then what do you suggest, you restless spirit?' Dalia laughed.

'Let’s go up to the tower terrace. We’re seventh-years, we can do what we want,' Pandora reminded her. 'And I brought the blue pills,' she added with a wink.

'Of course you did,' Dalia sighed. She loved her friend’s endless ideas for making their nights at the castle a little less dull. She could have easily spent her free time with nothing but books, but she never minded Pandora’s suggestions. No matter the circumstances, Pandora always knew how to make her smile.

The so-called ‘blue pills’ were actually known as The Mermaid’s Kiss – small, deep-blue tablets that slowed everything around them and heightened their senses. Dalia had no idea where her friend managed to get them, but she did know that they made everything significantly funnier and more exciting. Pandora had first given her some back in their fifth year. Back then, Dalia had been a bit sceptical, but by now, she had grown used to her friend pulling them out on special occasions, always sharing them with Ravenclaws who were at least sixteen. That was just the way Pandora was.

'Do you even know how to get to the terrace?' Dalia asked.

'Of course I do,' Pandora replied confidently. 'It connects to our room.'

Pandora stood up from the bed, rummaged through her trunk, and pulled out a royal blue velvet box. Then, she strode over to one of the silk draperies and pulled it aside, revealing the bare stone wall behind it. Drawing her wand, she closed her eyes for a moment before giving it a swift flick. At her command, a section of the wall shifted and morphed into a glass door, leading directly onto the tower’s terrace. She pressed down on the bronze handle and gestured toward Dalia.

'After you, madam,' she giggled.

As the two girls stepped outside, the crisp September air rushed against their faces. It was a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat and blinding sun of the summer months. The view before them was nothing short of breathtaking: from here, they had a clear sight of the Forbidden Forest, the Black Lake, the Quidditch pitch, and the greenhouses.

The terrace itself was a semicircular extension of the tower, with a majestic statue of Rowena Ravenclaw at its centre. Scattered throughout were small patches of greenery, where delicate white flowers bloomed. Overhead stretched a vast domed ceiling, its centre appearing to be made of glass at first glance. However, upon closer inspection at night, one would realize it functioned as a magnifier, making it easier to observe celestial bodies. When they looked up through it now, Orion’s Belt shimmered almost within reach, while silver beams of moonlight bathed the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

'This is beautiful,' Dalia breathed, turning to Pandora. 'How did you know how to get up here?'

'I know more than I let on,' Pandora teased, placing a playful finger to her lips.

Dalia knew that well. She had known Pandora long enough to recognize that beneath her charming, almost whimsical exterior lay an intelligent and immensely talented witch. They had been friends since the day they first set foot in the castle. Pandora seemed to have a knack for everything – she played on the Quidditch team, sang in the choir, and adored plants. It was this last passion that had secured her a spot in the Slug Club, as she often collected rare plants for Professor Slughorn.

However, Dalia was not without her own talents. She had taken an early interest in charms, but their intricacies had only begun to unravel for her in her fifth year. From that point on, she frequently devised new spells – though she always strove to remain within the bounds of ethical magic. Slughorn had discovered her talent much later than Pandora’s, as it had remained hidden for a long time, and her family lacked the kind of influence that would have secured her a place among the so-called ‘elite.’ As a result, she only joined the Slug Club long after her friend.

When the two girls had grown tired of admiring the castle grounds, Pandora spread a blanket over the stone floor, sat down, and gestured for Dalia to join her. Their gazes were immediately drawn to the celestial mechanism embedded in the cupola above them. They sat in silence for several minutes, watching the stars, until Pandora finally broke the silence.

'How are you feeling tonight?' she asked, a genuine curiosity in her voice. 'And I want at least two words,' she added.

'Wonderful… I missed you.'

'Then one is enough,' Pandora said with a smile, reaching into her robe pocket for the small velvet box. She retrieved two of the familiar blue pills, pressing one into Dalia’s palm. 'I missed you too, Dalia. One is enough for me as well,' she added with an angelic grin before they both swallowed their pills.

As they waited for the effects to settle in, they lay back on the blanket, gazing comfortably at the constellations unfolding above them.

'I could watch this for years,' Dalia murmured.

'I feel the same,' Pandora replied. 'Though we might grow bored of it sooner than that,' she added after a brief pause. 'It’s time. Close your eyes!'

Without hesitation, Dalia closed her eyes and waited. She knew that soon, she would feel the effects of the magical substance, and the thought of it sent a thrill through her. In mere moments, everything would slow down, and she would be able to hear every movement of the creatures inhabiting the forest, the lake, and the field surrounding the castle.

As the pill’s influence crept into their senses, Dalia felt as if every tiny sound in the world resonated directly in her ears. First, she became aware of a rabbit, hearing its rhythmic footsteps as it dashed across the castle grounds. The blades of grass bent beneath its tiny paws before it reached the stone pavement. It must have leapt onto the flagstones of Hogwarts’ front courtyard, Dalia thought. Though she could never be completely certain, her heightened perception and intuition whispered the same answer.

Next, she noticed the soft, springing movement of a frog along the rocky banks of the Black Lake. It made three small leaps before, on the fourth, it plunged into the water with a resounding splash. From there, all she could hear was the gentle, rhythmic strokes of its movement as it sliced through the waves.

The next creature arrived with an earth-shaking thunder, and Dalia felt as though its hooves were pounding against her very eardrums. Startled, she instinctively grabbed Pandora’s arm.

'Did you hear that too?'

'The unicorn? Yeah.'

'What makes you think it’s a unicorn?' Dalia asked.

'I don’t know. I just feel it. Should we go see?'

Dalia slowly opened her eyes.

'Not yet. I want to watch the stars like this a little longer,' she murmured, her gaze returning to the observatory’s magnified view of the night sky.

Every star appeared sharper, far brighter than they normally would. Dalia saw them so clearly that they felt almost within reach, their radiance nearly blinding her. But more than anything, she was drawn to the Moon. Its famous holes seemed impossibly close – so much so that she almost wished she could climb into one and settle there, curled up like a child in a cradle.

Meanwhile, Pandora had slowly risen to her feet and moved toward the terrace railing, gripping it tightly to steady herself. Her eyes scanned the depths of the forest, hoping she hadn’t missed the unicorn’s appearance. Thanks to the pill’s effect, her vision cut through the darkness; she could see even the tiniest spiders weaving their webs along the tree bark. The echoing hoofbeats still rang in their ears, reverberating through the night.

Dalia eventually stood as well. Moving was difficult; her balance wavered, and a dizzy sensation washed over her, but her curiosity was far stronger than the discomfort. Taking small, careful steps, she joined Pandora, and together, they gazed at the vast, seemingly endless forest below.

The sounds around them grew muted, as if they had sunk beneath the surface of a lake, yet the caress of the wind against their skin felt almost ticklish. The moonlight was dazzling, more blinding than ever, as though they had stepped into another world.

Dalia had arrived just in time. She had barely adjusted to the dreamlike clarity of the forest when, at last, the unicorn emerged from between the trees. Its luminous white coat shimmered in the dark, its silken mane flowing as it moved with an ethereal grace. The creature illuminated the clearing at the forest’s edge for a fleeting moment – then, just as swiftly as it had come, it vanished into the shadows once more.

The girls knew all too well that without the Mermaid’s Kiss, they never would have had a chance to glimpse the rare creature. Under normal perception, it would have been nothing more than a fleeting, imperceptible moment.

A cool breeze swept through their hair, playfully tugging at their long locks. The sensation, already pleasant on its own, felt euphoric under the pill’s lingering effect. A delighted shiver ran through them as they exchanged glances. The tickling touch of the wind signalled the fading of the enchantment, and with their minds now clear, the two friends burst into laughter. Pandora’s bell-like laughter echoed through the castle, prompting Dalia – though she adored the sound – to press a hand over her friend’s mouth.

'What if we get caught?' Dalia whispered.

'Then I’ll write a book about you: The Old Lady of Hogwarts,' Pandora replied with a laugh.

That night, the two girls returned to their room in high spirits, filled with excitement for the year ahead. As long as they had each other, the new school year could only be a good one.

Their laughter faded into the stone walls of the castle, yet in the shadows, a restless unease stirred – reminding them that not everyone within Hogwarts could enjoy the peace of the first night.

Far from the elegant heights of the Ravenclaw Tower, in the depths of the Slytherin dungeon, a sleepless boy pulled his blanket over himself. He had been tossing and turning for hours, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. For him, the start of a new year meant one thing: fear. And yet, Hogwarts was the only place he had ever truly called home.

This year, perhaps, he would finally succeed in what he had been struggling with for six years. Maybe this time, he would manage to stand his ground – to defend himself. Even if they outnumbered him.

He would find a way, no matter what it took.

With that thought, he finally drifted into uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

Severus Snape woke up in a foul mood, the restless night having taken its toll on him. Rising from his bed, he made his way to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and plunged his face into the icy water. He needed something to sharpen his senses, to shake off the haze of sleep. He tried not to think about how, yet again, he would have to endure the constant taunts and insults of the Marauders this year; how, thanks to James Potter, he could no longer count on his best friend; and how he would spend his final year in utter loneliness.

He expected nothing more from this last stretch of time at Hogwarts – nothing but to grow stronger, to become someone whom not only the Marauders but any rational person would think twice before approaching.

Droplets of cold water still clung to his face as he pulled on his robes. He wasn’t sure if he could force down even a single bite of food, but he decided to attend breakfast regardless – if nothing else, at least for a cup of black tea. Grabbing his books, he set off, hoping that the Great Hall would still be mostly empty. As he descended the castle’s staircases, he held his breath, feeling the familiar tightening in his stomach.

Fortunately, his expectations were correct – only a handful of students lingered in the hall, none of them particularly lively. Most were still drowsy, their sluggish movements betraying the reluctance to face the first morning of the term. Only a few first-years appeared full of energy, sipping their pumpkin juice eagerly while chattering away.

Severus took a seat at the Slytherin table, choosing a spot near the entrance. He kept his gaze fixed on the wooden surface, raising his eyes only as much as necessary to lift his cup to his lips. The tea burned his throat, but he hardly cared – his goal was to finish quickly and make his way to the greenhouses, where his first class of the day was to be held.

For a moment, he thought he might get through the morning without any unwanted interactions – until the loud, boisterous entrance of the Marauders shattered that hope. The doors swung open, and they strode in: James Potter at the front, followed closely by Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

Severus tried shrank as much as he could, willing himself to become invisible. He tried to avoid their sight with every fibre of his being, but it was no use.

James spotted him first.

'Good morning, Snivellus! I see you didn’t manage to wash your hair over the summer,' he called out.

'Can’t decide which shines more – your hair or the bottom of your cauldron,' Sirius added with a smirk.

Remus only shook his head but said nothing.

Severus kept his focus on his tea, determined to act as if they weren’t there.

'James, Sirius, please…' came a soft, weary voice from behind them. Lily had arrived shortly after.

Severus swallowed the last scalding sip of tea and rose from the table, heading for class. He could only faintly hope that this was the worst of what the day had in store for him. He knew all too well that the afternoon Charms lesson – shared with the Gryffindors – would hardly pass without some sort of incident. But deep down, he clung to the slight, desperate hope that Lily’s presence might soften the tension, if only a little.

Severus’s morning passed in relative peace until noon. After finishing his morning classes, he made his way toward the dormitory before heading to lunch, intending to drop off the books he no longer needed for the day. But as soon as he turned the corner, he found himself face-to-face with the Marauders once more.

His heart skipped a beat, and that familiar lump in his stomach crawled up into his throat. He forced himself to remain composed, to keep his steps steady as he passed them in silence – though it took every ounce of willpower to do so. His books formed a small tower in front of him, giving him an excuse not to look at them. Unfortunately, it also meant he didn’t see the foot Sirius had casually stuck out in his path.

The next moment, Severus tumbled to the ground, his textbooks scattering around him. He didn’t even need to look up to see the mocking smirks on the Marauders’ faces. His blood boiled, but he knew that if he let it show, he would only make things worse for himself.

'Ah, Snivellus, how can you be this pathetic? You even trip over your own shadow!'

He had heard similar jabs from James for years, yet the words still echoed in his mind. Is that really all I am? Just some pathetic joke?

As the Marauders strolled past him, Severus found it difficult to find the motivation to get up. He sat there on the cold stone floor for what felt like an eternity, staring blankly at the scattered books before him. I need strength. If I want this to end, I need to find that strength. And I will – soon.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, dusted off his robes, and gathered his books. Once back in his dormitory, he arranged everything neatly, leaving only his Charms textbook out for the afternoon lesson. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

His stomach was painfully empty, yet he made no move to head to the Great Hall. The last thing he wanted was to risk another run-in with the Marauders. The morning had already been too much; he was exhausted – both physically and mentally. And so, he spent the entire lunch break in his room, lost in his thoughts.

Five minutes before class, he forced himself to leave for the Charms classroom. The corridor outside was already crowded with seventh-year Slytherins and Gryffindors, all waiting for the lesson to begin. Among them, of course, were the Marauders. James and Sirius were laughing loudly about something, their voices easily overpowering the surrounding chatter.

Standing in their circle was Lily.

James had one arm draped protectively over her shoulders, pulling her close.

Severus felt his stomach twist at the sight.

Lily had been his best friend since childhood. They had spoken nearly every day, and she had been the one person he could truly trust. But everything had changed once Severus began delving deeper into the Dark Arts – something Lily had always condemned, something that had gradually driven a wedge between them.

Yet deep down, Severus knew that wasn’t the only reason for her distance.

James Potter did not tolerate competition – least of all from him.

The once-busy corridor fell silent in an instant as Professor Quillon arrived.

With a single sharp glance, the middle-aged witch commanded the attention of the entire class. The long folds of her deep blue robes trailed behind her, and her silver, braided hair caught the light. Most students found her utterly intimidating, yet no one could deny that her expertise was unparalleled.

Not only was Professor Quillon the Charms professor – she was also the head of Ravenclaw House. Severus respected her immensely.

'Everyone, open your Advanced Charm Casting textbooks,' Professor Quillon instructed in a tone that left no room for argument. 'You all have them with you, I assume?'

Severus, along with the rest of the class, gave a brief nod. He reached for his book, which lay on the desk before him, and prepared to open it. But the cover and pages refused to budge, as if they had been glued shut.

At first, Severus remained calm, simply increasing the force with which he tried to pry the book open. His grip tightened, his thumbs pressing against the binding until they turned white from the strain. Yet the harder he tried to separate the pages, the more stubbornly they resisted. That was when he realized – it wasn’t just glue. Someone had enchanted it shut.

His repeated attempts finally drew the attention of Professor Quillon, who approached his desk.

'Is there an issue with your book, Mr. Snape?' she asked, though she didn’t wait for an answer. She simply took the book from his hands, opened it effortlessly, and handed it back.

Severus barely had time to glance at the chapter title before the moment his fingers touched it again, the book snapped shut once more.

'What’s the matter, Snivellus? Even your book doesn’t like you today?' James sneered.

The Gryffindors erupted into laughter.

Professor Quillon took the bewitched book from Severus, replacing it with another.

'It seems you never take anything seriously, Mr. Potter,' she remarked, her voice tinged with disdain. 'Twenty points from Gryffindor. You’d do well to rein yourself in if you intend to graduate. Because if it were up to me, you wouldn’t.'

James’s expression flickered briefly with irritation, but the point deduction hardly seemed to faze him. Behind him, Remus let out a quiet sigh, as if he had long since grown tired of watching his friends lose house points on his behalf.

After Charms, Severus made his way to the potions study group – though in his case, it had long ceased to involve direct supervision from Professor Slughorn. He was the only student who had chosen to attend, and so the professor had granted him full freedom to experiment in the dungeon laboratory as he pleased.

Every afternoon, Severus brewed a new potion, modifying its formula – often disregarding the textbook’s instructions entirely in favour of his own improvements.

He relished these afternoons. It was just him and the potions: the soft crackling of the fire, the quiet splashes of liquids, the rhythmic tap of the stirring rod against the heavy cauldron, and the artistry of transforming simple ingredients into something extraordinary – something that could make the mute speak, alter a person’s appearance, or strip them of their hair altogether.

This was what truly gave him peace. This was what he was truly good at.

That afternoon, he worked on the Sneezing Suffusion.

He retrieved the necessary ingredients from the storage cabinet: oil, pepper, sneezewort, and a handful of chicken feathers.

As the potion slowly came together, Severus pondered what to do with the finished product. He had made only a minor adjustment to the original formula – shortening the stirring time from ten minutes to seven.

And that was all it took to make it perfect.

Slughorn trusted Severus. He had no objection to him taking small samples of the common brews, so the boy decided to leave just one vial of the potion for his professor to examine and keep the rest for himself. He wasn’t yet certain what he would use them for, but the image of James Potter’s face contorted in an uncontrollable sneezing fit nestled itself comfortably in his mind.

After cleaning the lab, scrubbing the cauldron and his tools, Severus grabbed his book and three vials of Sneezing Suffusion before heading back to his dormitory. His stomach grumbled loudly as he walked the empty corridors leading to the Slytherin common room. His body protested against the entire day of starvation, but his mind stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

He was mere steps away from the entrance to the Slytherin quarters when James and Sirius crossed his path. The two Marauders flanked him, and before he could react, Sirius shoved him hard.

Severus hit the ground, and the vials in his hands shattered on impact. Their contents splashed directly onto his face.

'Whoops! Didn’t see you there, Snivellus. But judging by the look of you, I’d say you’re not seeing too well either,' Sirius sneered, his voice dripping with amusement.

'Whatever was in those vials,' James added with mock disdain, 'it’s probably better off not being in your hands anymore.'

With that, the two walked off, leaving Severus sprawled on the floor for the second time that day.

In that moment, he made a silent vow to himself.

No matter the cost, these arrogant fools would pay for what they had done.

The potion worked exactly as intended. A violent fit of sneezing overtook him, so intense that it bordered on painful. He knew it wouldn’t stop anytime soon, so between two desperate sneezes, he blurted out the Slytherin password and rushed through the entrance, making a beeline for his dormitory to wait out the effects.

Several curious eyes turned toward him as he stormed through the common room, but he ignored them. Once inside his room, he collapsed onto his bed and braced himself.

It was then that he noticed – he wasn’t just sneezing anymore.

A slow trickle of blood had begun to drip from his nose.

Severus yanked open his desk drawer, grabbed a handful of handkerchiefs, and pressed them to his still-quivering nostrils.

Ten agonizing minutes later, the sneezing stopped – cut off as abruptly as if someone had flipped a switch.

Severus sat there in exhausted silence, his right hand gripping a crumpled, bloodstained handkerchief.

Anger. Desperation. Helplessness. Loneliness.

Each feeling gnawed at him from the inside, one by one.

Yet by now, he was too tired to even feel them.

He washed his face, straightened his dishevelled hair and robes, then grabbed his quill, ink, and potions textbook before heading back downstairs. He found a secluded corner by the window overlooking the depths of the Black Lake. Outside, the rain poured relentlessly.

It was as if the sky was crying in his place.

The raindrops tapped steadily, a quiet rhythm echoing from beyond, as if they too knew that someone inside was silently breaking apart.

Severus lowered his gaze, focusing on the textbook before him.

“Causes the drinker to sneeze. This reaction can come as a volley of smaller sneezes over 5 or 10 minutes, or as one large sneeze."

That’s not quite how it happened, Severus thought, dipping his quill into the ink. With careful, curling script, he etched a single note beside the description: “Nosebleed.”

'Severus!'

The voice startled him, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts. Instinctively, he snapped his book shut and turned toward the sound.

Bruce Mulciber stood beside him.

'Yes?'

'I noticed you didn’t eat today. Here,' Bruce said, extending a sandwich toward him. 'Everything alright?'

'Of course,' Severus lied. Even he could hear how unconvincing his voice sounded, weak and unsteady.

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

'If you need anything, just say so. You don’t look great.'

Severus narrowed his eyes. 'And what do I owe this sudden kindness?'

Bruce smirked. 'We need you. Pull yourself together.'

With that, he turned and rejoined the other Slytherin boys, who were gathered in the corner playing cards.

Severus bit into the sandwich hungrily, though he tried not to draw attention to himself. With each bite, he felt himself becoming more alert, as if the fog in his mind were lifting, piece by piece.

He knew full well that, in this house, every act of kindness came with a price.

If there was one thing he had lost in his life, it was unconditional kindness. The first and last person who had ever offered it to him was Lily Evans.

And she had left him, too.

He could no longer afford to accept kindness without a cost. Not anymore.

He knew exactly what they expected from him. And he was not one to remain in someone’s debt.

With a decisive motion, he tucked his book beneath his robes and set off toward the library.

That night, in one of Hogwarts’ darkest corners, something new took shape in his mind. And perhaps, in his soul as well.

The practice of simple potions was over for the day – It was time to seek out something truly extraordinary.

Chapter Text

The surface of the Black Lake lay still, mirroring the dark clouds above. A solitary tree, its thick branches heavy with foliage, stood guard at the water’s edge. Hidden beneath its shadow, almost imperceptible, sat Severus Snape, engrossed in a seemingly unremarkable black-covered book.

That day, he had wanted nothing more than a bit of quiet – away from the Marauders, away from the restless energy that always accompanied the start of the school year. Being a Saturday, he could finally focus on what truly mattered to him. He needed to concentrate, to commit as much information to memory as possible, so that eventually, he could brew the potions described in the book without needing to rely on it.

If he could have captured every page with his eyes like a photograph, he would have.

But since he couldn’t, he meticulously recorded every necessary detail into a notebook.

A strand of jet black hair fell into his eyes, and with an absent-minded gesture, he tucked it behind his ear. His brow furrowed in concentration as his dark eyes flitted across the pages. He didn’t even glance up when the sound of footsteps rustling through the fallen leaves reached his ears.

Dalia had long since made a habit of sitting beneath this particular tree whenever the weather allowed – reading, watching the lake, simply existing in its quiet presence. So when she approached her usual spot that day, a turquoise-bound book in hand, she wasn’t expecting company.

Her steps faltered for a brief moment, fingers instinctively tightening around the spine of her book. She hadn’t anticipated finding someone else here, let alone him.

The thought of turning back crossed her mind.

And yet, something about the tree – its familiar comfort, the countless afternoons spent beneath its branches – pulled at her, as if an invisible force within its trunk refused to let her leave.

Maybe he won’t mind the company, she reasoned with herself.

For some reason, she felt as though she couldn’t turn away – not today, no matter how awkward it might be.

'Hi,' she greeted softly, careful not to disturb him too much. 'Mind if I sit here?' she asked, gesturing toward the empty patch of ground beside him.

Severus’s heart skipped a beat as he hurriedly snapped his book and notebook shut.

By the time he processed what had just happened – and more importantly, realized he wasn’t in danger – he managed a silent nod.

He was surprised to see her here.

All this time, he had believed he was the only one who knew about this place.

So much for that secret, he thought bitterly.

A cool breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves along the shore. Dalia shivered slightly as she settled down beside him, pulling her legs up and resting her book on them. She opened it soundlessly, flipping to the page where a satin bookmark lay tucked between the pages.

In her free time, Dalia enjoyed reading muggle literature. She found it fascinating – how muggle writers could weave magic into places where, by all logic, it should not exist.

For a while, she remained quiet, immersed in her own book – yet despite herself, curiosity tugged at her.

She cast a few discreet glances at the black-covered book in Severus’s hands, peering over the edge of her own novel in an attempt to catch a glimpse of its contents.

But the cover bore no title, no inscription, no clue as to what lay within.

And Severus, seemingly aware of her interest, deliberately held it at an angle that gave her no chance of reading a single word.

After a few fruitless attempts, she gave up and returned to her own book, losing herself in its pages.

Severus, on the other hand, had slightly better luck.

Though he refused to acknowledge it – even to himself – his eyes kept wandering toward Dalia’s book.

Pride and Prejudice.

The ornate letters stood out against the turquoise cover. He recognized the title. It sat on his mother’s bookshelf at home, untouched. He had never once considered reading it – he could tell at a glance that it was some sappy, romantic nonsense written by an equally sappy, magicless woman.

Typical, he thought, rolling his eyes.

His interest in the girl beside him faded instantly.

Satisfied that he had completely lost respect for her taste, he leaned back against the tree and resumed his notes.

The witch and wizard spent hours by the lake, each engrossed in their own book, until the sun began to set, streaking the horizon with undefined bands of deep orange.

Severus was the first to stand. He dusted off his robes, checked his inkwell multiple times to ensure it wasn’t leaking, then gathered his quill, notebook, and book in precise order before preparing to leave.

'Honestly, what kind of book doesn’t have a title on the cover – or at least on the spine?' Dalia asked suddenly, not even looking up from her own reading.

'Honestly, what business is it of yours?' Severus replied, his tone perhaps a little colder than he had intended.

'Dalia,' she said at last, finally glancing up and meeting Severus’s dark eyes.

'Severus,' he responded with a brief nod, promptly ending the conversation.

Nosy girl, he thought, but for some reason, her name stuck in a quiet corner of his mind, as if he might need it later.

That evening, Severus decided it was time to test the results of his latest research. He had spent the past week buried in the library – often in the Restricted Section, thanks to Slughorn’s permission – scouring texts for potions that could aid both his own ambitions and those of his Slytherin circle.

Bruce Mulciber, Edmund Avery, Wilhelm Wilkes, Evan Rosier, and Severus Snape – since their first year, they had operated as a group. But it wasn’t friendship that bound them together. Their relationships were more like transactions – a network of favours and debts, where every action had a price.

And in that, Severus found comfort. He never had to wonder where he stood with them, never had to rely on goodwill or trust. Here, there was only exchange – an unspoken agreement that suited him just fine. This network also provided him the perfect foundation for his plans for vengeance. They had spent years mastering curses, unearthing every piece of Dark magic they could get their hands on.

And now, Severus had an idea – one that could tip the scales entirely.

A potion. A brew that would weave its way into a victim’s mind, subtly twisting their thoughts, nudging them toward decisions they believed to be their own – never realizing that they were merely puppets dancing to an invisible string.

He had found an ancient record of such a potion, though it was imperfect. The effects faded with time, and once they did, the victim would become fully aware of the manipulation of who had controlled them and how.

The author of the text had speculated that the perfect Illusion Elixir might be possible with the right blend of concealed magic and rare ingredients. But they had never discovered how. Severus, however, had a theory.

Leaving the castle, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself. He had no intention of drawing attention – or worse, being caught. Quickening his pace, he moved toward the Forbidden Forest under the cover of darkness.

Even without the spell, finding him would have been difficult.

The shadows had always been his ally; darkness bent to his will, wrapping around him like a second skin. Still, as he neared the forest, a tightness coiled in his stomach.

He knew the dangers that lurked there. He knew what the forest hid but he could not turn back. Not now. Victory demanded everything and success was the only path he had left to take.

As Severus ventured deeper into the dense forest, the silence around him grew heavier, pressing against him like an unseen weight. The ground gave way subtly beneath his steps, and the air shimmered faintly with magic between the leaves. When he reached the field, the trees seemed to part intentionally, revealing the delicate silver petals of moonlit flowers.

It was as if the world had been holding its breath for this very moment.

The flowers shimmered with an ethereal glow, their presence woven into the hidden harmony of the night. A peculiar, sharp fragrance filled the air – soothing yet unsettling at once. These were what he had come for: Soul-mirror Flower. A rare bloom that only appeared under the full moon, bathed in its cold light. It had taken weeks of waiting for the right moment to harvest them.

Stepping into the field, he knelt and ran his fingers carefully over the fragile petals, mindful not to damage them. With practiced precision, he retrieved a pair of silver shears, felt for the stem, and severed it in a single, decisive motion. One by one, he placed the harvested flowers into an empty vial before repeating the process several more times.

The gathering of ingredients felt almost meditative, the quiet of the forest steadying his restless mind. Overhead, the moon burned bright, its glow so intense he almost imagined it scorching his skin. The breeze toyed with his hair, swirling around him in a teasing dance, and when it brushed against his face, he shivered slightly.

Once he had collected all he needed, Severus made his way back to the castle and headed straight for the potion laboratory in the dungeons. Anticipation coursed through him – he had spent so long researching this potion, and now he could finally begin.

He knew what had to be done. He had studied every variable, calculated every step, but the possibility of failure still lingered at the edges of his mind. And if there was one thing Severus Snape hated, it was failure.

Stepping into the dimly lit room, he moved swiftly to the storage cabinet, retrieving the materials he needed.

Once everything was set before him, he struck a flame beneath his cauldron and carefully poured in the exact amount of mirror water. One by one, he added the other ingredients, leaving the Soul-mirror Flowers for last. He stirred slowly, carefully keeping the mixture from boiling, and as he did, he murmured a spell under his breath:

"Mentis Flectere."

The moment the final ingredient fell into the brew, wisps of pale smoke curled from the surface. But the potion required one final addition.

Severus reached into his robe pocket and retrieved a small dagger. Holding his breath, he pressed the blade into the fleshy part of his left palm, wincing as it sliced into his skin. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then held his bleeding hand over the cauldron, allowing the droplets to fall into the mixture.

The reaction was immediate.

The liquid stirred itself into delicate spirals, as though guided by an unseen force. A strange, whispering sound filled the air – just for a moment, it almost seemed as if the smoke rising from the cauldron was forming shapes, murmuring secrets too faint to understand.

Severus’s hand froze over the stirring rod. This was more than he had expected.

The potion’s colour shifted, subtly at first, then unmistakably – from pale blue to a luminous silver, as though the moon itself had melted into the liquid.

A faint smile flickered across his lips. Every sign pointed to success.

And as the uncertainty drained from him, Severus felt something rare settle in its place. Satisfaction.

This was his work – his own creation, a testament to his skill, his intellect, his vision. For a brief, fleeting moment, nothing else existed. Not the Marauders' sneers. Not the lurking shadows of the corridors. Not the endless noise of Hogwarts.

Only this.

Severus quickly wrapped his bleeding hand, then poured the potion into small glass vials and carefully placed them inside a black velvet-lined case designed for potions storage. As he sealed his masterpiece inside the box, he turned to clean the mess he had left behind. He meticulously scrubbed every tool, ensuring that Slughorn wouldn’t suspect he had used the lab without permission – though Severus highly doubted the professor would even care enough to mention it.

Once satisfied, he slipped the box into his pocket and made his way back to the Slytherin common room.

Just don’t run into the Marauders. He couldn’t afford to lose this potion. Not now.

That thought had barely crossed his mind when, as he rounded the corner, he came face-to-face with Sirius Black. A familiar smirk spread across Sirius’s face the moment their eyes met.

'Ah, Snivellus, out for a late-night stroll?' His voice dripped with mockery. 'What’s the occasion? A date, perhaps?'

That might be the case for you, I guess, Severus thought bitterly, reminded of the full moon hanging in the sky that night.

He ignored the jab, keeping his face blank as he attempted to sidestep Sirius, already knowing it was futile. Sirius moved swiftly, grabbing Severus’s arm with a grip that bit down to the bone.

'Come on, don’t be so cold. Are all Slytherins this insufferably dull?' His voice was low, almost a hiss, but there was something behind it – something darker, something simmering with barely restrained aggression.

Severus didn’t struggle. He knew better than to fight back. Sirius had the advantage in strength, and the last thing Severus needed was to provoke him further. The pressure around his arm tightened. His skin burned where Sirius’s fingers dug in, and he could already tell there would be bruises. He loathed this – this helplessness, this humiliation that wrapped around him like the darkness of the corridor itself.

His mind raced, frantically searching for an escape, but every thought felt sluggish.

It wasn’t as if he was facing overwhelming odds – Sirius was alone – yet he felt utterly paralyzed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Could only wait for it to be over. But he hadn’t expected someone else to be listening.

Dalia’s pulse quickened as she stopped at the end of the corridor. She had no real reason to intervene. This wasn’t her business. And yet, the smirk playing on Sirius Black’s lips made her stomach twist. The injustice of it all screamed at her. Before she could think, the words had already left her lips.

'Severus!' Her voice rang sharp and unwavering through the corridor.

Sirius’s grip faltered instantly, his fingers loosening just enough for Severus to feel the sting of released pressure.

'I’ve been looking for you everywhere,' Dalia continued, striding toward them. 'Dumbledore wants to see you.'

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose but said nothing, watching as Dalia stepped up beside Severus, as if daring him to challenge her words. Severus barely moved. The flesh of his arm still burned from Sirius’s grip, and he was certain it had left a mark but he forced himself to remain composed. He didn’t turn to look at Dalia, he refused to. The shame of it was too much.

'Dumbledore?' he murmured, barely parting his lips, desperate to keep his voice from shaking.

Dalia nodded, stepping closer, wordlessly signalling that they should leave.

Sirius scoffed under his breath.

‘Dumbledore, huh?’ He hissed before turning his back on them.

Severus hesitated for a moment, his anger and humiliation pulsing violently inside him, but in the end, he said nothing. Without a word, he started walking beside Dalia, hoping the darkness of the corridor would conceal the shame burning on his face.

Dalia remained silent as well, at least until they had put enough distance between themselves and Sirius.

'Dumbledore didn’t actually want to see you, but I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. I had to do something. Sirius is insane,' she blurted out.

'That’s very kind of you, but I don’t need anyone’s help. Least of all yours,' Severus muttered, his voice just strong enough to reach her.

'Didn’t look that way to me,' Dalia retorted immediately, then sighed, as if trying to free herself from the weight of her own words. 'But fine,' she added softly before turning away and walking toward her own tower.

Severus stood there for a few moments, watching her retreating figure. As she walked away, it felt as though each step widened the gap between their worlds, pulling them further apart. Yet something made his lips move, and before she could disappear entirely, he spoke.

'Why did you lie to him?' he asked, his voice trembling with fragile anger.

Dalia halted, hesitating for a moment before turning back. Her gaze met Severus’s dark eyes, as if searching for an answer to a question she hadn’t yet asked. He swallowed hard.

'I’m still curious about your book,' she said at last, simply. 'If you ever feel like talking about it, you’ll find me in the library.'

With that, she turned and vanished into the dark corridor.

Severus stood frozen in place for minutes, as if his feet had rooted themselves to the stone floor. His anger slowly faded, replaced by something else, something he couldn’t quite name. The silence of the corridor grew heavier, pressing in on him as his thoughts coiled around him. Dalia’s name pulsed in his mind like a song he couldn’t get out of his head. He didn’t understand her, but somewhere deep inside, he knew this wouldn’t be the last time they met.

Chapter Text

The silence of the Hogwarts library was almost tangible, as if even the walls themselves respected the immense magical knowledge contained within. Only the occasional sound of footsteps, the soft scratching of quills, the flutter of books floating from shelf to shelf, or the hushed shifting of deeply engrossed students disturbed the quiet. The towering, ancient bookshelves carried the scent of aged wood, mingling with the calming essence of ink and parchment.

Through the library’s tall windows, one could have gazed far into the distance – had the relentless September rain not obscured the view, drenching the earth with a steady, unyielding rhythm. The curtain of raindrops made it nearly impossible to see beyond.

Severus had spent the entire day buried in books, secluded in one of the more hidden corners of the library, combing through endless pages in search of potions, formulas, and ingredients. In his six years at Hogwarts, he had explored nearly every inch of this place, yet he still felt that even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to absorb all the knowledge stored here. When he was surrounded by books, the rest of the world faded away – his hunger, his exhaustion, even his frustrations. His thirst for knowledge bordered on obsession.

And yet, lately, a strange gap had formed within that obsession.

"I’m still curious about your book. If you ever feel like talking about it, you’ll find me in the library."

Dalia’s words echoed in his mind like a broken record, playing on repeat.

Three weeks had passed since she had lied to get Sirius off his back and hinted that they might meet again. At least, that was how Severus had interpreted it. But he hadn’t seen her since.

And yet, nearly every day, he had been here.

A bitter little voice in his head suggested that she had been mocking him, that she had never intended to see him again. But another, softer voice – one he wasn’t sure he liked – wondered if something had kept her away. He tried to shut out both voices, though more often than not, he failed, and it was starting to drive him mad.

That evening, Severus was particularly restless, his thoughts scattered, his focus slipping. The grey light of the rainy afternoon had long since faded into complete darkness. Frustrated by his own lack of progress, he finally gave up and decided to return to the Slytherin common room.

A part of him – one he refused to acknowledge – still clung to the faint hope that he might find Dalia somewhere among the bookshelves, though he knew how unlikely that was. The library was rarely occupied at this hour, except during exam season.

And yet, before he could fully convince himself to leave, his eyes flicked toward the shelves one last time, scanning the narrow aisles.

To his surprise, he found her.

Dalia was sitting near one of the large windows, her body turned slightly away from it, almost with her back to the glass. Her legs were crossed, and instead of resting her book on the table, she had it propped on her knee, leaning forward over the pages as she read.

Her long, wavy hair cascaded down around her face in a loose, unruly curtain, her white ribbon slipping undone but still tangled within the soft curls.

She was completely immersed in her book.

Severus could tell by the way her eyes skimmed rapidly across the lines, devouring each word, and by the way she occasionally bit the corner of her lower lip, lost in whatever story she was reading.

The moment felt strangely intimate, and Severus had no intention of interrupting her, yet his feet refused to move. A few long, stretched-out seconds passed before Dalia lifted her head, her gaze drifting toward him as if she could feel his presence before even seeing him.

'I was starting to think you’d never come,' she murmured, hastily hiding her face behind her book as soon as the words left her lips.

Severus stepped closer. Only then did he catch the title embossed in gold lettering on the cover of her novel: The Great Gatsby. A scoffing sound escaped him before he could stop himself.

'Witches only read romance novels because they lack imagination. Or simply because they come from muggle families and don’t know any better.'

'And wizards hide behind their textbooks because they’re afraid of not being interesting enough. And that’s a bold assumption to make about a Dawlish,' Dalia shot back, lowering her book with defiant eyes.

Dawlish.

Severus knew the name. The only pureblood family – aside from the Weasleys – that refused to look down on muggles. Though perhaps a little less ragtag than the Weasleys.

''That doesn't make any difference,' he muttered with a shrug.

Dalia didn’t even acknowledge the insult. Something flickered across her face – concern, maybe, or just a flicker of hesitation.

'They still won’t leave you alone, will they?' she asked, her voice steady, yet something in her eyes betrayed a quiet fear of his answer.

The question hit Severus like a bucket of cold water. He had no reply. He just stood there, tongue-tied, staring at her as the familiar tightness coiled around his chest. His mind scrambled for a response, but none came. His face remained carefully blank, devoid of expression – only the dark glint in his eyes betrayed the turmoil raging beneath.

Dalia looked away for a moment, as if she hadn’t expected an answer at all.

'“They’re a rotten crowd... You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.”' she read aloud.

'“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”' Severus answered, quoting another muggle writer, Oscar Wilde.

Dalia recognized the line instantly.

'So despite being pureblood, it seems you don’t completely dismiss muggle literature. In fact, you seem to have read quite a lot,' she observed.

'What counts as a lot?' Severus asked, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance. 'And… that’s a bold assumption to make about a Snape.'

Dalia hesitated, her gaze dropping briefly to the book in her lap before she lifted her eyes back to his.

'Forgive me, you caught me off guard,' Dalia said, then after a brief pause, a faint smile flickered across her lips. 'I wouldn’t have thought anyone outside of the arrogant, pure-blooded Slytherins would be so hostile. Won’t you sit?' she asked, nodding toward the empty seat across from her.

Severus shook his head.

'I was about to leave' he replied indifferently, as if his heart hadn’t skipped a beat the moment she offered him a seat.

'Shame. I would have liked to know who your favorite muggle author is. Or was it from him you quoted?' Dalia mused, flipping a page in her book.

'Do you know what a cigarette is?' Severus asked abruptly.

Dalia turned to him in mild surprise.

'I do,' she said at last, a flicker of curiosity glinting in her eyes. 'I’ve read about it, but I don’t know what it's actually like. But why bring that up now?'

Severus inhaled deeply before reciting:

'"A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied."'

Dalia followed his every word intently. There was something about the boy’s mysterious, self-contained nature that intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

The Picture of Dorian Gray.

'So Oscar Wilde really is your favorite,' she noted.

Severus nodded.

'And do you agree with it? That a cigarette is truly the perfect pleasure?' Dalia’s tone held a playful challenge, but Severus felt the question ran deeper than that.

He gave a nonchalant shrug, as if the matter held little importance.

'I do,' he replied simply. Then, after a brief pause, as if the thought had just occurred to him, he added, 'I could show you. Would you like to try?'

Before Dalia could answer, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted them.

Between the towering bookshelves, Professor Quillon’s sharp figure emerged, her strict gaze sweeping over the two students before settling on Dalia.

'Be in your dormitory in an hour, Miss Dawlish,' she said coolly. Her voice was calm, yet unwavering. 'I would rather not deduct points from my own house,' she added.

Dalia’s face remained impassive, but Severus caught the way her fingers briefly tightened around the edge of her book. Quillon’s gaze lingered on Severus for a fraction longer than necessary. She didn’t say a word to him, but there was a cold, piercing sharpness in her eyes, as though she could see straight through him.

Then, as if satisfied with whatever she had discerned, she moved on, continuing down the aisle to warn the other Ravenclaw students.

Dalia stood, closed her book, and slid it back onto the shelf before stepping closer to Severus.

'Of course, I want to try it,' she whispered into his ear with a smile, making sure Quillon wouldn’t overhear.

Her lips were so close that Severus could feel her warm breath and the stray strand of hair that brushed against his skin. The scent of her – like old books laced with something floral and faintly sweet – filled the space between them. It was delicate yet slightly sharp, much like the girl herself.

He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat.

'Now?' he asked, his voice barely above a murmur.

Dalia nodded.

As they stepped out through the heavy wooden doors of the library, they were greeted by the cold corridors of the castle. Small flames flickered along the walls, their glow sparse, casting only enough light to outline the shadows. Beyond the windows, the rain blurred the world into nothingness, the distant landscape dissolving into the dark.

Dalia moved forward with steady steps, her loosened ribbon swaying with each motion, barely clinging to her hair. Severus followed behind, watching the way it swung back and forth, and for some inexplicable reason, a quiet irritation stirred within him – perhaps at the disarray, or perhaps because this effortless elegance suited her too well.

The dull silence that had wrapped around him for weeks now felt strangely light, as if Dalia’s presence had cracked open a door to a different reality.

The moment they stepped outside, the damp air of the grounds closed in around them. The September rain poured down relentlessly, soaking into the earth with every step they took.

'You don’t mind getting drenched, do you?' Dalia asked, a playful lilt in her voice.

Severus frowned.

'We won’t melt, but we’ve only got an hour until curfew,' he muttered, keeping his tone intentionally indifferent.

Dalia smiled as she brushed back her hair, the rain already pulling it into loose strands.

'A lot can happen in an hour,' she replied with teasing ease before motioning for him to follow.

Severus said nothing, simply trailing after her toward the edge of the grounds.

As they walked, the tree by the lake slowly emerged from the mist, its massive, skeletal branches stretching protectively over the dark water. The rain drummed steadily around them, drowning out everything else, and for the first time in days, Severus’s thoughts quieted.

He simply watched as Dalia moved through the damp leaves, stepping lightly over the sodden earth as though she belonged there, as though she were a part of the landscape itself.

The tree by the water loomed like a canopy, shielding them from the worst of the rain, though by now, they were both thoroughly drenched.

Severus came to a halt, his gaze fixed on the water. Though the rain had begun to slow, the air remained thick with humidity, and the damp scent of earth lingered around them. Dalia stood patiently nearby, hands tucked into the pockets of her cloak, watching the way the moonlight shimmered across the lake’s dark surface.

Reaching into his robe, Severus pulled out a thin cigarette from a simple black metal case. His movements, like his words, carried an air of practiced calm, though it was only habit that allowed him to mask the slight tremor in his hands.

'You really don’t know what it’s like?' he asked, his eyes briefly flicking to her.

Dalia shook her head, her gaze now fixed on the cigarette in his hand as he lifted it to his lips.

Without a word, Severus retrieved a matchbox from his pocket and struck a match with a smooth, deliberate motion. The small flame flickered wildly against the damp wind, trembling as if it might go out at any second. He cupped his hand around it, shielding the delicate fire, his fingers forming a dome around the fragile light until it steadied. Carefully, he brought it to the tip of the cigarette, turning it slowly until the embers caught, glowing a soft red.

For a brief moment, the quiet hiss of burning tobacco, the thin spiral of rising smoke, and the precise rhythm of his movements seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

Once the cigarette was properly lit, he paused, then turned to Dalia.

'It’s not too complicated. Just don’t inhale too deeply, or you’ll choke on it,' he said with dry amusement before taking a slow, measured drag. His movements were effortlessly smooth – perhaps even overly so. As he exhaled, the smoke curled around him, dissipating into the cool night air.

Dalia tilted her head slightly, watching him as though weighing her thoughts.

'So this is supposed to be the perfect pleasure?' she asked, her voice laced with scepticism, though her faint smile was both playful and challenging.

Severus hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more – the curiosity glinting in her eyes or the way she seemed to be testing him. Finally, he shrugged, his voice carefully indifferent.

'I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t. But there’s something about it… something unusual. It gives you the illusion of control,' he murmured, taking another slow inhale. His words faded into the darkness, but there was weight in the way he spoke them.

Then, without looking at her, he extended the cigarette toward Dalia.

'Want to try?' he asked, his tone hovering somewhere between intrigue and unease.

Dalia hesitated for a moment before cautiously taking it from him. Her fingers trembled slightly as she brought it to her lips, caught between excitement and apprehension at the unfamiliar experience.

Her first attempt was too harsh – she inhaled too deeply, instantly coughing as she turned away, shielding her face from Severus’s view.

'Told you so,' he remarked coolly.

'I’m fine,' Dalia said, trying to mask her clumsiness between two coughs. As the irritation in her throat subsided, she took another drag from the cigarette. Slowly, she adjusted to the sensation, her hesitant movements growing more assured with each attempt.

'I understand now,' she murmured after a moment.

'Understand what?'

'I understand why Wilde wrote about it the way he did. It stinks, the smoke gets in your face, it burns your throat… But like you said, you can control it. And somehow, you want more of it.'

As she spoke the last words, her gaze lingered on Severus, as if waiting to see how he would react.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes widened in surprise, the faintest trace of emotion flashing across his face before he hid behind his usual mask of indifference.

'I’m glad,' he said at last, simply.

A brief silence settled between them, broken only by the last few raindrops falling onto the damp ground. Severus stared out at the lake as if searching for something in its depths, while Dalia idly twirled the cigarette between her fingers, letting it burn itself out.

It was Dalia who spoke next, though her voice sounded quieter in the heavy darkness.

'Why do you spend so much time in the library?'

Severus felt as if she had thrown cold water over him. She had known he was there all along – and yet, she hadn’t sought him out. To mask the storm of thoughts racing through his head, he reached over, took the spent cigarette from her fingers, snuffed it out, and tucked it back into the black case.

'It seems you’re a frequent visitor yourself,' he remarked coolly.

'I know what you’re thinking, Severus. But only those who search will find.'

Fair point, he thought, though he wouldn’t admit it to her. In the library, he only ever lifted his gaze when scanning the shelves – otherwise, he kept his eyes on his own two feet or anywhere else that didn’t require meeting the gaze of other students.

'I research potions and ingredients,' he said at last.

'What kind of potions? And why?' Dalia asked almost immediately, barely concealing her curiosity.

Her enthusiasm caught Severus off guard. He wasn’t used to people reacting with anything but boredom or impatience at the mere mention of potions. Most found the subject dull, tedious, too intricate to bother with.

'That depends on which potion I’m interested in at the moment. The ingredients change just as often. And if you’re asking why, well… that’s a long story.'

'I have time,' Dalia replied, her bright eyes locked onto his, as if trying to read something within him that he had no intention of revealing.

'As a matter of fact, I don’t think so. You have about ten minutes to get back before Quillon locks you out of your tower,' Severus said, shaking his head with a lopsided smirk, inwardly grateful that he hadn’t had the chance to let his guard down. No matter how much every fibre of his being wanted to believe otherwise, he couldn’t allow himself to trust her so easily.

'You’re right, I should go,' Dalia conceded at last, turning away from Severus and heading back toward the castle.

'Maybe next time, you’ll tell me something… Goodnight, Severus!' she called over her shoulder. Her voice was light, but he could feel the unspoken expectation beneath her words.

Severus only gave a silent nod in response, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure until she disappeared into the darkness. Dalia’s presence unsettled something deep within him, filling his mind with contradictions.

He wanted to believe she was sincere – but he had sworn to himself long ago that he would never accept kindness without a price. And Dalia could be no exception. A strange tightness coiled in his chest, as if her departure had stolen the last of the air around him. His fingers curled into fists, though he had neither the strength nor the will to unclench them. He exhaled slowly, as if trying to chase away the chaos inside him with a single breath.

He knew that Dalia might never truly be a part of his life – and yet, her words had lodged themselves deep enough that he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to let them go.

Chapter Text

9 PM, Serpent’s Lair – read the note clutched in Severus's hand. That night, Bruce Mulciber had called a meeting with the Slytherin group, and by morning, the invitation slips had found their way into the pockets of those involved.

Severus set out for the meeting place a few minutes before nine. The Serpent’s Lair branched off from the Slytherin common room, its entrance hidden behind a satin drapery in one of the corners, concealing the wall. A grand relief rose from the door, depicting a coiled serpent in a circular form, its mouth open towards a rat at the centre of the relief. Severus glanced around before pulling back the satin to reveal the entrance. Once he was sure no one was watching, he slipped behind the drapery, facing the door.

'Crucio!' he murmured in a low voice. At once, the rat on the relief began to scurry in agony before the serpent lunged and devoured it. The door creaked open just enough for Severus to slip inside.

The interior of the Serpent’s Lair bore resemblance to the Slytherin common room, though it was significantly smaller and more functional: hues of green and silver dominated the space, while flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows upon the dark walls. Shelves lined the perimeter, storing various items used for the group's missions. At the centre of the room stood a table, already occupied by the group’s members – Bruce at the head, with the others seated on either side, including Edmund Avery, Lucius Malfoy, and Regulus Black. Severus took a seat at the far end, to Bruce’s right. The moment he sat down, Bruce launched into his speech.

'It’s time we review our progress over the past months and strategize for the future. I will keep this brief,' he said, clearing his throat. 'Back in September, Snape attempted to perfect the Illusion Elixir. He handed over the potion to us, which Rosier and Avery then used to persuade Professor Quillon into handing over the list of all the dark curses she knew. The experiment was successful – Quillon remembers nothing.'

The group erupted into cheers and applause. Severus raised his hands slowly, joining in the clapping. A sense of pride swelled within him – he had managed to create something truly remarkable, refining a potion first developed centuries ago. Yet, the knowledge of how it had been used unsettled him. He was all too aware that Evan and Edmund were not known for their merciful methods, and he had no doubt that Quillon had not been coaxed into obedience with mere words alone.

'Furthermore,' Bruce continued in a louder voice, silencing the applause, 'I have some additional good news. Malfoy, Black, if you would.' He gestured to the two boys, who stood up and elegantly rolled up the sleeves of their robes, exposing their right forearms.

There, freshly seared into their skin, was the Dark Mark. Lucius's face remained impassive, his pride evident only in his rigid posture, while Regulus, smiling, displayed his newly acquired dark brand to the curious Slytherins.

Severus felt his breath catch. He had always been certain that Lucius would join Voldemort sooner or later, but Regulus – Regulus was too young. He had only become part of Mulciber’s circle the previous year, with barely any real experience.

'Be proud of them,' Bruce continued. 'And I encourage you all to follow their example as soon as possible. Joining the Dark Lord is not just a privilege – it’s an opportunity to become stronger.' Here, he fixed his gaze on Severus, as if directing the words specifically at him.

Severus knew the time would come when he, too, would be expected to make his choice. But for now, he hesitated. Part of him felt that he didn’t quite belong here – yet at the same time, he knew that a decision like this was irreversible.

'Moving forward, we will begin practicing the spells obtained from Quillon every Thursday at nine o’clock, here in this room. Attendance is strongly recommended for everyone. We have additional plans, but for now, they don’t concern all of you. You’re dismissed – except for Avery, Rosier, and Snape,' Bruce concluded.

The others filtered out, leaving Severus, Evan, and Edmund behind. Severus's gaze lingered on Regulus, who strode out with an air of quiet triumph. Rarely did he feel concern for anyone in this group, but for Regulus, he did. The boy was talented, no doubt, but joining Voldemort’s ranks was no game.

'Now then,' Bruce began once they were alone. 'Severus, we were very pleased with your work. You gave us three vials of the Illusion Elixir, but we need more. Can you replicate it?'

'Of course,' Severus replied curtly. 'But I’ll need time.'

'How much time?'

Severus studied the walls, as if searching for an escape.

'The full moon was yesterday, so we’ve missed our chance this month. I can have it ready by the end of November.'

'Excellent, Severus. Excellent. If possible, we’d like you to double the quantity this time. Evan and Edmund also want to test its limits.'

'I won’t brew it for personal use,' Severus stated flatly.

'Of course not, we wouldn’t dream of it,' Edmund said smoothly, though the smirk on his face suggested otherwise.

'The potion’s limits remain unknown to me,' Severus continued. 'Which is precisely why I wouldn’t recommend reckless use.'

'Fair enough, Severus. In return for the potion, we’ll share all the information we obtained from Quillon,' Evan added, handing Severus a copy of the stolen knowledge.

Severus tucked the parchment into his robe, then stood, nodding briefly before heading for the exit.

'Be careful who you place your trust in, Severus,' Bruce called after him.

As the door to the Serpent’s Lair shut behind him, Severus felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Power had always enticed him, but the cost of acquiring it was beginning to weigh on him. He wasn't sure if this path truly belonged to him – but he had already gone too far to turn back. He knew his involvement in the scheme against Quillon was just as significant as the others', yet while Evan and Edmund revelled in their victory, he felt an unease gnawing at him. The parchment in his pocket burned against his skin, but he had no desire to pull it out any time soon.

Instead, his mind drifted elsewhere. He thought back to why he had pursued potion-making in the first place, why he had sought strength so desperately.

His earliest memory of potions was from a class with Slughorn when they were first learning to brew simple draughts. He had been the only one to produce a perfect Pepper-Up Potion on his first attempt – at just twelve years old. He had always been the best in his year, and Slughorn had rewarded him by inviting him into the Slug Club, parading him around like a prized possession.

But the only person who had ever truly admired his skills – who had genuinely supported and encouraged him – was Lily. She had been the only one he could trust, until fifth year, when she had finally left him behind. That was when he learned that no matter how talented he was, there would always be someone louder, stronger, more powerful.

He knew his association with Mulciber and Avery had driven her away in the end. But deep down, another voice whispered that he would have lost her regardless – James Potter would have forced her out of his life eventually. And yet, if he had not chosen this path, he wouldn’t just have lost Lily – he would have been left completely defenceless against the world.

He was alone now. But at least he was not weak.

The next afternoon, Severus set out for the greenhouses to gather some ingredients for his experiments. He had specifically chosen this time, knowing that most students would be watching the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, minimizing the chances of running into anyone he would rather avoid.

The greenhouse was a heartwarming sight, even in autumn. Every shade of green was present, with golden sunlight casting striped patterns over the smooth surfaces of the diverse leaves. Many plants found a home here, including essential species for potion-making, such as Venomous Tentacula, Aconite, Witchwood, and Mandrake. The tall building’s walls were covered in rare climbing and creeping vines that stretched all the way to the ceiling.

Professor Sprout was watering the plants when she noticed Severus approaching.

'Ah, Severus, come in!' she greeted him warmly. 'I’ve prepared everything you asked for last time. If you need anything else, feel free to take it – just let me know,' she said, giving him an encouraging pat on the back as he reached her.

'Thank you, Professor,' Severus nodded curtly, taking the crate full of plants she handed him.

As he carried the freshly gathered ingredients back toward the castle, he realized he had miscalculated the timing. In the distance, he could hear the energetic voices of students returning from the Quidditch match, and among them, he spotted the Marauders. He picked up his pace, but the heavy crate slowed him down.

James’s mocking voice rang out from afar.

'What’s the matter, Snivellus? Can’t handle your weeds?' he jeered, breaking into a loud laugh that the rest of the Marauders quickly echoed like a rolling wave.

But their laughter didn’t last long.

A few moments later, the wave reversed – one by one, the Marauders fell silent. Severus stopped in his tracks and glanced behind him to see what had caused the sudden quiet.

To his great surprise, he couldn’t immediately determine what had silenced the loud group, but their expressions were nothing short of ridiculous. James clutched his throat, Sirius was patting at his extended tongue, Remus gaped as he struggled to produce any sound, while Peter had both hands clamped over his mouth, his eyes wide with shock.

A faint, bitter smile crept onto Severus’s face as he watched their clumsy attempts to regain their voices. However, his satisfaction vanished in an instant when he spotted Dalia standing behind them. The girl was waving broadly with her left hand, while holding her wand in her right.

As soon as she reached him, Severus shot her a question.

'What did you do?' he hissed, trying to keep his composure.

'Hi, Severus. What do you mean?' she asked, her tone light and nonchalant. 'Need help?' she gestured toward the crate in his hands.

'Forget it.'

'Alright, suit yourself,' Dalia shrugged. 'But if you change your mind, just say the word,' she added, but she remained by his side, walking with him.

'I didn’t take you for a Quidditch fan,' Severus remarked, visibly struggling under the weight of the crate.

'I’m not. I only follow the matches because of my best friend, Pandora,' she said. At the mention of the name, Severus’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. 'If she weren’t on the team, I wouldn’t waste an afternoon on the stands.' She tilted her head toward him. 'Are you absolutely sure you don’t want help?'

Severus shook his head. The thought of accepting her help felt humiliating – he would rather collapse than let Dalia take hold of the crate.

'Still not willing to talk?' she pressed.

'Later,' Severus replied coldly.

Dalia was somewhat hurt by the boy’s reserved nature, but she was starting to get used to it. She could see through his emotionless mask – she knew well that he didn’t behave this way without reason. Somewhere deep inside, she hoped that he might need her, though she couldn’t quite understand where this hope stemmed from.

As they stepped into the Potions classroom, the heavy, spiced scent of the room enveloped them. At the doorway, Professor Slughorn appeared, just about to leave. He greeted the two students with his usual cheerful smile.

'Dalia, Severus, what a pleasant surprise!' the professor clapped his hands together. 'Dalia, dear, would you mind assisting Severus? I do believe he could make excellent use of your talents.'

'Of course, Professor, I'd be happy to!' Dalia replied with a bright smile. Severus responded to her enthusiasm with a deep sigh.

As soon as Slughorn left the room, Severus turned to Dalia.

'What talents was he referring to?' he asked.

Dalia shrank back slightly, as if reluctant to boast.

'I experiment sometimes… Let’s just say I’m not completely untalented when it comes to charms.'

'Meaning?'

Dalia shot him a sharp look before a faint smile played on her lips.

'You first. I asked you first.'

Severus didn’t press the topic further. He fell silent for a brief moment, then placed the heavy crate onto one of the tables and set to work, separating the plants. He focused all his attention on sorting them, as if the motions could suppress his thoughts.

'Your task is to dry the asphodel and wormwood – I’ll handle the tinctures. Make sure the drying is thorough; we need to be able to crush them into powder at the end. Think you can manage?'

'Of course,' Dalia said confidently. With a flick of her wand, she lifted the first bundle of flowering plants into the air and began extracting the moisture from them.

For a moment, Severus froze. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she worked with effortless confidence and graceful ease. Her movements made it look as though the charm was child's play, yet Severus knew well that it required intense focus. The moment mesmerized him so much that, without thinking, the words slipped from his lips.

'This is the only thing I’m truly good at.'

'Meaning?' Dalia asked, not once taking her eyes off the bouquet floating before her.

'Potions...' Severus continued, keeping his gaze fixed on the plants, carefully ensuring he didn’t accidentally look at Dalia. 'I can brew perfect draughts, and I can refine potions to make them perfect.' He spoke with deliberate steadiness, preparing the nightshade for the tincture as he worked.

Dalia was utterly captivated. She had suspected that Severus spent so much time lost in his work for a reason, but she had never imagined he was this talented. Compared to him, her own knowledge felt insignificant.

A brief silence settled between them – not heavy, but one of peaceful harmony. From time to time, Severus stole glances at Dalia, only to immediately return his focus to his tinctures, as if fearing she might catch him looking. Both became absorbed in their tasks until Dalia finished hers and walked over to the cupboard to retrieve a mortar and pestle, preparing to grind the dried flowers into powder. For the next part of the process, she sat across from Severus.

'I have a lot to learn from you,' she said softly, moving the pestle in slow but deliberate motions over the dried asphodel.

'I suppose I do as well,' Severus admitted hesitantly.

Dalia tucked a stray wavy lock behind her ear, feeling a flicker of nervousness, but she didn’t look up at him. Instead, she focused on her work, trying to organize her thoughts.

'Maybe... we could teach each other,' she suggested cautiously, as if fearing he might reject the idea.

Severus looked up from the nightshade, studying her for a moment before giving a slow nod.

'We could try,' he replied curtly, though there was something faint – almost imperceptible – warming his tone.

Dalia acknowledged his answer with a wide smile before returning her focus to the mortar. Severus, too, resumed his work on the tinctures, but this time, his thoughts weren’t entirely on his task.

For a fleeting moment, it almost felt like he wasn’t completely alone in this world.

Chapter Text

Poof. A loud bang echoed through the air. Someone had fallen from above – straight onto Pandora. For a few seconds, she endured the pain in silence before breaking into bitter sobs, clutching at her shin with both hands.

Dalia stood frozen, watching as tears streamed down her best friend's face. Her leg was broken.

Dalia gripped her wand tightly, her fingers clenching around the wood as if sheer willpower alone could fix the problem. But she couldn't. She didn't know how. The spells she had learned so far seemed useless in that moment. Her wand suddenly felt heavier in her grasp.

Pandora's whimpers, the sickening crack of bone – both pounded in her ears like a whip that refused to quiet.

'That thing is useless in your hands, little girl,' said Madam Hooch. There was no anger in her voice, no pity – just a simple fact.

A fact that would stay with Dalia forever.

She jolted upright in bed, breathing heavily. The room was silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the dormitory clock. She clutched the edge of her blanket as if it were still her wand, her hands trembling from the lingering weight of the dream. A few breaths later, she finally forced herself to let go.

This was the one recurring dream that had tormented her for years. They had been first-years when a fellow student had fallen onto Pandora during Quidditch practice, breaking her right shin. Dalia had wanted so desperately to help her, but she had been powerless.

Madam Hooch had fixed the injury quickly enough, but Dalia knew that if she had only known the right spell, Pandora wouldn't have had to suffer half as long.

That was the moment she made her decision: she would do whatever it took to master spellwork, to ensure that she would never again stand helpless when someone needed help.

She refused to be that little girl whose wand was useless in her hands.

A wounded hamster lay sprawled across Professor Quillon’s desk. The seventh-year Ravenclaws sat in tense silence, their eyes fixed on every movement of their professor’s wand as she prepared to demonstrate one of the most powerful healing spells they would learn at Hogwarts.

Dalia absently twirled her quill, tracing Quillon’s movements in the air. Beside her, Pandora watched the suffering creature with wide, horrified eyes.

‘Vulnera Sanentur! Vulnera Sanentur!’ Quillon chanted, her voice reverberating through the room. With careful precision, she traced his wand over each of the hamster’s wounds.

The transformation was instant. The once-agonized creature twitched, then sprang to life, scampering frantically across the desk as if it had never been hurt. With a practiced motion, Quillon lifted it up and placed it inside an empty cage.

The classroom held several more cages, each containing an injured animal – a few squirrels, several birds, a weasel, and other small woodland creatures.

‘Raise your wands and place your quills in front of you,’ Quillon instructed. ‘Do not speak the incantation yet – first, practice the movement as I demonstrated. Once I see enough precision, we’ll move on to casting.’

Her gaze swept the room, searching for struggling students, ready to intervene where needed.

Dalia traced her wand over her quill with practiced precision, picturing a wounded squirrel in her mind.

For long minutes, they practiced – first the wand movements, then the incantation. Only when Quillon was satisfied with their progress did she signal for them to line up and attempt the spell on real subjects.

‘Each of you will receive an injured animal, one at a time, so I can supervise your work. Professor Kettleburn wouldn’t be too pleased if we ended up killing the creatures he gathered from the forest.’

Professor Kettleburn, their Care of Magical Creatures teacher, regularly collected injured wildlife for healing practice. He had struck a deal with Quillon, setting up cages in the Charms classroom so the students could practice healing spells on them.

The Ravenclaws lined up. At the front stood a timid, dark-haired boy, seemingly nudged forward by the others so that he wouldn’t be the one to step aside. He took a deep breath, then began chanting the incantation, trying to manoeuvre his wand correctly – but instead of healing the injured owl placed before him, the wound on its wing deepened.

Quillon stepped beside him, grasped his wand hand, and took over the spell.

‘That’s enough, thank you,’ she said before motioning to the tall, golden-haired boy behind him. ‘Your turn, Lovegood.’ She gestured toward a weasel with a broken leg.

Xenophilius Lovegood straightened, closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them to gaze kindly at the creature. He began casting the spell. The weasel flinched at first, but after a few moments, its fractured bone began to mend. Xenophilius let out a deep sigh, as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. Before returning to his seat, he cast a proud smile in Pandora’s direction.

She was next in line.

Pandora struggled to find the right rhythm – she managed to start the spell, but quickly lost focus, making no progress on the blackbird placed in front of her. After a few minutes, Quillon stepped in, finishing the job. The moment the bird was healed, it flitted around the room in bright, cheerful trills before the professor guided it back into its cage.

Then came Dalia’s turn.

Somehow, she had known she would get a squirrel. She took a deep breath as she pointed her wand at the trembling creature. Its tiny, dark eyes glazed up at her, pleading.

A lump rose in her throat, but she pushed the uncertainty aside.

You know exactly what to do, she whispered to herself.

The movements were familiar, coming as naturally as breathing. And the moment the first word of the incantation left her lips, she felt magic rush through her – like a long-awaited lock clicking into place.

The squirrel stirred, a glimmer of light returning to its eyes. For a brief moment, Dalia felt a wave of relief – but she quickly suppressed it. There was no time for celebration; she had to see the spell through.

Fortunately, the healing was swift. Within moments, the squirrel was already scurrying up her robes, eager to burrow into her pocket – until Quillon plucked it up and returned it to its cage.

'That’s how it’s done,' Professor Quillon said, giving Dalia an approving pat on the back.

As the lesson ended, most of the students packed up their belongings at lightning speed, as if there were no tomorrow. Dalia, however, remained behind, clutching a sheet of parchment, waiting for the opportunity to speak with the professor.

Quillon tidied up her surroundings, giving the animals water with a flick of her wand before turning to face Dalia.

'Let me see that,' she said, gesturing toward the paper in Dalia’s hands.

Dalia hesitantly handed it over. Those few lines scrawled across the parchment were the result of weeks of work, yet she dreaded the professor’s reaction – as if, after all these years, this was the first time she had submitted one of her own spells for review.

But it was far from the first time. And still, the mix of excitement and fear burned just as fiercely as it had during her very first attempt.

'What does this new creation do?' Quillon asked, leaning in with curiosity. 'After your previous experiments, I was eager to see what you’d come up with next,' she added, a note of approval in her voice.

“Serenitas! – A Calming Charm” was written in Dalia’s elegant, precise handwriting.

"Pronunciation: Light, without emphasis.

Wand technique: The caster moves the wand in slow, circular motions toward the target, as if weaving an invisible shield around them. The final motion is a subtle flick, sealing the spell.

Effect: This charm can temporarily ease emotional tension and restore inner balance. It affects not only the target but also grants a sense of calm to the caster. It can be used in moments of stress or as a preparatory step in healing, helping to soothe the injured."

Quillon fell silent, her eyes scanning the description again and again. Her eyebrows arched, and she sank into deep thought.

'This is brilliant, Miss Dawlish,' she finally said, quiet amazement woven into her words. 'Assuming, of course, that it works. Would you care to demonstrate?'

Before Dalia could respond, the professor smoothly retrieved a small cage from beneath the desk.

'I happen to have someone here who’s been restless all day,' she remarked, lifting out a tiny, scruffy rat. Its eyes darted wildly, its body twitching as if it were being chased by invisible enemies. With a flick of her wand, Quillon levitated the creature into the air, then motioned with her free hand for Dalia to begin.

Dalia swallowed her nerves. Now or never, she told herself, forcing a sense of calm into her mind.

She took a deep breath, focusing on the technique she had described. Her hand trembled slightly as she raised her wand, but her movements were precise. She traced slow, deliberate circles in the air, as if weaving a delicate cocoon around the tiny creature. The final motion was an elegant, almost imperceptible flick.

‘Serenitas!’ Dalia spoke, her voice quiet but firm.

The rat immediately ceased its frantic squirming. Its tiny body relaxed, its small limbs dangling limply in the air. For a brief moment, its eyes even fluttered shut, as if drifting toward sleep.

But Dalia did not share in the spell’s tranquillity – her own inner tension was far too strong.

Quillon observed the result with a small smile before nodding.

'Excellent work, Miss Dawlish. Though I daresay the rat looks far more content than you do,' she remarked.

'Thank you, Professor.'

Dalia exhaled, as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but she didn’t allow herself full relief. She was still waiting for Quillon’s official evaluation.

'That being said,' the professor continued, 'I believe it would be a mistake to share this too widely. You’re lucky, Miss Dawlish, that I am the one teaching you.'

She smiled, handing the parchment back.

'I will include it in your end-of-year assessment, but keep it safe, and I advise you not to show it to anyone. I’m afraid not everyone would be inclined to respect the rights owed to the creator of such a spell. I trust you understand what I mean.'

Dalia nodded. She knew well enough that some professors took pride in the achievements of their students – sometimes even going so far as to steal ideas for their own books. She trusted Quillon, but she wouldn’t have handed her work over to Slughorn so easily.

Neither Quillon nor Dalia realized, however, that just beyond the door, someone had overheard everything.

A firm knock sounded.

'Come in!' Quillon called.

Severus entered the room, maintaining the appearance of confidence – though it did little to hide the fact that he had spent the last fifteen minutes loitering by the door, 'accidentally' overhearing more than a few things. He strode purposefully across the Charms classroom, stopping directly in front of Quillon.

'Are you here to review your essay?' Quillon studied him with sharp eyes, reading his expression carefully.

Severus gave a curt nod.

'I’m afraid I have another class starting soon, Mr. Snape. Would you be able to return later? If you have any questions regarding Charms, I believe Miss Dawlish would be more than happy to assist you.'

Severus let out a sharp huff before pivoting on his heel in one swift motion. The edge of his cloak flared behind him as he stormed toward the door.

Dalia stood frozen for a few moments, her gaze following his retreating figure. Seeing such an impulsive reaction, she sighed, then turned back to Quillon with a nod of farewell. The professor returned the gesture with a faint smile, as if she fully understood what was unfolding between the two.

Without hesitation, Dalia followed him.

The soft swish of her robes muffled the sound of her footsteps, and as soon as they reached the corridor, she quickened her pace. She caught up with Severus, her fingers latching onto his forearm, gripping the fabric of his cloak tightly.

She didn’t care if her action was too forceful – his anger and closed-off demeanour frustrated her, and she wasn’t about to let him just walk away.

'It’s one thing to be this blunt with everyone, but you could at least show some respect toward Quillon,' Dalia said, nearly knocking over a few first-years hurrying to Charms.

As the words left her mouth, she felt her frustration smother the proud joy that had sparked in her just moments ago. Why does he have to ruin everything? she wondered, tightening her grip on his arm almost instinctively.

Severus felt her fingers pressing into his sleeve, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to pull away, yet he didn’t want Dalia to think there was any point in trying with him. Why won’t she just leave me alone?

Life was simpler when everyone kept their distance, when no one tried to break through the walls he had built. But Dalia seemed impossible to drive away, and that unsettled him.

He wanted to escape the situation as quickly as possible; there was too much to process at once. He couldn’t even decide whether he should tell her what he had overheard.

In the end, not a single word left his lips.

'You’re the greatest mystery, Severus,' Dalia finally sighed, releasing his arm. Her voice carried no anger, no sarcasm – just exhaustion.

A mystery that, once solved, you’ll abandon – just like everyone else.

The thought flickered through his mind, but he didn’t say it aloud. The weight of those words felt too heavy, too revealing – perhaps even of something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself.

Instead, he stayed silent, his gaze skimming past hers, never quite meeting it.

But Dalia wasn’t willing to leave it at that. She took a step closer, as if determined to break through the invisible walls surrounding him.

'You know… what we talked about last time…' she said at last, her voice softer now, but steady with quiet determination. 'I really do want to learn from you.'

Severus stood rigid for a moment, then the words tore from him almost involuntarily:

'Forget it.'

His voice was firm – too firm – but beneath it lurked something uncertain, unsettled.

'I heard everything,' he added after a beat. 'In the end, you’ll probably try to lull me to sleep too, just like that rat.'

Dalia recoiled, her eyes widening in shock as if he had physically pushed her back. She faltered for a moment before her voice snapped, sharp with wounded indignation.

'You heard everything, Severus,' she accused, her own voice unrecognizable to her ears. 'And not only did you hear it, but you turned it against me in an instant. Maybe you’re not such a mystery after all – maybe you’re just a…'

'Just a what?' Severus’ lips curled into a mocking smirk, as if he already knew exactly what he was about to hear. His dark eyes burned into her, but beneath the derision, there was something else – something Dalia couldn’t quite decipher.

Her throat tightened as his words echoed through her. Just a lonely person too proud to open up to anyone, she thought, but she knew that saying it wouldn’t change anything.

And yet, she still felt the urge to say it, to shatter his walls completely.

In the end, she didn’t. Instead, she let her hand fall to her side, turned on her heel, and stormed away.

She felt her anger slowly shift into something else – disappointment. Not just in Severus, but in herself.

Why do I even try? she asked herself, but the question rang hollow in her mind, like an echo that no one would ever hear.

As her footsteps echoed against the stone floor, she glanced down at her hand – still trembling slightly from the memory of his touch. She wasn’t sure if it was from anger or disappointment.

Severus stood still, watching her retreating figure.

The thought of running after her, of apologizing, of trying to explain that he hadn’t meant it that way – it crashed over him with overwhelming force.

But then there was that other voice – quieter, but more stubborn – that whispered: This was for the best. Your world is dark, too dark for her. At least this way, you can’t hurt her. Or she can’t hurt you.

He was about to turn away when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

The pressure was barely there, yet it weighed on him like the weight of the moment itself, pinning him to the ground. Startled, he turned around.

Quillon stood behind him, her expression unusually serious, though something flickered in her eyes – something Severus couldn’t quite place.

Understanding, perhaps. Or pity.

The professor could see the walls he had spent years building around himself, and she knew that sometimes, all it took was a small push for someone to find the right path on their own.

'Go after her,' she said softly.

And yet, her words cut through the air with such certainty that they silenced every doubt in his mind.

He didn’t know what he would say. He didn’t even know if he could fix what he had broken.

But Quillon’s words drowned out the hesitation in his head, and his feet simply began to move.

He found Dalia outside, standing beneath the arches.

She was clutching the parchment that held her own spell, her fingers digging into it as if she feared that letting go would mean losing her last anchor.

Half her face was cast in shadow, but Severus could see clearly that her gaze was fixed somewhere far in the distance.

And in that moment, as he stood before her, he suddenly felt far too small to say anything that truly mattered.

'Listen, Dalia, I…' Severus began as he came to a stop beside her, but the words stuck in his throat.

'I didn’t eavesdrop on purpose. I really did want to talk to Quillon.'

Dalia didn’t turn to him. Her gaze remained fixed on the parchment she still clutched tightly in her hands. But when she spoke, her voice was sharp enough to slice through the silence.

'Interesting way to apologize. Assuming that’s what you were trying to do.'

Severus closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering his thoughts before giving a small nod.

'You really are talented,' he said quietly, as if every word took effort to push out. 'And… I won’t use what I heard against you.'

A brief silence fell between them.

Severus was almost certain Quillon had cast some kind of charm on him – he would never have tried this hard to make amends on his own. And yet, something in him urged him to continue.

Dalia was still angry. His words echoed in her mind like an accusation that refused to fade, but somewhere beneath the frustration, she felt the faintest flicker of relief.

Despite his awkwardness, despite everything, Severus was trying. And in its own way, that meant more than any flawless apology ever could.

Finally, she turned to face him.

Her eyes locked onto his dark gaze, searching for something hidden beneath its surface. Then, without hesitation, she extended the crumpled parchment toward him.

'Consider this my down payment. Are you willing to teach me?' she asked, her voice quieter now – but there was something in it that even Severus noticed.

It wasn’t just curiosity. It was hope.

Severus hesitated before reaching for the paper, as if he were handling something rare and fragile.

He studied it for a brief moment, then gave a curt nod.

'This Friday, four in the afternoon. Does that work for you?' he asked, his gaze still lingering on the parchment.

He knew the autumn break started that day. He was certain she would be free.

'Perfect,' Dalia answered.

She felt a small smile begin to form on her lips but quickly suppressed it, not wanting to seem too eager. Still, Severus caught the fleeting light in her expression. For a moment, their gazes held, as if the world around them had fallen away. A chill swept through the stone arches, rustling Dalia’s hair, but neither of them moved. The grip she had held so tightly around the parchment loosened.

Severus’ fingers instinctively smoothed over the crumpled page, as if, in the midst of his tangled thoughts, he had finally found something solid to hold onto.

Slowly, both of them looked away – as if afraid the other might see too much.

In the distance, the soft flutter of wings signalled the arrival of two owls.

The grey owl glided silently beneath the arches, its wings moving so gently that they barely disturbed the cool evening air. Its snowy-white companion followed gracefully behind.

Both birds descended onto the students’ shoulders – the grey one for Severus, the white for Dalia.

Dalia carefully untied the letter from the owl’s leg, her fingers trembling slightly. Neither of them was used to receiving letters. Both tore into them feverishly, and as their eyes scanned the first lines, Dalia’s lips twisted into an involuntary grimace.

Severus’ expression mirrored hers. Beneath his neutral mask, a flicker of bitterness surfaced before he swiftly buried it.

And then, in perfect unison, their voices rang out with identical disappointment:

'Halloween Slug Club.'

Chapter Text

Severus checked his pocket watch anxiously. At five minutes to four, he was already impatiently waiting for Dalia. The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom – where they had agreed to meet – was silent and empty, the heavy desks arranged in neat rows, with the massive teacher’s desk sprawling at the front, just before the enormous, worn chalkboard. Pale winter light filtered through the windows, casting sharp shadows on the stone floor. The air carried the weight of quiet anticipation.

Severus perched on the edge of one of the back desks, carefully adjusting the hem of his robes as his dark gaze remained fixed on the door.

Dalia arrived exactly at four o’clock. She pushed open the creaking door with a sudden movement, as if she were late, then just as abruptly shut it behind her. Attempting to tame her tousled hair, she tucked a few stray strands behind her ear before noticing Severus.

'Hope you haven’t been waiting too long,' she exhaled, still catching her breath.

'Not at all. You were on time,' Severus replied simply. 'Shall we begin?' There was a trace of excitement in his voice as he stood from the desk.

Dalia nodded, pulling out her wand as she stepped toward the more spacious part of the room. Severus followed, ensuring a respectful distance between them, while retrieving the notes she had given him last time.

'Where would you like to start?' Dalia asked.

'The wand movement. Your description was precise, but I still don’t feel like I’m doing it right when I practice,' Severus admitted. His voice was unusually quiet, as if it pained him to admit in front of her that he doubted his own abilities.

Dalia gave him a small smile.

'I don’t think you could mess this up too badly,' she said, shaking her head before stepping beside him. 'The key is to feel the movement. Can you show me?'

Severus demonstrated the wand motion for Serenitas with slow, elegant precision. Dalia folded her arms as she observed him, and when he finished, she nodded in approval.

'There’s nothing wrong with that – it’s perfect. Are you sure I have anything to teach you at all?' she laughed softly. 'Now let’s test the incantation. I’m curious to see if the pronunciation comes as naturally.'

Severus savoured the praise, though he didn’t allow it to show on his face. Straightening his posture as if preparing to recite something, he let the words leave his lips effortlessly:

'Serenitas!' he said, evenly, without emphasis.

Dalia said nothing at first, stepping away from him to create a small distance before turning back to face him.

'You’re ready,' she declared, her tone light but filled with recognition.

Severus froze for a moment. He couldn’t fathom why she trusted him so easily – so much that, after a single practice, she was offering herself as a test subject. He felt both admiration for her courage and disdain for her recklessness.

'Are you sure about this?' he asked.

Dalia nodded, her warm brown eyes radiating calm.

'I mean, I’m not particularly anxious right now, but I suppose I could always be even calmer,' she quipped, making light of the situation.

Severus focused all his attention on the spell, and as he uttered the incantation, a beam of cool blue light connected to Dalia. She didn’t flinch, standing just as still before him as she had before – but the moment the spell ended, she raised a hand to her mouth and let out a deep yawn.

Even Severus himself felt its effects – his nervous excitement dulled, and his usually rigid features softened for a fleeting moment.

'How are you able to do this?' he asked quietly. 'How can you create a spell from nothing?' There was genuine curiosity beneath his words.

Dalia didn’t look at him. Instead, she ran her fingers along the grooves of her wand as she spoke.

'First of all, you can’t really create something from nothing,' she began softly, her gaze still on her wand. 'It works a bit like potions – you can rediscover old, forgotten spells and reshape them, altering a letter here or a motion there. That’s the simplest way to create something new, though it’s hard to call that true innovation.' She sighed. 'The real challenge is when I try to craft a spell almost from scratch. In those cases, I rely mostly on my intuition and emotions… and, of course, on the ancient language where I draw the words from. Those form the foundation of the spell. Then comes endless experimentation and practice – until the idea turns into magic.'

Severus listened intently, his mind racing.

Emotions and intuition, as the basis for magic – it all sounded too unpredictable to him. Yet, he couldn’t help but be captivated by the idea.

As Dalia kept her head bowed, absentmindedly fiddling with her wand, Severus felt an odd sense of peace settle over him. She was brilliant, and yet – so deeply human.

'Show me something else,' he murmured. 'Something we can’t learn at Hogwarts.'

Dalia still didn’t look at him. She stopped fidgeting with her wand and instead bit the corner of her lower lip, sifting through her mind for the right spell.

'I think I have one,' she said finally, lifting her head with excitement. 'Think of a spell that can cause harm.'

Severus frowned, unsure where she was going with this.

'Seriously?' he asked, surprised.

Dalia nodded.

'You’re playing with fire, Dalia,' he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

'Trust me, Severus,' she replied, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence.

His heart skipped a beat. He had no particular feelings for her. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. And yet, it was strangely difficult to raise his wand against her.

Dalia held his gaze, standing perfectly still, waiting.

After a brief hesitation, Severus lifted his wand, pointed it at her, and spoke firmly:

'Rictusempra!'

Dalia smiled – not from the tickling charm’s effect, but out of surprise that this was the spell he had chosen. The spell didn’t even touch her. She remained exactly as she had been before.

'How did you do that?'

'I used Protego – a more advanced and refined version that doesn’t require a spoken incantation.'

'Like Occlumency,' Severus noted. 'Though only a rare few can perform it nonverbally.'

Dalia shrugged.

'It’s not as difficult as people think – but it’s definitely not something worth attempting if you lack the talent. Want to try?'

'Maybe another time,' Severus muttered.

It didn’t seem fair if only he got to practice tonight – and, if he was honest, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to pull it off without making a fool of himself.

'There’s something I do want to show you, though.'

He pulled a Potions textbook from the pocket of his robe and handed it to her.

'This book? I have one just like it,' Dalia remarked, flipping it open.

'Tell me more,' Severus said, his tone laced with dry sarcasm.

Dalia took a seat at the nearest desk, carefully turning the worn pages. Ink stains, yellowed splotches, and even faint traces of blood marred the edges. But it was the handwritten note at the very front of the book that caught her eye.

'This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince. The Half-Blood part makes sense,' she mused, casting him a sideways glance, 'but where does the Prince come from?'

Severus swallowed hard. That was the last thing he wanted to explain – especially not to her.

'Turn the page,' he ordered stiffly.

Dalia obeyed without question, recognizing that she had touched on something sensitive.

She flipped quickly through the pages, stopping at a heavily annotated entry:

'Veritaserum.'

Dalia traced her fingers over the handwritten notes in the margins. One line caught her attention, and she read it aloud:

'Although this is the strongest known truth serum, there are ways to resist its effects, including taking an antidote or using Occlumency.'

She glanced up at Severus, pointing at the heavily underlined word.

'You know Occlumency?'

Severus’ expression remained unreadable.

'To some extent, yes,' he answered curtly.

Dalia searched for the right words, but nothing seemed sufficient to express the admiration she felt at that moment. After a pause, it was Severus who spoke again.

'What else are you curious about?'

He leaned in slightly, his voice rough yet filling the silence of the room. A strange yet familiar scent surrounded him – something bitter and earthy, like the damp soil of a forest after rain. A subtle smokiness lingered as well, reminiscent of aged parchment and crushed herbs, seeping into the fabric of his robes.

The sudden closeness unsettled Dalia. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks, and she instinctively shifted deeper into her seat, giving him more space. Severus sat beside her.

'I’d like to know how you figure out which adjustments a potion needs,' she finally said, pointing at the annotations beneath the Veritaserum recipe.

'You have to sense it, I suppose,' he admitted, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. 'There are some recipes where you can see something’s missing just by looking at them. Of course, that takes a fair amount of experience.'

'And if you can’t sense it?'

'Then you have to experiment,' he said, meeting her gaze briefly before looking back at the book. 'Which, of course, doesn’t always pay off.'

'When are we practicing?' Dalia asked, suddenly eager.

'Copy one of my modifications and try brewing it yourself.'

'I thought we’d be doing it together…' she said, a tinge of disappointment in her voice. 'Which one should I copy?'

'I don’t know. Surprise me.'

He handed her the book.

'You can borrow it, but I want it back at Slughorn’s party. And I’ll talk to him about letting you use the Potions classroom,' Severus added nonchalantly, though there was a subtle trace of care in his tone.

Dalia smiled as she tucked the book away. She had learned by now that Severus’ actions meant far more than his words.

Time seemed to drag within the grey walls of Hogwarts. The initial reluctance Severus and Dalia had felt toward Slughorn’s invitation had softened into quiet anticipation.

Though Severus spent every spare moment studying potions, his thoughts often drifted back to the spells he had learned – and to Dalia. The knowledge that he could share his passion for magic with someone else brought him more peace than any Serenitas charm ever could.

There were still a few days until the party, yet his suit was already hanging on his wardrobe door. He ran his fingers over the dark, worn fabric of the jacket – an old hand-me-down from his father. For the first time, he wished he could afford a new one.

Dalia was equally excited. Every night, she staged a personal fashion show for Pandora – on Monday, she tried on a long red dress; Tuesday, a knee-length grey one; Wednesday, a green satin gown; and finally, by Thursday, she had chosen the winner.

On Friday, Halloween night, she stood ready in her royal blue dress, which elegantly accentuated her slender waist.

'Do you think my calves look too thick?' she asked Pandora, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror, her legs covered only by sheer stockings.

'You look stunning,' Pandora assured her, adjusting the ribbon in her hair.

Standing side by side – Pandora in a similar light blue dress – they looked like night and day. Not only did their outfits reflect the contrast in their personalities, but their friendship as well. Pandora was the kind of person who could bring light into the lives of everyone around her, while Dalia’s glow was reserved only for those who chose to see it.

'Smile!' Pandora giggled, raising her camera.

Dalia obeyed reluctantly as Pandora snapped a moving photograph of her.

She didn’t love how she looked in it – she always felt a little awkward in pictures.

But she didn’t protest.

Pandora had a habit of capturing moments, and Dalia had long since stopped trying to escape the lens.

'You look lovely. Shall we go?' Dalia asked, after snapping a photo of Pandora in return. She grabbed her small handbag, slipping Severus’ book and a vial of potion inside.

Her friend nodded, and they left together.

Slughorn’s office was dazzling in its full splendour. One side of the room held a grand round table set for dinner, while the other was arranged for social activities – one corner for wizard chess, a cozy seating area by the fireplace for conversation, and a refreshment table laden with snacks and drinks.

Large glass jars of sweets were scattered throughout, floating jack-o’-lanterns and candles illuminated the space, and soft, pleasant music played in the background. Most of the invited guests were already seated when Pandora and Dalia arrived.

'Ah, Miss Malfoy, Miss Dawlish! Right this way!' Slughorn beamed, waving them toward the open seats.

Severus couldn’t take his eyes off of Dalia. He hadn’t even realized how long he had been staring – how every little detail about her stole his breath. His dark gaze traced the elegant arrangement of her hair, the delicate chain around her neck, the way her dress flattered her figure, and the glint of her polished heels.

Suddenly, his own oversized, shabby grey suit felt suffocatingly small. For a brief moment, he wished he could sink beneath the table and disappear. But just as quickly as the thought struck, it faded when Dalia greeted him with a bright smile.

Severus’ expression barely changed – but Dalia could have sworn she caught the faintest flicker of a smile ghosting across his face.

'You arrived just in time, ladies,' Slughorn clapped his hands. 'We were just discussing what each of our talented seventh-years plans to do after Hogwarts. Would you care to share your ambitions?'

Dalia exchanged a glance with Pandora, who nodded and turned to the professor.

'I definitely plan to continue my studies,' she said brightly. 'If all goes well, I hope the Ministry will find a use for my talents.'

Slughorn’s eyes gleamed with interest.

'Oh, I have no doubt, Miss Malfoy!' he said before turning to Dalia. 'And you, Miss Dawlish?'

Dalia straightened her posture.

'I imagine a quieter life for myself,' she replied simply. 'After further studies, I’d like to work as a researcher and write my own books on the science of spellwork.'

Slughorn nearly burst with enthusiasm – and he wasn’t the only one. Severus, though outwardly composed, absorbed every word, eager to know more.

'Fascinating, my dear, truly fascinating! And what kinds of spells interest you? Have you begun drafting ideas for your book?'

'You’ll be the first to receive a copy when it’s finished,' Dalia said evasively, lifting her chin slightly.

Amateur, she thought.

She wasn’t about to hand over sensitive information so easily – not to Slughorn, and certainly not in a room full of students. As the conversation drifted away from them, Dalia took the opportunity to observe the other guests. Apart from Severus and Regulus Black, she barely recognized anyone.

Her eyes landed on Regulus’ forearm – his long black sleeves were buttoned all the way down. It filled her with suspicion. Perhaps the rumours were true. Perhaps he really had joined Voldemort.

After dinner, the group began to disperse. Pandora immediately gravitated toward the wizard chess set, settling into the white side, eagerly waiting for a challenger brave – or foolish – enough to face her.

Regulus Black took the seat across from her. Pandora made the first move with one of her pawns.

'I’ve seen you at my parents’ parties,' Regulus remarked casually. 'You’re Lucius’ cousin.'

'Brilliant observation,' Pandora replied dryly, moving another piece without hesitation.

Regulus suppressed a faint smirk as he pushed a black pawn forward.

'Not that I particularly care, but I did notice,' he added lightly.

Pandora tilted her head slightly, considering him. With quick, deliberate movements, she commanded another piece into place.

'And why now?' she asked. 'Why speak to me here, instead of at those grand Black family gatherings? Are you too busy playing the perfect heir?' Her words carried a teasing lilt rather than real malice.

Regulus propped his chin on his fingers, deep in thought.

'Maybe I got curious,' he mused. 'Wanted to see if you were really as insolent as they say.'

A glint of amusement flickered in Pandora’s eyes.

'Oh, Regulus…' she murmured, sacrificing a pawn with effortless grace. 'How insolent I am depends entirely on how well-prepared you are.'

Regulus leaned back in his chair, as if only now realizing he was up against a formidable opponent.

'Then I suppose I’ll have to find out for myself.' With a precise, controlled motion, he advanced one of his pieces. 'But don’t expect an easy victory.'

Pandora’s lips curled into a smile, as if, at this point, she already knew the game’s outcome rested in her hands.

Meanwhile, Dalia and Severus stood by the fireplace, each holding a glass of punch.

'I missed your answer at the beginning,' Dalia remarked. 'What are you planning after Hogwarts?'

'Maybe next time you won’t show up at the last possible second,' Severus retorted with a sharp smirk, masking the anxiety he still couldn’t quite shake since she arrived.

'You can’t keep pushing everyone away forever, Severus,' she murmured, her voice carrying an unexpected weight.

That’s the goal, he thought.

Dalia saw right through it, and consciousness set off all the alarm bells in Severus' mind. He let out a slow breath before leaning in slightly.

'I told Slughorn I plan to continue my studies,' he muttered, ensuring the professor wouldn’t overhear. 'But honestly? I have no idea.'

Dalia raised an eyebrow.

'That’s surprising.'

Then, after a moment, she tilted her head toward the door.

'Want to take a walk?' she offered. 'There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.'

Severus hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. The idea of escaping the noise and chatter for a while didn’t bother him, though the thought of being alone with Dalia sent a knot twisting in his stomach.

Pandora caught sight of Dalia and Severus slipping out the door.

Oh, I’m definitely questioning Dalia about this later, she mused, before turning back to Regulus – just in time to destroy another one of his chess pieces.

Chapter Text

The cool October wind swept across Dalia’s bare shoulders, sending a shiver down her spine, but after the stuffy air of the Slug Club party, the cold felt refreshing. In a way, that was how she felt about Severus, too – his aloofness often cut through her like a biting wind, yet his intellect was a welcome relief after so many shallow conversations. She hurried to keep up with his long strides, her heels clicking against the stone floor as he practically stormed out onto the castle grounds.

Though he tried to hide it, Severus’ excitement was evident. He wasn’t sure when Dalia’s presence had started making him this anxious, but he desperately wished he could rid himself of the tight knot forming in his throat.

Once they reached the courtyard, Severus scanned the area, then came to an abrupt halt.

'What did you want to talk about?'

Dalia stopped beside him, standing close enough that he could feel her presence at his side. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small vial, pressing it into his hand. Severus held it up to the pale moonlight, examining the pearlescent liquid inside.

'Amortentia,' he observed. 'Not exactly the simplest recipe to attempt on your first try… I’d be surprised if you got it perfect. Though, from the looks of it, it seems decent.'

'You underestimate me, Severus,' Dalia said, crossing her arms.

Severus uncorked the vial and let the potion’s scent fill his senses. As the first trace of it reached his nose, he closed his eyes with a deep sigh. The aromas wrapped around him like memories, and without realizing it, a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Dalia watched the scene unfold, and before she could stop herself, a smile of her own formed. For the first time, she saw Severus genuinely smile, and it filled her with such warmth that, for a fleeting moment, it felt as if all the darkness in the world had disappeared.

'What do you smell?' she asked softly.

'Ink, parchment, rain, and…' Severus started, his voice trailing off. The last scent lingered on his tongue, his tone softening ever so slightly. 'Lily.'

Dalia mentally noted every word, as if she might need these later.

She knew how intoxicating Amortentia could be – she had experienced it herself while brewing the potion. Books, tea, cinnamon, the crisp scent of autumn evenings… and something else, something warm and zesty that drew her in, yet she couldn’t quite place what it was.

Severus' eyes fluttered open, and in an instant, his expression hardened again.

'Perhaps I did underestimate you,' he admitted simply. 'Nice work.'

'Thank you,' Dalia beamed before pulling Severus’ book from her bag and handing it back to him.

'There’s something else I wanted to ask you about,' she hesitated, clearly unsure of how to phrase her next words. 'Potter and Sirius Black… why – why do they treat you the way they do?'

Her voice carried genuine curiosity, but also something else – concern.

Severus’ gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if analysing how much he could safely reveal without exposing his weaknesses. The question struck a nerve, but the weight of the unspoken words inside him felt suffocating.

He couldn’t hold them back anymore.

'Because they can,' he said quietly. There was a restrained bitterness in his voice. 'They’re stronger, more popular… and they’re bored. I’m their target because…' His voice faltered for a second, as if afraid that the truth might push her away. '…because it’s easier to hate me than to hate themselves,' he finished, almost as if speaking more to himself than to her.

After a heartbeat of silence, he added in a hushed tone:

'And it would be easier for me to hate them… if they weren’t everywhere.'

'Don't tell me there’s nothing you can do. Couldn’t you talk to someone about it?' Dalia asked, her voice laced with frustration.

'Like who?'

'Like Dumbledore? Have you ever tried?'

Severus let out a sharp, humourless laugh.

'You think I haven’t?' he snapped. 'Do you really think anyone cares?'

'That’s not what I meant…' Dalia started to say, but the words froze in her throat.

'Then what did you mean?' Severus whispered, his voice drained of emotion.

A long silence stretched between them, as if he was fighting to maintain control. Dalia felt a wave of guilt wash over her.

'I didn’t know it was… this bad,' she admitted quietly, her voice breaking slightly.

Severus’ lips curled into a bitter smile, though his dark eyes betrayed the pain he truly felt.

'You couldn’t have known,' he murmured. 'This didn’t start yesterday.'

For some reason, he found himself talking. Perhaps Slughorn had spiked the punch with more than just fruit juice, or maybe it was just the way Dalia listened. His memories surfaced, unrelenting and sharp. The first Charms lesson, when James Potter and Sirius Black had laughed at him for using a second-hand textbook. The hexes fired at him in the corridors, always from the shadows – never followed by an apology, only cruel grins staring back at him. The freezing dunk into the fountain while the entire castle laughed. His books, hexed for amusement. The insults scrawled on walls by invisible hands. And that day by the lake, when he hadn’t even bothered to fight back…When he had just waited for it to end.

As his words faded into the cold night air, the silence between them became heavy. For the first time, Dalia understood.

'I’m sorry, Severus.'

It was all she could say.

Suddenly, she regretted not bringing a cloak. Her arms were covered in goosebumps, and it was getting harder to stop shivering. Severus’ eyes flickered to her, noticing her visible discomfort.

'Don’t pity me,' he muttered, barely above a whisper. Then, as if on impulse, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. He cleared his throat. 'That should help.'

To mask his awkwardness, he turned away slightly.

'Thank you,' Dalia murmured, her voice barely audible.

She clutched the jacket tightly, as if the warmth of the fabric could somehow close the distance between them. The scent of it surrounded her – that same unfamiliar, intriguing spice that had woven its way into her Amortentia.

For the first time, someone had noticed her silent shivers. And not just noticed – acted.

When she glanced at Severus again, she found herself smiling, unbidden and grateful. The silence between them lingered, but for once, Dalia didn’t mind. The cold’s grip loosened, but her mind didn’t quiet. Everything he had just told her sat heavy on her heart.

She wanted to help him – but she knew that interfering would only make things worse. Lifting her gaze, she looked up at the night sky. The October sky was cloudless, the stars bright above them. She wished she could see a shooting star. She wished she could wish for Severus to have a life without suffering.

Severus wasn't looking at the stars. He was looking at her.

The silver light cast soft shadows across her face – the delicate nose, the round cheeks, the large, doe-like eyes. For a single moment, he wished he could trade places with that stupid old jacket.

Dalia sneezed, pulling him from his thoughts.

Severus blinked, as if waking from a dream.

'We should go back before you freeze to death,' he muttered. 'Besides, I’m sure we’re missing someone desperately trying to impress Slughorn right now.'

Dalia laughed, as if she knew exactly who he was referring to. And for the first time that night, Severus felt warm.

In Slughorn’s office, the black chess pieces fell one by one. Regulus sat defeated before Pandora, his expression unreadable.

With a final, decisive move, the white queen sealed the match, and his king bowed in surrender – but Regulus’ gaze remained on Pandora, as if the real victory had been his all along.

'I won,' Pandora said, folding her arms, her cheeks flushed with excitement from the game.

'I can see that. Well played,' Regulus conceded, extending his hand toward her. 'Care for a walk? If you refuse me now, that would be the real defeat,' he added smoothly.

Pandora hesitated for only a moment, struggling to suppress her smile, then nodded.

Behind them, Slughorn scanned the students with increasing suspicion. The punch bowl was nearly empty when he finally leaned in to sniff its contents.

'Merlin’s beard!' he exclaimed. 'This wasn’t meant for you!' he declared, clearly detecting the faint traces of Firewhiskey in the brew.

Then, after a moment’s pause, he merely shrugged.

'Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it now.'

Pandora followed Regulus eagerly to the corridor. As they walked side by side, Regulus moved with effortless grace, his black suit flowing around him like a second skin.

Pandora glanced to the side, and was surprised to see that Regulus was not gloomy or distant – his eyes sparkled with an unusual liveliness. For a brief moment, their gazes met.

'What would you say if I told you I let you win?' Regulus mused.

Pandora raised an eyebrow.

'I’d say that’s pathetic,' she laughed, her voice laced with playful teasing. 'Why on earth would you do that?'

'Perhaps I just wanted to make sure you’d play with me again.'

Pandora stopped abruptly, turning toward the large arched windows. Her sky-blue eyes reflected the night, vast and endless, the stars twinkling like secrets waiting to be spoken.

'Tell me something, Regulus…' she began quietly. Then, after a pause, she continued. 'Have you ever thought about leaving it all behind?'

Regulus frowned.

'What do you mean?'

'The expectations placed upon us because of our blood. The parties, the rigid formalities…' Pandora’s voice was thoughtful. 'Have you never wanted to be just Regulus? Free from the weight of your name?'

Regulus turned away, his face slipping into shadow.

'It surprises me that you would ask that,' he said, his brow furrowing slightly. Then, after a moment, he lifted his gaze back to hers. 'I have thought about it,' he admitted at last. 'And I can’t.'

His voice was quiet but firm.

'Sirius abandoned our family. He threw everything away. I’m the last one left to recover our honour. The last hope my parents have.'

Pandora nodded, though she didn’t look away from the stars.

'I feel that way sometimes, too… like there’s no escape.' Then, after a pause, she turned back to him. 'But your name doesn’t define you. Neither does your family’s past. Sirius chose his own path. You can, too.'

Regulus let out a bitter laugh.

'If only it were that simple.' He glanced around, checking that they were alone.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he unbuttoned the sleeve of his black shirt and rolled it up to his elbow.

Pandora’s breath caught. She had heard the rumours. She just hadn’t believed them. But there it was – the Dark Mark, etched deep into his pale skin, stark and unyielding. For a long moment, she could only stare.

'I… I didn’t believe them,' she whispered at last.

Regulus didn’t move. The Mark almost seemed alive in the dim light, its ink-black lines pulsating faintly, like a curse whispering secrets into the night.

The world around Pandora tilted. It felt as if reality had just fractured. Memories surged forward, sharp and unforgiving – opulent ballrooms drenched in golden light, the intoxicating scent of champagne and perfume, hollow laughter echoing through grand halls. She remembered the masks. The polite smiles that concealed cruelty. The expectations that suffocated. The children who had never been given a choice. And she remembered him.

Regulus, standing beside Sirius in their youth, their mother’s watchful eyes tracking their every move. Sirius had walked away. Regulus had stayed. She had thought she understood why. But now… now, she wasn’t so sure.

Pandora’s fingers twitched at her sides. Then, slowly – tentatively – she reached out. Her fingertips brushed against his arm, tracing the outline of the Mark as if she could wipe it away. Regulus inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull back. 'This isn’t who you are,' she whispered.

Regulus’ eyes flickered. Something wavered in them, something unspoken.

'This is my reality, Pandora,' he murmured, his voice was hoarse. 'I can’t erase it. I can’t change it. And I cannot afford to believe otherwise.'

Pandora didn’t withdraw her hand. For a long moment, she simply rested it there. Then, softly, she said:

'I’m not asking you to change it.' She met his gaze with quiet determination. 'I just don’t want you to forget who you really are.'

Regulus held his breath. For the briefest second, he let himself believe in the warmth of her touch.

Then, the weight of the Mark pulsed again – cold, unwavering. Reality pulled him back. He let out a slow breath and stepped away.

'We should go back,' he murmured. Then, with a small, almost forced smirk, he added:

'Before Slughorn realizes the punch is gone.'

Pandora hesitated, then let out a quiet chuckle. Even now, she could see the wall going back up around him. She let him retreat. But she wasn’t finished.

'Alright, Black. But next time… I choose the game.'

Regulus let out a soft, genuine laugh – a rare sound.

'Then don’t expect me to let you win.'

Pandora stepped barefoot into the dormitory, moving carefully so as not to wake Dalia. She made her way to her desk, where an open parchment and an untouched bottle of ink awaited her.

She sat down, her fingers still trembling – not from the cold, but from something else. Something deeper. Without hesitation, she dipped her quill into the ink and wrote.

"I must not believe in anything else… I cannot."

She stared at the words for a long moment.

Then, with a sharp stroke, she crossed them out.

The overwhelming silence of the night seeped into the Slytherin dormitory as well. Regulus sat quietly at the edge of his bed, Pandora’s words echoing in his mind. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve, his gaze lingering on the Dark Mark. Beneath his skin, he could almost feel the ghost of her touch, as if the icy lines of the Mark and Pandora’s warmth had become permanently intertwined.

"'I just don’t want you to forget who you really are."

He let his arm drop, sinking onto the mattress, enveloped by the heavy quiet that filled the room.

Even in sleep, she found him. Pandora stood before him, turning toward him, though she said nothing. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if they both knew – something terrible was coming.

Her face twisted, distorted, and somewhere in the distance, the black king toppled over in the grass.

Chapter Text

Severus felt as though someone had driven needles into his skull. His head pounded, a relentless throbbing at his temples, making it nearly impossible to gather his thoughts upon waking. The pain clouded his mind entirely. Slowly, he forced his eyelids open, trying to recall the events of the previous night. His brow furrowed as memories surged forward, crashing over him in an overwhelming tide.

His confession about the Marauders.

Dalia’s face in the moonlight.

His suit jacket draped over her shoulders.

His fingers clenched around the edge of the bed, as if gripping it tightly could hold back the onslaught of thoughts. With sluggish movements, he dressed, fastening each button with mechanical precision. And with every one, another image slipped into his mind, unbidden.

By morning, he had decided against going to the Great Hall for breakfast – he refused to risk running into Dalia.

But by lunch, avoiding her was no longer an option.

Severus halted in the middle of the hall, stunned when he realized she wasn’t there. His eyes darted toward the Ravenclaw table. Pandora sat in her usual spot, but the seat beside her remained empty.

A tight, suffocating pressure coiled around his chest, like a serpent wrapping around him, squeezing tighter with each breath. For a fleeting moment, he hesitated – he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. But his curiosity – his need to know what had happened to Dalia – won over his pride.

Slow, measured steps carried him toward the Ravenclaw table, each one feeling heavier than the last. Pandora noticed him immediately, she lifted her head, offering a faint smile.

'Severus,' she greeted in her usual lilting tone. 'Is something wrong?'

His lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke.

'Where is Dalia?' His voice was rough, as if the lingering cold of the previous night had settled in his throat. Even with just one question, he felt as though he had already revealed too much.

Pandora’s smile remained, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.

'She’s in the hospital wing,' she said gently. 'She caught a cold at Slughorn’s party, and they’re keeping her in for a while. She’s not doing too well.'

Severus’ expression didn’t change, but his gaze flickered for the briefest second.

'I see,' he said coolly.

He tugged at his collar, as though it were suddenly too tight around his throat, then turned sharply before Pandora could say anything else.

His footsteps echoed against the stone floor, each step carving deeper trenches in the maze of his own thoughts. The castle was full of students, yet he noticed no one. His headache still pulsed at his temples, though he could no longer tell if it stemmed from physical pain or the relentless pounding of his own mind.

Part of him regretted everything. That he had told Dalia more than was wise. That he had let her see his weakness. That he had agreed to that walk when she had nothing but her thin dress to protect her from the cold. The jacket he had given her had been as poor a shield against the night’s chill as his defences had been against her words.

But another part of him was angry for an entirely different reason. He worried for her. He wanted – more than anything – to abandon everything and rush to the hospital wing. But the thought that Dalia might not even want to see him kept him rooted where he was.

What could he possibly say to her? How could he explain the mess of the previous night? Tell her to forget everything? Blame the Firewhiskey-laced punch for loosening his tongue and making him spout nonsense?

No. That was not an option. The best he could do – the only thing he could do – was never bring it up again, and avoid her for as long as humanly possible.

Pandora sat by her friend’s bed in the hospital wing, her expression filled with concern. She gently squeezed Dalia’s hand, as if that alone could ease the weakness evident on her pale face.

'Why didn’t you take better care of yourself?' she asked quietly, a hint of reproach in her voice.

Dalia gave her a faint smile.

'It wasn’t that cold,' she whispered, though both of them knew that wasn’t true.

Pandora watched her in silence for a moment. Then, after a brief pause, she asked, her voice hushed:

'Did something happen between you and Severus?'

Dalia looked away, as if the soft light filtering through the infirmary had suddenly become too harsh. Her eyes flickered around the room, and once she was sure they were alone, she answered in a low voice:

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?' Pandora raised an eyebrow. 'One day, I don’t even know you know each other, the next, I see you sneaking off together, and then he comes up to me, worried, asking about you. That doesn’t sound like nothing to me,' she said, her tone carrying a slight edge of offense.

'Really? And what did he ask?' Dalia replied, a little too quickly, perhaps with more eagerness than she intended.

'Just where you were, since he couldn’t find you. He didn’t ask anything else after that. If I think about it, he was acting a little… strange.'

Dalia let out a deep sigh, but before she could say anything more, a coughing fit overtook her. Once it passed, she spoke again, her voice hoarse and weakened from the strain.

'I suppose… we’re friends.'

'Friends, huh?' Pandora smirked knowingly. 'And what should I know about him?' she asked, though there was a trace of doubt in her tone. She didn’t want to say it outright, but she didn’t trust Severus.

'He’s brilliant. Honestly, a genius. He does with potions what I do with spells,' Dalia said, her eyes gleaming as she spoke. Before she could continue, she coughed twice.

'He can be brutally honest, even a little cynical, but if you understand sarcasm, his company is actually… refreshing.

'Sure…' Pandora nodded, her mischievous smile never wavering.

'Don’t look at me like that, Pandora. I don’t like him. Not like that,' she emphasized.

'I don’t mind. Just… be careful,' Pandora said at last, gently smoothing out a stray lock of Dalia’s tousled hair.

She knew Severus Snape was not the kind of boy it was easy to be around.

Dalia tilted her head slightly, lost in thought, as if searching for refuge behind the infirmary’s privacy screens to escape Pandora’s piercing gaze.

'Anyway… It seemed like you had a good evening as well. How was the chess match?' she asked carefully.

Pandora’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of the game.

For a moment, she drifted into thought, seeing the chessboard in her mind – Regulus’ unreadable gaze staring back at her.

'Regulus lost, of course,' she said with a shrug, standing up as if preparing to leave.

'That’s it?' Dalia’s voice rang with disappointment.

Pandora gave Dalia’s hand one last squeeze, though for a fleeting moment, her fingers stiffened, as if an unspoken thought had caught on her lips.

'That’s all,' she whispered at last, but the words rang hollow in the air.

Something deep inside her pulsed – an unspoken truth, a story she would likely never be able to tell.

'I’ll come back later. Take care of yourself,' she said with a reassuring smile.

But before she could leave the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey stepped into her path.

'Ms. Malfoy, would you be so kind as to take this to Professor Slughorn?' she asked, handing her a small note. 'We’re out of Pepper-up Potion'

Pandora nodded, tucking the note away. She gave Dalia a final wave before stepping out.

Dalia was left alone with the storm of her thoughts, the silence in the room thick enough to touch. She slowly closed her eyes, but the thoughts returned – again and again, like a stubborn, endlessly repeating dream. Friends. The word felt empty, as if it wasn’t enough to capture everything she felt.

The cold air seeping through the window brushed against her skin, but it brought no relief – only the memory of Severus’ jacket draped over her shoulders. For a moment, she could almost feel the rough texture of the fabric again, the faint, sharp scent of spice lingering around her.

With a sigh, she buried her face in her pillow, but the grip of her thoughts only tightened. Did he care? Or was she the only one reading too much into a fleeting moment of kindness? What if it had all been in her head – an illusion spun by the night, already forgotten by the morning?

But no matter how hard she tried to push the memories away, they refused to leave.

The silence of the hospital wing curled around her, pressing in from all sides, and the weight of solitude sank deeper and deeper into her chest.

Professor Slughorn entered the Potions classroom with a broad smile, finding Severus arranging a row of glass jars on the shelves. He was pleased to see him there – not that it was unexpected, since the boy had a scheduled study session with him that day – but now he could ask for his help with a sudden order.

'Severus, I need your assistance,' he said cheerfully. 'The infirmary has run out of Pepper-up Potion. Could you brew a fresh batch? I don’t have time to take care of it myself.'

Severus looked up, his expression blank. He had no intention of refusing, but he knew all too well that Slughorn was likely preoccupied with organizing his next grand gathering rather than actually tending to his potions.

'Of course, Professor,' he replied quietly.

'Excellent!' Slughorn beamed. 'I knew I could count on you. You know where to find everything.'

And where’s the “thank you” in that? Severus scoffed internally once the professor had left the room.

He set to work with practiced efficiency, somewhat relieved to have a distraction. As he pulled out the cauldron, another thought crept in – soon, he would have to brew the Illusion Elixir again. He could already picture Evan and Edmund’s smug faces as they boasted about the results they had achieved using his potion.

The thought made him sick, and yet, he had no choice. He worked swiftly, but his mind wandered – something that never happened to him. As he sliced the mandrake root, an image of Dalia surfaced – her face drawn in intense focus as she dried the floating flowers with perfect precision.

Even as a memory, she mesmerized him, her graceful movements effortless.

Severus clenched his jaw, shaking the thought away as if swatting at an irritating fly. He refused to accept that someone could have this effect on him. But, no matter how many times he pushed it away, the thought kept coming back.

And the idea that he might be brewing this very potion for her…

He hadn’t even noticed he had added the fire seeds too quickly – only realizing his mistake when it was already too late.

The potion consumed itself, dissolving into dark red smoke.

'Brilliant,' he muttered in a deep voice.

For a moment, he abandoned everything, leaning onto the desk with both elbows, burying his face in his hands. He took a deep breath, forcing his frustration aside.

Then, with renewed focus, he started over. He would not let his emotions get the better of him.

That was how his next few days passed. Sometimes, his path took him past the corridor leading to the hospital wing, his fingers clenching the hem of his robes as if that alone could keep his thoughts from straying to her.

The creaking hinges of the infirmary door almost called to him. Once, he stopped for half a second – only to turn away immediately, as if forcing his body to move would silence his thoughts as well. A part of him wanted nothing more than to go to her, to see her.

But he couldn’t.

It was as if invisible chains wrapped around his ankles, anchoring him in place. He did not belong to her. They weren’t friends. Not close. Just two students with a shared fascination for magic.

The library had always been his sanctuary, or at least, it should have been. But even there, his steps led him – inevitably – to where Dalia usually sat. He could picture her, absorbed in her books, fingers curling around some overly embellished muggle romance novel. He could see her biting her lower lip as she read, utterly lost in the story. See the way she leaned over the pages, loose waves of hair falling into her face, the delicate ribbon slipping free from its hold in her dark locks.

Severus forced himself to focus on the books in front of him but one day, curiosity won out. He reached for The Great Gatsby from the muggle literature section and skimmed a page. "Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," it read, "just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had."

Sentimental. Drooling. Just like Dalia.

He snapped the book shut. But instead of returning it to the shelf – he took it with him.

Sometimes, he sought refuge by the Black Lake, hiding behind the pale haze of cigarette smoke. But even there, she found him. Not in person – just in thought. He imagined her with the cigarette between her lips, holding it awkwardly, unsure of how to inhale properly.

And for one brief moment, he considered it. Going to the hospital wing. Just a glance. Just to see if she was all right.

But he shut the thought down before it could take root.

What would I even say to her? The possibility that she might not want to see him burned his soul, just like the cigarette did with his lungs. Maybe she was angry with him for not visiting. Maybe she was disappointed. Or maybe she wasn’t surprised at all. Severus squeezed his eyes shut.

As he wandered the castle grounds, his footsteps traced a silent path beneath the arching branches of the trees, surrounded by the crisp scent of late-autumn leaves.

He wanted to be anywhere but here. Away from the scalding heat of bubbling cauldrons. Away from the creaking door of the hospital wing, which taunted him like an unfinished sentence. Away from the crushing quiet of the library, which reminded him too much of Dalia’s soft voice. And that moment – the way her eyes had lit up when he had agreed to teach her.

When the next full moon arrived, Severus strode hastily into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. His gaze swept over the field hidden among the shadows, where the Soul-mirror Flowers glowed silver under the moonlight. With a single precise movement, he cut the finest blooms, his fingers lingering on the delicate petals for a brief moment.

As he placed the flower into a glass vial, an image flashed through his mind – carried by the wind like an unbidden whisper.

Dalia’s gentle smile at Slughorn’s party, her laughter spilling freely as she spoke with Pandora, golden waves cascading over her shoulders.

That smile… It felt more real than reality itself.

I care about her, he thought. The realization struck him with the sharpness of a blade – inescapable, undeniable. It rang so clearly in his mind that it almost hurt, as if it had always been there, buried deep, waiting for him to finally hear it.

He had felt something like this once before and it had nearly destroyed him. He knew this was more than curiosity. It was something deeper. Something he had tried to run from. An emotion that robbed him of any semblance of peace whenever she wasn’t there.

A weary sigh escaped him as he lifted his gaze to the distance.

There was no use denying it anymore.

There was no turning back.

He had fallen in love.

Dalia watched from the infirmary's window as Severus disappeared into the dense shadows of the Forbidden Forest. She was angry at him for not visiting her even once in the past two weeks.

And yet, deep down, she knew she had no right to expect it from him.

With a sigh, she turned away from the window, her fingers brushing against the parchment lying on the nearby desk. For a moment, she hesitated.

Would it even matter if she wrote to him?

She couldn’t say for certain. But she knew she would regret it if she did nothing. Snapping open the ink bottle, she picked up her quill, her hand unsteady. Her thoughts were a mess – scattered and restless – yet painfully, desperately clear.

One line after another filled the page until, at last, she folded the parchment with a precise, deliberate motion and sealed it inside an envelope.

Her owl sat silently on the windowsill, watching her with large, knowing eyes as she approached. For a moment, she clutched the letter tightly, as if that last touch could undo the weight of the words already written.

'Take this to Severus,' she whispered at last.

The owl hooted softly in response before taking flight into the night.

Chapter Text

"Severus,

I hope nothing is stopping you from visiting me. My days are terribly dull, and I could really use some study material.

If you decide to come, you’ll find me in the hospital wing.

Take care!

Your friend,

Dalia"

Severus’ eyes skimmed over the simple lines again and again. His fingers brushed against the parchment, tracing the smooth ink where her quill had once glided across the page, as if the letters still carried the ghost of her touch.

Your friend.

Those two words stood out from all the rest.

Did she really think of him that way? Did she truly believe they were friends?

Carefully, he folded the parchment, sealed it with a simple protective charm, and placed it inside his drawer. On his desk, resting in a small box, were six vials of Illusion Elixir – the result of his work from the previous night. And this was only part of the total batch; he had kept two vials for himself, just in case he might need them later.

He picked up one of them, tilting it slightly, watching the thick, silver liquid swirl under the dim light. The thought crossed his mind that with just a single drop of this, he could make Dalia forget. Make her stop caring that he hadn’t visited. Erase the disappointment from her mind. He could make it easier for her – to simply let go of him. It would be so simple.

Severus’ heart clenched at the mere thought of it.

The fact that it had even crossed his mind was enough to fill him with disgust. Dalia didn’t deserve that. She deserved better than him.

With a sharp, decisive movement, he placed the vial back into the drawer, beside her letter. Even if the thought lingered in his mind, he knew – he knew – that he could never harm her. Neither directly nor indirectly.

A long sigh escaped him as he closed the lid of the box. Then, standing up, he grabbed it and left to deliver it to Mulciber.

He found the boy alone in the Serpent’s Lair, deeply engrossed in a book. Severus recognized it instantly – one of the Restricted Section’s darker volumes. He wasn’t surprised to see it in Bruce’s hands.

Clearing his throat, he announced his presence.

'Severus,' Bruce greeted smoothly, rising from his seat with elegance. 'Glad to see you. I have good news for you,' he said in his usual, silky tone before retrieving a folded parchment from his pocket. 'Set it down there,' he gestured to the velvet-lined box in Severus’ hands, directing him toward the table. 'It deserves a place of honour. And now – read this.'

He extended the parchment toward him.

Severus’ eyes scanned the letter, his brow arching as he absorbed the words. His gaze halted at the most important line. Disguising a meeting with Voldemort as a grand ball – both ingenious and deeply unsettling.

'What is this?' he asked sharply.

'Exactly what it looks like,' Bruce replied calmly, folding his arms with an effortless motion. 'The Black family’s Christmas ball will officially be just another high-society event, but in reality… it’s a gathering for the chosen ones to meet the Dark Lord. The first step in proving where we belong.'

Do I really belong here? The weight of the question pressed into Severus’ mind, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it for long.

He nodded.

'I’ll be there,' he declared. His voice was steady, resolute – but deep inside, uncertainty flickered.

Bruce’s lips curled into a faint smile as he regarded Severus with a measured glance.

'I knew I could count on you. The Dark Lord will appreciate your presence,' he said smoothly before lowering himself back into his seat, returning to his book with ease.

Severus turned toward the exit, but with every step, the air around him felt heavier than before. If I can’t even protect myself… how could I ever protect her? The thought flared inside him, sharp and unwelcome, but he forced it aside as he made his way toward the hospital wing.

He stopped in front of the heavy wooden door, his feet suddenly rooted to the cold stone floor. He still didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to act around her. Taking a deep breath, his fingers unconsciously traced the grain of the wooden door, but he didn’t move.

How could he tell Dalia that it wasn’t indifference that had kept him away – but himself?

That every step toward her felt like a step against his own nature?

He was about to turn back when he heard the faintest noise from inside the infirmary. A chair creaking? Or just the wind teasing the old furniture? Either way, it was enough to stop him.

If he didn’t go in now, he might never find the courage to come again.

Severus hesitated before his fingers curled around the doorknob.

The door opened with a slow, drawn-out creak, and his gaze immediately found Dalia. She was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, a book resting in her lap – but she wasn’t reading. Her eyes were fixed on the world beyond the window.

'Dalia,' Severus said quietly, his voice barely audible even in the hushed infirmary.

Slowly, she turned her head toward him, her face was pale, her features slightly thinner than before. It was clear that the illness had taken its toll.

A wave of shame crashed over him for not coming sooner.

'I was beginning to think you’d never get here,' she said at last, her voice even. But there was something in it – something so subtle, yet unmistakable – that made Severus' stomach twist. An edge, barely perceptible, but there. And it terrified him.

He had no idea how to respond. He just stood there, motionless, as if he were part of the doorframe itself, while Dalia watched him – patiently, unwavering. This was the moment when he should have spoken. But every word he might have said had already slipped away.

'Look, I…' Severus started, but the words faltered on his tongue. He glanced at Dalia, searching for an answer in her expression, but he found none. 'I'm not good at this…' he added, his fingers instinctively toying with the edge of his robe sleeve.

Dalia watched him for a moment before lowering her gaze, setting the book down in her lap.

'Well, it’s not a lost cause just yet,' she finally said, a faint trace of warmth in her voice. 'Are you going to sit down?'

The movement was simple, just a small gesture toward the other end of the bed, but to Severus, it felt like she was asking him to cross the world. And yet, he obeyed, his heart hammering as he stepped closer. One thought remained – what could he say to avoid ruining this moment? In the end, he decided to say nothing. He let the book speak for him instead. Reaching into his robe, he pulled out The Great Gatsby and handed it to her.

Dalia’s eyes lit up as she recognized it.

'This is one of my favourites…' she said softly, genuine surprise in her voice.

But her joy faded almost immediately when she noticed the bandage on Severus’ hand.

'Where did you get that?' she asked, her voice quiet – not accusing, just filled with concern.

Severus withdrew his hand quickly, as if the brief touch when he passed the book had lasted too long, as if her attention saw too much.

'It’s nothing.'

'You were in the Forbidden Forest last night. I saw you disappear into the trees.'

'Why does it matter to you?' Severus snapped. 'There are things you’re better off not knowing.'

'Give me your hand,' Dalia said firmly, gesturing toward his injured left hand.

Severus hesitated for a long moment. But in the end, he relented. When his hand settled into her lap, the touch nearly paralyzed him – so unfamiliar, yet disturbingly familiar at the same time.

Dalia carefully unravelled the bandage, her fingers barely brushing his skin.

Severus’ heartbeat quickened against his will. He tensed slightly, willing himself not to react, but Dalia didn’t seem to notice. Her focus was entirely on the wound as she raised her wand, murmuring a soft incantation to seal it.

'I don’t understand you, Severus,' she sighed, releasing his hand. 'I’m not someone you need to keep everything hidden from.'

'You wouldn’t understand,' he muttered. 'You’re a privileged pureblood.'

The words came out sharper than he intended, and he regretted them almost instantly. And yet – a dark satisfaction flickered through him when he saw Dalia freeze for a split second.

This was his only weapon. Words. Words that built walls between himself and others before they could get too close.

But she didn’t recoil. She held his gaze, unmoving, then asked, in a quiet but steady voice:

'Do you really believe that?'

There was something in her tone that made Severus look away. He stared at his hand instead, now fully healed – as if the wound had never even existed.

'What does it matter what I think?'

'It does matter, Severus. The only one who doesn’t see that is you.'

Severus clenched his fist in his lap. The words crowded at the tip of his tongue – anger, shame, frustration – but he couldn’t say them. Not to her.

'You don’t understand, Dalia. You’ve never had to fight to be seen.' His voice wavered, but he didn’t stop. 'You’ve never been looked down on just for existing. You don’t know what it’s like to have people watching your every move, waiting for you to fail.'

A suffocating silence settled between them, broken only by the faint sounds of the infirmary – the distant sigh of another patient, the quiet creak of an old window frame. Severus realized he had said too much. And he hated himself for it. There was already too much building inside him, and in that moment, it all felt like it was spilling out at once.

'Do you really think it’s that simple?' Dalia’s voice was soft, but each word struck like a blade. 'Do you think being pureblood makes anything easier?'

She didn’t raise her voice, but the sharpness in it made Severus flinch.

'Do you think I’ve never had to fight for recognition?'

'The wizarding world has never been simple. For some, blood status is a mark that can never be erased.'

'I don’t see you that way, Severus. I don’t care where you come from. Your words matter. And I care about you.'

Her voice remained steady, but the conviction in it was impossible to ignore. Severus slowly lifted his gaze. Their eyes met. And for the first time, he didn’t look away.

Dalia’s expression held no hesitation, no false reassurance – just quiet, unwavering truth.

It terrified him.

The door of the hospital wing closed softly behind Dalia. She paused in the corridor, her fingers brushing lightly against the cold stone walls as she gazed down the long, winding path that led to the Ravenclaw Tower. Her steps were slow – not just from the lingering fatigue of recovery, but from the weight of her thoughts.

Severus occupied her mind at every turn, sometimes because of his rare moments of kindness, other times because of his sharp, cutting words. He was impossible to understand.

When she entered the dormitory, Pandora was already sitting at the edge of her bed, a piece of parchment clutched between her fingers. The quiet patter of rain against the window filled the room as Pandora looked up and greeted her with a faint smile.

'So, you’ve finally returned,' she said, waving the parchment slightly. 'Just in time to hear the latest news.'

Dalia kicked off her shoes, set down the belongings she had brought back from the hospital wing, and sat beside Pandora on the bed, tucking her legs beneath her as she leaned in to see what it was about.

'What is it?' she asked curiously.

'A letter. But not just any letter,' Pandora said excitedly, taking a deep breath before she began to read:

"Dear Pandora Malfoy,

The Black family is delighted to invite you to our annual Yule Ball, held in honour of the noblest bloodlines and the celebration of the winter solstice.

This evening serves as a tribute to those who guide the wizarding world as steadfastly as the light we welcome on this sacred night.

This event is an opportunity to reaffirm the legacy that has bound us together for centuries.

Date: December 24th, 7 PM

Location: Black Manor, London

In accordance with the formal nature of the event, attire is strictly limited to dress robes, suits, or evening gowns.

Please present this invitation upon arrival, as it serves as proof of entry.

Let us celebrate the values we are all responsible for preserving.

During the evening, you will have the opportunity to meet members of other esteemed families and further strengthen the bonds that unite us.

With respect and anticipation,

Cygnus and Druella Black"

Pandora looked up from the letter, her eyes alight with excitement as she turned to Dalia expectantly.

'This is wonderful,' Dalia said, but there wasn’t a trace of enthusiasm in her voice. 'What makes this ball any different from the others?'

'Oh, Dalia, can’t you read between the lines?' Pandora huffed, pulling her legs up onto the bed so she could face her properly. 'First of all, this is the biggest ball of the year – every pureblood family will be invited. And secondly – ' Here, she lowered her voice slightly, as if about to reveal something secret. 'This isn’t just a ball. Rumour has it that Voldemort himself will be there… This is the night he chooses who will become Death Eaters.'

Dalia’s eyebrows shot up.

'I still don’t understand what you’re trying to say.'

Pandora pulled out another parchment from beneath the invitation, one filled with names.

'Let me finish,' she said, pointing at the paper. 'This is the guest list. Take a look.'

Dalia ran her finger down the list, her breath held in anticipation – hoping, praying that there would be one name she wouldn’t find.

Evan Rosier

Pandora Malfoy

Bruce Mulciber

Regulus Black

Narcissa Black

Bellatrix Black

Eleanor Dawlish

Thaddeus Dawlish

Dalia Dawlish

Severus Snape

Her eyes locked onto his name the moment she saw it, as if it had become the only line on the parchment that mattered.

Severus Snape.

Her fingers froze beside the list, and suddenly, the air felt thin, the room closing in around her.

His name stood right beneath hers – undeniable, inescapable. Dalia couldn’t decide if the sight of it brought her relief or terror.

A flood of images crashed into her mind – the sharpness of his words, the wound on his hand, the moment he disappeared into the Forbidden Forest… Something was missing.

Something she couldn’t piece together.

Why was his name on the list? Why had he been invited to a ball meant for purebloods?

'Severus…' she read his name aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. 'But he’s a half-blood.'

Pandora nodded emphatically.

'Exactly. Aren’t you the least bit curious about why he’s here?'

Dalia stammered, still unable to believe what she was seeing.

'Are you saying that…'

'I have no idea,' Pandora admitted with a shrug. 'I wouldn’t dare assume anything. But it is interesting, don’t you think? Maybe you should convince your parents to attend this year. Or just go yourself – you are of age now.'

That was all Dalia needed.

She leapt from the bed, sat down at her desk, pulled out a quill and parchment, and began writing furiously. She had to be at that ball. She had to see it with her own eyes.

Whatever was happening – whatever truth lay beneath that name on the list – she wouldn’t rest until she knew.

'If you need help picking a dress, just let me know,' Pandora teased, stepping behind her and squeezing her shoulders gently.

Chapter Text

Lucius, Pandora, and Dalia stood amidst the bustling evening crowd of London, their long cloaks concealing the elegance of their attire with an air of mystery.

The Big Ben towered over them, its imposing presence casting long shadows, and Dalia gazed up at it in awe – she had never been to this part of London before. Lucius drew his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself before motioning for the two girls to do the same. Once they were all rendered unseen, the blond wizard pushed open the heavy iron door leading into the tower and held it open for them to step inside.

At first glance, the interior of Big Ben seemed utterly ordinary – a reception area on the lower floor, staircases, and an elevator. The three of them headed straight for the lift, where Lucius muttered an incantation:

'Revelio!'

At his words, an additional button appeared on the panel, labelled Seventh Floor. Pandora pressed it without hesitation, and the elevator surged upward with a loud rumble, almost as if it were gliding through the air.

Dalia struggled to keep her balance. As soon as the iron gate of the elevator slid open, a massive black door stood before them. Its elaborate carvings depicted a sprawling tree, its branches engraved with names, and at its centre, the proud crest of the Black family gleamed.

Some of the names etched into the tree vibrated, as if they were pulsing with life, and Dalia was certain it was marking the present members of the family. Beneath the crest sat an imposing iron knocker, which Lucius lifted and struck three times against the aged wood.

The lock clicked.

As they stepped inside, a surly-looking house-elf greeted them.

'Invitations, please,' it said in a monotone voice.

'Here you are, Kreacher,' Lucius handed over the three invitations.

With a single nod, the elf gestured for them to proceed.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, their cloaks lifted off their shoulders, drifting into the cloakroom beside the entrance as if carried by an invisible force. Name tags affixed themselves beside them as they walked further inside.

Pandora watched Dalia out of the corner of her eye as her friend took in the manor’s extravagant décor, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. She wondered how Dalia had managed to avoid this entire world for so long.

'Champagne for the young ladies?'

A more pleasant-looking house-elf appeared, balancing a tray of slender crystal flutes filled with bubbling liquid.

Both girls accepted with a smile, their eyes instinctively searching for Lucius, but by then, he had already vanished into the crowd.

The Black Manor’s ballroom was dimly lit, yet it exuded an intoxicating grandeur. The towering silver chandeliers cast a cold glow over the black marble walls, their light dancing across intricately woven tapestries and rare, imposing paintings. The air hummed with a tension Dalia couldn’t quite place.

She clutched her champagne glass a little tighter and instinctively drifted toward the edge of the room, but every flicker of an unfamiliar gaze reminded her just how out of place she was. Watching the lively crowd, she felt as though she were an observer, watching a performance unfold from the audience, while everyone else played their part on stage.

Pandora belonged here – she moved through the ballroom as if every corridor of Black Manor was written into her very bloodline.

But Dalia… Dalia was a stranger in this world.

In the centre of the ballroom, wizards and witches twirled in perfect harmony, and Dalia instantly recognized the hosts of the evening.

It wasn’t difficult – out of the entire gathering, only they were dressed entirely in black:

Cygnus and Druella, Orion and Walburga, Bellatrix and Rodulphus, as well as Narcissa and Regulus danced in perfectly organized pairs.

The sight both fascinated and unsettled Dalia. She took a few careful sips of her champagne, hoping it would give her the courage to step further inside. She was keenly aware of every movement, making sure not to trip over the hem of her deep-blue gown, embroidered with delicate constellations.

'Well, I certainly didn’t expect to run into Rowena Ravenclaw tonight,' came a voice from behind her.

An older, bearded wizard had addressed her.

'Father, please, leave her be,' Pandora interjected gently. 'It’s her first ball.'

'I know, my dear, I was only teasing,' the man chuckled. 'Eleanor and Thaddeus Dawlish’s daughter, is that right?' He stopped before Dalia, his gaze both curious and subtly scrutinizing. 'Hyperion Malfoy,' he introduced himself.

'Dalia Dawlish,' she replied, returning the handshake, though her fingers instinctively tensed at the coldness of his touch.

The man gave a slight nod, his half-smile carrying an air of quiet judgment – as if he had already made up his mind about her.

'Quite surprising to see you in such company,' he mused, his voice carrying a deceptive lightness that sent a chill through Dalia. 'Perhaps… a shift in your family’s perspectives?'

Her heart skipped a beat at the casual ease with which he spoke the words.

'If I can be of any assistance, do let me know. And be careful with the champagne,' he added with a wink before moving on.

On the western side of the room, a string ensemble played elegant melodies, guiding the dancers in graceful motion. As the music reached its final note, the musicians set down their bows, and the guests gradually dispersed from the dance floor.

Druella Black stepped forward, her presence imposing yet effortlessly regal. She stopped in the centre of the ballroom and, in a voice clear and commanding, addressed the gathering.

'Good evening, dear guests,' she greeted them with poised confidence.

The room fell completely silent at the sound of her voice.

'It brings me great joy to see so many of you here tonight as we celebrate together. The Black family has always valued old friendships and new alliances, and so I hope this evening will be both memorable and meaningful for all of us. Enjoy the night, and let the festivities begin!'

She gestured toward the musicians, and the music resumed once more.

Pandora looped her arm through Dalia’s, pulling her slightly closer.

'You’re tense,' she observed, leaning in.

Dalia gave a small nod, then brought her lips near Pandora’s ear.

'What exactly am I supposed to do?' she sighed.

'Drink a few more glasses of champagne and wait for someone to ask you to dance,' Pandora whispered back.

'In the meantime, you can look around, but be careful – don’t start trouble with anyone.'

Dalia swallowed hard and returned to slowly sipping her champagne. Hyperion had been right – she really should be cautious with the drink. Her glass refilled itself automatically every time she finished a sip.

Dalia searched for Severus, but she couldn’t find him. She hadn’t expected to spot him among the dancers, and the dim lighting didn’t make things any easier, but she hoped he would appear soon.

Not just because she wanted to know why his name had appeared on the list as a half-blood – but because, in this moment, she felt utterly alone. She was the only one who seemed unable to blend into the flurry of the ball. Even with Pandora by her side, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong.

Severus watched Dalia from the shadows of a dimly lit corner. The sight before him was too much. The fact that she was here at all had already been unexpected – but the way she looked tonight left him completely breathless. Her face glowed, her hair – half-pinned with a sapphire-studded clip – fell elegantly over her shoulders.

Severus rubbed his knuckles together, as if the motion would somehow help him make a decision. The muffled pulse of the music grew louder in his ears as Dalia stood across the room, idly twirling her champagne glass in her fingers.

Her dress. Her hair.

There was something unspoken about her presence – something inexplicably regal.

For once, Severus didn’t feel entirely ashamed of his own appearance. Lucius had lent him a black dress robe, beneath which he wore a white shirt and a neatly knotted black tie. Though elegant, the attire still felt slightly oversized on his thin frame.

His heart skipped a beat, then began to pound mercilessly. His eyes traced the uncertainty in Dalia’s face. He still didn’t know exactly what he would say to her – but this time, he refused to let hesitation stop him.

Adjusting his slightly askew tie, he slowly stepped forward. Halfway across the room, Dalia noticed him.

She focused hard not to stare. The simple black robes, the crisp white shirt… He was trying to meet the standard of the night’s extravagance, even if this world was not his own. She noticed the slight hesitation in his movements, yet there was something unexpectedly captivating about it. He was like a shadow – silent, elusive, carrying an air of mystery and unease all at once.

In that moment, Severus Snape looked impossibly attractive in her eyes.

But she was convinced it was just her loneliness or perhaps the champagne speaking.

Severus stopped a step away from her and parted his lips to speak.

'Dalia,' he said, his voice rough – as if his nerves had lodged themselves in his throat. 'Would you… care to dance?'

He extended his right hand toward her while tugging at his collar with his left, as though the movement could somehow quell the tremor inside him. He swallowed hard, knowing that he had poured every ounce of courage he possessed into that single question.

'Of course,' Dalia answered, her eyes filled with quiet desperation.

She handed her glass to Pandora, then hesitantly placed her hand in Severus’. His fingers closed around hers, steady, grounding.

'I didn’t think you liked dancing,' Dalia said, her voice trembling slightly.

'I don’t,' Severus admitted as they walked toward the dance floor. 'But this is different.' His voice was barely more than a whisper.

As they reached the dance floor, Severus turned to face her. His hand hesitantly found its way to Dalia’s waist – as if afraid that a single wrong movement would shatter the already fragile moment. Her hand in his was cold, and Severus instinctively curled his fingers around hers, trying to offer her warmth.

He wasn’t sure how he had managed to ask her so confidently, but perhaps – perhaps it was because he feared for her. Like a fawn thrown to the wolves.

'What makes this different?' Dalia asked, focusing intently on her movements.

Severus ignored the question, and Dalia kept her gaze fixed on the floor, daring only to glance up when she was sure his attention had wandered elsewhere. Their movements gradually became smoother, as if they were following a melody unheard by the rest of the room.

'Why are you here?' he asked, ensuring his expression remained utterly indifferent to any outside observer.

'I was invited.'

'You shouldn’t be here,' Severus murmured, his voice barely steady.

Dalia looked up at him, studying his face, trying to decipher what lay behind his words, but she found nothing. She simply let him guide her – hesitant, uncertain. His grip on her waist would occasionally tighten, then loosen again, as if the very thoughts racing through his mind were spilling into his movements. He still struggled to find the right words, but his actions slowly revealed what he couldn’t say aloud.

'Maybe you shouldn’t be here either,' Dalia whispered, her gaze flickering between his face and the space around them.

Severus scanned the room with restless eyes – the Black family moved in perfect synchrony, leading the dance with unyielding precision. Pandora and Lucius were watching them. He caught them out of the corner of his eye, his muscles tensing instinctively. But then Dalia’s fingers tightened around his. His attention snapped back to her. Despite their mutual unease, for that brief moment, they found solace in each other.

'Ignore them,' Dalia murmured, her warm brown eyes locking onto his dark ones. She was trying to reassure herself as much as him. 'Just look at me.'

Severus turned his face away, as if losing himself in the blur of the ballroom could conceal the emotions threatening to break through.

Just look at me.

The words echoed in his head, drowning out everything else. He could feel her soft palm pressed against his, and suddenly, everything around them – The twirling couples, Pandora’s piercing stare, Bellatrix’s faint laughter – Faded into nothing.

For one fleeting second, it was as if they were the only two people in the world.

'It’s not that simple,' he mumbled, almost to himself, still refusing to meet her gaze. 'You really shouldn’t be here. These people will tear you apart. You’re the only one here without protection, without anyone to shield you.'

His voice wavered, betraying his fear. Dalia lifted her chin defiantly.

'You still underestimate me, Severus,' she said, her voice quiet but firm. 'Maybe I’m here to prove I don’t need anyone to protect me.'

As the dance slowly came to an end, Dalia was still acutely aware of Severus’ lingering touch on her waist. The final notes of the music faded, and for a brief moment, silence filled the room.

The bustling energy of the ball was abruptly interrupted as Walburga Black stepped forward, her commanding presence piercing through the crowd. In one hand, she held a crystal glass; in the other, a silver knife.

She tapped the glass with the knife in a precise rhythm – four times. Then three more.

A total of seven, echoing through the room like a warning.

The murmurs among the guests shifted, bodies adjusting as if preparing for something more significant.

Severus inclined his head toward Dalia.

'I have to go,' he said, his tone decisive.

Then, without another word, he released her. Dalia didn’t dare ask. She could feel that something deeper was unfolding beneath the surface – something serious. Something she wasn’t meant to understand.

Pandora appeared at her side, looping her arm through Dalia’s before leading her toward a round table where several guests had already taken their seats.

Only Walburga remained standing, ready to speak.

'I believe we have some new faces among us tonight,' she said, her sharp gaze unapologetically landing on Dalia and Pandora. 'So I will be generous enough to explain the rules.' She gestured toward the long, slender candle at the centre of the table. In her other hand, she held a long silver cigarette holder, from which a thin stream of silk-like smoke curled into the air. 'It’s quite simple,' she continued. 'I will ask each of you a question, and it would be in your best interest to answer truthfully. If your answer is honest, the flame will remain golden. But if it is not – ' Her lips curled slightly. 'The flame will turn red. And those caught in a lie… Will drink.' She lifted her glass in emphasis.

Dalia’s eyes flickered across the table, scanning the guests.

Bellatrix and Narcissa Black sat side by side, poised and unshaken. Pandora’s grandfather, Hyperion Malfoy, sat among them, his expression unreadable. The others were strangers, but one thing was certain – the table was filled almost exclusively with women and the elderly.

Walburga directed her first question at the eldest Black daughter.

'Bellatrix, you seem like a determined young woman. Tell me, what do you think is one quality that makes your family proud of you?'

Bellatrix’s lips curled into a pleased smirk.

'Loyalty,' she answered immediately. The flame atop the candle remained golden.

Walburga smiled in satisfaction.

Then, turning to Narcissa, she posed the next question:

'Tell me, dear, you would never consider giving your heart to someone who isn’t worthy of you, would you? You wouldn’t shame our family, as your sister has…Would you?'

Narcissa hesitated, her voice soft when she finally spoke:

'I choose carefully who I spend my time with.'

The flame flickered with a hint of red, and immediately, a house-elf stepped forward, handing Narcissa a freshly filled champagne glass. Walburga shook her head in disapproval, then elegantly lifted her cigarette holder to her lips, exhaling a stream of smoke in silence.

'And you, Pandora?' she continued, turning toward her next guest.

'I’ve heard your family maintains remarkable alliances. Tell me, are you just as trustworthy? Do you always put your family’s interests first?'

Pandora’s expression remained composed as she straightened in her seat.

'I prioritize what is truly important and moral,' she declared boldly.

The flame did not change colour.

'Hmm. Interesting,' Walburga mused, clicking her tongue before shifting her attention.

Her cold, analysing gaze settled on Dalia.

'And you, my dear? What is your name?'

'Dalia Dawlish,' she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

She could feel every pair of eyes on her.

'A Dawlish,' Walburga repeated, a glint of harsh curiosity flashing in her eyes. 'And what, pray tell, has brought you into our company this evening?'

Dalia instinctively shrank into herself, trying to disappear behind the round table. She had known this moment was coming. She just hadn’t expected it to feel so much like standing on trial.

'I… felt that this is where I should be,' she said uncertainly.

The flame flared blood-red. She felt her throat tighten with shame as Walburga’s thin smile cut through her like ice.

'Surely, you have nothing to hide, dear girl?'

Walburga let out a sharp, mirthless laugh before moving on, her attention drifting to the next guest.

Dalia wanted nothing more than to sink beneath the table. She wanted to escape – to flee onto the terrace and let the night air clear her thoughts – but she knew it would be disrespectful to leave the table now. Still, her mind wandered.

She couldn’t shake the question gnawing at her: Where had Severus gone? He had left in such a hurry. Every sign pointed to what Pandora had suspected all along – that he was part of a secret gathering.

And Dalia could only hope that the meeting wasn’t with the person she feared.

Meanwhile, the game continued, until the final turn brought them back to Bellatrix. Walburga crossed her arms, contemplating her next question. Then, she smiled.

'Tell me, Bellatrix,' she began, watching her niece closely. 'What is your greatest desire this evening?'

Bellatrix, her sharp features illuminated by the candlelight, sat taller.

'To sit in a room with your son, dear aunt. To act with purpose. To serve our family – until death.'

The flame remained golden.

Walburga nodded, and as if on cue, the string quartet resumed their melody.

'Thank you for playing, my darlings,' she said smoothly, rising from the table.

Pandora and Dalia stood up as well, but Dalia didn’t stop until she reached the terrace. The icy winter air burned her throat, yet she welcomed it – it was better than the suffocating atmosphere inside. She needed to breathe. Pandora, however, was right behind her, nearly running to catch up.

'Have you completely lost your mind?' she hissed, grabbing Dalia’s arm. 'What exactly was that for?'

Dalia let out a deep sigh.

'What was I supposed to say? That I want to know whether Severus is going to become a Death Eater?' Her voice was low and tense, frustration barely contained. 'Not that you were any less provocative,' she added with a pointed look.

'Maybe you’re right,' Pandora admitted, though her voice carried a warning. 'But it’s dangerous if they start thinking you’re unreliable. These people will tear you apart.'

Dalia scoffed.

'Is everyone here planning to tear me apart?'

'Pandora’s right,' a low voice interrupted from behind them. Severus. 'Go home, Dalia, before it’s too late,' he said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion.

Dalia straightened her posture, lifting her chin in quiet defiance before turning sharply toward the ballroom.

'Not if you’re still here,' she shot back, her glare cutting through him as she passed.

Severus’ fist clenched at his side. A part of him wanted to stop her, to pull her back, to stop her from walking into that room again. But he knew – knew that nothing could compete with her stubbornness.

'This isn’t a game, Dalia,' he said quietly, before following her.

'If it’s not a game, then maybe you shouldn’t be playing either,' she muttered under her breath, unaware that Severus heard every word.

She didn’t look back, but she felt him – his presence trailing just a few steps behind her.

The ballroom’s glow and the guests’ muted laughter returned, but something was wrong. The music softened, as if someone had turned the volume down. The chatter dulled into hushed whispers, and Dalia’s stomach twisted. The chandelier’s light flickered, and a few candles snuffed out unexpectedly.

Walburga Black, who had been dancing with her son, suddenly stilled. Her sharp gaze flickered across the room before she released Regulus from her hold. 'What is happening here?' she demanded, her voice cutting through the subdued noise, but no one answered.

The music wavered, its melody twisting into something off-key, almost unnatural. Then, in an instant, the grand doors burst open with a deafening crash.

The very air inside the ballroom seemed to freeze. Every guest stood motionless, not a single breath was heard.

Sirius Black strode inside, his black robes billowing behind him, each step echoing against the marble floor with a heavy, deliberate weight. For a brief moment, every eye in the room was on him, even the orchestra had fallen silent. A triumphant, almost reckless smirk played on his lips as he scanned the hall. And behind him, stepping forward with unwavering resolve, were James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Edgar Bones, Marlene McKinnon, and Mad-Eye Moody, their wands already drawn, ready for whatever was about to unfold.

Sirius stepped forward, his voice laced with sharp irony as he addressed the stunned crowd.

'Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoying the party, aren't we?' His words echoed through the hall, his eyes gleaming coldly with defiance.

Dalia froze at the sound of his voice, the sudden intrusion twisting the air into something unrecognizable, an unsettling mixture of tension and disbelief. Before she could react, Severus was at her side, pressing close against her arm.

'Stay with me,' he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Walburga’s face drained of colour as she hissed his name.

'Sirius.'

'Oh, how touching,' Sirius sneered. 'Don’t tell me I just dragged you out of dear Reggie’s arms, Mother?' His tone carried no remorse, no hesitation.

The ballroom guests instinctively moved back, creating space as the Order of the Phoenix advanced. Regulus stepped forward without hesitation, drawing his wand and placing himself between his mother and the intruders.

'You shouldn’t have come here, Sirius,' he warned, his voice taut with restrained anger.

'My dear little brother,' Sirius laughed mockingly. 'The great pride of the family. The boy who became a Death Eater at sixteen.' His smile curled into something darker. 'Tell me, how does it feel? Knowing that no matter what you do, you’ll never have the courage to do what I did?'

Regulus trembled, his rage barely contained as his left hand clenched into a fist, his right gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Pandora flinched. It was subtle, just the briefest flicker of emotion across her face, but Dalia, standing right beside her, saw it – a moment of pure pain. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but Dalia could feel the sheer force of will it took for her not to step toward Regulus.

'Shut your mouth, Sirius,' Regulus snarled, his voice low and shaking with fury.

'Relax, we didn’t come here to chat,' Sirius quipped playfully. With a flick of his wand, he sent a jet of magic toward the grand chandelier overhead.

The crystal fixture shattered.

Every single light extinguished at once, and with a deafening crash, the chandelier plummeted to the marble floor.

As if on cue, the ballroom erupted into chaos.

A moment ago, the hall had been filled with music. Now, it was flooded with flashes of spell fire – streaks of light cutting through the dark. Screams filled the space as guests scrambled for cover, dodging the clash of offensive and defensive spells weaving through the air.

Walburga’s sharp voice cut through the noise, barking orders to rally their forces, but the intruders were relentless, pushing forward with unyielding force.

Dalia clung to Severus’ side, her eyes darting frantically for a way out. Panic coiled tightly in her chest. A green flash shot past them, striking a portrait nearby, sending it crashing to the floor beside them.

Severus looked around, holding his wand firmly in front of him. The cold indifference he so often wore was gone, replaced with something far more dangerous – his eyes shone with dark strength, his mind racing.

'Hold on to me,' he said quietly but with urgent force, grabbing Dalia’s arm.

'Where – ' she started, but he didn’t let her finish.

With one swift movement, Severus pulled her against him. For a brief second, she felt safe, held tightly in his grip, grounded in the chaos.

He cast one final glance across the battlefield, then with a sharp twist –

They vanished.

Chapter Text

Dalia fell to her knees on the cobbled street, the sharp stones piercing her thin stockings as she instinctively threw out her hands to absorb the impact. Severus, though he landed on his feet, lost his balance slightly; he reached out to catch her, but his fingers grasped only empty air. His hand flew to his left upper arm, and he let out a quiet hiss as he noticed the small marble shard embedded in his skin. Slowly, taking deep, measured breaths, he pulled the tiny, sharp fragment free, and a thin line of blood welled up in its wake.

By now, Dalia had scrambled to her feet and looked around. She swallowed hard, thoughts racing about what and whom they had left behind. Worry gnawed at her – was Pandora safe? But she knew returning wouldn't help. The helplessness settled like a crushing weight on her chest, an anger bubbling up from the frustration of it. Nearby lamps flickered faintly in the dense fog, limiting her vision, but she could tell they had landed in Hogsmeade. Around them, a familiar sign swayed in the winter breeze: the ornate plaque of Honeydukes.

'Are you alright?' Severus asked quietly, trying not to let his pain show.

Dalia turned to face him, her gaze immediately catching on the blood seeping from his arm. Without hesitation, she stepped closer, concern written all over her face.

'I'm fine. What happened?' she asked, though she didn't wait for an answer – she had already drawn her wand and, with a practiced flick, healed the wound.

'It's nothing,' he replied simply. 'You're sure you're not hurt?' He moved closer, scanning her for any signs of injury.

Dalia shook her head, but her body betrayed her. Her knee throbbed, a steady, dull ache pulsing through it, but she refused to complain.

'Let's go. I don’t want to draw attention to myself,' she said, gesturing at her shimmering dress.

'You're right,' Severus nodded grimly, but as they started walking, he immediately noticed her limp. He halted at once.

'Show me where it hurts,' he ordered in a tone that left no room for argument.

Hesitantly, Dalia lifted the hem of her floor-length skirt up to her knee.

'It's just a scrape…' she murmured under her breath.

Severus waved his wand with a swift, precise motion, and in an instant, every minor wound on her leg vanished.

'You're not the only one who knows a thing or two about charms, Dalia.'

The cool night air crept under their clothing, wrapping around them in the silence that followed the tension of the evening. Finally, it was Dalia who broke the quiet, her voice tentative in the dark.

'Why did you go to the ball?' she asked, her breath hitching slightly.

Severus didn’t meet her gaze; instead, he stared at the tips of his shoes as they walked toward the castle.

'What do you suspect?'

'I heard rumours…' Dalia began hesitantly, 'but I don’t want to believe them. I want to hear it from you.'

Severus let out a low scoff.

'Rumours, huh?' he muttered, hesitating for a moment before continuing. 'You know… sometimes, we're willing to do foolish things if we think they’ll make us stronger.'

Dalia nodded, as if she could see right through every word he spoke.

'Why do you want to be so strong? Is it worth this price?' Her voice grew quieter before she added, 'Sirius didn’t show up by chance either.'

'I’m willing to pay any price,' he stated coldly.

Dalia, upon entering her dormitory, feverishly began writing. First, she drafted a short letter to her parents, reassuring them and informing them that she would be spending the rest of the break at Hogwarts. She wanted to avoid unnecessary questions – especially about the ball. She knew her mother could read the truth in her every slightest hesitation if she wasn’t careful, and she didn’t feel ready to lie. As long as she could, she would try to avoid the problem.

Then, she began writing to Pandora. Dipping her quill into the ink, her thoughts raced, forming sentences in her mind, yet none felt quite right. But just as she was about to pen the first lines, a loud knock and the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from beyond the door.

Pandora stepped into the room, followed closely by the stern-faced Professor Quillon.

‘I don’t know where you two have been, but this is not the kind of behaviour I expect from students in my house,’ the professor’s voice snapped like a whip. ‘I’m deducting forty points from Ravenclaw, and before the night is over, an owl will be on its way to your parents.’ With that, she slammed the door behind him and stormed off.

Pandora stood frozen in the middle of their dormitory, staring blankly ahead as if the professor’s words had turned her to stone.

‘Pandora!’ Dalia sprang up from her desk at once and rushed to her friend, pulling her into a hug. ‘I was so worried about you,’ she said, then quickly scanned her for any injuries.

Pandora’s face was covered in scratches, her once-beautiful gown was torn to shreds, and a mud stain reached up to her knees. Dalia gently ran a hand over her friend’s face, as if her touch alone could erase all the pain.

‘I’m fine. The Apparition just went a little wrong,’ Pandora laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of joy in it. ‘I ended up by the lake, in one of the bushes,’ she sighed, then hesitated for a moment. ‘Reggie didn’t come with me. He stayed behind to fight… I hope he’s alright.’ Her voice wavered.

Dalia furrowed her brows.

‘Reggie?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘Regulus Black, who else?’ Pandora snapped impatiently, but her voice held more desperation than anger.

Dalia’s eyes widened.

‘Oh…’ she murmured, raising a hand to her forehead for a brief moment, trying to mask her confusion.

Pandora’s eyes filled with tears as she continued,

‘He told me to leave him, to save myself. I didn’t want to… everything collapsed. So many people died…’ Her voice broke. ‘Regulus stayed behind. He refused to leave. He said he would fight as long as he could.’ By now, her tears were falling freely. ‘I hope they didn’t kill him,’ she whispered, before collapsing against her friend’s shoulder, completely undone.

Dalia held her tightly, gently running a soothing hand up and down her back.

‘Please don’t cry,’ she whispered. ‘Regulus is a talented wizard. I don’t think anything has happened to him.’ She tried to reassure Pandora, but even she found it difficult to believe her own words. She wasn’t at all sure that many young wizards would survive a battle like that – especially someone as young as Regulus had been at the ball.

‘You know that’s not true,’ Pandora murmured, burying her face in Dalia’s shoulder.

The night stretched long. Both girls tossed and turned in their beds for hours before exhaustion and tears finally pulled them into sleep.

A soft, warm light filled the butterbeer-scented air of the Three Broomsticks. Dalia and Pandora sat at a secluded table, trying to collect their thoughts. The events of the previous night had left their mark on both of them; though there were no visible wounds on their skin, the same could not be said for their souls. Pandora flinched at every small sound, her eyes constantly flicking toward the entrance, waiting for Regulus to appear – hoping he would.

Their fingers had just begun to warm around their mugs of hot butterbeer when a familiar voice spoke beside them.

‘I didn’t think I’d run into you here,’ Regulus said with a smile, sliding into the seat next to Pandora and ordering a butterbeer for himself.

‘Regulus…’ Pandora whispered in disbelief. ‘I thought… I thought…’ she began, but the boy didn't let her finish.

‘I’m not so easy to take down,’ he said triumphantly, brushing his thumb lightly across Pandora’s cheek. Dalia suppressed a smile at the sight, while her friend flushed with embarrassment at the gesture. But the momentary joy was quickly overshadowed by doubt.

‘The others?’ Pandora asked, dreading his answer.

‘Not everyone was as lucky,’ he said in a quiet, restrained voice. ‘But this isn’t the place to talk about it.’ He hesitated for a moment before pulling two tickets from his cloak. ‘I brought you something.’

The tickets shimmered elegantly in the dimly lit tavern, silver lines tracing across a green background. No words were printed on them – only the Slytherin crest and the names of the two girls. Dalia eyed Regulus suspiciously.

‘What’s this?’

‘An invitation to the Slytherin New Year's Eve party. Thought you might be interested,’ he said, the corners of his lips curving into a knowing smirk.

Dalia and Pandora exchanged surprised glances.

‘But… we’re not Slytherins,’ Pandora pointed out.

‘I know,’ Regulus nodded, ‘but no one else does.’ He winked.

Pandora was waist-deep in her enormous school trunk, rummaging through it feverishly.

'Got it!' she exclaimed, pulling out a large box.

Dalia, lost in thought, was trying to tame her unruly curls when Pandora’s voice snapped her out of her trance.

'What did you find?'

Grinning widely, Pandora opened the box and pulled out two Slytherin uniforms.

'They belonged to my sister. I think they'll fit us,' she said, handing one to Dalia, who was still struggling with her hair.

Dalia grimaced as she looked it over.

'Do we really have to wear these?'

'If we want to get in, yes,' Pandora shrugged.

The two girls quickly changed into the uniforms. Pandora examined their reflections with satisfaction, while Dalia cast hesitant glances at her own image, still feeling out of place in the attire.

Once they left the dormitory, they cast a Disillusionment Charm on themselves to ensure they wouldn’t be noticed. Moving swiftly, they first made their way to the tower’s entrance, then navigated through the ancient corridors straight down to the Slytherin dungeons. The silence was broken only by the occasional whispers of the portraits lining the walls.

As they reached the underground level, the air shifted. The walls were covered in dark stone, and the atmosphere turned cooler and damper. A faint green torch flickered in the corner, casting eerie shadows, and beneath its glow stood Regulus, idly twirling his wand between his fingers.

'Right on time,' he remarked, glancing at his watch before letting his gaze sweep over the two girls. His eyes gleamed with approval. 'Green suits you,' he noted.

Turning away from them, he focused on the stone wall ahead, as if searching for something. After a moment, he stepped forward and tapped his wand against seven different stones. A green light flickered in the cracks, and slowly, the stones shifted, revealing a narrow, arched doorway.

Regulus entered first, leading them into the secret location of the Slytherin party. As the girls crossed the threshold, he turned back to them.

'Welcome, ladies,' he gestured toward the centre of the room. 'Tickets?' he asked, holding out his hand.

The girls retrieved the tickets bearing their names. As soon as they handed them over, the slips of parchment floated into the air, glowed briefly, then disintegrated into dust.

Dalia and Pandora's eyes widened as they stepped further inside. The space was breathtakingly vast, with green crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the room. The tables were laden with an array of drinks and exquisite dishes, while an enchanted harp played delicate melodies in the background. Shadows pooled in the corners, where small groups engaged in hushed conversations or played various games.

In the eastern corner, a grand table stood adorned with three glass domes, each covering a peculiar item: a silver pitcher, a bowl filled with blue powder, and a plate of dark berries. Dalia's attention was immediately drawn to them, as well as to the mist-shrouded section of the room nearby.

Across the hall, Severus stood at a table, deep in conversation with Lucius. But the moment the two girls entered with Regulus, Severus ceased to process anything Lucius was saying. His hand stilled on the edge of the table, as if Dalia’s presence had frozen time itself.

'What is my cousin doing here?' Lucius demanded, visibly outraged. Without hesitation, he abandoned Severus and strode toward Pandora.

Lucius’ sudden movement drew Dalia’s attention to the area where Severus stood. The moment she spotted him, their eyes locked, as if the world around them had ceased to exist.

Without a second thought, Dalia left her own company and walked toward Severus.

'You’ve got some nerve,' Severus remarked as she reached him. 'I’m honestly surprised the Sorting Hat didn’t put you in Gryffindor.' He took a sip of his drink, using it as a distraction to mask his unease.

'Trust me, half of my courage comes from Pandora,' Dalia laughed.

Severus cast her a fleeting glance, his thumb tapping anxiously against the rim of his glass.

'I might be willing to acknowledge the other half if it weren’t painfully obvious that you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.'

'Oh? And what exactly have I gotten myself into?' Dalia shot him a playful smirk.

Severus fell silent for a moment, turning his head away as if weighing his response carefully.

'Let’s just say… a Slytherin party is never just what it seems.'

Dalia tilted her head curiously, though the teasing smile never left her lips.

'Are you worried about me, Severus?'

'No,' he scoffed coolly, though he avoided meeting her gaze. 'I just hope you learn fast, because if you don’t, you’ll be the delicacy on their platter tonight.' He gestured subtly toward the gathering of Slytherins.

'A delicacy can still get stuck in someone’s throat,' Dalia replied, a spark of challenge flashing in her brown eyes.

For a brief moment, a ghost of a smile flickered across Severus’ lips, but he quickly took another sip of his drink, as if regaining his composure.

'We’ll see,' he murmured, though his tone carried more admiration than mockery.

'What are those?' Dalia nodded toward the table with the glass domes.

'You do have an eye for trouble,' Severus sighed but motioned for her to follow as he made his way to the table.

'These,' he gestured to the display, 'are the essence of tonight’s festivities. This one – ' he pointed to the silver pitcher, 'is called Fervor Rubens. It has effects similar to alcohol, but far more intense and without any side effects. Whoever drinks it loses their inhibitions, and their senses sharpen.'

Dalia leaned in with fascination, studying the smooth, red liquid swirling inside the pitcher. Her curiosity did not go unnoticed, and several Slytherins around them sent her disapproving glances.

Severus reached out subtly, gripping her shoulder and pulling her back slightly from the table.

'Try to blend in a little better,' he muttered under his breath before continuing his explanation. 'Next is Pulvis Aetheris,' he pointed to the blue powder, a silver spoon resting in the bowl. 'Probably the most dangerous of them all. It causes vivid hallucinations but also reveals what you desire most in that moment.'

'How do you use it?'

'The most common method is blowing it into someone’s face – it’s the fastest way to trigger its effects, but not exactly elegant. A slower but more refined approach is mixing it into a drink. That’s what we usually do.'

'We?' Dalia raised an eyebrow. 'So you’ve tried it before?'

Severus deliberately ignored her question, answering only with a cold, piercing look.

'The last one is Mora Fructus,' he gestured toward the blackberry-like berries. 'They don’t do anything particularly extraordinary – just slow down time.'

'When do I get to try them?' Dalia asked, looking up at him.

'Slow down, Dalia,' he muttered under his breath. 'Pick one.'

Dalia hesitated, carefully considering her options. Each of the substances before her held a certain level of fear – but that fear only fuelled her curiosity. And curiosity had always won.

'Pulvis Aetheris. That one will do.'

Chapter Text

The blue powder dissolved effortlessly into the lemonade, leaving no trace of its presence. The sweet drink masked even the faint bitterness left behind by the substance itself.

Dalia quickly downed the drink, excitement bubbling within her as she waited for its effects to kick in. The Slytherins – especially Severus – stirred emotions in her that she hadn’t even realized existed. She had never shied away from bending the rules when it made sense, but this was different. In this world, everyone seemed freer, more uninhibited, as if for them, this wasn’t just a forbidden indulgence – it was a way of life.

'You have about twenty minutes before it starts working,' Severus remarked, stepping up beside her with his own lemonade in hand. He took a slow sip, far more measured than Dalia had. 'If you start feeling dizzy, sit down as soon as you can.' He gestured toward the sofas scattered around the room.

Dalia mentally noted every available seat, just in case she suddenly needed one, but for now, she stayed close to him. The excitement-fuelled adrenaline wasn’t quite enough to suppress the faint thread of fear that came with swallowing the Pulvis Aetheris. The dim green lighting and the watchful, assessing gazes around her didn’t do much to ease her nerves either – and Severus noticed. He wasn’t one to talk more than necessary, but he knew all too well what it felt like when anxiety took hold and refused to let go.

'Look,' he said, nodding toward the enchanted harp in the corner. 'It doesn’t just play that melody.'

Dalia’s eyes lit up with curiosity, prompting Severus to continue.

'If you know Legilimency, you can get it to play whatever song you want.'

'Seriously?' Dalia arched an eyebrow. 'That sounds more like something that would require the Imperius Curse.'

'That would be too easy – especially for Slytherins,' he replied with a cold laugh. 'The harp doesn’t want to be controlled. You have to use Legilimency to uncover its possibilities. If you can do that, all you have to do is ask it to play what you want.' He paused briefly before adding, 'It hasn’t played anything but classical music for a long time.'

The challenge electrified Dalia. She glanced up at Severus, then turned her attention to the harp. Closing her eyes, she focused, not even bothering to whisper an incantation. The melody shifted seamlessly. The music that emerged was light yet powerful, sweeping through the dimly lit room with an undeniable force. It was both wild and gentle, mysteriously beautiful and alive with energy.

Severus' expression remained unreadable, but inside, he was in awe of her magic. And he wasn’t the only one – every student in the room had turned their attention to Dalia. The rhythm of the song was infectious, and soon, some of them were drawn into an impromptu dance – Pandora among them. She rushed over to Dalia, grabbed her hand, and pulled her onto the makeshift dance floor.

Dalia resisted at first, reluctant to go, but this wasn’t the kind of situation where it was easy to say no. She let Pandora pull her in, but the moment she found herself in the centre of the movement, she felt painfully awkward, as if all sense of rhythm had abandoned her. For a few moments, she stumbled beside her exuberant friend, but as more people joined in, something shifted. Little by little, she loosened up. Arms and legs moved around her, and suddenly, nothing seemed quite as daunting anymore. She let herself surrender to the familiar beat.

Severus – though not one to smile often – felt the corners of his lips twitch beneath his hooked nose. His dark eyes were locked onto her – the way her hair caught the green light, the way her arms lifted with the music, the way her cheeks flushed from the movement… and her lips.

He could have sworn it was just the Pulvis Aetheris taking effect, but even that thought didn’t do much to steady him. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to cut through the crowd, close the distance, and pull her into a kiss.

But the potion only revealed his desires – it didn’t erase his inhibitions. He remained firmly in place, continued watching from afar, and with every passing second, he only wanted her more.

For Dalia, time had stopped in the embrace of the music. Her movements grew more natural, and without thinking, her eyes and thoughts wandered toward Severus. Their gazes met, and she found herself wishing – wishing she could reach out and touch his face, push aside the strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes, wishing… she could kiss him.

Then, the music stopped, and Dalia began to feel dizzy. She remembered Severus' words and immediately searched for a sofa, but the crowd around her made it difficult to see anything. Severus – almost as if he hadn’t been on the other side of the room just moments ago – was at her side in an instant, clearing a path through the students. As soon as she collapsed onto one of the sofas, he sat beside her. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his own hallucinations began.

Dalia was becoming less and less aware of what was happening around her, even of Severus sitting right next to her. A strange sensation overtook her, as if she had plunged her face into a Pensive – though she didn’t feel cold, the world swirled around her, and an invisible force pulled her downward. Her stomach clenched, but just as quickly, the feeling vanished, like she had fallen from somewhere.

Before her, the school library unfolded. She was seated in her usual spot by the window. The image was so vivid, so real, that she could almost feel the soles of her leather shoes pressing against the wooden floor. Even the scent was there – the familiar, comforting blend of parchment and ink.

Severus was with her, standing over her, studying her face with quiet curiosity. At first, she couldn’t hear what he was saying. She inhaled deeply, letting his scent fill her senses, and his closeness wrapped around her like a warmth she had always known. Gently, Severus reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

'You’re brilliant,' he whispered, then sat down beside her. 'Tell me more.'

Dalia’s heart skipped a beat at his words. She continued speaking, though she wasn’t the one guiding her own voice. The words left her lips on their own, and as she spoke, Severus reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining. A single touch – yet she needed it as desperately as parched earth craved rain. The warmth of his skin against hers felt entirely, impossibly real.

Meanwhile, Severus was lost in his own dreamscape, carried away by the blue powder. He stood by the Black Lake, tossing pebbles into the water. The wind swept through his cloak, but he didn’t feel cold.

Dalia was beside him.

'You know, Severus, you don’t have to do everything alone. I’m here,' she told him.

His chest tightened, but for once, it wasn’t doubt that gripped him. Somehow, he knew she was telling the truth – knew he could trust her. When her hand brushed against his, he instinctively closed his fingers around hers. So soft, so small compared to his own…

Dalia blinked slowly, her eyes struggling to adjust to the shifting light around her. She could still feel Severus' touch on her skin, so tangible, so undeniably real. But when she glanced to the side, realization struck – Severus really was holding her hand.

The sensation jolted her from her hallucination like a lightning bolt. Her face burned crimson, and after a brief hesitation, she pulled her hand away.

Severus surfaced from his own vision moments later, but not before he had time to fully register the feeling of her hand in his. He pretended not to notice when she withdrew, but even so, he couldn't entirely mask his emotions. Unable to look at her, he turned away, his own face betraying his unease.

Did that really happen? Why did she pull away so quickly? Did I do something wrong? The questions stacked up in his mind, and somewhere deep inside, he cursed the entire universe for letting the moment slip away so soon.

Around them, the other students carried on just as intensely as before, as if they had never left the room thanks to the drug’s effects.

Dalia felt nauseous. She couldn’t stay there any longer. She stood abruptly and made her way toward the exit.

Severus jumped to his feet.

'I need some air.'

'I’m coming with you', he said.

As soon as they stepped beyond the threshold, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the corridor. As if by instinct, both of them cast Disillusionment Charms over themselves in perfect synchronization. Severus grabbed Dalia’s wrist and pulled her toward the nearest hidden corner.

Professor McGonagall patrolled the dungeons with an unusually light step, her expression calm. As she approached, a soft humming filled the silence, making Dalia and Severus press even deeper into the shadows, hoping to remain unseen. The professor was in a good mood that evening, and neither of them had any desire to change that. Quillon had already deducted enough points from Ravenclaw in the past few days – Dalia certainly didn’t need McGonagall pushing their house further away from the House Cup.

The corner they had retreated to provided excellent cover, though tonight, hiding from the thin-lipped professor was hardly a challenge. Nothing seemed to disturb her composure. Severus stood close behind Dalia, his hand still resting on her waist from when he had pulled her into their hiding spot. Dalia could feel his warm breath against her neck, making her heartbeat quicken.

Both of them held their breath as McGonagall passed in front of them. At the same time, Severus’ fingers tensed slightly around Dalia’s waist, as if afraid that even the smallest movement would give them away. Yet his touch remained gentle, and she could feel the warmth of his hand through her robes.

As McGonagall’s footsteps faded into the distance, Dalia let out a deep sigh but remained still for another moment. The professor’s presence still lingered in the air around them, but at last, she stepped away from the corner, slipping out of Severus’ grasp. For a fleeting second, his fingers tightened, as if reluctant to let her go, but then he stepped back, looking slightly unsettled.

Dalia felt an urgent need to move – she didn’t want to stay in the damp, stale air of the dungeons. She set off in search of a more pleasant place, and without a word, Severus followed.

They ascended the castle floors slowly, keeping to the shadows to avoid detection until Dalia finally stopped by a window. Outside, snowflakes drifted down in thick clusters, and she pressed her gaze against the glass, her face lighting up with a fresh, wide smile. In that moment, she looked just like a child seeing snow for the first time.

Severus came to stand beside her, his dark eyes fixed on her rather than the snowfall. For the second time that night, he found himself smiling – and he was fairly certain he had just broken a personal record. He quickly erased the expression before she could notice. His gaze then shifted to the snowy courtyard below, where he spotted Pandora and Regulus standing together. He said nothing to Dalia – he didn’t have the heart to ruin the moment.

Especially not when, out of nowhere, she suddenly spoke.

'Do you ever laugh?' she asked curiously.

'Why would I? There’s no reason to.'

'But there must be something in this world you love, right? Maybe a potion? Or a book?'

'The silence,' he said softly. And you, he added in his mind.

'Then I just ruined it for you,' Dalia said, a playful glint in her eyes.

'You did,' Severus nodded, but his voice carried an unmistakable warmth.

'How much time until midnight?'

Severus pulled out his pocket watch, running his thumb over its ornate surface before flicking it open. Dalia had seen the watch before, but this was the first time she truly noticed the moving image on its cover – a black swan spreading its wings, surrounded by rippling water.

'Ten minutes,' he said, reading the time.

'That’s not much. Your watch is beautiful,' Dalia remarked, but her words held unspoken questions.

'Thank you,' Severus nodded. 'It was a gift from my mother.'

'She must be a kind woman.'

'Kind, yes,' he said bitterly, 'but utterly weak.'

Dalia hesitated, sensing she had touched on something sensitive. Her curiosity burned, but instead of pressing further, she redirected the conversation.

'Why a swan?'

'It’s the emblem of the Prince family,' he replied simply. When he noticed her confusion, he elaborated, 'My mother’s family.'

Prince. The name rang a distant bell in Dalia’s mind, as if she had heard it before. It only took a few seconds for the pieces to click into place. Of course, she thought. The Half-Blood Prince…

Her gaze lingered on the black swan. There was something both beautiful and tragic about it – an extraordinary creature that never truly found its place. She had a feeling the emblem meant more to Severus than he let on, but she didn’t dare ask further.

'What do you plan to do next year?' she asked instead, her voice softer than usual.

Severus blinked, caught off guard by the question.

'I doubt you really care,' he muttered.

'I do! Tell me,' Dalia insisted, her brown eyes wide with curiosity.

Severus let out a slow sigh.

'I just… want to leave this place stronger than I arrived,' he said, as if repeating a mantra to himself. But a small, persistent voice in his mind urged him to add another item to that list. He quickly dismissed the thought. 'And you?' he deflected.

'I think I can help with that,' Dalia smiled. 'As for me… I’m not entirely sure yet. But one thing is certain – I’m going to teach you Legilimency. That’ll be the first thing I do. I want to see that harp play a song under your control.'

Severus wanted to argue, but he never got the chance.

Fireworks exploded outside, illuminating the castle in brilliant colours. Excited murmurs filled the halls, and beyond the windows, the air rang with distant cheers. Students on broomsticks soared above the grounds, launching enchanted fireworks into the sky. One burst into the shape of a massive dragon, its fiery breath licking the stone walls of the castle.

Severus was hardly surprised when, beyond the blinding flashes of light, he spotted the triumphant faces of James and Sirius, cackling with laughter. Moments later, McGonagall shot after them on her own broom, proving that – even in middle age – she was still a formidable flyer.

The students below gasped in astonishment, watching their Transfiguration professor weave through the air in a relentless chase. But even her skill wasn’t quite enough to catch Gryffindor’s star Seeker.

Beyond the misted glass of the windows, a fairy-like girl with golden hair stood, while a sorrowful-faced soldier tried to shield her from the falling snow with his cloak. The soldier leaned over her, attempting to steal a kiss, but she did not let him.

‘I will be yours, I promise. But first, free yourself from the darkness… please,’ the fairy whispered desperately.

If only I could. If only I could make it disappear, thought the black-clad soldier as his fingers dug into his forearm.

Chapter Text

The flame caught quickly at the tip of Severus' cigarette as he brought it to his lips and lit it. The white particles crumbled into ash as he took deep drags, the smoke burning his lungs – but the sensation was nothing compared to the fire Dalia had ignited within him.

His gaze drifted to his fingers, as if searching for the touch she had left on his skin, but the only difference from before was the cigarette resting between them. He had hoped that, along with the smoke, his thoughts would scatter and disappear, but they remained, steadfast and relentless.

At the top of the Ravenclaw tower, a faint breeze rustled the withered flowers, and the setting sun was only a vague presence behind the thick clouds. Dalia stared intently at her middle and index fingers, absentmindedly twirling her quill between them. The memory of the cigarette surfaced, along with the strange, repelling yet alluring sensation it had left within her.

An object that evoked the exact same feelings as the boy who had introduced it to her.

There was no denying it – Severus drew her in. But she wasn’t sure why. She admired his intellect, and she knew there was more to him than what he revealed to the world. Yet the darkness that clung to him unsettled her.

What if everything the others whispered about him was true? What if he really was willing to use dark magic? What if he joined Voldemort?

Dalia let out a deep sigh, her fingers clenching tightly around the quill.

You’re going to burn yourself, whispered a cautious voice in the back of her mind.

But logical reasoning held no weight when it came to Severus.

A faint clinking sound filled the dimly lit Potions classroom. Severus was preparing the ingredients when Dalia stepped through the heavy wooden door.

'The Draught of Peace?' she asked, studying the neatly arranged materials on the table.

Severus gave a silent nod. He insisted on being present while Dalia brewed it for practice – it was an exceptionally dangerous potion. One wrong move and the brewer could end up with severe burns from the failed mixture.

Dalia leaned over Advanced Potion-Making, her fingers tracing the yellowed pages as Severus finished setting up the necessary components. She began reading aloud:

'The Draught of Peace is a potion that soothes anxiety and restlessness. However, it is notoriously difficult to brew, requiring the maker to follow instructions with extreme precision. A slight miscalculation in any ingredient can result in the drinker falling into a deep, and in rare cases, permanent sleep.' Dalia paused before adding, 'So basically, it’s the liquid version of Serenitas – only much riskier.'

'Not if the brewer isn’t completely incompetent,' Severus remarked coolly. 'And its effects last longer.' He stepped aside from the cauldron, hesitating for only a moment. 'Are you ready?'

Dalia didn’t answer. Instead, she took his place and set to work. She bit her lip as she read through the instructions, scanning each line multiple times before proceeding with each step.

Severus’ gaze wandered to her lips for a fleeting second. He quickly looked away, as if afraid she might notice – but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to distract himself, perhaps by tidying up the rest of the classroom, but that would defeat the purpose of working together. He had to stay by Dalia’s side, watching her every move.

Before long, he realized that she hardly needed his guidance at all – she followed his notes with ease. When she finally added the powdered porcupine quills, she placed her hands on her hips with a satisfied expression.

'We let it rest for thirty minutes,' she said, lifting her gaze to Severus. 'In the meantime, I’ll show you how to create spells.'

Severus kept his face neutral, but pride swelled in his chest at her success.

'Don’t get ahead of yourself – you’re not even halfway done,' he replied, winding the timer on the desk to thirty minutes. Then, in the margin of the textbook, he scribbled a small addition next to the potion’s name: Liquid Serenitas.

Dalia pulled out a sheet of parchment and held out her hand for Severus' quill.

'First, think of a purpose – ideally something related to an object if we want to test it now.'

'Hmm,' Severus pondered for a moment. 'Let’s say I want to hide the contents of a book or letter from prying eyes. Do you know a charm for that?'

'I do,' Dalia nodded. 'But most of those spells can be undone with a simple Revelio. Do you want to be the only one able to read it afterward?'

'No,' he said, pausing slightly. 'I want you to be able to read it too.'

Dalia folded her arms thoughtfully.

'It’s important to visualize your goal. A spell isn’t just words – it’s the fusion of intention, focus, and your inner magic that determines whether it will work. Think of Latin phrases that encapsulate the spell’s purpose. For instance, Serenitas means serenity. It may not seem like the most obvious name, but it works. Once you tap into your own magic, you’ll start to sense which words resonate best with you.'

Severus combed through possible phrases, testing them one by one. Some caused the book to burst into flames. Others erased the text entirely. Some did absolutely nothing.

After several failed attempts, frustration coiled tightly in his chest. Just as he was about to abandon the effort, he felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

'It usually takes me months to find the right one too,' Dalia said softly. 'I’m not exceptional at brewing complex potions on my first try either. Without your notes, I’d fail just like anyone else.'

The tension in Severus’ muscles eased slightly under her touch. He gave a small nod. The recognition felt good, but he still wasn’t entirely convinced that his struggles were acceptable. He was only a hair’s breadth away from considering the entire attempt a failure.

The timer rang, its loud clatter snapping them back to the present. It was time to return to the potion.

Dalia finished the brew without any complications, and minutes later, the soothing, turquoise liquid shimmered inside neatly prepared vials.

'There’s something I promised you,' Dalia said as they cleaned up the cauldron and supplies.

Severus knew exactly what she meant, yet he felt nowhere near ready for it.

'Do you trust me?' she asked in a whisper.

His throat tightened.

'Trust you to rummage through my mind? Of course, my trust knows no bounds,' Severus scoffed sarcastically, but uncertainty lingered in his voice.

Dalia shook her head.

'No, that’s not what I’m asking of you. Quite the opposite,' she said, stepping in front of him. 'After all, you are the one learning from me,' she continued calmly, meeting his dark eyes. 'And unless you’re a natural, I’ll only show you as much as I’m comfortable with.'

Severus frowned at her, unsure whether to believe how easily Dalia agreed to this. But he had no time to dwell on it – before he could overthink, she had already taken charge.

'Give me your hand,' she requested softly, her gaze locked onto his.

With trembling fingers, Severus reached for hers.

'Do you know what to do?' she asked.

He nodded. Every theoretical detail had been committed to memory, but until this moment, he had never dared to attempt it in practice. His eyes met Dalia’s – warm, deep, unwavering – and he tried to empty his mind.

'Legilimens!' The word left his lips effortlessly, but inside, he felt as if enormous weights were dragging him back. The spell failed to find its target, its energy dissipating into the air.

'Just focus on me,' Dalia whispered gently, and something in her voice steadied him.

'Legilimens!' he repeated.

The flood of images caught him off guard. As they surged through his mind, Dalia’s memories rushed toward him like a river. Yet every time he tried to push deeper, it was as though he hit an invisible wall. Some images were sharp, almost tangible, while others blurred like fleeting shadows – deliberately hidden from him.

The first thing he saw was a little girl with braided hair, teary-eyed as she looked up at a woman standing before her. The woman bore a striking resemblance to Dalia, though she appeared much older. She cupped the child’s face and spoke in a soothing tone.

'It’ll be alright, my dear. I’ll have a word with the Potter boy’s mother – he won’t bother you again.'

'Or if he does, daddy will stick a pair of antlers on his head,' a bearded man chimed in with a wink.

The little girl giggled through her tears.

'Thaddeus!' the mother scolded, but before the memory could continue, it shifted.

A castle garden unfolded before Severus. Two young girls whispered to each other from opposite sides of a fence. He recognized the one standing outside – the same girl from the previous memory, now a bit older. The other, he could only guess, judging by her long blonde hair and porcelain-like features.

'I have to go. My parents don’t like me playing with you,' the blonde-haired girl said hesitantly.

'Why not?' the brown-haired girl – Dalia – asked.

'They say you’re a bad influence on me.'

'But that’s not true!'

'I really have to go, Dalia. I’ll see you at Hogwarts!' the blonde girl called before dashing toward the castle, leaving Dalia standing alone.

Another scene overtook Severus. This time, Pandora and Dalia sat across from each other in the Ravenclaw dormitory – he recognized it instantly. The two of them looked almost the same as they did now, just a few years younger.

'Pandora, why are we friends? Have you ever thought about that?' Dalia asked suddenly.

Pandora shook her head.

'That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we still are!' she answered with a bright smile.

The next memory pulled Severus onto the Quidditch pitch. He could hear nothing but the heart-wrenching sobs of a first-year Pandora and saw Dalia clutching her wand tightly, tears brimming in her own eyes.

'That’s useless in your hands, little girl,' Madam Hooch’s voice rang out.

Severus felt the overwhelming anger, the helplessness that surged through Dalia at that moment.

And then, with the force of a leech being ripped from flesh, Dalia yanked him out of her memories.

Unfortunately for her, the boy was a natural, and she ended up revealing more than she had intended. The force of the spell left her dizzy, and she collapsed onto the floor. She let out a deep sigh, as if the sight of her own memories had unsettled her just as much.

Severus stumbled back but managed to keep his balance. For a moment, he froze, trying to piece together the fragments of memories, to connect the faces and places – until reality pulled him back.

Dalia was still on the floor, visibly struggling to hold back her tears.

'Are you alright?' Severus extended his hand toward her, offering to help her up.

'Of course,' she forced a smile. 'You surprised me,' she admitted quietly, still fighting against the tears threatening to spill. 'I don’t think I know anyone who got it right on the first try.'

Finally, she took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.

'I think we both need a cigarette,' Severus muttered, then draped his cloak over her shoulders.

'I do know enough to realize this isn’t exactly healthy,' Dalia remarked, her gaze fixed on Severus through a veil of smoke.

'I can smoke yours too,' Severus muttered.

Dalia sighed. The castle grounds were silent, and apart from them, no one else had dared venture out into the cold.

'No need. It feels nice right now. I didn’t think it would be this… intense. It was like my memories slipped right through my fingers,' Dalia admitted, slowly exhaling the smoke. 'You saw more than I intended you to,' she added.

'I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,' Severus said quietly. For a moment, he watched the smoke dissipate into the night air, then spoke again. 'Pandora and you… that moment was strong,' he admitted, feeling that same tightness return to his chest – the same one he had felt while witnessing the memory.

Dalia stared at the unmoving landscape for a while, hesitant to relive that particular moment. But she trusted Severus more and more, and so she decided to let him in.

'That was the day I realized I could never be prepared enough. It doesn’t matter how many Outstandings I get if, in the most crucial moment, I don’t have the right spell at my disposal.'

'I still don’t fully understand why that memory was so overwhelming,' Severus said, his brow twitching slightly before he quickly schooled his expression. He didn’t want her to think he was mocking her. 'Madam Hooch helped her immediately, didn’t she?'

'She did,' Dalia took a deep breath, 'but that little girl – the one I was – she didn’t know that. She only saw her best friend screaming in pain and was powerless to help her. That feeling has haunted me ever since.'

If there was anything Severus understood, it was haunting emotions. He glanced at her carefully, noting how the cigarette had nearly burned out between her fingers. Slowly, he nodded.

'I’m sorry, Dalia,' he murmured, lowering his head as if searching for something in the dirt.

'Can I have another?' she asked, holding up the burnt-out cigarette butt.

'No,' Severus shook his head, his voice deep but gentle. 'You were right. It’s not good for you.' He sighed, then after a pause, added, 'The Potter your mother mentioned in that memory… was it James Potter?'

A flicker of amusement crossed Dalia’s face.

'Yes, that was one of the memories I did manage to control. I wanted you to see that James wasn’t exactly pleasant company even as a child. At least, not for everyone.'

'What did he do to you?' Severus asked, his muscles tensing slightly.

'Nothing serious, really. He pulled my hair a few times when our parents brought us to the same playground. Then, one day, my father did put antlers on his head, and after that, he never dared touch me again,' she laughed. 'You should’ve seen his mother, Euphemia. She looked like a ripe tomato!' She giggled again. 'They had a little trip to St. Mungo’s that day.'

'Why does that not surprise me?' Severus grumbled. 'You lived in the same town?' he asked, surprised.

'A village, actually, but yes. Our parents got along quite well, but I never liked James,' she shrugged. 'Have you ever seen him in his Animagus form?'

Severus nodded. The stag did suit James.

That evening, deep in the Slytherin dungeons, Severus left a large inkblot on his parchment as he repeatedly tapped his quill against it. His mind was racing.

Yes! This is it. This is how it will work. Always. Cut.

The Latin words aligned perfectly in his mind. He simply knew he had found it. As he repeated them to himself, his anger and frustration took shape on the parchment. It wasn’t just a spell he saw before him – it was his power, his weapon.

Sectumsempra! For enemies – he etched onto a page of his textbook.

Now, all that was left was to test it.

Chapter Text

Days turned into weeks, and weeks slowly stretched into a full month. During that time, something remarkable began to unfold between Severus and Dalia. The two students spent more and more time together, their cautious curiosity and measured conversations gradually giving way to occasional smiles, genuine laughter, and the realization that neither of them was truly alone in this world. They often met to practice potions and spells, and sometimes they simply sat in the library, each absorbed in their own book.

Severus’ usual melancholy seemed to dissipate like the surface of the Black Lake vanishing beneath a thick layer of snow – more and more often, he caught himself smiling for no particular reason. In Dalia, he had found a friend who filled the void Lily had left behind.

'If you keep this up, one day they’ll name a potions book after you,' Dalia teased one afternoon as they read in the library.

Severus, predictably, had buried himself in an advanced potions textbook.

'Very funny,' he muttered, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. 'And I suppose you’ll name a spell after me?'

Dalia peeked at him over the top of her book, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

'Not a bad idea,' she mused, pointing an imaginary wand at him. 'Severus inirritatus! Perfect for wiping that scowl off your face,' she laughed.

Severus’ lips curled upward before he could stop them.

'I can’t decide if you’re cheeky or brilliant,' he murmured, trying to suppress his amusement.

But the peace didn’t last long. Someone stopped behind him and ruffled his hair.

Severus flinched as the tranquillity of the library shattered in an instant.

'What’s so funny, Snivellus?' a familiar, taunting voice broke the silence. 'Go on, tell us – we want to hear too.'

James Potter leaned in uncomfortably close, grinning, while Sirius Black appeared at his side, followed by Remus, who was carrying a stack of books.

'Oh, come on, James, isn’t it obvious?' Sirius gestured toward Dalia. 'Our little potions prodigy has a new friend. Isn’t that adorable?'

'I don’t see what you see in him, Dawlish,' James remarked, turning to Dalia this time. 'Your parents wouldn’t be too thrilled to know you’re keeping company with someone who tosses around the term Mudblood like it’s candy.'

Severus tensed, as he always did when the Marauders got too close. His grip on the book tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

Dalia shot James and Sirius a sharp glare.

'Who I choose to befriend is none of your concern, Potter,' she said coolly, setting her book down on the table.

James’ eyes flashed, but before he could respond, Sirius leaned in toward Severus and whispered – just loud enough for Dalia to hear:

'You still think you belong among us, Snape? Pathetic.'

Severus’ dark eyes burned with silent fury, but he remained quiet.

Dalia, however, refused to let it go.

'Interesting how much time you all spend thinking about someone you claim to despise,' she said, lifting her chin defiantly.

Remus shifted uncomfortably, clearly wanting to defuse the situation.

'Maybe we should get going,' he suggested, nodding toward the books in his arms. 'Mind helping?'

James and Sirius exchanged glances before taking the heavier books from him. Without another word, they left the library.

Only then did Dalia turn back to Severus. His hands were still trembling with rage.

She resisted the impulse to reach for them. She knew that for Severus, it wasn’t the cruel words that hurt the most – it was his own helplessness.

'Is it true?' she asked quietly. 'Do you really call Muggle-borns that?'

'It happened once,' Severus lied.

Though in his own mind, it didn’t feel like much of a lie. There had only been one time that mattered. The one that had cost him Lily’s friendship.

Dalia could taste the bitterness of disappointment on her tongue. It didn’t matter how many times it had happened – what mattered was that it had happened. With those words, Severus had revealed a fragment of the darkness within him, a glimpse into how he saw the world.

‘I see,’ she said at last. A part of her had hoped Severus would take it back, but she knew he wouldn’t.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he muttered. He didn’t look at Dalia, his eyes fixated on the pages of the book in his hands, as if seeking refuge in the words. ‘That I’m worse than them.’

‘No. And don’t try to guess my thoughts – you won’t get it right.’

Dalia leaned forward slightly, attempting to catch Severus’ gaze, but he stubbornly avoided looking at her.

‘Then what do you think?’ he asked at last, finally meeting her eyes.

‘I’m sad. And I don’t understand you, even though I want to.’

‘You don’t need to understand me. Sometimes people do bad things, and they don’t need to be explained. They’re just… bad,’ he said quietly.

‘If that’s the truth, then I’ll accept it,’ Dalia sighed. ‘I’m your friend, Severus. And if I can help you, even just a little, I will try.’

Severus stared at her for several long seconds, as if trying to determine how much he could trust her. The carefully built walls around him wavered.

‘Why?’ he asked at last. ‘Why do you want to help me?’

Dalia shrugged.

‘Because I don’t think you’re a bad person. Just someone who sometimes makes bad choices. And you’re not alone in that.’

As her words settled, something deep in Severus’ chest stirred, sudden and powerful. He hesitated, then spoke in a quiet, slightly rough voice.

‘And what if you’re wrong? What if I don’t just make bad choices sometimes? What if I really am a bad person?’

Dalia smiled at him, her voice steady.

‘I think if you truly were, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking. And you wouldn’t be trying so hard to convince me that you are.’

Then, a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes.

‘You know what?’ she said, nodding toward the library doors. ‘Let’s mess with them a little.’ She pulled out a piece of parchment, her expression filled with playful determination.

She wasn’t sure if revenge was the best solution, but she couldn’t keep watching Severus suffer under their torment. If she could take even a little bit of that weight off his shoulders, then it was worth it.

Severus hesitated. He didn’t want to play the Marauders’ game, but the idea of finally having a chance to get back at them tempted him. Maybe this time, he would be the one laughing in the end…

Before he could fully consider it, Dalia pressed a ready-made plan into his hands.

‘Meet me after dinner, by the stairs leading to the Great Hall,’ she said before leaving.

She could only hope that Severus would settle for milder tricks.

Severus tapped his fork against the Slytherin table, his nerves on edge. His eyes flickered between the Marauders and Dalia. The four boys were laughing loudly, completely oblivious, enjoying their dinner without a care. Meanwhile, Dalia sent him a knowing smile, though the lone piece of broccoli dangling from her fork after several minutes betrayed the fact that she wasn’t truly focused on eating. No one else seemed to notice – except for Severus – that beneath the table, she was carefully manoeuvring an invisible goblet in front of Peter Pettigrew with her wand.

Once she had positioned it perfectly, she revealed it just inches from the blond boy – who, despite it happening right in front of him, didn’t even notice.

‘Was this goblet always here?’ Remus asked, frowning.

‘Of course, I’ve been drinking from it the whole time. Seeing things, Remus?’ Peter chuckled, completely unsuspecting.

Minutes stretched on in tense anticipation before the Gryffindors finally stood up to leave. Peter trailed behind the group, entirely unaware that, along with his pumpkin juice, he had consumed something else as well.

As soon as they moved, Dalia and Severus sprang from their seats and followed. Keeping a safe distance, they left the crowded Great Hall behind and whispered Disillusionment Charms over themselves. Dalia slipped behind a suit of armour, while Severus used the dim corners of the hallways as cover.

At first, they merely observed. Peter’s form gradually became hazy – until he vanished completely. The only sign of his presence was the faint sound of his footsteps, but no one noticed him. James, Sirius, and Remus continued walking as if Peter had always been invisible.

As they approached the castle’s main entrance, Severus and Dalia remained close behind, careful to stay hidden. But once the Marauders stepped outside, it was Severus’ turn.

With a flick of his wand, a full vial’s worth of potion rained down over Sirius, dripping onto his neck like raindrops. The moment it made contact, Sirius halted.

‘Is it raining?’ he asked, looking up.

James and Remus shook their heads.

‘James, honestly, is there something amusing about dyeing my hair purple?’ Sirius growled as he caught sight of his now-violet locks.

‘Me?!’ James exclaimed in mock outrage. ‘Why would I do that?’

Sirius was about to retort when Dalia’s next spell took effect.

‘Tahw deneppah?’ Remus asked, blinking in confusion.

‘What?’ James turned to him.

‘Tahw deneppah htiw ym eciov’ Remus’ eyes widened as he realized his words were coming out backwards. His face twisted in bewilderment, completely unable to comprehend what was happening.

Dalia’s eyes sparkled with delight as she listened to Remus babble in reverse. She cast Severus a conspiratorial smile before subtly nodding.

Severus responded with another flick of his wand – this time aimed at James.

Almost immediately, James felt a strange sensation creeping over him. His ears began to itch, and when he noticed the others staring, he knew something was wrong.

‘What?’ he demanded, suspiciously.

‘Why’d you give yourself donkey ears, Prongs?’ Sirius snickered.

James’ face darkened.

‘What?!’ He clutched his head, nearly bursting with rage when his fingers met the massive donkey ears now sprouting from his skull.

‘Oh, don’t worry, James, I think they suit you,’ Sirius smirked, still trying to suppress his laughter as he absently toyed with his own purple curls.

‘This is not funny!’ James snapped, turning to Remus for help – only for another garbled, reversed sentence to tumble from his friend’s lips.

Dalia and Severus, hidden behind the archways, fought to keep their laughter contained.

Severus felt a wave of triumph rise in his chest – finally, the Marauders were getting a taste of what he had endured for years.

But when he looked at Dalia, something inside him stilled.

She was flushed, breathless from holding in her laughter, her eyes locked onto the scene before them. And in that moment, he felt something else entirely.

Gratitude.

For the first time, someone had stood beside him. And it meant more than he could put into words.

Meanwhile, Dalia could barely contain her amusement as she watched the three Gryffindors panic – well, three, since the fourth was still nowhere to be seen.

Peter first saw only the outline of his hands as the effects of invisibility slowly faded. As soon as his form fully returned, his gaze immediately locked onto Dalia and Severus – both of whom were struggling to contain their laughter, their faces flushed red.

‘I see you, Snape!’ he squeaked, his voice as high and rodent-like as ever.

The other Marauders turned at once. James' face darkened as he spotted Severus behind the archways. His hand flew to his wand, his voice trembling with fury.

‘Damn – I should have known it was you, Snivellus!’ he snapped, marching toward them. ‘You’re going to regret this!’

‘I think it’s time to run,’ Dalia suggested, already backing away.

‘Brilliant idea,’ Severus replied, his voice laced with satisfaction. He was still quietly revelling in James’ donkey ears when Dalia grabbed his arm and pulled him along, both of them dashing into the castle corridors.

James’ enraged shout echoed through the halls as the Marauders took off after them. Dalia and Severus weaved through the labyrinth of corridors, but their pursuers were fast.

Remus was the first to catch up, aiming a Disarming Charm at Severus – only for it to backfire, knocking Remus flat on his back. Sirius stopped to help him up, and Peter lagged far behind, leaving only James in pursuit.

The bespectacled boy tore through the castle with relentless speed, rapidly closing the distance. He hurled simple jinxes at them, trying to force them to stop, while Dalia countered every curse with protective enchantments. Severus, in turn, launched attacks of his own.

James mostly aimed for Severus – but every time a stray spell veered toward Dalia, Severus flinched.

‘Petrificus Totalus!’ James bellowed.

Dalia’s body seized up as the Full Body-Bind Curse took hold. She toppled like a felled tree.

‘Sectumsempra!’ Severus shouted without hesitation, his wand pointed straight at James.

The spell struck James square in the chest. A deep, crimson gash split across his torso, and he staggered backward.

Pain and shock flashed across his face as he stumbled, then collapsed.

Severus’ hand trembled. The moment he saw the blood, he knew – he had gone too far. But when Dalia had been struck, he hadn’t thought. He had acted. He hadn’t meant for this to happen.

Every drop of blood staining James’ shirt felt as though it had tainted Severus’ own soul. He froze, paralyzed – uncertain who to help first. In the end, he chose Dalia.

‘Finite Incantatem,’ he whispered, lifting the curse from her.

‘Sna…pe…’ James gasped behind him.

The moment she was free, Dalia rushed to James' side, shaking fingers already tracing her wand over his wounds. Her hands trembled – not with fear, but with rage. She didn’t know what infuriated her more: That Severus had turned to dark magic. That he had done it without thinking. Or that she had helped put him in this position in the first place.

She knew exactly where he had learned that spell.

‘What the heck was that?!’ Dalia hissed, barely able to contain her fury.

She felt a pang of regret – had she been wrong to offer him revenge? But when she looked into Severus' wide, terrified eyes, she realized there was no turning back now. And she couldn’t leave him alone.

Severus didn’t answer. He lowered his gaze and knelt beside James, muttering the same healing incantations under his breath.

Meanwhile, footsteps pounded in the distance. Sirius, Remus, and Peter were approaching – with McGonagall in tow.

‘Why is it when something bad happens, it's always you four?’ the professor huffed in exasperation.

‘I swear, Professor, this time, it wasn’t on purpose,’ Remus tried to explain.

The moment Severus heard McGonagall’s voice, he stopped the healing spell. Without a word, he reached for Dalia’s hand to pull her up. She shoved his hand away.

‘Are you insane? They’re going to catch us no matter what,’ she whispered harshly.

‘Are you coming or not?’ Severus extended his hand again, the panic on his face clear.

Dalia cast one last glance at James before grasping Severus’ hand. We started this together – we end it together. Even if I don’t agree with him, she thought.

She followed as he pulled her along, running deeper into the castle. Only once they were far from the Marauders and McGonagall did Severus come to a sudden stop.

He took a few steps forward, then a few back.

Dalia couldn’t begin to understand why – until she realized where they were. The castle walls shifted, shuddering as if coming to life. And then, as if unseen hands had parted the stone to make way, a carved wooden door emerged from between the ancient bricks.

They had found the Room of Requirement.

As the door materialized before them, Dalia felt as though the castle itself was offering them shelter. But she didn’t feel as though they deserved it.

Severus had finally managed to strike back against the Marauders. Yet all he felt was a suffocating emptiness. The bitterness of victory weighed heavy on his chest as they stepped inside.

Here, they could hide from the world – at least for a while.

Chapter Text

In the dim light of the Room of Requirement, Dalia could barely make out the objects and furniture around her. A narrow window stretched along the edge of the room, and beside it, a flickering lamp provided the only source of light in the night’s darkness.

Aside from the lamp, she saw no other furniture in the small space. The cold stone floor lay bare beneath her feet as she stepped away from the door, then turned back toward Severus.

He hadn’t moved an inch since the heavy door had shut behind them; his back remained pressed against the wooden panel, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed toward the floor – as if he feared meeting Dalia’s gaze.

And not without reason. There was fire in her eyes, but she didn’t speak.

She knew that if she lashed out immediately, neither of them would benefit from it. Every ounce of her self-control was burning away, but she needed to calm down first.

It was Severus who broke the silence.

‘Say something,’ his voice was hoarse, almost desperate. ‘Please.’

That was all Dalia needed. She stepped closer and pressed a pointed finger against his chest, the words pouring out of her.

‘What were you thinking? If I had known what you were going to use it for, I never would have shown you… Dark magic, really? Something that slashes your opponent to pieces? And how did you even test it?’ she demanded, barely pausing for breath.

‘Like this,’ Severus answered curtly, forcing himself to ignore the accusing finger digging into his chest. ‘I just tried it for the first time. But it wasn’t intentional,’ he deflected, still avoiding the furious glare Dalia was giving him.

‘Not intentional? You don’t accidentally use Dark Magic, Severus! You made the decision the moment you started experimenting with it! The only fortunate thing is that James wasn’t hurt worse… But do you have any idea what’s waiting for us the moment we step out of here? There’s nothing that could justify what you did.’

‘I don’t think you’d understand.’

‘Then explain it!’

Severus lifted his head, locking eyes with Dalia’s deep brown gaze.

‘What if I told you I did it for you?’ he said, grabbing her wrist.

‘That’s not an excuse!’ Dalia snapped back, her voice immediate, thoughtless. ‘You could have done it for Merlin himself, or the Minister of Magic – it still wouldn’t be an excuse.’

She kept repeating the words, even as her voice wavered, her eyes welling with tears. But the last syllables barely left her lips – only the movement of her mouth gave them away, as the meaning of Severus’ words slowly sank in.

A fragile moment stretched between them, a thin thread binding them together as their eyes held. Severus leaned forward, his hand resting under her chin, his thumb tracing lightly over her lower lip.

‘You really don’t understand,’ he whispered, when only inches separated them.

And in the next moment, his lips pressed against hers. The kiss was sudden, slightly clumsy – an unspoken, desperate cry for everything he couldn’t put into words.

Dalia froze for a moment, as if her mind was struggling to catch up with what had happened. But when Severus’ fingers hesitantly slid around her waist, her instincts took over.

She kissed him back.

Tears traced warm, salty paths down her flushed cheeks, but their source dried up as she melted into his touch, if only for a fleeting moment.

At the brush of their lips, the flickering lamp in the room steadied, its light glowing stronger. A few crimson lanterns appeared as if conjured by the magic of the space itself.

Severus’ grip on her waist tightened. His lips sought hers with newfound hunger – then, as if waking from a dream, he pulled away. He took a small step back, yet his hands remained where they were, reluctant to let the moment slip through his fingers so suddenly.

Dalia stood frozen, as if scalded by the heat of the kiss. The imprint of his touch still tingled on her lips. She was confused, and yet, she wished it hadn’t ended so quickly. Then Severus let go completely – too abruptly, as though startled by his own actions.

Neither of them spoke.

Dalia swallowed hard, lowering her gaze. The sole of her shoe made a faint tap against the cold stone floor as she stepped back, her arms falling uncertainly at her sides.

‘I…’ she started, but the words caught in her throat.

Severus’ lips parted, as if he too wanted to say something, but only a silent breath escaped. His hand twitched, as if about to rake through his hair, but midway, he changed his mind and clenched it into a fist instead.

His first kiss hadn’t gone quite the way he had imagined.

‘I ruined it, didn’t I?’ he asked at last, hesitant.

Dalia struggled to find the right words.

‘I don’t know what to say. I…’ The words slipped away again.

‘What happens now?’ Severus asked.

At that, Dalia froze completely. What happens now? What did he mean? Did he want…

‘Do you want to stay here, or should we go?’ Severus clarified.

Dalia shook herself from her thoughts and gathered her composure before responding.

‘That’s up to you, Severus. I’m ready to face the consequences whenever you are.’

Severus only nodded before moving toward the door. He reached out his hand, as if waiting for her to take it. Dalia instinctively followed, her fingers wrapping around his.

‘One thing I can promise you…’ she said, meeting his dark eyes. ‘No matter what happens, I’ll stand by you. I won’t always agree with you. But I will stay. I promise.’

A warmth spread through Severus’ chest as he grasped her soft hand. He knew he could trust her.

The door of the Room of Requirement swung open, and though Professor McGonagall stood before them, lips pressed into a razor-thin line, both students knew – everything would be alright.

The stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office seemed to glare sternly at Severus and Dalia – or at least, that’s how they both felt – as McGonagall escorted them to Dumbledore.

‘Nonsense, Ms. Dawlish! I truly did not expect this from you! And as for you, Mr. Snape – well, I must admit, your character has never been without its flaws…’

‘Dear Minerva,’ Dumbledore’s deep voice interrupted as they stepped into his office, ‘I do not believe it is your duty to judge them. After all, neither of them belongs to Gryffindor, do they?’ he said, spreading his arms in amusement.

McGonagall let out a long-suffering sigh.

‘You’re right about that, Albus,’ she adjusted her half-moon spectacles, ‘however – ’

‘Not another word, please! I’ll take it from here,’ the long-bearded headmaster smiled kindly.

With a resigned nod, McGonagall exited the office.

Dalia looked around in awe. She had never set foot in Dumbledore’s office before.

‘A rather magnificent sight, isn’t it, dear Dalia?’ the headmaster mused, noticing her interest. ‘Every headmaster of Hogwarts can be found on these walls.’ He gestured toward the portraits surrounding them. ‘Sherbet lemon?’ he offered, pulling out a glass jar filled with small, beetle-shaped sweets before popping one into his own mouth.

Both students shook their heads.

‘What happened tonight is most unfortunate,’ Dumbledore began. ‘As for your punishment, I have left the matter of point deductions and detentions to your Heads of House. They will inform you soon.’

Dalia’s face turned pale. She knew all too well that whatever punishment Quillon decided on would be far worse than anything Dumbledore himself would have given her.

‘Furthermore,’ the headmaster continued, ‘your parents will be informed of the incident before the night is over.’

Dalia’s complexion turned even paler – so much so that she felt on the verge of fainting.

Severus, on the other hand, was unfazed by the mention of a letter home. He strongly suspected he wouldn’t be spending much time on Spinner’s End next summer anyway. But he could see how much Dumbledore’s words unsettled Dalia.

He wished there was something he could do to help her – without giving the headmaster any more reason to spread his version of the story. When Dumbledore wanted something to be known, he ensured it was – regardless of whether the people involved agreed or not.

‘At Hogwarts, we do not abandon those in need of help, and we take responsibility for our actions,’ Dumbledore said, looking directly at Dalia. She lowered her gaze.

‘Professor, Dalia did nothing wrong,’ Severus said defiantly, lifting his chin. ‘I was the one who asked her to leave James behind.’

‘I believe the young lady has a mind of her own, does she not?’ Dumbledore replied with a small smile. ‘Regardless, I believe we have discussed this matter enough. Ms. Dawlish, would you kindly leave us for a moment?’

Dalia nodded, her legs trembling as she walked out of the office.

Severus watched her go, his eyes lingering on the door long after she had disappeared through it.

‘What are your plans for the future, Severus?’ Dumbledore’s voice pulled him back.

Severus turned his gaze back to the headmaster. He was one of the few students who could meet Dumbledore’s stare without flinching.

But there was one thing he couldn’t do in front of him – lie.

‘I don’t know yet, Professor.’

‘You cannot allow yourself to be defined by old wounds forever. You’re not children anymore.’

‘These aren’t wounds, sir. This is who I am.’

‘I don’t believe that, Severus. And judging by recent events,’ Dumbledore gestured subtly toward the door, ‘I am not alone in that belief. There is darkness in all of us. In me, in James Potter… even in Dalia.’ The headmaster’s tone remained gentle. ‘But a little darkness does not make us lost. We must learn to live with it – and more importantly, to find the light alongside it.’

As he spoke, a small flame flickered into existence in the palm of his hand.

‘I do not wish to hear about you using Dark Magic again,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘but the choice is yours to make. The walls of this school will not protect you forever. However, if you prove yourself worthy, Hogwarts will always welcome you back.’

Severus frowned.

‘What do you mean by that?’

Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

‘Where would be the fun if I told you everything?’ he mused.

Then, with a knowing smile, he added,

‘Take care of her. It will do you good.’

He gave Severus a small nod of dismissal, allowing him to leave.

On his way out, Severus found himself face to face with a red-faced Quillon and a teary-eyed Dalia.

‘…I don’t know what has come over you, Ms. Dawlish, but it would be wise for you to keep your head down for the rest of the year! We have almost certainly lost the House Cup this term, but I will not allow us to finish in last place! And a student was injured! Things could have been far worse, I hope you realize that. Shameful,’ the professor finished, his voice sharp as his gaze landed on Severus. His final words were clearly meant for him before he turned on his heel and stormed off.

Severus stepped closer to Dalia.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked, hesitantly placing a hand on her shoulder in an awkward attempt at comfort.

Dalia sniffled a few times, then wiped the last of her tears from her face.

‘I’m fine,’ she nodded.

‘You know, crying this much can’t be healthy,’ Severus remarked, but at the sharp look she shot him, he quickly added, ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ Dalia murmured. ‘Just… don’t do something like that again.’

‘I’ll try.’

Dalia gave a small nod, and Severus withdrew his hand from her shoulder.

‘What did Quillon say?’

‘He took fifty points from Ravenclaw, and I have detention. He and Slughorn agreed that we both have to serve it with him. And…’ she hesitated, her voice faltering, ‘…he won’t support my spellcraft anymore. He told me that until we graduate, I shouldn’t create any new charms.’

Severus’ eyebrows shot up.

‘And you’re going to listen to him?’

‘I should… I suppose.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ he scoffed. ‘You can’t just stop for half a year – you’ll lose your skill entirely.’ His voice was almost indignant. After a brief pause, he added, ‘If Quillon won’t, then I will. We can practice as much as you want.’

‘You’d really do that?’ Dalia looked up at him.

Severus gave a curt nod.

‘But… no more Dark Magic, alright? Promise me?’ Dalia asked, searching his expression.

‘I promise,’ he said. He swallowed.

It was, perhaps, a hasty promise.

For a few moments, Dalia studied him in silence, as if trying to read just how seriously he meant it. She said nothing – but the wide, beaming smile that emerged from beneath the shadow of her tears said everything.

Severus entered the Slytherin common room with his head down. At first, he didn’t even notice the commotion around him – until he heard his own name.

‘Well done, Snape!’ Bruce shouted.

A whole group of Slytherins had gathered around him, eager to celebrate.

‘Is it true that the great Potter squealed like a pig when you caught him?’ Lucius laughed, handing him a drink.

Severus didn’t answer – he had completely frozen in place. It was as if the entire room had darkened around him, leaving only the piercing stares of the students surrounding him.

Why were they celebrating one of the biggest mistakes of his life?

From somewhere in the distance, Evan Rosier’s voice cut through his thoughts.

‘They say there was a girl with you. What was her name? Daphne?’

‘Dalia,’ Severus muttered under his breath, as if speaking to himself.

This isn’t good. They can’t involve her in this.

‘Ah, yes. Dawlish’s girl. We saw her at the ball,’ Evan continued. ‘Quite the clever little thing. Did she help you? She’d be welcome in the Serpent’s Lair – we’ve had Ravenclaws before. Remember Barty Crouch? The younger one, of course. Though, we’ve never had girls join us… except for Narcissa’s sister,’ he added, nodding toward the Black sister sitting in the corner.

‘But an entirely new Dark spell… That’s impressive, Snape! When are you going to teach us?’

‘ENOUGH!’ Severus roared.

The room fell silent. Even he was startled by the force of his own voice. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter – but just as firm.

‘I’m not teaching anyone anything,’ he snapped, before storming out.

As he walked away, a cold realization settled over him: keeping the promise he had made that night was going to be much harder than he had thought.

Chapter Text

The flickering lights of the Room of Requirement burned vividly in Dalia’s memory, as if she were still trapped in that moment, despite the hours that had passed since she left the room. As she walked through the corridors of Hogwarts towards the Ravenclaw Tower, the images played before her eyes like a film. She could still feel Severus’s scent in the air, his strong hand on her waist, his touch on her lips…

Dalia hadn’t been thinking. Not then.

But now… she had been thinking about it for hours.

Did Severus feel the same? Why had he kissed her at all?

Dalia stepped cautiously towards the dormitory, not wanting to wake Pandora. She didn’t even notice the small smile that had appeared on her lips due to her memories, but she didn’t need to – someone else did it for her.

‘Why are you smiling like that?’ Pandora looked up from her book. She was awake, the glow of her bedside lamp illuminating her face. She eyed Dalia curiously, as if she couldn’t understand why her expression was so cheerful.

Dalia’s face immediately turned serious, and she cleared her throat.

‘I’m not.’

‘You’re a terrible liar, I hope you know that,’ Pandora chuckled. She placed her book on the nightstand, then sat up fully in bed, patting the empty space beside her as an invitation. ‘I’m all ears.’

‘I don’t like how well you know me,’ Dalia sighed as she sat down beside her friend.

‘I’m just surprised that my best friend – whom the entire school is gossiping about, claiming she was there when James Potter got hit by a “stray” Dark spell – is smiling as if she’s six steps above the clouds.’

‘The whole school knows?’ Dalia asked, startled.

‘That something happened to Potter? Of course.’

Not surprising – Dalia thought.

‘Still, I’d like to hear your version. From what I’ve heard, you’re not exactly the hero of the story,’ Pandora added.

‘Unfortunately, I’m not…’ Dalia began. She recounted everything that had led Severus to the point where he attacked James. However, she left out what had happened in the Room of Requirement. ‘…I’m not proud of the whole thing, but if I could go back, I don’t know what I would have done differently.’

‘Hmm…’ Pandora mused. ‘I don’t think this was your fault. You wanted to help Severus, and the prank itself wasn’t too harsh. You weren’t the one who used your abilities for Dark magic. But I really hope you’re not planning to talk to Severus after this.’

Dalia lowered her head, avoiding Pandora’s gaze.

‘But that still doesn’t explain why you came into the room looking like a happy Puffskein. You didn’t tell me everything, did you?’ The blonde girl eyed her friend suspiciously.

Dalia nodded, then muttered so softly that it was almost unintelligible.

‘He… he kissed me.’

‘What?!’ Pandora nearly jumped. ‘Who? Potter? No, he’s with Lily. Merlin’s beard, Severus?!’

‘Would you mind not waking the entire tower?’ Dalia hissed, more nervously than angrily. Only now did it hit her, now that she had said it out loud: Severus had kissed her. Not in a dream, not in a hallucination, but in reality. And what she only now truly understood – was that she hadn’t minded it at all.

‘Dalia!’ Pandora snapped her fingers in front of her face. She was practically bursting with anticipation. ‘Answer me already! Who was it?’

‘Severus. After we ran off, he found the Room of Requirement, and we hid there. I…’ she swallowed hard. ‘I was really upset, I confronted him. He said he did it for me.’

‘And you believed him?’ Pandora’s eyebrows shot up.

‘I didn’t really process it. But I suppose not, not at first. Then…’

‘He kissed you. And you happily melted into his arms. Crystal clear.’

Dalia buried her face in her hands.

‘That sounds incredibly stupid,’ she muttered from behind her palms.

Pandora gently rubbed her back.

‘What do you feel for him?’

‘I don’t know… I… I like being around him…’

‘And the kiss?’

Dalia flushed at the question, and seeing this, Pandora didn’t wait for an answer.

‘I understand everything. But what about the fact that he used Dark Magic? What will you do if he joins Voldemort? Can you bear it?’

Pandora’s questions hit Dalia like a cold shower. She wanted to escape them, to avoid answering, but she knew she couldn’t run from this forever. Not even for her own sake.

‘I don’t know. Of course, I’m not happy about it,’ she said hoarsely. After a brief pause, she continued, ‘Would you think I’m a bad person if I said I don’t want to leave him, no matter what he decides to do?’

This time, Pandora sighed, still rubbing Dalia’s back.

‘No. But your own conscience will be a tougher battle. I couldn’t live with it,’ she said, her gaze drifting toward the bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley adorning her desk. Tied with a deep green ribbon, a small note lay nestled at the base of the stems:

I’d walk through fire for you anytime – R.A.B.

Dalia, lost in her own thoughts, noticed none of this.

‘You know, Pandora, I want to punch him and understand him at the same time.’

‘So do I,’ Pandora blurted out.

‘What?’

Pandora quickly tried to cover herself, not wanting to bring up Regulus.

‘I mean Severus. Punch him.’

‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ Dalia nudged her playfully, laughing.

Pandora laughed along with her, then pointed toward the window.

‘I don’t want to spoil your good mood,’ she said, drawing Dalia’s attention to the owl waiting outside, ‘but I think you’ve got a letter.’

The brunette girl jumped up and rushed to the window. She practically tore the letter from the owl’s leg, already knowing it was from her parents. Watching Dalia’s clumsy handling, Pandora hissed through her teeth, then, once the owl was freed of its burden, scooped it into her lap, stroked it, and fed it before sending it on its way again.

Meanwhile, Dalia was feverishly scanning Mrs. Dawlish’s elegant script.

‘Your parents? What do they say?’ Pandora asked.

‘They’re much less angry than I expected, but I’m not getting off that easy. They want to see me,’ Dalia said nervously, looking up from the letter. ‘They’re coming to Hogsmeade this weekend.’

Severus had trouble falling asleep that night. He kept turning from one side to the other, unable to find a comfortable position. No matter what he did, his thoughts drowned out all exhaustion. Every time he closed his eyes, the same image flashed before him: Dalia bathed in the dim light of the Room of Requirement. Her face, those warm brown eyes, her lips against his…

He rolled onto his back.

How could he have been so foolish? How had he managed to ruin everything so thoroughly?

Then onto his stomach.

How could he have used that spell in front of her? He must have terrified her. But he had no other choice. James couldn’t be allowed to hurt her.

He threw himself onto his right side.

He hoped Slughorn’s punishment wouldn’t be too awful. And that kiss… He couldn’t have picked a worse moment if he tried.

Finally, he rolled onto his left.

‘Merlin’s beard, Snape, if you turn over one more time, I swear I’ll turn your spine to ash!’ Lucius muttered from the bed beside him.

‘I can’t sleep,’ Severus whispered.

‘For Merlin’s sake, you’re the best poison-maker in all of Hogwarts. Don’t you have some kind of draught for this?’ his roommate grumbled.

Severus didn’t answer.

Poison-maker. Is that all he was?

He wasn’t sure he liked the title, but he didn’t dwell on it. He closed his eyes, and this time, Dumbledore’s voice echoed in his mind:

‘Look after her. It will do you good!’

But could he? Would he ever be capable of it?

The next afternoon, Slughorn was waiting for Dalia and Severus beside the greenhouses. He looked particularly uncomfortable, glancing alternately at the birds flying overhead and his watch. The clock didn’t lie – there were still five minutes until six o’clock.

Dalia arrived first. From Slughorn’s morning letter, it had become clear that their detention would take place in the forest, so she had worn trousers and boots beneath her cloak.

‘Good evening, Professor!’ she greeted Slughorn.

‘To you as well, Miss Dawlish! Believe me, I take no pleasure in handing out detentions,’ the professor sighed, as if he genuinely regretted the entire situation. ‘Mr. Snape?’

‘He’ll be here any moment, he’s not one to be late,’ Dalia forced a smile.

She was right. A minute later, Severus’s swift figure appeared beside them, nodding briefly to both the professor and Dalia.

‘Have you ever seen a Soul-Mirror Flower?’ Slughorn got straight to the point. Severus nodded; Dalia shook her head. ‘Perfect. It’s enough if one of you knows what it looks like. The clearing where it blooms is deep in the forest. This map will guide you,’ he said, handing a parchment to Severus. Noticing the terror on Dalia’s face, he quickly added, ‘I know this task isn’t without danger, but I have faith in you. Here, take this,’ he pressed a miniature trumpet into Dalia’s hand. ‘Its twin is in my quarters. If anything goes wrong, just blow into it, and I’ll come at once. And as for the flowers – collect as many as you can in vials. The sooner you leave, the less likely you are to run into trouble. Take care of yourselves!’

Slughorn didn’t wait for a response; he hurried back toward the castle.

‘As if he’d be the one to save us,’ Severus scoffed once the professor’s figure disappeared into the distance. Slinging the satchel of vials over his shoulder, he set off toward the Forbidden Forest. ‘Honestly, my little finger is braver than that man.’

‘Don’t say that, at least we got off easy,’ Dalia laughed. But as her gaze met the boy’s dark eyes, she quickly turned her head away. Since their kiss, she had been unable to look at him for too long without feeling awkward.

Severus stopped at the edge of the forest.

‘You’re not afraid at all?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes.

‘Should I be?’

‘This is a punishment, Dalia. Don’t you think it’s odd that we’re being sent into the forest now, even though the flowers only bloom around midnight? Slughorn was right about one thing – the forest isn’t exactly safe.’

The smile faded from Dalia’s face. She swallowed. The forest, known for its dangerous magical creatures, no longer seemed as peaceful as it had just minutes ago. The towering trees loomed ominously over them in the dark winter evening, and through the mist covering the forest, she thought she could see shifting shadows.

‘It’s not that bad,’ Severus said. He wanted to reach for her hand, to pull her close and tell her that as long as she stayed near him, nothing would happen to her. But he didn’t. ‘Just don’t wander off,’ he said instead.

Dalia nodded, gathering all her courage as she stepped toward the trees. Severus followed closely behind her.

‘So, what should I know about these flowers?’ she asked in a hushed voice.

Severus answered in a whisper.

‘The Soul-Mirror Flower is incredibly rare and difficult to obtain. It blooms only once a month, and only at night. It’s used in very few potions.’ At first, his voice was detached, listing the plant’s characteristics, but toward the end, his tone softened slightly. ‘The plant itself is beautiful and very sensitive. It’s named for its ability to reflect the emotions of those nearby, especially when touched. Its default colour is white, but it changes depending on the feelings around it. For example, if someone is sad, it turns blue. If they’re happy, it turns yellow.’

Dalia listened in awe. It wasn’t just Severus’s knowledge that fascinated her – she was growing more and more excited by the thought that, by the end of the night, she would see this extraordinary flower with her own eyes.

‘How do you know so much about this?’

‘I’ve dealt with it before.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Dalia turned back to Severus.

The boy grabbed her upper arm to stop her, then pulled aside a branch she had been about to walk into.

‘Watch where you’re going,’ he muttered.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

‘I’ve used it in potion-making before,’ Severus answered as they continued along the misty forest path. ‘I mean the Soul-Mirror Flower.’

‘For what kind of potion?’ Dalia asked curiously.

‘Veritaserum,’ Severus replied without hesitation.

Dalia frowned. She had seen the recipe before but didn’t recall it being listed among the ingredients.

‘But the – ’ she started, but once again, lost in thought, she forgot to watch her step, veering off the path and tripping over a thick root.

Severus reached out for her, but the momentum was too strong – he lost his balance. In the next moment, he was sitting on the ground, Dalia in his lap, his arm wrapped instinctively around her waist as he pulled her down with him.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his voice rough, his arms unconsciously tightening around her.

‘Yes,’ Dalia whispered, glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes landed on his lips, but the moment she realized what she was doing, she flushed, freed herself from his grasp, and scrambled to her feet.

‘Sorry,’ she said, brushing off her trousers.

‘I’m starting to think you’re a greater danger to yourself than the forest is to you,’ Severus snorted.

Dalia ignored his remark – she was too distracted by what she had just spotted behind the thick-rooted tree. Cautiously, she stepped toward the glow, still unsure of its source.

‘I think,’ Severus said, suddenly appearing behind her, ‘you’ve found a shortcut.’

The two students carefully descended the slope, which led to a clearing filled with Soul-Mirror Flowers. Among the tall grass, the faintly glowing buds stood out, ready to bloom under the light of the full moon and bring a touch of wonder to the dark forest.

Severus let out a sigh.

‘It’s going to be a long night. If my calculations are right, we’ve got at least three hours before they’re ready to be harvested.’

Dalia bit her lip. The thought of spending three full hours in silence with him made her slightly uneasy.

Severus felt no different. He rummaged feverishly through the satchel of vials, hoping to find some indication that they had another task to complete. But the only thing he managed to pull out – besides the glass bottles – was a blanket. With no better idea, he spread it out on the ground, taking care not to damage the budding flowers, then sat down. Dalia hesitated for a moment before joining him.

As soon as they were settled, the blanket began to radiate warmth, forming a protective dome around them that shielded them from the freezing winter air and concealed them from prying eyes.

‘After this, it’s hard to believe that Slughorn actually meant this as a punishment,’ Dalia remarked.

Severus shook his head. Unlike Dalia, he suspected Dumbledore was behind it.

Once they were certain they wouldn’t freeze under the invisible shield, they removed their cloaks. Dalia’s outfit, simple and muggle-like, caught Severus off guard – he had never seen her in anything other than school robes before.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, noticing his scrutinizing gaze.

‘I’m just surprised to see you in these clothes.’

Dalia glanced down at herself in confusion. She saw nothing unusual about her knitted sweater, fitted jeans, and knee-high boots.

‘It’s not like you’re seen out of uniform every day either,’ she deflected, shifting the attention onto Severus. He, too, was wearing simple attire – a black shirt and trousers. He didn’t react to her remark, however. Instead, he decided it was time to bring up something more serious.

‘Listen, Dalia, I…’ he started quietly.

This time, Dalia chose not to interrupt or attempt to finish his sentence. She simply turned to him attentively, waiting in silence.

‘You were right,’ Severus admitted. He didn’t look at Dalia – he couldn’t. He was afraid of seeing rejection in her eyes. ‘I wanted that spell. I wanted something that would make me stronger, something I could use as a weapon if I ever needed it. But I…’ He took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t plan for it to happen this way.’

‘I understand. The ethical forms of magic don’t always seem strong enough… But I don’t believe this is the only way. The situation can’t be that desperate…’ Dalia whispered. ‘Dark magic doesn’t just leave its mark on your enemies.’

‘I know,’ the boy muttered.

‘What was going through your mind when you attacked James?’

‘When he attacked you, I lost my head. I wasn’t thinking – I just wanted to tear him apart,’ Severus burst out.

For a moment, Dalia’s blood ran cold. His words terrified her, but at the same time, she could understand. She had no idea how she would have reacted if the roles had been reversed.

‘The whole prank wasn’t a good idea,’ she said in a shaken voice.

‘It was brilliant,’ Severus finally looked at her. ‘I’m grateful for it. It would have been perfect if I hadn’t messed it up in the end. I’m sorry, Dalia,’ he added, casting her an imploring look.

‘I’m not angry… I can’t be,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not good that things happened this way, but… I know what it feels like to be willing to do anything to keep someone safe.’

The buds of the flowers closest to Severus flickered into a deep violet at the sound of her words.

‘I think they’re waking up,’ he said, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. Warmth spread through his chest. The fact that Dalia didn’t resent him meant everything.

But she wasn’t about to let it go so easily.

‘What does purple mean?’

Severus cleared his throat.

‘Trust, for example,’ he said simply, trying to maintain an air of indifference. But he knew full well that now that the flowers had exposed him, it wouldn’t be easy to keep up the façade.

Dalia said nothing. She blushed slightly beside Severus, and the buds around her shifted into a soft pink.

‘And pink?’ she asked, though she already knew exactly which of her emotions was being reflected.

‘Joy.’ Severus could barely suppress the smile tugging at his lips. ‘But not purely – there’s some shyness mixed in as well.’

‘Interesting,’ Dalia murmured, studying the flowers. She let out a small yawn, and the pink buds faded into green.

‘Green means calm,’ Severus answered before she could ask.

Dalia let herself sink into the quiet magic of the flowers. The soothing scent of Severus surrounded her, and the warmth that enveloped them felt almost like home. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and she decided that there was no harm in resting them for just a moment.

Severus noticed. Carefully, he inched closer, ready to steady her if she drifted off.

He didn’t have to wait long. Soon, Dalia’s head came to rest against his shoulder.

The flowers around him bloomed a vivid red.

‘Stay quiet,’ he mouthed at them.

The remaining hour and a half until the flowers would fully bloom suddenly felt like the shortest amount of time in the world to Severus.

Chapter Text

The Soul-Mirror Flowers slowly began to unfurl their petals in the tall grass. Severus was still caught in the warmth of the silent moment, not immediately noticing the change. But when he finally did, a rare, almost childlike smile flickered across his face. Without realizing it, he had wrapped an arm around Dalia, supporting her so she could rest more comfortably. She looked exhausted.

But now, it was time to get to work.

Gently, he began to wake her – his fingers brushed along her forearm, slightly hesitant, until Dalia flinched and slowly stirred. She never would have expected to wake up to such a sight: the Soul-Mirror Flowers glowing in brilliant white, their pulsing light stretching as far as the eye could see.

She straightened, preparing to stand. Excitement shivered through her spine. She could hardly wait to touch the silky petals, to feel their texture against her skin. But before she could move, Severus gently pulled her back by the arm.

‘Stay,’ he requested, his voice slightly hoarse.

Dalia didn’t resist; she settled back onto the blanket.

Severus was holding something in his hands.

‘May I?’ he asked softly.

Dalia nodded. Only then did she realize – it was her ribbon, which must have slipped from her hair while she slept.

Severus shifted behind her and, with the same precision that marked everything he did, tied the white satin ribbon back into place. He knew exactly how – he had watched her wear it countless times.

‘Now we can go,’ he said. Pulling his cloak around him, he retrieved the shears and vials, handing one to Dalia.

As they stepped beyond the protective barrier of the blanket, she shivered at the sudden cold. The frost-laden night clung to her skin immediately, and for a fleeting moment, every part of her longed to retreat back under the warmth of the dome. And perhaps… back into Severus’s arms.

Severus, however, moved with steady steps toward the delicate flowers, touching them with an almost artistic sensitivity.

The flowers around him turned green.

‘Carefully, hold the stem between two fingers, and cut as close to the ground as possible. Then place it directly into the vial,’ he demonstrated.

Dalia nodded eagerly. Her excitement painted the flowers at her feet in a shade of orange.

She focused entirely on Severus’s movements, determined to do everything perfectly.

Minutes passed swiftly. The two of them worked in quiet harmony, bathed in moonlight, scattering new colours across the endless field with each shift of their emotions.

They were nearly finished – most of the vials had been filled – when Dalia accidentally bumped into Severus. Her hand only grazed his, but it was enough.

The flowers around them pulsed red.

Dalia tried to remain calm.

If the flowers all changed to the same colour… it could only mean one thing.

They felt the same way.

She wanted to be sure.

‘And what does red mean?’ she asked hesitantly.

Severus clenched his jaw. His gaze darkened as he stared at the flowers – betrayers, every last one of them.

How could they expose him like this?

But deep down, he wasn’t entirely angry.

He didn’t answer. Dalia didn’t wait for one.

Carefully, she let her tools drop into the grass, then reached over to take the shears and vial from Severus’s hands, setting them aside as well.

Severus held his breath, frozen in place, watching her with tense anticipation.

He wanted her – desperately. But he couldn’t show it. He couldn’t risk scaring her away.

She was the only person he could call his friend.

But was she only that?

No. She hadn’t been just a friend for a long time. Not since their kiss.

Surely, she must have realized it. And now, the flowers had made it impossible to keep his feelings hidden.

So why was she still here? Why was she still moving closer?

Could it be that –

Dalia grasped the collar of his shirt and pulled him toward her, pressing her lips to his.

The sea of crimson certainty surrounding them filled her with courage.

She wanted him – this tall, lanky, hook-nosed Severus, the cold genius, with all his mystery and darkness.

For a moment, Severus forgot to close his eyes, so sudden was the contact. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, he kissed her back.

Soft lips. The scent of flowers. Small fingers threading into his hair.

It was intoxicating.

The world around them ceased to exist.

Only one thought remained – she wanted this. She hadn’t run from their last kiss. She hadn’t rejected him.

Someone wanted him – him, the cold, outcast, unlovable boy. Perhaps it didn’t matter if she didn’t love him. Perhaps, for now, it was enough that she desired him.

Severus’s fingers slid gently along her face, his thumb brushing her cheek as their lips parted in search of air.

‘So maybe I didn’t ruin everything after all,’ he whispered against her lips.

‘Not in the slightest,’ Dalia replied with a bright, happy laugh.

Severus wandered the corridors of Hogwarts as if walking above the clouds – even two days later. Of course, his face betrayed nothing; he didn’t leave his expressionless mask behind, and he only allowed himself to smile when he was certain no one was watching. Not even the fact that he was on his way to the Headmaster’s office could dampen his mood. He was preparing for an unpleasant conversation – that particular owl had not spared his parents either.

He waited in front of the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office, stomach twisting at the sight of the towering statue. He had no idea what to expect when he saw his mother again.

‘Thank you, Eileen, for coming,’ Dumbledore said warmly as he bid her farewell.

‘Of course, Professor, of course, anytime,’ replied the thin, hollow-faced woman in a quiet voice. She turned toward Severus as soon as she spotted him standing at the entrance. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you!’

She hurried to him and pulled him into an embrace. Severus awkwardly returned it, stiff as a board, patting his mother’s back as if out of obligation.

‘Hi, mom,’ he greeted softly, feeling a strange tightness in his throat. He was mildly surprised when Dumbledore took his leave.

‘I thought we would be speaking together,’ he noted, a slight edge to his voice.

Eileen gave a faint smile, though she avoided his gaze.

‘The professor didn’t think it was necessary. But I wanted to have a few words with you.’

A few minutes later, they had retreated into an empty classroom. As the door clicked shut behind them, the pleasant smile Eileen had worn for Dumbledore vanished.

‘I don’t think this is how I raised you, Severus,’ she said weakly. ‘I know it’s not easy for you here. It wasn’t for me either. But you need to finish school.’

‘I know, mom,’ Severus replied mechanically.

‘And I know that nothing comes easy for you. That girl, the redhead…’ She paused for a second, sighing before continuing. ‘You were such good friends once.’

Lily. Severus’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want to think about her. He wouldn’t let her memory creep into the momentary happiness he had been feeling.

‘It’s your choice which path you take, Severus,’ Eileen went on. ‘I can’t hold your hand forever. I just want you to be happy.’

She cupped his face with her work-worn, calloused hands, roughened by years of labour.

‘As if you are,’ Severus snapped.

As her hand rested on his cheek, her sleeve slipped slightly, revealing the bruises that marred her forearm. He noticed immediately.

The thought that his mother still allowed that monster – whom he could barely call his father – to unleash his rage on her made his blood boil.

‘It won’t be long now. I’ll take you away from there,’ he promised, his voice laced with anger.

Eileen shook her head.

‘I’m not going anywhere, my boy,’ she said, a soft but sorrowful smile on her lips.

‘Why?’

‘One day, you’ll understand,’ she continued to smile.

Severus doubted he ever would. In helpless rage, he slammed his fist into the cold stone wall.

Eileen flinched, anxiously biting her lip. The motion stirred something familiar in Severus’s memory – something he had seen before. But he couldn’t recall where.

The weak, late-winter sunlight bathed the hospital wing of the castle in a golden glow. Students bustled around the old iron-framed beds, making the most of visiting hours, their cheerful conversations only interrupted now and then by Madam Pomfrey’s firm yet kind voice.

Regulus walked in silence toward the infirmary, carrying a crate full of healing potions entrusted to him by Professor Slughorn. His robes swished with the brisk pace of his steps, but he barely noticed – his head was bowed, his shoulders heavy with everything that had been weighing on him lately. He was trying to live up to his family’s expectations, the Dark Lord’s demands – and Pandora’s. Especially hers. The girl had made him realize so many things in such a short time that he often felt like fleeing from the life he had always known.

And for the first time, he found that his brother’s betrayal didn’t seem entirely incomprehensible.

‘Good afternoon, Regulus,’ Madam Pomfrey greeted him. ‘Thank you for bringing these up. All Pepper-Up Potions?’

The boy nodded, and in response, the matron discreetly slipped a few Chocolate Frogs into the pocket of his robes.

‘Shh, not a word of this,’ she said with a wink. ‘It’s such a lovely day – I’d rather not see you sulking.’

Regulus gave her a faint smile, appreciating her quiet kindness.

But then, from behind one of the curtains, he caught sight of James Potter and his brother, Sirius.

‘Listen carefully, Prongs, I’ll only say this once,’ he heard Sirius’s voice. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ he said, then leaned in and pulled James into a firm hug. ‘You’re like a brother to me.’

Regulus felt as if he had been doused in ice-cold water. A sharp, bitter laugh escaped him.

James and Sirius turned to him in unison.

He's not too lucky – Regulus thought bitterly. He had desperately needed a brother, but Sirius had abandoned him. If only Sirius would show the slightest sign that he still cared, even the smallest indication, Regulus wouldn’t hesitate. He missed him more than anything.

For a moment longer, he stood there, his eyes burning as he stared at James. The boy who had stolen his brother.

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out.

‘What was that about?’ James asked, frowning.

Sirius watched the door where his brother had disappeared, silent for a second. Then he shrugged.

‘Nothing. Just my idiot brother,’ he said.

Madam Pomfrey watched the scene unfold with infinitely sorrowful eyes. She worried for the younger Black boy and she had every reason to do so.

Lucius Malfoy took a deep breath of the crisp air that surrounded Hogwarts. The wind gently lifted his long, blonde hair, which was tied back in a neat ponytail. From the highest point of the Astronomy Tower, he had a clear view of most of the school grounds. Spring had begun to announce itself – the snow was melting, and those who listened carefully could hear the cheerful songs of birds returning. Yet, thick robes and cloaks were still necessary for a while longer.

Lucius found it difficult to grasp that soon he would be leaving behind the school that had been nearly a home to him for years. Still, he had no hesitation about the future.

At his feet rested a large trunk, adorned with the Malfoy family crest: a bold, raised M, guarded by two dragons, standing proudly against its sleek black surface.

Before long, Pandora appeared beside him.

‘Your parents sent it,’ Lucius gestured toward the trunk as soon as he sensed her presence. ‘Spring clothes.’

‘Is that why you wanted to meet?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘You could’ve just had it sent to my room.’

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ Lucius stated dryly.

‘About what?’ Pandora asked. She looked impatient.

Lucius leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

‘I’ve seen you spending time with Regulus lately. And I very much approve,’ he began.

‘I don’t need your approval,’ Pandora interrupted.

‘I wasn’t finished,’ Lucius cut her off sharply, silencing her before she could say another word. ‘As I was saying,’ he cleared his throat, ‘I approve of you seeking his company. However – ’ Lucius tilted his head to the side, watching Pandora closely – ‘you don’t seem particularly happy. What’s going on between you two?’

Pandora turned her face away, not wanting Lucius to read her emotions.

‘We’re friends.’

A sly smirk curled at the corner of Lucius’s lips. Slowly, he reached forward and twirled one of Pandora’s blonde curls around his fingers.

‘That’s not what it looks like to me.’

Pandora froze.

‘It would be easier for you, my dear cousin,’ Lucius said smoothly, though his gaze remained icy, ‘if you stopped resisting and finally accepted your place in our world.’ His fingers slipped from the curl. ‘Then again, choosing Ravenclaw over Slytherin certainly hasn’t helped you.’

A chill ran down Pandora’s spine.

‘That is none of your business, Lucius!’ she snapped, her eyes flashing.

Lucius let out a deep sigh.

‘I’m saying this not as your relative, but as your friend – don’t test the family’s patience too much. If you continue down this path, you may soon find yourself without a home.’

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

‘Just think of Andromeda Black. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t return to the family.’

Pandora’s heart pounded in her chest. Lucius finally patted the trunk before turning his back to her and heading down the stairs.

Tears streamed down Pandora’s face. She felt helpless. Her principles were unwavering – she refused to bend to her family's will. But resisting was becoming harder with each passing day.

She knew that no matter how much she played along with the pure-blood circle, she could never bring Regulus back from the dark path he had chosen. And she knew, just as painfully well, that she herself could never walk that path.

If only Dalia understood this. If only she could share it with her.

Dalia smoothed the creases in her skirt with quick, deliberate movements. In just half an hour, she would see her parents again in Hogsmeade, and she wanted to present herself at her very best.

She loved them. She knew how fortunate she was to have a family that was kind and understanding, even if she didn’t always see eye to eye with them. Over the past few years, she had slowly begun to realize just how much they tried to shield her – more than was truly necessary. They disapproved of her mingling with pure-blood wizarding society, and for years, every summer had been spent tucked away in her room, buried in her books.

She examined her reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing every detail of her face.

Her doe-like brown eyes and upturned nose – the features she liked best – came from her mother. But her round face, which she wasn’t particularly fond of, was her father’s. Many times, she had wished she had inherited the delicate, sculpted features that made her mother so effortlessly refined. Though she adored Mr. Dawlish’s gentle appearance, as a girl – almost a woman – she valued elegance far more.

Fastening a ribbon into her waves, she lingered for a moment before heading out.

Did she still resemble them in any way beyond these outward traces?

She wasn’t so sure anymore.

Chapter Text

Spring’s sudden arrival had retreated around the Hogwarts grounds, leaving behind a thick, milky fog that blanketed the landscape.

Dalia walked lightly toward Hogsmeade, making the most of the brief solitude her parents’ visit had forced upon her. In the gaps between the thoughts essential to everyday life, Severus filled the spaces in her mind. The overall picture felt as opaque as the impenetrable whiteness surrounding her. She was certain of one thing – his presence made her happy – but every other circumstance filled her with uncertainty.

He fit her so well. And yet, he was utterly foreign to her.

The contradiction was driving her mad.

It felt as though she were trying to piece together an ever-changing image, one whose fragments never fully aligned. Pandora’s words often haunted her: What use is it to accept the darkness within him if she cannot reconcile with what it awakens in her own soul?

Dalia often tried to confront this thought, but every time, she arrived at a different answer. Some days, she believed she was strong enough to embrace every shadow within Severus. On others, she was terrified by the idea that his world might consume her too.

What did it truly mean to accept someone? And what does one lose when they step too close to a person they can never fully understand?

The frozen mist began to weave through the trees. Perhaps, in time, the fog would lift, and everything would become clear. Or perhaps, some things were meant to remain hidden forever.

Dalia drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the damp morning air. Only then did she realize that she had barely been paying attention to the road ahead. Her feet had carried her forward on instinct, until the reality of her surroundings slowly seeped back into her consciousness – Hogsmeade’s cobbled streets were only minutes away.

The village’s outlines gradually emerged from the impenetrable whiteness, and the soft orange glow of lanterns guided her toward the tavern at its centre. She paused for a moment, pulling off her gloves and tucking them into her pocket. The cold air bit at her skin, but she needed the sensation – to ground herself before stepping through the door of the Three Broomsticks.

From inside, a gentle murmur of conversations filtered through the walls, and as she neared the entrance, the tavern’s golden light and the spiced scent of honeyed mead enveloped her.

She took a steadying breath, then stepped inside.

Warmth washed over her immediately, and within a heartbeat, she spotted her parents seated at a table.

‘My little girl, it’s so good to see you!’ Her father rose from his chair, cupping her face in both hands before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Dalia smiled as she endured the familiar gesture – the same greeting he had given her since childhood.

‘Hello, Dalia,’ her mother said, pulling her into a tight embrace.

With quick, practiced movements, Dalia shed her cloak and took the seat across from them. It filled her with genuine joy to see them so at ease. The crackling fire in the hearth mingled with the sweet scent of frothy butterbeer, and for a fleeting moment, the warmth of the tavern felt like an entirely different world compared to the cold, austere walls of Hogwarts.

‘What can I get you?’ came the familiar voice of the Three Broomsticks’ robust barmaid, Doris, as she arrived at their table.

‘A sherry for the ladies,’ her father announced with a playful wink.

Dalia cast him an amused glance, knowing full well there was no point in trying to talk him out of these small acts of rebellion.

‘And a Firewhiskey for me, if you’d be so kind.’

‘Thaddeus!’ Mrs. Dawlish scolded in a hushed, exasperated tone. Her sharp gaze could have struck fear into anyone – anyone except her husband.

‘She’ll be fine, Eleanor. She’s not a child anymore.’

So this is what happens when a Gryffindor marries a Ravenclaw, Dalia mused to herself.

The woman let out a long sigh before turning to her daughter.

‘We want to hear everything about that night. I trust the Headmaster, but I know he’s not infallible. I’m sure there are parts of the story he didn’t see, and you wouldn’t go looking for trouble without reason, would you?’

Eleanor’s piercing gaze seemed to reach into her very soul – or at least, that was how Dalia felt. Perhaps it was because of those eyes that she had never been able to lie to her parents.

‘Where should I start…’ she hesitated.

Her mother always knew when she was lying. But did every truth need to be spoken? Was it her duty to confess how much she had wanted that prank to succeed? How, in that fleeting moment of the Marauders’ humiliation, she had felt a rush of satisfaction?

Across the table, her mother’s watchful eyes seemed to trace the shape of her thoughts. With a resigned sigh, she finally began:

‘There’s someone… I’ve been spending a lot of time with lately.’

‘A boy?’ her father asked, his face alight with exaggerated interest.

‘Yes, a boy.’ Dalia kept her voice as neutral as possible. ‘His name is Severus Snape.’

Eleanor Dawlish’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

‘He’s not exactly one of the more well-liked students at Hogwarts,’ she said carefully. ‘Many prefer to avoid him – and for good reason. He’s… not the easiest person.’

‘And yet, you chose to befriend him,’ her mother noted.

Dalia nodded.

‘Because the more I got to know him, the more I realized there’s far more to him than people see. Severus… is incredibly talented. He’s sharper than most students in our year, but few take the time to actually get to know him.’

Thaddeus Dawlish crossed his arms.

‘Brilliant but unpopular? I think I’ve heard that one before.’

Dalia cast her father a small, amused smile but didn’t let herself get distracted.

‘What happened that night… it was partly about him. I wanted to help him. But not in the way you might think.’

‘We don’t assume anything, Dalia. We won’t pass judgment until you’ve told us everything,’ Eleanor said seriously.

‘So… Severus has been a target of the Marauders for years. I thought maybe it was time to fight back.’

‘Marauders?’ Thaddeus’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. ‘You mean the Potter boy and his friends?’

Dalia nodded.

‘Is he missing his antlers?’ Thaddeus chuckled loudly.

‘Thaddeus!’ Eleanor hissed, glancing anxiously around to make sure no one had overheard them.

‘Relax, dear,’ Mr. Dawlish said, taking his wife’s hand.

‘I don’t think so,’ Dalia murmured with a smirk, shaking her head.

‘Anyway… We never wanted to hurt anyone. We just… wanted to show them they couldn’t get away with everything. I thought that if we could make the Marauders look ridiculous, even for just a moment, it would give Severus back something of what they had taken from him.’

Dalia’s father straightened proudly, but before he could speak, his wife silenced him with a look.

‘Is it true that you used Dark Magic?’ Mrs. Dawlish whispered.

Dalia fell silent. She didn’t want to betray Severus like this.

‘Yes,’ she admitted at last. ‘And no. I taught Severus how to create spells, but I never imagined he would turn that knowledge into a weapon.’

She cast her gaze downward.

Eleanor’s face remained unreadable, but Dalia knew this kind of silence well. Her mother didn’t scold her immediately – and perhaps that was the most unsettling part. She couldn’t tell if her mother was truly calm and unbothered or if this was simply the calm before the storm.

‘Well, if you ask me, those Marauders sometimes deserve a taste of their own medicine,’ Thaddeus remarked. Then, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, he added, ‘Tell me, little one – when will you introduce us to this Severus?’

Dalia forced a smile but didn’t answer. She couldn’t picture Severus sitting across from her parents at the same table – nor could she imagine how he would react to the idea.

‘Thank you for your honesty,’ her mother finally said, taking a sip of her drink. Her voice was steady, but her eyes remained sharp. ‘And for not trying to make it sound better than it was. We’re not angry, Dalia. These things happen. But I ask you to be careful with this boy.’

She placed her glass gently on the table and looked at her daughter with quiet seriousness.

‘There’s something else we wanted to talk to you about.’

Dalia’s head snapped up, startled. She barely had time to process her mother’s words before she noticed the shift in her father’s demeanour as well. His usual smile had softened into something more serious – still warm, but different.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

‘It’s about the house…’ Thaddeus glanced at his wife before turning back to Dalia. ‘We’re not young anymore.’

Eleanor took over, her voice gentler than usual.

‘We’ve decided it’s time to pass the house on to you.’

Dalia’s lips parted, but she couldn’t find any words.

‘We’re moving to the seaside,’ her mother continued with a small smile. ‘A little house, far from all the noise. We’re finally at the age where we can enjoy our retirement.’

A strange feeling stirred in Dalia’s chest. The house would be hers.

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ she asked, barely believing it.

Thaddeus nodded.

‘From this summer, it’s yours alone. Maybe it’ll help you start carving out your own path.’

‘It’s a huge responsibility, Dalia,’ her mother added.

Dalia stared down at the table. It felt… strange. Somehow, it felt like too big of a step.

At last, she whispered, ‘Thank you.’

Her parents smiled and raised their glasses in a quiet toast to this new chapter.

After they had finished their drinks, the conversation drifted toward lighter topics – the new curtains for the house, Eleanor’s plans for a seaside garden, and Thaddeus joking about how many weeks of peaceful retirement he could endure before going completely mad.

But Dalia was no longer fully present.

The thought of the house both excited her and weighed heavily on her shoulders. What would she do with that vast, abstractly shaped tower perched atop the hill? She could already feel the loneliness pressing in on her.

Eleanor glanced at her watch.

‘We should go.’

Thaddeus sighed, stretched out his arms, then rose to his feet. Dalia stood as well, preparing to say goodbye. Her father embraced her tightly.

‘I’m proud of you, you know?’ he murmured, looking at her for a moment as if seeing her for the first time – as a grown woman.

Eleanor wasn’t as sentimental, but her hug was just as warm, just as firm.

‘Take care of yourself,’ she said softly.

Dalia nodded and watched as her parents stepped out of the Three Broomsticks.

In the misty twilight of the street, they drew their wands, cast one last glance back at her, and then, with a soft pop, vanished into nothingness.

The silence they left behind fell upon her suddenly. Dalia stood frozen in the doorway, unmoving. A part of her wished they had stayed just a little longer. She took a deep breath.

Someone called her name in the distance.

‘Dalia!’

She turned toward the voice and saw Lily Evans emerging from the misty cobblestone street. The red-haired girl was completely out of breath, as if she had run all the way from the Hogwarts gates to the village.

‘Hey,’ Lily greeted her a little uncertainly, resting her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. Once she had regained her composure, she spoke again. ‘Am I interrupting?’

Dalia examined her, puzzled. She had no idea what Lily Evans could possibly want from her.

‘No, not at all,’ she replied with a small, curious smile. ‘What brings you here?’

Lily hesitated.

‘Honestly, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.’

A bad feeling settled in Dalia’s stomach, though she tried not to let it show. After all, Lily was James Potter’s girlfriend. And yet, she seemed like someone whose company she might actually enjoy.

‘In that case,’ Dalia said, ‘how about over a butterbeer?’ She gestured toward the Three Broomsticks.

Lily blinked in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected the invitation. Then, after a moment, she nodded.

‘Butterbeer sounds good.’

The two girls sat at a secluded table in the tavern, their smiles forced and uneasy. Dalia exhaled slowly, while Lily avoided looking her in the eye. They sat in silence, waiting for their drinks.

Finally, once they had their tankards to shield them, Lily broke the quiet.

‘I need to tell you something.’

The hesitation in her voice did nothing to ease the knot forming in Dalia’s stomach.

‘What about?’ she asked carefully, making sure her face remained hidden behind her butterbeer.

‘Severus.’

Dalia’s fingers stilled around the handle of her mug.

‘I’ve seen the two of you together a lot lately,’ Lily continued. ‘And I thought there were some things you should know.’

‘I doubt you could surprise me.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Lily sighed.

‘You do realize that Sev isn’t one to shy away from Dark Magic,’ she lowered her voice. ‘Even I never thought he would use it against James, but… that’s still not the whole picture. I wanted to warn you, Dalia. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop seeking his company.’

Dalia took a tense sip of her drink.

Sev. Since when did Severus have a nickname? And why did Lily seem to know more about his darkness than she did?

‘What exactly are you saying?’

‘There are a few of us at Hogwarts who are actively fighting against Voldemort,’ Lily whispered. ‘And Severus… well, he’s leaning toward the other side.’

‘That’s not true. Severus isn’t a Death Eater!’

If it were possible to shout in a whisper, that was exactly what Dalia did.

‘Not yet,’ Lily’s voice faded almost to nothing. ‘But he’s already doing things that Voldemort’s followers do. He wants to prove himself to him. I really hope I’m wrong, but it’s painfully clear where he’s headed. Has he ever done anything… strange? Something that, when you ask about it, he snaps at you instead of answering?’

Dalia felt a weight settle in her stomach. Yes, he had. She had seen him slip into the forest at odd hours. She had noticed unexplained injuries. And yes – more often than not, he refused to answer her questions.

‘At the start of the year, a few Slytherins attacked Quillon. They tortured her, Dalia.’ Lily’s words landed with a heavy thud. ‘And it was Severus who made sure the professor couldn’t defend herself against her attackers… and that she wouldn’t remember a thing.’

‘Nonsense,’ Dalia shot back, disbelief surging through her. ‘Where did you even hear that rubbish? Severus would never do something like that.’

‘But he did,’ Lily insisted. ‘I can’t tell you more than that, but please – believe me.’ She couldn’t expose the Order’s secrets. But she couldn’t stay silent either.

Dalia hesitated, then nodded slowly.

‘Let’s say I believe you,’ she murmured. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

A faint, bittersweet smile appeared on Lily’s face.

‘Let’s just say… I’ve been in your shoes before.’

Dalia’s pulse quickened, pounding in her throat. Did she mean that she and Severus had…

‘He was my best friend,’ Lily said softly. For a moment, her gaze drifted, lost in memory. ‘I used to believe that no matter what happened, he would always stay the same person.’

‘And what happened?’

Lily turned away. Dalia wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have heard a quiet sniffle. But she couldn’t be certain.

‘Well, Severus made his choice,’ Lily said, straightening her posture. ‘Maybe from your perspective, it doesn’t seem that way, but what James and Sirius do to him… it’s not entirely without reason. Not that it excuses anything.’

Dalia felt as if the ground had been pulled from beneath her feet. Lily wasn’t speaking about Severus with anger. Her words carried something far more painful than mere resentment. He had been her friend.

‘Severus isn’t the kind of person who would hurt someone without reason,’ Dalia said at last, though she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice. ‘Maybe he’s made bad choices, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost.’

Lily sighed.

‘I used to tell myself the same thing for a long time.’ She downed the last drop of her butterbeer and stood. ‘You can choose not to believe me. That’s your right.’ She pulled on her cloak, fastening it at her neck. 'But not everyone can be saved,’ she said simply before turning and walking away, leaving Dalia alone at the table.

Dalia traced the rim of her tankard absentmindedly. The entire world around her seemed to blur.

Lily’s words echoed in her mind. It was as if she had accepted it long ago. As if she had already made peace with the idea that this was Severus’s fate. But Dalia refused to accept it so easily.

She thinks Severus is lost.

But what if she’s wrong?

Chapter Text

The shadow of Hogwarts' ancient walls fell darkly over Dalia as she stepped through the grand entrance. The cinnamon-scented butterbeer aroma of Hogsmeade was replaced by the damp chill of the castle's stone, a scent not even the steam of the evening feast drifting from the Great Hall could fully mask. Armor clattered loudly around her, a distant violin melody echoed through the corridors, and as she quickened her pace toward the Ravenclaw Tower, a cold shiver ran down her spine. She walked straight through Peeves.

'What have I ever done to you?' the poltergeist huffed, ready to take his revenge on the girl, but seeing her lowered head and tear-filled eyes, he decided against it. He found it hard to determine who looked more like a ghost – him or Dalia – though technically, Peeves was the official one.

Dalia felt every movement within her. Not a single bone in her body escaped her awareness; she listened to her own breathing, to her fingers as they clenched around the wand hidden in her robe pocket.

She felt as if she was no longer the same person she had been just hours ago.

Lily’s words weighed like lead on her chest, echoing in her mind until they transformed into images she couldn’t drive away.

Severus' shadow at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. His dark, enigmatic eyes staring into hers. His arm over her shoulder, wrapping around her in sleep. His lips on hers.

All the secrets he had never spoken: that he had played a role in Quillon’s torment, that he had turned his knowledge into a weapon, that every step he took led him closer to the darkest side of the war.

Dalia had thought she knew him, that she saw through him, but she could not have been more wrong. Had she truly been so naïve?

No. And she knew that well enough. It wasn’t naïveté that kept her by his side, nor ignorance of his actions. Even if she had never known for certain, she had always suspected what Severus was capable of. The signs had been there all along, but she had chosen to ignore them.

The worst part, however, was that despite all logic, she could not tear her heart away from him.

No one should be able to feel so much at once; it was physically impossible, she thought. And yet, here she was, drowning in more emotions than she could ever imagine.

She stopped in a deserted corridor, pressing her back against the cold stone wall. Her legs refused to carry her further, her body felt heavier, burdened by the relentless flood of her thoughts.

The castle had never felt more unknown. She wanted to find Severus, to throw it in his face how deeply he had disappointed her, how much she didn’t want to see him ever again, but she just stood there. She didn’t merely want to confront him – no, that would not be enough. She wanted to tell him that no matter how black his soul had become, she could not stop loving him.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she let herself slide to the floor until she finally collapsed completely. The tears she had held back for so long forced their way out now that she had found shelter from the world. For minutes, she just cried, as if a river had taken residence in her tear ducts, and she could no longer hold it back.

Did she truly need Severus this much? And if so, could she bear everything that came with him?

His wounds, his deeds – yes, she thought – but not his secrets.

The cold stone beneath her became burning-hot, yet she only slowly forced herself to rise from it. She struggled to suppress the tears still threatening to escape, but she had to return to her dormitory as soon as possible; she couldn’t afford to draw attention. She had no desire to explain herself, and with her luck, she wouldn’t be surprised if she ran into Severus in this state.

He must not see her like this.

Like a shadow, she walked the rest of the way, occasionally sniffing softly to herself. She tried to organize her thoughts, hoping that the crying fit had freed her of just enough emotions to continue.

By the time she reached the spiral staircase of the tower, she thought she had left all her feelings behind in the castle’s stone walls.

But as soon as she stepped into the dormitory, she knew she had failed. Pandora’s worried face greeted her.

‘Merlin, what happened to you?’ she asked cautiously, her concern growing at the sight of Dalia’s swollen eyes. She hurried over and pressed a handkerchief into her hands. ‘Tell me.’

Dalia shook her head, and before she could stop herself, another wave of sobs broke free, this time less controlled.

Pandora didn’t press further, simply pulling her into a gentle embrace, as if she understood everything without needing words.

‘Just let it out,’ she whispered. ‘You know,’ she began in a soft, soothing voice, ‘every time you cry, a new flower blooms in the land of the fairies.’

‘The ugly blue ones?’ Dalia sniffled.

‘No,’ Pandora shook her head, ‘the beautiful ones. The ones from the muggle stories you used to read to me.’

A faint smile appeared on Dalia’s face. Pandora always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better.

‘Do you want to talk?’ Pandora wiped away the last stray tear from Dalia’s cheek.

‘No,’ came the hoarse reply, thick with exhaustion, ‘not yet.’

Pandora – though still worried – did not push her further.

Dalia sat weakly on her bed, unfastening the clasp of her shoe with a quick motion. After kicking it off, she sprawled across the top of her covers. A deep sleep would have done her good, but what she longed for even more was to escape her own thoughts, even if only for an hour, without crossing into sleep. Then an idea struck her.

‘Pandora,’ she called out to the girl lying in her own bed, ‘do you still have the blue pills?’

The blonde girl raised an eyebrow at her.

‘I do. Why? You’re not planning to knock yourself out, are you?’

Not a bad idea, Dalia thought as the notion crept into her mind.

‘No, just asking.’

Dalia turned onto her side, slipping a hand beneath her pillow and closing her eyes, trying to rest. But she couldn’t. Her racing thoughts kept jolting her awake. It was enough to simply close her eyelids – the darkness behind them became the perfect canvas for the images flooding her mind. Severus’ face was fixed in her vision, and the past unravelled before her like a film: their first meeting by the lake, the cigarette between his fingers, the moment he inhaled the steam of Amortentia, his suit draped over her shoulders, their dance at the Black family ball, the green light illuminating his figure at the Slytherin party, his kisses, the flowers that had betrayed his feelings.

And then, other memories surfaced – his cruel words, the twisted rage on his face when he attacked James, and Lily’s distant gaze as she spoke of her history with Severus.

She even had a nickname for him, Dalia thought bitterly. She must have meant so much to him.

She could endure not a minute more in the prison of her own thoughts. Her eyes snapped open, and she glanced toward Pandora. The girl was fast asleep, her soft breathing the only sound in the dark.

I have no other choice, Dalia thought as she crept toward Pandora’s trunk, carefully lifting the velvet box that held the blue pills. Holding her breath, she opened it. She didn’t want to overdo it – just a brief escape from reality. But somehow, one pill felt like it wouldn’t be enough tonight. She took two, slipping them into the pocket of her robes.

She couldn’t stay in the dormitory. She couldn’t risk Pandora noticing.

When she successfully slipped through the door without waking her, she exhaled in relief.

She wished she could tell Pandora everything, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. She was ashamed of her feelings, even to herself.

Hidden under a Disillusionment Charm, she made her way across the grounds, not stopping until she reached the edge of the Black Lake. Gathering her cloak beneath her, she sat at the base of a tree. A ragged sigh escaped her lips, leaving a white mark in the freezing air. The lake’s frozen surface was still, and as Dalia let her gaze rest upon it, she hoped the calm would settle over her too – but it didn’t. Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time she refused to let them fall.

Reaching into her pocket, she took out the pills and swallowed both. She didn’t know that someone was watching from the shadows of the bare branches.

Dalia closed her eyes, waiting for the bitter taste to fade from her tongue. When she opened them again, the lake was still there, silent and undisturbed, the trees standing motionless in the windless night. At first, nothing happened.

Then the cold no longer bit at her skin, and the air felt softer as she slowly inhaled, as if a thick, warm blanket had wrapped around her. The outlines of the world blurred around her, and the tension that had been weighing on her body seemed to dissolve into mist.

For a moment, she thought she had finally let go of her emotions.

Everything slowed down – she could almost hear the creatures swimming deep beneath the lake, as though her own head had sunk underwater. The sensation cradled her, a pleasant warmth settled in her stomach, and her mind finally cleared of thoughts.

But the comfort was fleeting. A crushing weight pressed against her eyelids, and dizziness set in.

‘Dalia!’

A voice – rough, panicked, and deafening – rang out. Someone was running toward her. In the next instant, strong arms wrapped around her, preventing her from collapsing entirely.

The world was loud again. The wind howled around her, the moon’s light pierced through even her closed eyelids, blinding her. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest refused to obey; her lungs felt heavy, and her limbs no longer seemed to belong to her.

Severus’ hands held her firmly – not painfully, but just enough to pull her back toward reality.

‘Look at me,’ his voice commanded. ‘Dalia, look at me!’

She tried. She really did. But her eyelids wouldn’t cooperate, and the world spun around her as if she had fallen into a whirlpool.

For a brief second, she managed to crack her eyes open just enough to meet his gaze – and that was when she saw it.

Fear.

He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t annoyed. There was no frustration in his face. And that made Dalia want to escape the moment even more.

‘I’m fine…’ she tried to say, but the words barely left her lips, no louder than a breath.

Severus’ mouth pressed into a thin line.

‘What did you take?’ he asked, his voice firm, though edged with barely concealed concern.

Dalia’s mouth was dry. The darkness crept closer. The edges of the world blurred. The sounds grew distant.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Panic flooded every inch of Severus as he watched Dalia collapse, losing consciousness before she could answer the most important question of all. What had she taken?

His mind raced. He had seen the two blue pills in her possession, but in that moment, he had no idea what they were. Her skin was ice-cold, her chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. He grabbed her wrist, checking her pulse – it was dangerously slow. He had to act immediately.

Summoning all his strength, he lifted her into his arms in one swift motion and stood up. Her head rested limply against his shoulder, her arms dangling lifelessly at her sides. He had no time to be gentle. His heart pounded at a frantic pace, but his mind remained razor-sharp, scanning through every piece of knowledge stored in his memory, searching for anything that resembled what Dalia had taken. He found answers – but the problem was, he could think of at least a hundred different substances that matched.

The night air bit into his face as he all but sprinted toward the castle. He pushed his physical limits, but in his panic, it didn’t even occur to him to use magic. His footsteps were silent against the frozen ground, yet he could hear his own ragged breathing. The path from the lake to the main entrance felt like an endless, drawn-out nightmare.

That blue substance couldn’t be poison, a thought flickered through his mind. If it were, she wouldn’t have taken two – one would have been enough.

That meant he needed to look among medicinal or sedative substances. Instinct told him to focus on the latter. He refused to believe that Dalia would deliberately harm herself – at least, he desperately wanted to believe that.

His legs carried him toward the Potions classroom, guided by instinct. Maybe he didn’t even need to know exactly what she had taken. Dalia was still unmoving, her breathing growing even shallower. His entire body tensed.

‘Just hold on a little longer,’ Severus whispered desperately.

He kicked the dungeon door open with such force that the wood cracked, the impact sending glass vials rattling against one another on the shelves. Even he was surprised that it worked. Without a second thought, he carried her to one of the empty desks and laid her down before rushing to Slughorn’s supply cabinet.

He yanked open one drawer after another, his fingers scrambling through their contents in search of what he needed. Every second mattered.

The fourth drawer – finally. Wrapped in parchment, a bezoar.

Dalia’s body trembled just as Severus returned to her side, and he felt her breathing grow even shallower. Fear gripped him. If this doesn’t work, then what? Will there even be enough time to try something else?

He didn’t hesitate. Supporting her head, he placed the bezoar on her tongue, hoping her reflexes would do the rest. But she didn’t move.

‘Please,’ he whispered. His hope was slipping away. ‘Don’t do this to me. Swallow it. Please.’

Her throat twitched. The bezoar disappeared. Still holding her head at the right angle, he carefully trickled a small amount of water between her lips to aid the process. And then, he waited.

Time had never felt so agonizingly slow.

His throat was dry, his heart hammering out an erratic rhythm. He gently lowered her head back onto the desk, keeping hold of her wrist, continuously monitoring her pulse, praying it would quicken.

It has to work, he thought. There’s no other option.

Dalia’s fingers twitched. Severus immediately reached for her face. A shaky breath escaped him as he felt warmth return to her skin, and her chest began to rise and fall at a steadier pace.

The bezoar had worked.

Severus released her and ran a shaky hand through his dishevelled black hair. The relief of knowing she was safe was quickly followed by the crushing weight of exhaustion. The adrenaline had faded, leaving his hands unsteady, his shoulders tense from the strain. He braced himself against the edge of the professor’s desk, as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded in reality, his teeth worrying at his lower lip in agitation.

He waited for Dalia to fully regain consciousness, but his mind was already racing. Why had this happened? What had pushed her to take something so dangerous, alone in the middle of the night, something that had nearly cost her life? Unless… that had been the goal.

Severus' chest tightened at the thought. It was only now that he noticed her swollen eyes. Had someone hurt her?

Dalia stirred. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, but it took longer for her mind to fully catch up. Slowly, the memories before her collapse trickled back: the endless crying, Pandora, the pills, the Black Lake, the swirling world, and then – Severus’ arms around her.

She sat up. Before she could process where she was, the details of her surroundings were obscured by the figure dressed in black who pulled her close.

‘Don’t ever do that again,’ Severus murmured against her hair, his grip tightening around her.

Dalia hesitated at first, then clung to him as if there were no tomorrow.

She inhaled his familiar, earthy scent, grounding herself in it. For a fleeting moment, she found peace in the sensation – one last drop of calm before the storm broke again, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

Severus couldn’t bring himself to question her, not when she was sobbing into his chest. He gently pulled away, creating a small space between them, and cupped her tear-streaked face in his hands. His thumbs wiped away the damp trails on her cheeks, but the look in his eyes remained unreadable.

‘Severus…’ Dalia whispered.

But he let go of her and took a step back.

‘What the hell was that?’ The words burst from him, more out of concern than anger. ‘What did you take? And why? If I hadn’t been there – if I hadn’t gotten to you in time…’

Dalia dropped her gaze in guilt.

‘Have you ever heard of the Mermaid’s Kiss?’

The puzzle clicked into place in Severus' mind almost instantly. Of course. A substance that slowed time and heightened the senses. A single dose was more than enough for its intended effect – taking more than that, however, was outright dangerous. But the average user wouldn’t know that, because it wasn’t a common drug. It was one of the intoxicants used by pure-blood social circles. The last time he’d seen it had been at Lucius Malfoy’s.

Severus nodded stiffly.

‘Why did you take two?’ His voice was tight.

‘I… I didn’t mean to.’ Dalia’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘I needed something to distract me for a while, and one didn’t seem like enough.’ She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

‘Distract you from what?’

Severus’ voice grew sharper with frustration. He reached for her again, grasping her face between his hands and forcing her to look at him.

‘What could possibly be so unbearable that you’d sneak out in the middle of the night and nearly kill yourself?’

His words cut through the silence like stones hitting the ground.

Dalia could no longer run from this.

‘Do you really want to know?’ A defiant light flared in her eyes. ‘It’s because of you. You are the reason I want to escape my own thoughts. Because I can’t understand how I can care so deeply for someone who does such terrible things. Lily told me everything. I know you tortured Quillon. I know there’s every chance you’ll join Voldemort’s army. And do you know what’s worse? None of that hurts as much as the fact that you aren’t honest with me. You always say I don’t understand. That I can’t understand… But it seems to me that you’re the one who doesn’t understand.’

Severus froze. Her words struck with the force of a blow to his gut. For a moment, he felt as though he was watching himself from the outside, as if the whole scene was happening to someone else.

Lily told her everything.

The name cut through his mind like a blade, and suddenly, it felt as if invisible hands were tearing open his chest. The girl who had once believed in him. The girl who had once stood by his side.

And now, here was Dalia. Who also believed in him. And whom he, with his own hands, was pushing away. But Dalia was not Lily. She wasn’t begging him to change. She wasn’t trying to save him only to abandon him when things became too dark to bear. Dalia wasn’t running.

She stood before him – angry, hurt, but still there.

But how could that be true? How could anyone care for him when he was nothing but a stain even in his own eyes?

‘What don’t I understand?’ he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dalia’s heart pounded in her throat. She hadn’t meant to say it like this – not here, not now. But something inside her broke.

‘I love you, you idiot.’

Severus went utterly still. His eyes widened, disbelieving. His heart stopped for a single, heavy beat before slamming back into motion, far too fast. His hands fell away from her face.

‘That’s a cruel joke,’ he scoffed, but his voice betrayed him – uncertainty, not mockery, laced his words. He didn’t sound like he believed them himself.

‘Do you really think so?’

Dalia’s hands were shaking, but she didn’t care. There was no turning back.

‘You think everyone is your enemy. That no one could ever understand you. But I am here. I have always been here. And I don’t know what else I have to do to make you finally see me.’

Her words cut through him, stripping away layers of defences he hadn’t even realized were still there. She was standing by him. Not as a pitying saviour, but as someone who refused to leave.

And now, she was telling him she loved him. Something twisted deep in Severus’ stomach. It couldn’t be true. The entire world had spent his whole life proving to him that he was unworthy of love. And yet, here she was.

She didn’t want to change him. She didn’t want to mould him into someone else. She wasn’t asking him to be anything other than what he was. She just wanted to stay.

And that terrified him more than anything he had ever felt.

‘You can’t mean that.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘I’m not a good person. And I say this from experience – it’s better if no one gets close to me. I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘I won’t back down.’ Dalia’s voice was steady, unwavering. ‘And that’s not the real question here.’ She took a breath. ‘Do you love me, Severus?’

He swallowed hard.

‘I won’t be able to protect you.’

He took a single, hesitant step toward her.

‘I don’t need you to.’

Dalia met his gaze, her dark eyes locked onto his endless black ones. She slid down from the desk, stepping closer to him, until mere inches separated them.

‘Just stay with me,’ she whispered against his lips.

‘I love you,’ he exhaled, surrendering at last.

Then came the sound of approaching footsteps, a cat’s eerie meow, and the familiar grumble of Filch echoing from the corridor. The two students ducked under the desk, hiding from the cantankerous, dim-witted but still dangerous caretaker.

‘Students in the corridors,’ Filch muttered, raising his lantern. ‘No – students inside the classrooms.’ He paused as he reached the Potions room. ‘What would Professor Slughorn say about this, hmm? What do you think, Mrs. Norris? Where could they be hiding?’

The caretaker swept his lantern across the room, searching. But he did not see them.

Severus had pulled his cloak over Dalia, pressing a hand over her mouth to keep her silent. It was clear this wasn’t the first time he had needed to hide.

Filch sighed in disappointment as he turned back toward the door.

‘Maybe that ghost tricked us again, my love,’ he murmured, using a disturbingly affectionate tone with his cat.

As soon as his footsteps faded, both Severus and Dalia exhaled in relief. Dalia stifled a giggle.

‘What do you think he does with that cat when no one’s looking?’

Severus grimaced, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

‘I don’t want to know.’

But the joke only lasted until silence fell between them, heavy and uncertain.

Severus swallowed.

‘And now what? You and I…’

Dalia shook her head and placed her hand over his.

‘We don’t have to define it right away.’

‘I’m not going to be that person who parades around, hugging and clinging to someone in front of everyone,’ Severus said flatly. ‘I’m not James Potter.’ His lips curled into another grimace.

Dalia burst into laughter.

‘We wouldn’t be here if you were.’

With a swift flick of his wand, Severus sealed the door shut, mending the broken lock with a Reparo before adding an extra locking charm for good measure.

‘I suppose the wise decision would be to get some sleep now.’

‘Indeed. We have classes tomorrow,’ Dalia agreed, though deep down, she felt a pang of disappointment that their moment was ending so soon.

‘Good thing I’m not wise,’ Severus murmured.

One of his hands lifted, tracing the delicate line of Dalia’s jaw before brushing gently over her lower lip with his thumb. For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing something in his mind. Then, all uncertainty dissolved.

He cupped her face in both hands, and his kiss came crashing down with an urgency that left no room for restraint. Like a force seeking refuge, a confession beyond words, he poured every buried emotion into it. The world faded into insignificance – nothing else existed except for her, and the way she met him without hesitation.

His fingers slid tenderly through her hair before tracing the heat of her skin, traveling down her shoulder until they settled at her waist.

Dalia was impatient, pressing into his touch, her fingers threading into his jet-black hair as she clung to the back of his neck, as if letting go was not an option. Their rhythm was wild, untamed – losing themselves in each other as time lost all meaning.

Minutes passed before they finally broke apart, though even then, they did not truly pull away.

Their foreheads remained pressed together, their breaths mingling in the lingering warmth of their kiss.

‘Tell me I’m not just dreaming you,’ Severus whispered. ‘I don’t think I could ever get tired of this.’

Dalia smiled so widely it reached her eyes.

‘I really hope you’re not dreaming. Or if you are, I hope I get to stay in your dreams forever.’

Dawn was breaking as Dalia walked toward the Ravenclaw Tower, Severus following closely behind her, unwilling to leave her side despite the castle slowly being bathed in the golden hues of morning.

At the door of the knocker, she turned one last time to say goodbye.

‘Good night,’ she whispered.

Severus reached for her hand, gently pulling her close before pressing one final, delicate kiss to her lips.

‘Good night, Dalia,’ he murmured, though they both knew they had long since missed the night.

With a quiet smile, he turned on his heel and made his way toward the dungeons. He should have been going to sleep, but in that moment, he regretted nothing.

Dalia had left him with enough energy to last a lifetime.

As he stepped into the common room, a faint smile still lingered at the corner of his lips. A warmth settled in his chest – something unfamiliar, yet wholly welcome.

And then, he saw Regulus.

The boy stood by the window, staring out over the Black Lake, its dark waters as still as his expression. Tear tracks streaked his face.

The smile vanished from Severus’ lips instantly.

Chapter Text

The Slytherin common room was wrapped in dark silence that dawn, a silence only broken occasionally by the quiet sniffles of a young boy. He allowed his tears to flow, knowing no one would notice him at such an impossible hour. What he did not expect, however, was that he was not the only one whom sleep had abandoned that night.

The last embers flickering in the fireplace cast long shadows across the stone floor, and the deep recesses of the dark green sofas awaited the first waking students.

Severus entered through the serpent-adorned door. Every word, every touch of Dalia were still pulsating in his mind. He could still smell her scent lingering on his robes. Yet, the common room was ominously cold, and as his gaze swept over the dimly lit furniture, he sensed that something was off.

Regulus stood by the window, motionless, his gaze sinking into the lake’s dark waters as if expecting an answer from them. At Severus’s arrival, he flinched and turned away, trying to hide his damp face, though he knew he would not be successful. He hoped that the other boy would choose to deliberately ignore it.

Severus hesitated, struck by the sight before him, the sweetness of his earlier emotions quickly fading. He pondered how to ask what was troubling Regulus without being too direct or intrusive. He was never good at this, and he certainly was not accustomed to seeing the proud boy looking so defeated.

He did not look at him. He turned away and started toward the dormitory stairs.

Then, he heard Regulus sniff again.

He halted.

‘Oh, for Merlin’s sake…’ he muttered under his breath before turning back. ‘It’s none of my business, but if you expect me not to notice, that’s not going to happen.’

Regulus flinched again.

‘If I said everything was fine, would you believe me?’

‘Do I look like I would?’ Severus frowned, and Regulus shook his head. With a weary sigh, Severus sat down on one of the sofas.

‘I'm listening.’

Regulus still did not look at him. He stared at the plants swaying in the lake as if the words choking him were written upon them.

‘I…’ Regulus began, but his voice wavered. He remained silent for a long moment, his chest rising and falling as he struggled for composure.

Then, all at once, it burst out of him.

‘Do you know what it feels like to realize your whole life has been a lie?’

Severus said nothing, only cast a wary glance around.

‘Because I just did. Or rather… not too long ago.’

‘Disaudio,’ Severus murmured, ensuring that no one could eavesdrop on their conversation. ‘It wouldn’t be wise if anyone heard this.’

‘You’re right,’ Regulus agreed, then continued, ‘There’s a decision I regret, and I can’t undo it – at least, not without great risk. My pride and ambition blinded me… the desire to be like my brother, in a way he never was. I let my family pressure me.’

The words poured out of him like water from an overflowing sink. Instinctively, he grabbed his forearm, his fingers digging into his shirt over the Mark.

‘I thought I had no choice. And only after it was done did I realize – I did. I was the one who took it away from myself.’

‘Are you sure it was a good idea to tell me all this?’ Severus asked coolly. He understood Regulus, but he also knew that outwardly, he did not seem like someone who disagreed with everything Voldemort’s followers stood for. If the boy had shared this with him, he might share it with someone else who could end him with the information.

‘Oh, come on, Severus, it’s obvious!’ Regulus looked at him directly. ‘Maybe not everyone notices, but I see it in your eyes. You don’t truly want this either.’

‘And what makes you think that?’ Severus tried to maintain his composure – what if this was just a clever ploy? But it was becoming increasingly difficult.

‘Why won’t you share your own dark magic?’

Severus did not answer but continued to scrutinize Regulus with his piercing gaze.

Regulus’s words seemed sincere, so Severus decided to press further.

‘How did you realize you didn’t want this?’

‘Let’s just say… I had help,’ Regulus’s gaze drifted into the distance.

‘Meaning?’

‘Pandora Malfoy,’ came the simple reply. ‘She opened my eyes.’

Severus was not entirely surprised by this revelation. He had often seen them together, and he was aware that Pandora – though cautiously – had been distancing herself from her family’s values.

At this point, he was convinced Regulus was not lying. Though, if he had been able to use Legilimency without speaking the incantation, he would have gladly used it.

He stood and walked over to stand beside the boy.

‘What’s your plan?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Surely you don’t intend to wallow in regret over your mistake forever?’ Severus asked with a trace of sarcasm, even as the irony of the situation struck him. As if he had ever done more than dwell on his own regrets.

Regulus’s expression shifted, a flicker of the proud, defiant boy Severus knew returning to his face – and it oddly reassured him.

‘I’m going to kill him.’

‘That’s a bold shift,’ Severus muttered.

Regulus did not need to say his name – Severus knew exactly whom he meant. With a deep sigh, Severus placed a hand on Regulus’s shoulder.

‘I’m willing to help.’

‘Really?’ The younger boy’s eyes gleamed with hope.

Severus nodded.

‘I have one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.’

‘Deal,’ Regulus said without hesitation, extending his hand.

Severus took it.

‘I don’t know why I’m saying this,’ he began softly, ‘but I have a feeling… he’s found a way to cheat death.’

‘You mean… he’s immortal?’

‘Yes,’ Severus confirmed with a small nod.

‘Then the first thing we need to do is find out how.’ Regulus’s voice was resolute.

Movement filtered out from the dormitories – the morning was making its presence increasingly known, and the other Slytherin students were slowly beginning to stir.

Severus dragged a tired hand down his face. Throughout the night, his body had turned leaden, and his mind was just as exhausted as his muscles – the conversation with Regulus had drained him completely. Without a word, he set off toward the washroom.

Regulus followed.

In the washroom’s dim light, the mirror reflected their sleep-deprived faces in a hazy blur. Their skin was pale, dark shadows clinging beneath their eyes as if the night’s darkness had left its mark not just outside, but within them as well.

Severus’s long fingers trembled from fatigue. As he reached for the tap, he felt the treacherous chill of the metal against his skin, and when he turned it, the water flowed with a soft murmur, crashing gently against the porcelain sink.

For a moment, he simply watched the swirling water, as if expecting it to bring some form of redemption. Then, leaning forward, he gathered two handfuls and splashed the ice-cold liquid onto his face. The sharp chill bit into his skin, rushed down his spine, momentarily driving out the oppressive exhaustion of the night. As he studied his worn reflection in the mirror, a flicker of shame crossed his mind – he would have to face Dalia at breakfast looking like this.

Beside him, Regulus did the same, though his movements were less deliberate – more rushed, almost frantic. As if the water washing over his face could erase the traces of the night, as if the cold could recreate him before he fully embarked on his path. Running his fingers through his hair, he stared at his own reflection for a long while.

For a time, the only sound between them was the steady trickle of water, until Regulus finally broke the silence:

‘She’s driving me insane. I mean… Pandora.’

‘We are still not friends,’ Severus said coolly, his voice laced with fatigue. No matter how much he tried to mask it, he understood the boy all too well. Swiping away most of the lingering droplets from his face, he turned toward Regulus.

‘Go ahead to breakfast – I’ll follow later. No one should see us together.’

The younger boy adjusted his short, dark hair one last time, straightened his posture, then left Severus alone.

The muffled hum of the Great Hall sat heavily over Dalia’s thoughts. All around the long tables, students bustled through the morning rush – plates clattered, parchment rustled, owls swooped lazily beneath the high, vaulted ceiling – but Dalia barely registered any of it.

The memories of last night filled her chest with warmth. She absentmindedly twirled her spoon between her fingers, her plate untouched before her. Her head tilted slightly to the side, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. It felt as though the entire Great Hall had faded into background noise, drowned out by the echoes of her thoughts.

‘Are you all right?’ Pandora’s voice broke through her reverie.

Dalia blinked as if waking from a dream.

‘Hm? Of course.’ She smiled. ‘I just…’ she hesitated for a moment, then lowered her voice, ‘had a nice start to my morning.’

Pandora tilted her head, amusement dancing on her features, though her gaze remained sharp.

‘So someone has finally managed to distract the great spell-crafter enough to stop her from overthinking everything? What about your N.E.W.T.s?’

‘We still have time before the exams,’ Dalia shrugged.

‘Merlin’s beard.’ Pandora pressed a hand to Dalia’s forehead. ‘Are you running a fever?’

Dalia laughed.

Pandora was still watching her, but her gaze soon drifted across the hall. Regulus and Severus sat apart at the Slytherin table, yet their expressions bore an uncanny resemblance – something Pandora caught onto instantly. Regulus’s spoon tapped absently against the edge of his plate, while Severus held the Daily Prophet – borrowed from Lucius – up in front of him, his face only occasionally appearing from behind the moving photographs, as if he were trying to shut the world out entirely.

‘Interesting,’ Pandora muttered mostly to herself before turning back to Dalia. ‘Those two over there look like they haven’t slept at all.’

Only then did Dalia lift her gaze.

Her heart leapt into her throat the moment Severus’s face appeared from behind the newspaper. The sight of his exhausted features sent a faint ripple of concern through her.

Pandora crossed her arms, her sharp gaze still locked on the Slytherin table.

‘Something happened to them,’ she stated.

‘What’s with the them?’ Dalia frowned. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Honestly, you should look past the end of your nose sometimes. The world doesn’t revolve around Severus,’ Pandora whispered into her ear. Then, after a once-over, she added, ‘Though you’re not exactly looking your freshest either.’

‘Some things happened last night,’ Dalia admitted in a hushed tone, ‘but I’d rather not discuss it here. ’

Pandora rolled her eyes.

‘I’m not even sure I want to know. But I would like an explanation as to why you’re floating through your daydreams with that smile, while Severus looks like he’s feeling the exact opposite. If I had to guess, I’d say he was the something that happened.’

Dalia’s attention snapped back to Severus. Dark shadows sat heavily beneath his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his fingers clutched the Prophet tightly.

What happened to him?

The question echoed in her mind, her heartbeat quickening.

Last night had been perfect… and yet now, Severus looked as if he were in another world – another war.

Maybe he’s just tired, she tried to reassure herself, but a small, twisting knot remained in her stomach. What if he saw last night differently? What if it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me?

The thought was sudden and brutal, like a cold gust of wind.

Just then, Severus’s eyes lifted from behind the newspaper, and for a fleeting second, their gazes met. A faint, barely perceptible light flickered in his tired eyes as he saw her – a brief spark that sent warmth flooding through Dalia’s chest. He might be exhausted, he might be withdrawn… but that glance had been genuine.

And that was enough.

Then, Pandora’s words rang in her ears, and her gaze drifted across the Slytherin table. Most of the students were chatting cheerfully, sleepily chewing on toast, or hiding behind their morning papers – but none of them looked remotely as weary as Severus and Regulus.

‘I think I see what you mean now,’ she said to her friend. ‘Regulus looks just as worn out.’

Pandora drained the last drop of tea from her cup.

‘I’ll talk to him,’ she announced firmly, rising from the Ravenclaw table and preparing to head toward the Slytherins.

Dalia, however, caught her arm.

‘Don’t rush it,’ she warned. ‘You don’t want to draw unnecessary attention.’ She nodded toward Lucius.

Pandora huffed, yanking her arm free with mock annoyance, though she knew Dalia was right. She had to wait for the right moment.

The boys' behaviour at breakfast gave the girls enough to talk about for an entire day. They discussed it during breaks, whispered about it while planting wolfsbane in Herbology, exchanged notes under the desk in Quillon’s class – though the professor noticed, he couldn’t read them thanks to Dalia’s enchantment – and they didn’t stop their murmuring even during Transfiguration.

Dalia recounted the events of the previous night, not omitting the stolen blue capsules, which earned her Pandora’s disapproval.

Not that Pandora cared about the missing pills – what truly terrified her was the idea that she might, even indirectly, cause harm to Dalia. Severus had risen considerably in her esteem after what had happened, but she still didn’t trust him unconditionally, and she made sure to voice that opinion.

She could have outright declared the cold Slytherin boy a serial killer, and it wouldn’t have fazed Dalia in the slightest that day. In truth, their conversation had done a great deal to keep her from slumping over in exhaustion.

Pandora also shared a little about Regulus. Dalia had long known that her friend’s feelings for him were deeply conflicted – that despite the tenderness she felt for him, she simply couldn’t be with him, and that the pressure from her family weighed heavily on her.

But it was only that day that Pandora admitted she believed Regulus had finally opened his eyes – that he was beginning to think differently from when he first joined Voldemort’s ranks.

Dalia tried not to see reflections of her own future in their relationship. But it was difficult.

The last rays of sunlight shattered into a million golden beams through Hogwarts’ ornate stained-glass windows as Dalia bid Pandora farewell and set off toward the library. The golden light filled her with a strange warmth as she walked through the corridors. It felt as though spring had not only reached her heart but the world around her as well – beyond the windows, the faint sound of birdsong drifted through the evening air.

Nothing could pull her from her thoughts.

Except the thought itself.

From the shadows of a dimly lit corner, an arm reached out, pulling her into a tight embrace.

For a fleeting moment, she tensed – but then the familiar scent, the brush of robes against her cheek, and the warmth of the embrace dispelled her fear instantly.

Just Severus.

He buried his face in her hair and let out a deep sigh. When Dalia tilted her head up, she found a hazy longing in his eyes – like he had been waiting for this moment all day. The morning’s exhaustion still clung to his face, but his gaze was filled with energy as he looked at her.

She tried to pull away slightly, just enough to see him better, but Severus didn’t let her go. Instead, he held her even tighter.

‘Stay,’ he murmured against her ear.

‘For how long?’

‘If I said forever, would you think it was too long?’

‘No,’ Dalia looked up at him. ‘Too little.’

The corners of Severus’s eyes crinkled slightly with the trace of a smile. His fingers trailed through her hair, as if trying to convince himself that he truly had the right to hold her this close.

Dalia’s heartbeat slowed as his arms enclosed around her. For a moment, she felt as though the weight of the world had lifted from her shoulders – as if in this single embrace, she had found everything she had ever searched for.

Perhaps they stood like that for minutes, holding each other, letting go of their troubles, hidden from the rest of the world.

It was perfect.

At last, they set off together.

They walked toward the library in silence, but there was no need for words. The quiet between them was not heavy – it was a kind of peace.

Hogwarts’ library breathed softly in the lengthening afternoon shadows. Among the towering shelves, only the faint murmur of whispers and the rustling of pages stirred the stillness. Beyond the distant windows, the birdsong slowly faded into the evening hush.

Dalia and Severus sat side by side at a long oak table, surrounded by scattered parchment, ink bottles, and thick textbooks. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by the soft scratching of quills and the rustling of turning pages.

Dalia reached for a parchment, and her fingers accidentally brushed against Severus’s hand. For a brief moment, she froze, then slowly withdrew, yet she could still feel the lingering warmth of his touch on her skin. Severus, however, did not move – in fact, it almost seemed as though he let the contact linger just a little longer.

Suppressing a smile, Dalia returned to her notes, but when a stray strand of black hair fell into Severus’s face, she instinctively tucked it behind his ear.

‘I didn’t want it to bother you,’ she whispered.

Without looking at her, Severus murmured, ‘It could bother me more often.’

Amidst the quiet harmony of parchment and books, stolen moments passed between them – brief touches, sidelong glances, and those rare, honest silences where words were no longer needed.

Eventually, Dalia set down her quill.

‘I have to go. Pandora’s waiting for me – she needs some help in Charms,’ she said, though the smile on her lips betrayed the fact that she was in no hurry to leave.

‘Don’t put it off,’ Severus replied, though as she packed up her things, his gaze lingered on her movements.

Dalia paused at the back of her chair and turned slightly.

‘Don’t stay too long. Madam Pince enjoys hunting down students who stay after hours.’

Severus gave a small nod.

‘She likes me,’ he said with an air of seriousness, though Dalia caught the playful smirk threatening to form at the corners of his lips.

‘Alright, truthfully, I’m more worried about you, not her,’ she said softly. ‘You need rest.’

For a brief moment, something flickered in Severus’s eyes – something uncertain – but before he could react, Dalia had already turned away, her steps soundless as she disappeared toward the exit.

He watched her for as long as he could, until her figure vanished between the towering bookshelves.

Silence settled over the library. The warmth that had lingered just moments ago faded, and as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared beyond the arched windows, everything felt heavier, darker.

Slowly, Severus opened a thick, black-covered book. Its pages were filled with faded, reddish ink, the worn leather binding reeking of age-old magic. The book had been taken from the Restricted Section, and the musty scent clinging to its pages carried the memory of something long forgotten – something dark.

His fingers hovered over a chapter title:

Fractio Anima

As his eyes scanned the text, he lost track of time, his breath catching on the weight of the words:

"The fragmentation of the soul is the darkest act of magic. The only way to evade death is to anchor a part of one's soul to the world of the living. But such magic comes at a price: he who shatters his own soul ceases to be human..."

Severus turned the page with quiet urgency, a knot tightening in his stomach. Why would anyone want to fracture a soul? Even the thought sent a chill through him.

Yet, curiosity was stronger than fear.

His gaze caught on the word Objects along the margin, though the text offered no further explanation.

Objects… he mused. Like a necklace.

A memory surfaced – something he had overheard during the Yule Ball gathering:

"The mission is simple, yet dangerous. He who delivers the necklace to its hiding place will be made great, whoever he may be."

Even then, the question had plagued him – why would such an insignificant item be of such importance to the Dark Lord?

Perhaps this was why.

Perhaps not.

Footsteps echoed softly in the distance – Madam Pince making her rounds.

Hurriedly, Severus tore a scrap of parchment and scribbled down two words:

"Objects. Soul fragmentation."

He slipped the note into the inner pocket of his robes and shut the book.

Silence reclaimed the library. In the stillness, only the distant ticking of a clock could be heard. Severus wasn’t sure if the information was significant enough to share with Regulus.

But he had time to decide.

Chapter Text

Within the walls of Hogwarts, the pleasant warmth of May whispered the beginning of the end into the ears of the seventh years. The school’s usual bustle was slowly giving way to the tense silence before exams. The N.E.W.T.s – short for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests – hung in the air like a spectre more terrifying than any ghost. Every table in the library was occupied, stacked with textbooks, notes – and, of course, the anxious sighs of students. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and the weight of unrelenting stress.

Dalia sat hunched over a pile of books, swiftly following the lines of text as she scribbled down notes with practiced ease. Beside her, Severus wore his usual cool expression, a faint crease forming on his forehead from concentration. Yet, every so often – almost instinctively – his seriousness would crack just enough for him to let her know how he felt. A fleeting touch, a small gesture, just enough to break their quiet harmony without disrupting it.

It wasn’t noticeable, it wasn’t too much: the brush of his arm against hers, his long, slender fingers absently tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, and sometimes – whether by chance or design – his hand would rest against her thigh beneath the desk.

That last one, Dalia had yet to learn how to endure without turning a deep shade of red – even weeks later.

Severus, secretly, found this rather amusing.

This game – the stolen touches, the fleeting glances – had become a silent ritual between them. Since that night, it was as if an invisible thread connected them, drawing them toward each other no matter where they were.

On one such day, as Dalia lifted her head from her book, her gaze met a familiar yet unwelcome one.

Lily Evans stood nearby, a stack of books in her arms.

Everything was there in her sharp green eyes: resignation, disappointment, and perhaps the faintest trace of jealousy.

Dalia’s heartbeat quickened, but she didn’t speak. She only turned back to her textbooks, though her fingers clenched around her quill with white-knuckled tension.

Severus noticed the way she stiffened.

‘You don’t have to pay her any mind,’ he murmured, not looking up from his book.

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Dalia replied under her breath. ‘I think you know exactly what she thinks of me.’

‘Let her think what she wants,’ Severus said. ‘Her opinion doesn’t matter.’

Not anymore, he added silently.

Dalia didn’t answer, but warmth unfurled in her chest. Deep down, it felt good to be defended by him.

Despite the many hours they spent together, a faint shadow still lingered over their relationship.

Severus was slowly letting her in – he had told her about the Soul-Mirror Flowers and their use in the Illusion Elixir, he had spoken of the Serpent’s Lair and Voldemort’s gatherings – but there were still things he kept from her.

Dalia only saw what he allowed her to see. The darkest corners remained in shadow.

He had completely hidden his dealings with Regulus and their plan from her – not only because of his promise to the younger boy but because he feared she would interfere, especially for Pandora’s sake.

Severus drew his boundaries consciously, wherever he felt Dalia’s safety was at risk.

She knew this well, and though it bothered her, she also understood that – compared to before – this was already a significant step forward for him. But that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t feel entirely secure in their relationship.

She knew, eventually, she would have to face her own conscience. She loved someone who was drawn to the darkness. And the choices before her were anything but ideal: Accept it and go mad from the knowledge that they were fundamentally built on different values, try to change him, or let herself be consumed by the darkness as well. She saw no other path. And that terrified her.

The exams were knocking at the door, and she didn’t want to think about anything else. Not until she had gotten through this. Until then, her love for him was enough to hold their relationship together.

The stress had completely overtaken her.

The rational part of her knew it couldn’t be that bad, but that wasn’t enough to calm her down. She didn’t need to study much for Charms – and thanks to Severus, barely at all for Potions – yet she still felt as if everything else was crushing her.

Severus noticed. Not that it was difficult – her posture alone gave her away. Her shoulders were tense as she hunched over her book, and she gripped her quill so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

For a while, he simply watched as her eyes darted across the pages of her textbook, though the tip of her quill hovered hesitantly over the parchment. It had been ten minutes, and she hadn’t managed to write a single sentence.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

He recognized this. The words were there, swirling in her head, but her thoughts were moving too fast for her hand to keep up.

‘Your ink won’t move on its own,’ he murmured.

Dalia flinched.

‘What?’ she blinked up at him suddenly. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes, and a faint crease had formed on her forehead.

‘You’ve been staring at the same sentence for five minutes.’

At first, Dalia didn’t even process what he had said. She simply stared ahead for a moment – then let out a soft laugh. It was tired, almost hopeless.

‘I just… I’m not making as much progress as I should,’ she mumbled.

Severus exhaled quietly, then leaned in and gently plucked the quill from her fingers.

‘Then stop for a bit,’ came his deep, raspy voice.

‘I can’t. There’s barely any time left before the exams,’ Dalia protested, though her voice lacked strength.

Severus didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he simply watched her for a moment. Then, with slow deliberation, he traced his fingers lightly across the back of her hand – a single touch, but surprisingly effective.

‘If you keep going like this, you’ll either completely burn out or start making mistakes. Neither will help you,’ he said quietly.

Then, clearing his throat, he spoke again, as if preparing to say something he had been considering for a while.

‘Come with me.’

‘Where?’

‘That’s a surprise,’ he said, standing up.

Dalia hesitated for a brief moment.

But the thought of escaping this cycle, even just for a little while, was stronger than her doubts.

‘Just a short break,’ Severus added.

And though he wore his usual mask of indifference, Dalia could see it clearly – he was worried about her.

Regulus smiled. From a secluded corner of the library, he had accidentally overheard Dalia and Severus’s conversation. He turned his gaze away from where they sat and returned to his own parchment, tapping its surface absentmindedly with the tip of his quill, leaving behind a blotch of black ink.

His thoughts were elsewhere. In that stolen moment, he couldn’t suppress the sharp sting of envy as he watched them – the effortless, fragile harmony between them. It wasn’t even them, specifically, that he envied. It was the fact that they were free, that they had someone to lean on.

He had never been given that.

The friendship he had experienced through Pandora had never been allowed to flourish. It was never unconditional, yet he had accepted its conditions anyway.

The book before him was thick and covered in dust, its leather binding inscribed with barely legible runes. Once again, he was searching for information on peculiar objects – objects capable of splitting a soul in two.

The margins were filled with hurried notes, scribbled questions, speculations, and frustrated scratches of ink. Severus had helped him before, at least in the sense that he had shared what he knew: the theory of soul fragmentation, traces of dark rituals, and the possible significance of the locket in all of this. But he had said no more. And he had stopped looking.

He didn’t want to be more involved than that.

"This is your war, Regulus." Severus’s words echoed in his mind. And he had been right.

This was his battle. No one else would fight it.

Not even Severus, who teetered between the Dark Lord and his own convictions as if there was still a way back.

Regulus clenched his fist. He had long passed that point. For him, there was no way back. The locket haunted his thoughts over and over again. It was the only fixed point in this wretched game.

All that mattered now was timing.

He had to wait until the Dark Lord gave the order – until he was entrusted with the task of delivering the locket to its hiding place. That would be the moment to act. But it also meant he might never return.

He had accepted this fate. Not because he wanted to be a hero.

But for Pandora.

For Sirius.

For Severus.

For everyone who had suffered because of this war.

And ultimately…

For himself.

For once, he wanted to make the right choice.

His black quill tapped against the parchment once more. By the next meeting, he had to be ready. He couldn’t make a mistake.

With a sharp movement, he slammed the book shut. It let out a loud creak in protest. Pushing back his chair, he stood. He had made up his mind.

He would find Pandora and tell her what he was planning.

He could never have her, yet she was the only friend he could trust. The only one who – though she didn’t agree with him – would listen and offer advice.

He stepped outside, knowing he would likely find her basking in the May sunlight. The golden light filtered through the towering spires of Hogwarts, casting the castle’s gardens in a warm glow. The scent of spring drifted through the air, and the wind playfully tousled the leaves of the trees.

He found Pandora in the courtyard, leaning against the old oak tree, her nose buried in a thick textbook on magical history. The only sound marking his approach was the soft scuff of his black shoes against the stone path.

Without lifting her head, Pandora smiled faintly.

‘Hello, Reggie.’

A smile crept onto Regulus’s face at the nickname. For a moment, the reason he had come here slipped from his mind. Pandora had always been the calm within his storm.

‘Hey, Panda.’

For a moment, he just watched her.

Pandora’s hair gleamed in the sunlight, a few stray strands drifting across her face in the breeze. As she brushed them away, the movement was so simple, so natural, that Regulus almost forgot everything weighing on him.

‘You’re unusually quiet,’ Pandora remarked, glancing up from her book. ‘Is it just the exams… or is something wrong?’

Regulus sighed, his thoughts once again consumed by the fateful task ahead.

‘A little of both, maybe.’

Pandora closed her book, her curious gaze studying him intently.

‘What happened?’

Regulus stared down at the tip of his shoe, unwilling to meet her eyes.

‘There’s something I need to tell you…’ he began quietly. ‘Something that’s been on my mind for a while. I’ve been searching for something…’

A part of him refused to speak. If he told her his plan, maybe it would bring them closer. Or maybe it would push her away forever. He didn’t know how she would react. But it was burning inside him, desperate to be spoken aloud.

‘Just say it, Reggie,’ Pandora urged, a hint of impatience in her voice. ‘You can trust me,’ she added, her gaze searching his face with quiet intensity. ‘Besides, it’s hard to imagine you saying something that would truly surprise me.’

Still, he didn’t look up.

‘I think… I have a chance. A chance to end this. To erase it.’

Hesitantly, he gestured toward the fabric of his robes, beneath which lay the Dark Mark. Concern flickered across Pandora’s face, her gaze drifting to his arm.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, it was as if she could read his thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was softer still.

‘You shouldn’t have to do this alone. It’s too dangerous.’

‘I – ’ Regulus started, but before he could finish, a voice interrupted.

‘Pandora!’

A slightly hoarse but enthusiastic voice called out from beneath the archways. Both of them turned toward the sound.

Xenophilius Lovegood was approaching, a single blue cornflower in his hand. When he reached Pandora, he tucked it into her hair with an easy, casual motion.

‘Brought this for you.’

Regulus swore he could hear something inside him break.

Pandora’s bright smile lit up the courtyard, and for a moment, it was as if their previous conversation had completely slipped from her mind. Her expression was warm and effortless – so starkly different from the cold knot of pain twisting in Regulus’s stomach.

For a moment, he felt utterly invisible.

Pandora, meanwhile, adjusted the flower proudly.

‘How do I look?’ she asked both of them.

‘Beautiful,’ Xenophilius declared confidently.

‘Like a fairy,’ Regulus murmured under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

The bitter ache in his chest tightened. He knew that if he stayed a moment longer, he would lose all strength.

Clearing his throat, he muttered, ‘I have to go.’

With a brief nod, he turned to leave. But something inside him didn’t want to go. He didn’t want it to end like this. He wanted to grab her wrist. To make her look at him. To tell her everything. But he didn’t. Because as he watched her smile at Xenophilius, carefree and happy, he realized – he had no right to take that from her.

And what would be the point? She didn’t love him.

Not like that. It was too late.

And this only solidified one thing in his mind: He truly had nothing left to lose.

As he walked away, Pandora called after him, her voice light but carrying something heavier beneath it:

‘Take care of yourself, Reggie!’

Regulus paused. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t look at her. But he felt the words sear into his soul, as if they carried some final, unspoken verdict.

The wind stirred his robes as he took a slow, deliberate step forward.

Then another.

And soon, the castle swallowed his shadow whole.

Chapter Text

Severus paced anxiously in front of Dalia along the castle corridors, wringing his hands. He could only hope that every detail of his surprise awaited the girl's arrival in perfect condition. His thoughts raced wildly. Would she like it? What if she didn’t, and he had asked Lucius for the password in vain? He had put so much effort into it – he couldn't mess this up. Where had this idea even come from? Romance wasn’t his strength – and yet, somehow, this felt more important than any potion he had ever brewed. He shook his head. No – he thought – he wouldn’t ruin this. He knew what she needed, and he was going to prove it.

Dalia almost had to run after him, struggling to keep pace. She had no idea what this supposed surprise could be. How could she even think of anything else when her mind was occupied with her exams? She had no time for outings, and this certainly seemed like one as they climbed four flights of stairs. However, when they reached the fifth floor and she spotted the statue of Boris the Bewildered, she began to suspect their destination.

Severus stopped in front of the fourth intricately carved door, its silver relief depicting a flowing water curtain embracing the prefects' crest.

‘Glass on water,’ he murmured, and as the door opened, he gestured for Dalia to step inside.

‘How did you…’ she stammered.

Severus responded with a lopsided smirk.

‘There are advantages to having a prefect as a roommate.’

Dalia hesitated at the entrance, glancing into the misty room filled with the scent of herbs and cleanliness. The taut surface of the bath reflected the painted stained-glass window of a mermaid, while beyond the pool's edge, fresh towels and robes awaited the weary visitor.

She halted.

She could almost hear her own heartbeat. She hadn’t expected Severus to prepare something so meticulously, down to the last detail, exactly what she needed the most. She didn’t even know what to say.

Her fingers touched the hem of her robe as if she instinctively sought something to hold onto. That single moment on the threshold stretched endlessly, as if she hadn’t yet decided whether she truly deserved this fleeting peace. But then she let go of her thoughts and stepped inside.

‘Rosemary, thyme, and… lavender,’ she whispered. ‘As if someone knew I needed a little tranquillity.’

She turned to Severus. At first, she simply looked at him with gratitude, but that wasn’t enough – soon, she found herself throwing her arms around his neck.

‘Thank you, Severus.’

A massive weight lifted from his chest. So, it had been a good idea after all. He returned the hug, burying his face in the nape of her neck, letting the scents of herbs and her skin blend together. Was this why he had been in such a hurry? Just to see Dalia’s smile in exchange for a single embrace? Absurd. And yet, he didn’t mind.

‘I hope you like it,’ he said, his voice trembling slightly. He gently pulled away, cleared his throat, and nodded towards the door. ‘I should probably…’ he began, but Dalia’s hand closed around his wrist, stopping him mid-motion.

At first, the boy didn’t even notice, only when he tried to take a step back – there was a gentle yet firm resistance stopping him, and that’s when he realized that Dalia wasn’t letting go.

‘You don’t have to leave,’ the girl said softly, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

Severus swallowed.

‘I don’t have to…? What?’ he asked, as if he wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly.

Dalia looked at him with a faint smile, her gaze tender but playfully glinting. With her thumb, she traced small circles on the back of Severus’s hand, as if trying to soothe him.

‘Stay a little,’ she pleaded. ‘A bit of rest would do you good, too.’

Severus thought. Or at least he tried to, but his thoughts scattered chaotically, rushing in too many directions at once.

The realization that in just a few moments neither of them would be wearing clothes hit him unexpectedly. His stomach clenched as if he had taken a well-aimed blow, and every bit of knowledge, every thought he had ever formed seemed to vanish from his mind at once.

He licked his dry lips and lowered his gaze.

‘Dalia, I…’ he began, but couldn’t finish.

Of course, he couldn’t. What could he have possibly said?

Dalia took advantage of his hesitation and slowly pulled him closer.

‘You know,’ she whispered softly, ‘you don’t have to if you don’t want to. If you tell me you don’t, I’ll let you go. But I don’t think that’s the case.’

Severus let out a quiet, frustrated sound. He could feel that his body had already decided what his mind was still trying to deny. There was no escape – and he didn’t want to escape.

Dalia leaned in closer, her lips ghosting along his jawline.

‘Just for a little while…’ she murmured against his skin.

Severus sighed.

‘Bloody hell,’ he finally whispered, and his hands slowly slid to her waist as the door behind them clicked shut.

He took a step back and nervously reached for the clasp of his robes, but his fingers were clumsy. As he finally managed to undo the fastening, he could almost hear his own heartbeat. The steam of the bath instantly wrapped around him as his robes pooled to the floor.

Dalia watched him in silence, and with a small smile, she let her own cloak slip from her shoulders. She didn’t rush, didn’t hurry. Every movement felt like part of a carefully composed melody.

Severus, however… well, he was far less graceful.

As he practically yanked off his tie and reached for the buttons of his shirt, he became acutely aware of Dalia’s gaze. It made him twice as clumsy. He got stuck on the third button, nearly tore off the fourth. A low growl escaped his lips.

‘Brilliant… My clothes are conspiring against me,’ he muttered, possibly only to himself.

Dalia stifled a smile.

‘Let me help,’ she offered, carefully reaching over to undo the troublesome button.

Severus stood rigid, as if he had entirely forgotten how to breathe. With meticulous precision, she swiftly unfastened the remaining buttons, but she didn’t strip him of the garment entirely.

‘It might be easier if I don’t look at you,’ she whispered, then turned away and started unbuttoning her own shirt.

Severus figured it was only fair if he did the same. This time, he focused on the door in front of him, and immediately realized she was right – it was indeed easier this way. He shrugged off the last of his clothing and became aware that he could no longer hear the rustle of Dalia’s uniform against her skin.

A new sound reached his ears: the water rippling as Dalia stepped into it. She sank into the herbal bath slowly, and to mask her own unease, she turned on the taps. Water gushed from the large brass pipes, and within moments, foam covered the surface.

Severus waited patiently, yet he couldn’t help but steal a glance. He glanced sideways, as if instinctively checking that everything was alright – but as his gaze travelled down the curve of her back, his heart skipped a beat. Dalia sank deeper into the water, the bubbles gently embracing her bare skin, and the moisture darkened her strands of hair, making them cling to the nape of her neck.

Severus quickly averted his eyes. He swallowed hard.

Every tiny detail of her was beautiful.

As soon as the girl was at a safe distance, Severus lowered himself into the hot water as well. He moved carefully, making sure to create as few ripples as possible. The heat enveloped his body, while the fragrant steam of the herbs clouded his senses. Dalia stood with her back to him, eyes closed, basking in the warmth of the scented, white softness surrounding her. Sunlight barely found its way through the stained-glass windows, but the glow of the bath’s lanterns danced across the gentle curve of her shoulders.

After a moment, Dalia spoke, her voice softly echoing in the quiet bath.

‘I never would have guessed you had such a talent for indulgence.’

Neither would I, Severus thought.

As if she had read his mind, Dalia opened her eyes and glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

‘And yet you knew exactly what I needed.’

Severus fixed his gaze on the foam floating on the water’s surface, hesitating slightly as he reached toward it, trying to cover himself as best he could.

‘Maybe… I’ve spent too much time with you not to notice,’ he muttered quietly.

Dalia smiled, then turned to face him completely.

‘And what is it that you need, Severus?’

He parted his lips to answer but suddenly found he didn’t know what to say. Dalia’s nearness, the glistening of water on her damp skin, the scents, the warmth – everything blurred his thoughts more and more.

‘I don’t know,’ he finally admitted.

‘I think you do,’ Dalia remarked, trailing her fingers along the water’s surface. ‘You just don’t want to say it.’

The water around them was almost still, yet Severus felt as if he were being pulled into a whirlpool. He closed his eyes for a moment, then, as if some strange courage had awoken in him, he slid closer to her.

‘And what do you think it is that I’m afraid to say?’ he asked, his voice low and resonant.

Dalia only watched him, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. She wanted him to know that as long as he took care of her, he couldn’t go wrong. Her confidence was genuine, but deep inside, she trembled as well. Not out of fear – but because this was the most intimate moment of her life so far, and Severus was the first she had let this close.

Slowly, she leaned in, whispering just barely audibly into his ear:

‘I think you know the answer.’

The warm water embraced them as Dalia gradually pressed herself against Severus. The movement was both deliberate and exploratory.

His lips met hers hesitantly at first. But as Dalia’s fingers slid up his neck, threading into his hair, her lips yielding to the kiss, all thoughts evaporated from his mind.

The kiss deepened. They explored each other more eagerly, more impatiently, as if each touch led to a new discovery. Dalia barely pulled away before whispering against his lips:

‘You’re very tense.’

‘I’m not tense,’ Severus murmured, but his words seemed meaningless when Dalia’s lips brushed against his neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses. The tension seeped from his body, but another kind – one gathering in his lap – only intensified.

Dalia smiled as she watched his face, her pupils dark as she traced her fingers along his jaw.

‘Just relax,’ she whispered.

For Severus, this was the moment he fully surrendered. He pulled her closer, capturing her lips with an urgency, as if her kisses held the last breath of air.

Dalia’s lips parted slightly as he left her mouth, leaning toward her neck.

His breath ghosted over her skin, hot and shivering with anticipation, as his lips neared the sensitive spot behind her ear. For a fleeting second, he hesitated, as if uncertain how far he could go, then gently nipped at her earlobe. Dalia shuddered, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her hand instinctively slid to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the inky black strands, holding him there.

Severus’s lips curled into a faint smile at her reaction, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in once more, this time tracing a path down the curve of her neck with his lips, each kiss bolder than the last.

His hand moved in the opposite direction, gliding up from her waist. His lips came to rest at her collarbone, while his right hand finally reached its destination – her breast. He hesitated for a moment, searching her eyes. When she gave him a soft, reassuring smile and nodded, his fingers slowly, gently explored the newly claimed territory, moving in delicate, circular motions.

Dalia’s breath caught at his touch. She couldn’t recall the last time she had felt this light, this free – as if all her nervousness had dissipated into the sigh-laden, fragrant steam. They had stepped into a world where Severus was not guilty, and no one expected her to judge him anymore.

The water around them rippled softly, betraying every small movement. Dalia’s thighs brushed against his hips, and Severus stiffened as she pulled him closer. His senses were overwhelmed – heat thrummed beneath his skin, and her scent, her touch, the quiet sighs escaping her lips with each movement were utterly maddening.

It was just the two of them, and the moment felt infinite.

Their passion unfolded slowly at first, hesitant and careful, before an invisible force seemed to pull them together. All hesitation dissolved. Their touches grew more urgent, their breaths mingling as the water enclosed them in its warmth.

And then, everything stilled.

Dalia’s head rested against Severus’s chest. The hot water gently cradled their bodies, the scent of herbs thick in the air, while the dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows painted shifting patterns on the walls.

Severus held her as if he never wanted to let go. Never in his life had he imagined he would experience something like this. He had never believed that someone would touch him this way – without fear, without hesitation. As if he were worthy of being loved.

Only one thought troubled him: that he could not give her the world forever.

Slowly, he let out a breath. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. Relief? Joy? Fear? A part of him wanted to believe this was real, while another part was terrified that one day, it would disappear. That the world he had just allowed himself to taste had never truly been meant for him.

Because what if this feeling was fragile? What if his happiness existed only by the grace of the present moment?

Dalia shifted, tilting her head up to look at him. Her gaze was soft, warm – her brown eyes shimmering in the dim light. Every muscle in her body had relaxed, as if all the tension of the past months had melted away in a single, heated sigh.

She wasn’t even sure what she had expected. That it would be frightening? Strange? Perhaps it had been, for the briefest moment. But then… it had simply felt natural.

She opened her eyes fully, looking up to see Severus. His eyes were closed, his face marked by an unusual, uncertain serenity. Dalia knew his mind was racing with a thousand thoughts.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked softly.

‘That I don’t really deserve you.’

Dalia smiled and gently traced her thumb along the curve of his hooked nose. She loved this unique feature of his.

‘That’s nonsense,’ she replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Everything felt peaceful, effortless – as if the outside world, the exams, and the looming shadow of war had all been left beyond this small sanctuary.

Somewhere far beyond the thick walls of Hogwarts, the world was shifting. The approaching storm was already forming on the horizon, the sky darkening to shades of grey, eerie shadows beginning to stretch and creep.

But in that moment, none of it mattered.

Right now, there was only them, the warm water, the tender touches, and the promise of their love.

Chapter Text

Contrary to her initial expectations, the N.E.W.T. exams turned out to be much easier for Dalia – except for History of Magic, she passed every subject with Outstanding marks, which she was quite satisfied with. Severus, however, spent days grumbling after the results were announced – despite receiving nearly all Outstandings as well, his unexpected Charms score frustrated him immensely.

‘As if we hadn’t practiced nearly every day,’ he muttered on the last day, fidgeting with the lacquer on his wand as he and Dalia hurried to the Great Hall for the end-of-year feast. ‘Quillon has it out for me.’

‘Are you surprised?’ Dalia asked. ‘After what you – ’

‘Yes, but she doesn’t know that,’ Severus cut her off. Behind the frustration on his face, there was a flicker of regret.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Dalia said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, offering him a soothing smile. ‘It’s over. We did it. No more exams, no more essays – we’re free.’

Severus caught her deep brown eyes for a moment, but just as quickly looked away, pretending his shoes were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

A rush of water-laced memories flooded his mind. The images were hazy, the surroundings blurred, but Dalia was crystal clear – soft skin in his arms, the delicate floral scent, and the raw, unfiltered desire in her expression when he had slid into her…

He needed to pull himself together.

By the time they entered the Great Hall, he had composed himself. His expression was unreadable, making it impossible to tell that just moments ago, in his mind, he had been back in the prefects’ bath, basking in that warmth once again.

The vast hall buzzed with the chatter of students and professors, all slightly weary from the year but eager for the celebratory feast. The air was thick with the aroma of delicious food. Dalia and Severus parted ways as if they had never known each other – yet secretly, they kept seeking each other’s gaze, as if afraid they might forget the other’s face if they lost sight of it for even a moment.

A strange feeling settled in Dalia’s chest. This was the last time they would all be together like this at Hogwarts. The thought that they would soon leave it all behind and step into an entirely new world still felt foreign to her. She wasn’t sad, she wasn’t disappointed, but the weight of the farewell pressed down on her as she dropped into the seat beside Pandora.

‘Look at this,’ Pandora said, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear to reveal a new earring shaped like a sunflower. There was a peculiar detail about it – the centre of the flower spun in a hypnotic swirl, as if trying to capture the gaze of anyone who looked at it. ‘Xen gave it to me,’ she grinned.

‘It’s… quite unique. Really… thoughtful of him,’ Dalia replied, her voice slightly uneven. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or if the earring truly made her dizzy, but she decided it would be best to avoid looking at it directly.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore took his place at the podium and cleared his throat. That small gesture was enough to silence the entire hall.

‘This year, many of Hogwarts’ students have demonstrated knowledge, bravery, friendship, and perseverance. However, I am warning all of you – do not lean back in complacency. Darkness will find its way into more places, but it is up to you whether it succeeds. Stay courageous, kind, loyal, and wise, and no harm shall come to you,’ he said before raising his wand toward the enchanted ceiling. ‘And this year’s House Cup winner is…’ he began, as the sound of a drumroll echoed in the background.

‘Gryffindor!’

At the sound of the announcement, an earth-shattering cheer erupted, and the Great Hall was instantly draped in red: flags bearing the proud lion of Gryffindor hung from the ceiling. Hats flew into the air, and nothing seemed capable of dampening the Gryffindor students’ joy. The four Marauders were the loudest of them all – Sirius and Remus jumped up, throwing their arms around each other, James lifted Lily into the air, while Peter climbed onto the bench, cheering at the top of his lungs.

The other houses joined in polite applause, though with much less enthusiasm. Dalia continued searching for Severus’s gaze as her hands clapped mechanically. He let out a derisive snort at the result but otherwise remained impassive.

Something felt off. Dalia could sense it, yet she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was causing the unease creeping up her spine. It was as if shadows had seeped into the sudden burst of joy. The Slytherin table was unusually silent, which surprised her – normally, they were the loudest in booing the undefeated Gryffindors. Regulus looked tense; he hadn’t touched his food since the feast began, one hand clenched tightly around his goblet while the other rested in a white-knuckled fist on the table.

As the hall quieted once more, waiting for the headmaster to continue his speech, Bruce Mulciber rose from his seat beside Severus. One by one, other Slytherins followed – Edmund, Evan, Regulus, and Lucius among them.

Evan let out an eerie laugh.

‘You really believed it, didn’t you?’ he sneered, pointing his wand toward the enchanted ceiling. His laughter sent a heavy, suffocating silence rolling through the Great Hall. Along with the others who had stood, he donned a mask – the mask of the Death Eaters. In unison, they raised their wands and cast enchantments at the enchanted ceiling. It responded with thick storm clouds, rolling thunder, and flashes of lightning. The decorations shifted as well: the banners turned black, and where the Gryffindor crest had once been, the Dark Mark now loomed.

Dalia and Pandora exchanged horrified glances.

‘Reggie…’ Pandora mouthed, tears welling in her eyes.

Dalia squeezed her hand and shook her head, silently urging her to stay still. This was not the time to act rashly. She searched for Severus again, but he didn’t look at her. Secretly, she was relieved that he had remained seated – yet she still wanted to see him. She needed to know what he was thinking at that moment. Physically, he wasn’t among them – but was he absent in thought as well?

The masked figures rolled up their sleeves, revealing the Dark Mark glowing on their forearms.

‘Let this be a message to every Mudblood,’ one of the Death Eaters proclaimed, raising his arm high. ‘There is no mercy!’

The entire hall seemed to freeze, as if enchanted into stillness. Only one person broke the paralysis – Lily Evans shot up from the Gryffindor table.

‘Do something, Professor!’ she shouted at Dumbledore.

The headmaster didn’t move. He waited.

Dalia studied his face. He was unreadable, as always, and at that moment, it seemed as though he knew something no one else in the castle even suspected. Then, wordlessly, he nodded.

At the Gryffindor table, glances were exchanged – silent messages passed between those who had been waiting for this very moment. Sirius and James locked eyes, and as if they had practiced this for years, they drew their wands.

‘Expelliarmus!’ James shouted, his wand aimed at one of the masked figures.

Like a battle cry, James’s Disarming Charm ignited the fight. Every member of the Order of the Phoenix present, along with many students, sprang into action against the Death Eaters. Red and green flashes of light collided midair, plates shattered, and desperate screams filled the Great Hall. Within seconds, the duel was over – the masked figures blocked a few spells before vanishing into plumes of black smoke, leaving behind shattered windows and an eerie darkness.

A sudden chill swept through the hall, as if all joy had been drained from the room, replaced by something far colder. It felt as though the very air had been replaced with dementors.

The Great Hall was filled with desperate cries, shouts, and wailing. The first-years were the most affected – they were the ones who gave the loudest voice to their fear.

‘SILENCE!’ Dumbledore’s voice thundered through the hall, and a heavy hush fell over the room. ‘There is no need for panic. Your Heads of House and prefects will escort you to the platform. I ask everyone to stay with them – no one is to wander off.’

The students rose hesitantly, whispering among themselves, but despite the chaos, they followed their house leaders in an orderly manner.

Pandora didn’t stand immediately. She braced her elbows against the table, pressing her hands over her ears, as if trying to block out the guttural voices that had come from behind the masks. She wanted to erase the image burned into her mind – the moment the Dark Mark had flashed simultaneously on her cousin’s arm and one of her closest friends’. She couldn’t cry anymore, not at this point. Sadness had given way to sheer terror.

Dalia rubbed her back gently, unable to even imagine what the girl was going through.

‘We have to go. Hey, it’s going to be okay,’ she tried to reassure her. ‘We’re going home.’

Pandora nodded unconsciously.

Where is home? she asked herself, but no answer came. Until now, Hogwarts had been her home, but she didn’t know where she would find it after this. As she looked around at the wrecked hall, the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor, she realized this place would never be the same again – at least not the way she had known it.

As she stood up, she reached for Dalia’s shoulder to steady herself.

‘You’re not leaving me, are you?’

Dalia hooked her arm around hers, offering support as she shook her head.

‘No, Panda, I’m not leaving you. It’ll be alright,’ she repeated like a mantra, then guided her friend as they followed the line of Ravenclaws heading toward the courtyard.

Before long, Xenophilius appeared beside them, his long blond hair jingling softly from the tiny crystals woven into one of his side locks. He extended an arm toward Pandora, offering her a supportive hold.

‘May I?’

Pandora accepted his arm but didn’t let go of Dalia either – she felt like she needed every bit of support she could get in that moment.

Xenophilius reached into his robes and pulled out a bracelet adorned with onyx crystals, gently fastening it around Pandora’s wrist.

‘You need protection. You too, Aliad, but I don’t have any more onyx with me,’ he added, turning to Dalia. It was his habit to say her name backward, believing it warded off bad luck. ‘I’m certain this wasn’t a coincidence,’ he mused, raising an eyebrow. ‘We should expect even greater calamities soon. Voldemort is afraid for his power.’

‘Afraid of what?’ came a familiar, gruff voice from beside Dalia. ‘Even Dumbledore fears him.’

‘Severus!’ A surprised smile spread across Dalia’s face. ‘What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with the Slytherins?’

‘Not anymore. From now on, we belong to no house.’

Xenophilius cleared his throat.

‘I don’t deal with Death Eaters,’ he declared.

‘If I were one, I would have disappeared with the masked ones half an hour ago. As you can see, I’m still here. But suit yourself – I can’t dictate what you believe. You manage just fine on your own, putting your faith in nonsense, don’t you?’

‘I do not,’ Xenophilius sniffed indignantly. ‘You underestimate the power of belief, Severus. Prophecies and divinations rule this world, whether you like it or not. Do you know Sybill? No one understands the secrets of the stars better than she does – you could learn a thing or two from her,’ he mused.

Severus didn’t answer, just shook his head. What a ridiculous notion. The world was ruled by power and choices, not by the dregs at the bottom of a teacup.

He and Dalia exchanged a knowing smile.

All four of them shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express for the long journey home. Pandora had withdrawn to the window seat, resting her forehead against the cool glass, spending most of the trip in quiet solitude, as if searching for something in the endless green fields. Dalia sat across from her, feverishly sketching – the house's details she would soon call her own filling the parchment. Severus was absorbed in a book, while Xenophilius, seated opposite him, was engrossed in the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

‘This is garbage,’ he suddenly snapped, startling the others from their thoughts.

‘Why do you say that?’ Dalia asked. ‘Are they lying?’

‘Oh, absolutely! Like running water! Rita Skeeter is a conniving, character-assassinating harpy! And they call this journalism? Just read this,’ he huffed, handing the newspaper to Dalia.

"Ex-Criminal to Head Ravenclaw House – Exclusive Interview with Morgaine Quillon" blared the front page. Beneath the headline was a particularly unflattering photo of their professor – one that, in Dalia’s opinion, hardly did justice to her natural beauty. The picture had caught her mid-grimace, making her look harsher than she truly was.

‘"Professor Quillon has a questionable background,"’ Dalia read aloud. ‘"She previously served as a guest lecturer at Castelobruxo, the wizarding school hidden within Brazil’s rainforests. In an exclusive interview, she revealed that the school actively studies ancient magic, including certain ethically dubious enchantments – ones that remain strictly regulated across all of Britain."’

She exhaled sharply. ‘She lies without actually lying. Clever.’

‘Precisely,’ Xenophilius agreed. ‘But it’s more than enough to stir up a storm among parents and turn them against Quillon, all out of fear. Do you think she’ll still have a job come September?’

‘I doubt it,’ Dalia muttered, her fingers tightening around the newspaper. The thought unsettled her – how a single headline could ruin an entire career. What would Quillon do now?

Xenophilius straightened as if preparing to deliver an impassioned speech.

‘The wizarding world doesn’t have to rely on this filth anymore – there’s a solution!’ he declared, spreading his arms. ‘We must create a new paper! One that speaks only the truth!’

‘Keep dreaming,’ Severus remarked dryly. ‘Do you really think the Prophet won’t launch a smear campaign against you the moment you try?’

Xenophilius visibly bristled, his face turning red as he jabbed a finger toward Severus.

‘Tell me, are you always this insufferably sour?’

Dalia stifled a quiet laugh.

Severus was just about to retort with something equally sharp when a knock at the compartment door interrupted them. At first, Dalia only registered the familiar ginger strands, then Lily Evans’s weary face as she cast a hesitant glance at Severus.

‘Severus, can I speak with you for a moment?’ she asked, leaning slightly into the compartment.

Severus’s eyes flicked first to Dalia, as if seeking her approval. She smiled and gave him a small nod, signalling that he could go if he wanted to. With that, he stood and followed Lily out into the corridor.

Dalia couldn’t suppress the tightening in her stomach. She had a bad feeling about this.

‘What an unlucky girl,’ Xenophilius commented, watching Lily leave. ‘She’s got a flower name, and it’s not even reversible!’

Lily’s gaze darted around the space, carefully avoiding Severus’s eyes, as if even by accident, she might look into them.

‘I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,’ she said softly. ‘As you can see, we don’t know what tomorrow will bring… and I don’t want my last memory of you to be anger.’

‘I see,’ he managed to say at last. ‘I don’t want you to be angry with me either.’

Then Lily stepped closer and threw her arms around his neck.

‘Take care, Sev,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t go hugging the bat, or you might get stuck to him!’ Sirius’s voice rang out from one of the compartments.

At that, Lily abruptly turned on her heel and hurried back to her own cabin. Severus stood frozen in place, watching nothing but the swaying red curls disappearing. He knew he didn’t need her anymore, knew that she was part of his past, and that he already loved someone else. And yet… some small part of him had never wanted it to end this way. It felt as if his heart had sunk several feet into the ground.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 ¾ under the cover of darkness, only a few flickering lights illuminating the figures of waiting relatives on the platform. Dalia, Severus, Pandora, and Xenophilius stepped out of their compartment with mixed emotions. Pandora let out a heavy sigh.

‘I don’t want to go home. I have no desire to play the proper young lady.’

‘You do know you don’t have to, right? The Dawlish house is mine, and you’re welcome anytime. Isn’t that right, Severus?’

The boy nodded.

Pandora shot her friend a look of disbelief as she stepped off the train onto the platform.

‘You’re moving in together? That’s something neither of you thought to mention?’ she huffed, setting down her heavy trunk and placing her hands on her hips.

‘It didn’t seem important,’ Dalia shrugged.

‘You need a third wheel?’ Pandora teased.

‘Please, Panda, don’t be like this – I mean it seriously.’

‘Well, I’m alone, and there’s a spare room for you,’ Xenophilius cut in. ‘If you don’t mind the sound of my typewriter and if you’d help me revolutionize wizarding journalism, you’d be most welcome.’

He bowed theatrically and extended his arm toward her.

Severus and Dalia exchanged knowing glances – they understood that Xenophilius’ offer wasn’t just about journalism. It was a new beginning and a promise of hope for Pandora, too.

‘If you ever need to, you know where to find me,’ Dalia said with a wink.

‘Well then, we…’ Severus reached for Dalia’s hand.

‘…are going home,’ Dalia finished his sentence.

She took one last look around the platform. An era had ended here – and another had just begun. Hand in hand, Severus and Dalia disapparated home.

Chapter Text

Severus and Dalia waded through knee-high grass as they landed in the meadow near Ottery St Catchpole, carefully balancing their heavy trunks to keep them from sinking into the damp earth.

‘Do you want me to carry your trunk too?’ Severus asked, glancing at Dalia.

‘No need, I can manage. Just hold my hand,’ she smiled at him.

About a hundred meters ahead stood the grand, tower-like Dawlish house, illuminated only by the stars and the soft glow of firefly-lit lanterns leading up to the entrance. The structure loomed crookedly atop the hill, encircled by a rickety wooden fence, and its garden overflowed with various magical plants.

Severus gazed at his new home with something close to awe – it looked far more welcoming than the house on Spinner’s End. Guilt weighed on his chest for leaving his mother behind, but he knew all too well that if he were forced to share a household with his father for long, nothing good would come of it – for either of them. Especially now that he could finally use magic freely.

A concrete staircase led up to the front door, where, standing on the middle steps, Mr. and Mrs. Dawlish waved eagerly. The feeling was mutual – Dalia and Severus were just as excited. But as the parents’ faces became clearer in the dim light, Severus’s stomach somersaulted. He dreaded what they would think of him.

‘Ah, Severus, right? Welcome to our home,’ Dalia’s father greeted warmly, extending his hand. ‘Dalia has told us so much about you.’

‘Good evening, sir,’ Severus replied, shaking his hand and trying to appear as confident as possible. He wanted to make a good impression.

‘Hello, Severus,’ Eleanor greeted him with a smile. ‘Come inside, the meat pie is still warm.’

Mrs. Dawlish had gone all out –  the dinner table was piled with food. Alongside the meat pie, there was onion soup, mashed potatoes, stuffed turkey, and for dessert, pudding.

‘Eat up, children,’ the lady of the house urged, scooping a generous portion of mashed potatoes onto Severus’s plate.

Dalia smirked quietly to herself. She knew her parents wouldn’t have made such a fuss just for her – clearly, they had been anticipating Severus’s arrival even more than hers.

‘A bit of Firewhiskey, Severus?’ Mr. Dawlish asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer before pouring the golden liquid into a crystal glass. ‘There we go. One for you, one for me.’ He filled his own glass as well.

‘Don’t get him drunk, Thaddeus! They didn’t drink at Hogwarts; he won’t handle it like you do,’ Eleanor scolded her husband with a sharp look.

‘Oh, come now,’ Mr. Dawlish waved off her concern. ‘Think about what we were doing at their age. You should be glad if alcohol is all they’ve been up to,’ he said, pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek.

‘Sorry,’ Dalia mouthed apologetically to Severus.

‘Don’t worry, little girl, you’re drinking too,’ her father said with a grin, uncorking a bottle of mead and pouring glasses for his wife and daughter. ‘Cheers!’

Severus struggled to steady the trembling in his hands, a symptom of his lingering anxiety, as they clinked their glasses together. Sensing his unease, Dalia slid her hand onto his knee under the table, hoping to soothe him – but the only result was that Severus tipped back his glass in one swift motion, downing the drink in a single gulp.

‘See, dear? Told you so,’ Thaddeus said approvingly, casting a proud glance at Severus. ‘He’ll be just fine.’

The first part of dinner passed in relative silence, with only light topics surfacing between bites. But as the amount of rich mead and Firewhiskey dwindled, so did their restraint, and conversation began to flow more freely.

‘So, tell me, Severus, what do your parents do?’ Eleanor asked, her tone seemingly innocent.

Severus felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He hadn’t expected such a question, and in that moment, he was almost grateful for the three glasses of whiskey Dalia’s father had pushed on him.

He cleared his throat.

‘Well… my mother brews potions, she helps supply hospitals. My father…’ He hesitated, his voice tightening as if something was strangling him. ‘He’s just… an ordinary muggle.’

Mr. Dawlish’s eyes lit up.

‘Really? And what does he do? Must be an interesting profession.’

Severus searched for words, trying to suppress everything he truly thought about his father – the cruelty, the madness, the shame of sharing his blood.

Dalia, sensing the tension, kicked her father sharply under the table. Thaddeus had been about to press further, but he caught himself, instantly understanding why his daughter had intervened.

Severus, lost in his own thoughts, noticed none of this. He spoke softly, almost absently.

‘Truthfully… he was hardly ever home…’

‘Forget it, son, it’s not important,’ Thaddeus cut in, waving a dismissive hand. Dalia shot him a grateful glance. ‘Fathers aren’t always the easiest creatures.’

Then, as if to change the subject entirely, he stood up, stepping behind Severus and clapping him heartily on the back. The force of it made the boy let out an involuntary grunt.

Eleanor stood as well, flicking her wand toward the upper floor. Two large trunks floated down to the ground floor.

‘Wait, you’re leaving already?’ Dalia asked, surprised. Her parents stood fully ready in the entrance hall.

Mrs. Dawlish nodded.

‘This house is yours now. Enjoy it. I just wanted to make sure you ate properly one last time. And as for you, Severus,’ she looked him up and down, ‘I’d say that dinner was much needed.’

Severus wanted nothing more than to disappear into the floor.

‘I’d tell you to take care of Dalia, son,’ Thaddeus said, clapping Severus on the back one last time, ‘but I suspect you ought to be more worried about yourself, being stuck in a house with her.’

‘Dad!’ Dalia scolded.

‘Thaddeus!’ Eleanor echoed in unison with her daughter.

‘Alright, alright, we’re leaving. Be good, little one,’ Thaddeus said, cupping Dalia’s face in his hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead. ‘It was a pleasure, Severus!’ he added with a wave before heading out.

His wife placed a final kiss on Dalia’s cheek, then turned to Severus.

‘I hope we haven’t made you hate us too much,’ she said, leaning in to give him a brief, albeit somewhat formal, hug before following her husband out the door.

Severus felt strangely overwhelmed. A flood of emotions crashed over him, ones he wasn’t used to feeling. It was difficult to accept that the Dawlishes not only didn’t oppose his moving in with Dalia, nor expected anything from him in return – but they had also been genuinely kind. As if the family he had never belonged to had accepted him in an instant.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving only the two of them standing in the entryway.

Dalia exhaled deeply.

‘Those two, honestly,’ Dalia shook her head, waving her wand to set the dishes washing themselves while she packed away the leftover food. Severus knew these were simple, everyday spells, yet he watched her in quiet admiration.

‘See how quiet it is now that they’re gone?’

‘I hear it,’ he corrected with a smile.

Dalia’s heart softened at the sight of his lips curving upward. She stepped closer and gently traced her thumb along his cheek.

‘You look so good when you smile like this,’ she murmured, her eyes shimmering as she gazed up at him.

Severus pressed her palm against his face, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch.

‘I have you to thank for that,’ he whispered, then lifted her hand and kissed each fingertip, one by one.

Dalia sighed at the feeling of his soft lips against her skin. She wasn’t quite ready to completely lose herself in the moment – she wanted to show him around the house first. But the alcohol certainly wasn’t helping her resolve; all she wanted was to thread her fingers into his hair and pull him into a passionate kiss. Still, she resisted.

‘Come on, I’ll show you your room,’ she said at last, motioning toward the stairs. With a flick of her wand, she sent their trunks floating ahead of them before following.

The lower level of the house was warm and inviting, with a kitchen and a cozy living area filled with enchanted furniture and household items, arranged in an eclectic yet charming manner. A spiral staircase led up to the bedrooms and bathroom. The bright yellow wallpaper reflected the glow of the lamps, and as they reached the top step, the lights on the ground floor extinguished while those upstairs flickered to life. Here, cooler tones dominated – the dark blue walls lining the hallway led to four doors.

‘This one is yours,’ Dalia said, pointing to the door directly opposite the staircase.

Severus swallowed hard. He had never truly had a room before – at least, not one that counted as a real bedroom and wasn’t hidden away in a basement. He hesitated before gripping the ornate brass handle.

As he stepped inside, his breath caught. The room had been arranged entirely to his tastes. It was much larger than it appeared from the outside. In one corner stood a bookshelf lined with tomes on potions, beside it a plush velvet armchair and a fireplace. Another door led to what looked like a private potion-brewing space, and in the centre of the room stood a grand four-poster bed. Everything he could possibly need was there – an expansive desk stocked with endless writing supplies, shelves of glass jars filled with ingredients.

‘I hope you like it,’ Dalia said, nervously wringing her hands. ‘I sent my parents the design ahead of time so it would be ready when we arrived.’

Severus wandered through the room in silence, absorbing every detail. His fingers trailed over the black canopy of the bed, the spines of the books, the neatly labelled jars of potion ingredients. He couldn’t find the words, though he desperately wanted her to know how much this meant to him. He wanted to explain the feeling welling up inside him, a feeling he hadn’t even dared put into words yet – the feeling of finally coming home.

‘You don’t like it?’ Dalia asked, struggling to hide her impatience.

Severus caught her arm and pulled her close, pressing a small kiss to her cheek.

‘Of course, I do. You have no idea how much,’ he murmured, his voice slightly rough. But then a thought struck him, breaking his reverie. ‘You’re not sleeping here?’

Dalia shook her head.

‘No…’ she began, and Severus’s face fell slightly. ‘I mean – unless you want me to,’ she added quickly. ‘I just wanted us to have a choice.’

‘And what if tonight, I specifically want you to stay?’ He pulled her even closer by the waist, his gaze never leaving her warm brown eyes.

‘Then I’ll stay,’ Dalia whispered against his lips, stealing a quick kiss. ‘But first, I need to unpack and sort a few things in my room.’

She gestured toward an old wooden wardrobe. ‘Clean towels are in there, and the bathroom is at the end of the hall if you want to take a bath.’

With that, she gently freed herself from his hold and slipped out of the room, leaving him behind.

Severus sat down on the edge of the bed, still overwhelmed with happiness and disbelief, as the door clicked shut behind Dalia. He buried his face in his hands, trying to regain control over his facial muscles – only to realize, at last, that he didn’t need to anymore.

Home.

He rolled the word around in his mind. It was unfamiliar, yet it left a sweet taste on his tongue as he let himself savour it.

Half an hour later, feeling refreshed and clear-headed, he studied his own reflection in the mirror. He had pulled on a black t-shirt and a pair of thin, plaid trousers as pyjamas. Dark circles still lingered beneath his eyes, remnants of too many sleepless nights, but the rest of his features had softened. Somehow, he didn’t see the person he had once been – the boy who had longed for power, the Slytherin who was expected to be cruel, or the young man who had been preparing to become a Death Eater. He was just a boy. And in that moment, it was the most liberating thing in the world.

A knock at the door made him flinch.

‘Come in,’ he called, his voice rough.

Dalia stepped inside, looking as if she had just stepped out of the shower. She wore a deep-blue nightgown, her wavy hair pulled into a loose bun, with damp strands clinging to her neck from the lingering steam. The scent of jasmine filled the air around her.

Severus had seen her in countless situations before – he had even been closer to her in the prefects’ bath – but somehow, nothing compared to this. There was something strangely intimate about seeing her like this, in such an ordinary yet deeply private way.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, slightly tense, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers as if to hide her nervousness.

Severus swallowed hard, then directed his gaze toward the ceiling.

‘No,’ he answered simply, hoping she wouldn’t notice how completely spellbound he was.

‘Alright then,’ she said, covering her mouth as a yawn escaped. She wandered over to the four-poster bed, pulled back the satin cover, neatly folded it, then slipped under the soft, fresh blankets, letting her hair tumble down over her shoulders. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘I am,’ he nodded, walking over to the bed and sliding in beside her. Turning on his side to face her, he gently pulled her into his arms.

Dalia nestled closer without hesitation, as if no amount of closeness could ever be enough.

Severus ran his fingers through her hair, then put a small distance between them just long enough to press a kiss to her forehead.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured, his voice husky with exhaustion, pouring everything he felt into that single word.

Moments later, both of them were breathing in sync, sound asleep in each other’s arms.

For weeks, Dalia worked tirelessly to make the house even more of a home. In theory, the work should have only taken about a week – especially with her charms – but there was always something she could improve. Severus tried to help wherever he could, but she rarely let him. She had very precise ideas about what she wanted and how she wanted it done – even if inspiration often struck her at the last moment – and she simply refused to factor the variable known as Severus into her plans.

One afternoon, while cleaning out the attic, she stumbled upon an old notebook in one of the boxes. She recognized it immediately – it was the same one where, back in her third year, she had created her own cipher. She had never gotten around to using it, but as she flipped through the pages now, even as an adult, she could still see the potential in it.

Excited, she rushed to Severus’s room.

She found him at his desk, making a list of all the potions he had yet to brew. He planned to tackle them one by one. He glanced up from the parchment, furrowing his brows at Dalia’s arrival.

‘Look what I found,’ she said, holding out the notebook.

‘What is it?’

‘A cipher.’

‘A cipher?’ Severus echoed, slowly shifting his focus from his list to the notebook. He flipped through the pages, nodding approvingly. ‘Interesting. But why does it matter?’ He looked up at her, standing over him.

‘I was thinking – we could create our own secret code. Something only the two of us understand,’ she proposed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘If the war drags on, it might come in handy.’

‘How will you make it secure? It’s not exactly ideal to carry a written key with us,’ he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

‘That’s true, but I’ve thought of that as well,’ she said quickly. ‘We’ll memorize the key and destroy the written version. And to ensure no one can decipher it, we’ll create a spell that scrambles the letters – and a counterspell that allows only us to reverse it.’

Severus fell silent for a moment, considering her idea. Then, without a word, he took her right hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

‘You’re a genius. I hope you know that.’

Dalia’s face lit up.

‘So I can take that as a yes?’

‘You can,’ he confirmed with a nod.

Dalia could have jumped for joy. She wouldn’t have admitted it aloud, but Severus’s approval meant more to her than anyone else’s praise ever could.

A tapping at the window interrupted them – Dalia’s snowy owl had arrived.

‘Oh, this must be from Panda,’ she guessed, recognizing the elegant M on the seal. She was right – the letter was indeed from her friend. With quick hands, she tore open the envelope, her eyes scanning the parchment. Suddenly, she clapped a hand over her mouth in shock.

‘I expected her to still have something to do with Xenophilius, but I didn’t think they’d move this fast. She’s moved in with him in London – left her family behind,’ she announced to Severus. ‘But she doesn’t say much else about it.’

She frowned as she read further.

‘Although, knowing the Malfoy family, this whole situation must be worthy of a novel… Oh, we won’t miss out – ’ she ran her finger along the elegantly written words ‘ – they’ve invited us for tea on Saturday.’

Severus scoffed.

‘Lovegood? I never thought there was a person alive who would willingly choose that lunatic,’ he said dryly. ‘I would have loved to see Lucius’s face when he found out. She’s a bold one, that’s for sure.’

Dalia gazed out the window, watching the birds soar across the endless blue sky. For a moment, she imagined Pandora as one of them – wild and free. Maybe, just maybe, she envied her friend’s courage.

Would she have ever been able to cut herself loose so suddenly?

‘I always knew she’d do it someday. She was never one of them.’

Chapter Text

Xenophilius Lovegood's London flat was exactly like him: slightly bohemian, filled with symbols incomprehensible to others, plants, crystals, and the essential tools for printing. From the outside, it looked just like any other apartment in the city – perhaps even smaller to an untrained eye – but stepping inside, visitors were greeted by wide, open spaces.

Severus and Dalia stood in front of an enchanted wall adorned with yellow wallpaper, their arms wrapped around each other – Dalia smiling, while Severus stared grumpily into the camera before them. Pandora focused intently from behind the lens, determined to capture them both at their best. Behind her, the back door of the small flat stood wide open, leading onto a terrace that overlooked the opposite apartment buildings, letting in the bustling sounds of London life.

As the blonde girl clicked the shutter, Xenophilius appeared behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind before heading toward the kitchen, calling back into the living room:

'Taking sixty photos won’t make his nose any less hooked.'

Severus’ face twisted in a grimace, while Pandora rolled her eyes.

'Don’t be like that, please. There’s nothing wrong with his nose, and he’s not the only one in the photo,' she said, nodding towards Dalia before expertly duplicating the developed images to hand them over to their subjects. 'You two look good together,' she smiled.

Severus accepted his copies with satisfaction. Pandora was talented – she had managed to capture him at his best angle – but that wasn’t what truly mattered to him. Much more important was the girl standing beside him in the picture – and in life.

He said nothing to her, simply pulled her closer by the waist.

'And our photographer is a marvel, too. Thank you, Panda,' Dalia returned the smile after flipping through the pictures.

Meanwhile, Xenophilius returned from the kitchen, levitating four teacups and a generous serving of biscuits, while Pandora gestured toward the couch, inviting them to sit.

Dalia plopped down excitedly and took a cup from the tray.

'I want to hear everything! You barely wrote about anything in your letter!' she chided her friend.

'There’s not much more to tell than what I wrote,' Pandora shrugged. 'The important part was in there. From now on, I don’t belong with them. They can forget I exist – though, honestly, that won’t be much of a challenge for them. They never had trouble looking right past me before.'

'But how did you leave? Did you just take your things and leave?'

'Essentially, yes,' Pandora nodded.

'Oh, I hate hearing that,' Xenophilius cut in. 'Don’t be so modest, my dear – there’s more to it than that,' he said, gently reaching for her wrist. 'Show them,' he whispered into her blonde curls.

Pandora hesitated for a moment before lifting her left hand with quiet pride, extending her ring finger toward their guests. A delicate, pale blue gemstone adorned it.

Dalia’s breath caught in her throat. For a brief moment, she had no idea what to say. She glanced at Severus in search of help, but his face revealed nothing, so she turned back to Pandora instead. Leaning in, she carefully reached for her friend’s hand to examine the ring more closely.

'It’s beautiful,' she murmured, her voice tinged with emotion. 'Congratulations! I don’t mean to be rude, but… how does this connect to you leaving home?'

A mischievous smile appeared on Pandora’s face.

'Xen came to get me…'

'The original plan was to ask her father for her hand,' Xenophilius interrupted, 'but the old Hyperion didn’t quite like the idea. Neither did her dear mother. So, since words didn’t work, I took her by force. They messed with the wrong person,' he declared. 'I left them a lemon, full of charred needles. They’ll regret the day for the rest of their lives when – '

Severus snorted.

'And how exactly does a single lemon harm them?'

'It’s so obvious that all your knowledge comes from books…' Xenophilius sighed. 'This is part of one of the oldest magical rituals. I learned it from my Tuscan grandmother when I was a child. Italian wizards and witches understand these things better than the British. Strictly speaking, it’s not dark magic, but it can bring misfortune upon generations. At least until they find it and destroy it,' he concluded, taking a bite of a biscuit.

'Sure,' Severus muttered into his tea, barely audibly, but he didn’t want to argue further. Dalia’s gaze was already burning a hole through him, so he occupied himself by tracing absent-minded circles along the porcelain rim with his index finger to keep himself from launching into another debate against Xenophilius’ so-called 'ancient magic.'

Pandora reached for her cup with slightly unsteady hands, taking a nervous sip of the steaming liquid. It was as if she still had something left to say, and that something weighed on her chest like lead.

'I can never go back,' she sighed. 'I won’t have any more information from those circles. Which, honestly, I don’t even mind,' she laughed, but Dalia heard the slight tremor in her voice. 'I just need to know where the lily of the valley blooms.'

Where the lily of the valley blooms? What did she mean by that? More precisely – who did she mean? The questions lined up in Dalia’s mind. She had a strong suspicion that this sentence was meant for her, a hidden message, but she couldn’t decipher its meaning.

Severus, too, was deep in thought over Pandora’s words. Lily of the valley. He saw an image before him – a bouquet of the mentioned flowers, tied with a green ribbon. Yet he couldn’t place why it seemed so familiar.

Xenophilius turned to the suddenly quiet girl.

'Are you alright?'

'Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?' she smiled.

She set her teacup down on the coffee table and walked over to the old radio by the window. She twisted one of the two knobs, causing the device to crackle loudly, then reached for the other. For minutes, she cycled through the stations – skipping past the news, violin music, and an advertisement for the latest broomstick – until she finally found the right one. A French pop song began to play.

'I love this song!' Her face lit up, and to an outsider, she might have seemed to glow. 'Come on, Dalia, we have to dance to this,' she pulled her friend toward the more spacious part of the living room.

She freed her pinned-up hair, letting the waves cascade gently over her shoulders. With ease, she kicked off her slippers, and her white skirt swirled around her as she began to dance.

Dalia took a little longer to find the rhythm. She stepped awkwardly to the beat, trying to ignore the fact that Severus and Xenophilius were likely watching them. But the song’s effect proved stronger – within seconds, she spun across the wooden floor as freely as Pandora.

Xenophilius stood up, grabbed his fiancée’s camera, and tried to capture the moment. It wasn’t easy – most of the photos showed only blurs of motion as the two girls twirled around the room.

Severus, meanwhile, made his way to the terrace. From the pocket of his short-sleeved black shirt, he pulled out a metal case, took a cigarette from it, and placed it between his lips as he walked past Xenophilius. Once outside, he leaned against the railing, lit the cigarette, and positioned himself so he could still see Dalia.

He exhaled the smoke slowly into the summer sunlight, carefully ensuring that the white curtain of fume didn’t obscure his view of his love.

Xenophilius arrived just as he deemed the pictures of the girls acceptable. He handed one of them to the dark-haired boy.

'Aren’t they beautiful?'

Severus took the photo with a subtle movement, lingering for a moment on Dalia’s pearl-like smile before tucking it into his pocket.

'Yes… They are beautiful…' he exhaled smoke toward the sky.

'You’re a lucky man, my friend,' Xenophilius clapped him on the back. 'A woman like that doesn’t come around every day.'

'A woman like what?' Severus turned to him with a piercing gaze. 'I suggest you choose your words carefully when speaking about her. And we are not friends,' he added, ducking out of the way just as the blond boy playfully swung at him, nearly toppling over from his own momentum.

'Well… that kind,' Xenophilius declared, taking a second to steady himself. 'Like the two of them. Beautiful, intelligent, and kind,' he said, his eyes gleaming. His admiration for Pandora was plain as day. After a brief pause, he continued, 'Tell me, Severus… What would you do for her?'

'Anything,' the boy answered without hesitation.

'Anything, really? Would you even kill for her?'

'Kill?' Severus took a deep drag from his cigarette. 'I would burn the world to the ground for her.'

Xenophilius stared at him, momentarily taken aback, then glanced at the onyx bracelet on his wrist before speaking again.

'Wow, mate… Maybe you meant that to sound romantic, but it just gave me chills,' he said, putting a few extra steps between them. 'And… does she know?'

'I have no idea,' Severus answered honestly. 'Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t. Maybe she’s safer that way.'

Xenophilius gave him a questioning look.

'How do you mean? How would she be safer? Isn’t it better for her to know she can always count on you, no matter what happens?'

'No. But I don’t think you’d understand,' Severus said, effectively closing the conversation. He pulled out his metal case again and held it out toward Xenophilius. 'Want one?'

'No,' he shook his head. 'And neither should you.' With that, he pushed off the railing and returned to the girls.

The music had changed. Dalia sat down, breathless, while Pandora now beckoned Xenophilius to dance.

Severus lingered outside a little longer, lost in thought. He watched Dalia’s flushed face – so beautiful, so carefree, so at peace. He thought about how he could never give her this, not for long. He could never keep the darkness of the world away from her.

Life had given him a summer before the inevitable came crashing down. And no matter how he searched his mind, he found no way out.

He stubbed out his cigarette, walked over to Dalia, and extended a hand toward her.

'Would you like another dance?'

Dalia flinched slightly, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

'With you?' she looked up at him with a gentle smile before taking his hand. 'Anytime.'

She stood, her fingers slipping into his palm as if they had always belonged there.

A slower song played on the radio. As they danced, Dalia pressed herself close to Severus’s chest, as if holding onto the moment.

As if holding onto him.

'I love you,' Severus whispered, burying his face in her hair.

But just then, the radio crackled sharply, then erupted into a distorted, arrhythmic buzzing. The sound filled the entire room – as if something outside was trying to tear through the protective barrier of their world – before darkness fell over the Lovegood home, despite the bright daylight.

Severus held Dalia tightly until he was sure they were safe.

A faint blue light pulsed in the darkness, at first weak, but growing stronger with every second until it took shape – a swan.

'You must come home,' a frail female voice spoke from the Patronus. 'Hurry, Severus!'

As suddenly as it had come, it vanished. And just as suddenly, Severus let go of Dalia.

'I have to go,' he stated firmly, hurrying toward the entryway.

'I’m coming with you,' Dalia started after him.

'No!'

'Please! You might need me!' Dalia pleaded.

'No,' Severus repeated, this time far more resolutely. 'It’s too dangerous.'

His mind raced. What could be so urgent that his mother would send her Patronus after him? It certainly wasn’t an invitation to a family dinner…

Dalia lowered her head, as if conceding.

'Take care of yourself,' she pressed a fleeting kiss to Severus’s lips before letting him go.

A soft pop – then nothing but echoing silence remained.

Chapter Text

The sound of hurried footsteps shattered the silence of Cokeworth’s irregular, mud-covered streets. Severus, obscured by the downpour, relied on his memory as he paced forward, his shoes slapping loudly against the puddle-ridden, trash-strewn alleys. In the distance, he could hear the rushing waters of the murky river that bordered the town. Everything around him reminded him of his childhood – a time he would have preferred to forget.

A few hundred steps later, he halted in front of a brick house with dark windows. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out an old brass key, while his other hand gripped his wand, aiming it at the door in preparation for any danger lurking behind it.

He didn’t need to use the key – the door creaked open on its own, its hinges groaning like a spectral sigh, filling the air with a bitter sense of nostalgia. The house was cloaked in total darkness; no one had lit a lamp in the dimness caused by the rain. It appeared abandoned.

Severus stepped over the threshold, keeping his wand raised in front of him, while his other hand reached back to shut the door behind him. He moved cautiously down the dark hallway, every nerve on edge as he approached the room directly ahead.

He had not, however, expected the sight that awaited him in his father’s room. Tobias Snape, a man in his fifties, sat emaciated in his armchair, staring at the flickering static of the television. The screen displayed no broadcast – only the chaotic dance of black-and-white noise, as if it reflected the tumultuous emptiness within him.

Noticing Severus’ presence, the man began to mutter:

'It’s all because of you… all of it… filthy magic… my wife… they took my wife…' He looked up then, his bleary gaze fixing on Severus. His words were slurred, drowning in the stench of alcohol that reeked from his skin and clothes. 'Who took my wife? Was it you? IT WAS YOU' he roared at his son.

Severus swallowed hard, his stomach twisting as he looked at his father – this man who now seemed like nothing more than a stranger.

'Where is mother?' he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

'She’s screaming in the room… still screaming. Do you hear her? Make her shut up, or I will.' Tobias Snape clamped his hands over his ears as if trying to block out non-existent sounds. No one was screaming. 'Filthy wizards… Cloaked lunatics… You’re all mad… All of you!'

Severus had heard enough. Without another word, he turned his back on the man and, ensuring that he locked the door behind him, made his way toward the bedroom. A strange, metallic scent filled the air, sending his stomach roiling as he reached the room.

The sight that greeted him would be burned into his dark irises forever.

Eileen lay motionless on the bed, her empty eyes staring at the ceiling, dried tear tracks lining her pale cheeks. Dark red blood had soaked into the white sheets, its slow-drying stain sinking into the fabric’s fibres.

'Mother…' Severus’ lips barely formed the word as he gasped for breath.

He rushed to the bed, desperately reaching for the woman’s wrist, his fingers clamping around her skin with a vice-like grip. He searched for a pulse – as if there were still hope, as if he could find any sign of life.

'Mother, please,' he choked out in despair, his voice cracking.

For minutes, he kept his hand over Eileen’s cold one, willing her to show any sign of life. But it never came. The lifeless body lay there, heavy and unmoving.

She had been dead for hours.

Severus trembled as he sat beside her, his fingers gently pressing down on her eyelids, closing them for the last time. His mind reeled back to the days when she had been his only source of comfort – the warmth of her embrace, the tenderness in her words, the first spells she had taught him. He recalled her precise, graceful movements as she handled plants and potions, her face contorted in pain whenever Tobias shouted at her or raised a hand against her.

And now, all that remained of her was silence.

How much better their lives could have been if his father hadn’t existed…

But then, guilt slashed through him like a blade – he had treated her no differently. His mind conjured the image of the day he left for Hogwarts. He had screamed at her, ashamed. Ashamed that his mother had married a worthless Muggle. Ashamed that he had to wear threadbare clothes. Ashamed that he hadn’t been given the same opportunities as other children his age.

Yet, in that moment, the person he was most ashamed of was himself. He knew he could have saved her – if he hadn’t put his own selfish interests first, if he had kept his promise, if he had taken her away in time.

Guilt scorched his insides like fire. She was gone. Nothing he did could bring her back.

He buried his face in his hands. The oppressive silence weighed on him, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breathing. How had this happened? How could she have sent a Patronus if she had been dead for hours? He had to calm his emotions to find answers.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze locking onto the pools of blood. He needed to understand how she had died.

He searched for the origin of the dark stains: two deep cuts marked her thighs, three her abdomen, two her shoulders. The edges were jagged, as if made with a dull blade – daggers, perhaps.

She had likely bled out, Severus thought. But beyond the wounds, something else caught his eye. Something that made his stomach clench even tighter. He leaned in closer, and for a moment, all the blood drained from his face.

Someone had carved a message into Eileen’s right forearm.

"Who’s next?"

For a fleeting second, it felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath him. With trembling hands, he grasped her left arm, which fell limply onto the mattress. The second part of the message was seared into her pallid skin:

"You choose!"

Severus clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. He didn’t need further proof.

The culprit was obvious, and his father’s delirious mutterings only reinforced the truth.

It was them – the cloaked figures.

Voldemort’s cruel trick. A warning. An unmistakable sign that he had no choice.

Either he joined them, or everyone around him would die.

He had naively believed he had a choice. But he never had.

He had thought he could be happy – that he could carve out a small piece of a life that was never meant to be his.

But he should have known better. Nothing had ever come to him for free – especially not happiness.

And now, he knew: he could not stay by Dalia’s side. He had already put her in too much danger. The very thought of what he would have done if she had been chosen instead of his mother made him sick. But there was no guarantee that Dalia wasn’t already on their list.

He had to act. As soon as possible.

Xenophilius’ question burned in his mind:

"What would you do for her?"

Anything.

He would burn the world to the ground.

And his own feelings along with it if that meant keeping her safe.

He exhaled in shuddering gasps, struggling to anchor himself to reality. The solid weight of his shoes against the floor. The damp, musty scent of the old house. The crackling static of the television. Anything that could hold him back, keep his thoughts from completely overwhelming him.

He walked to the wardrobe, pulled out a scrap of cloth, and headed to the bathroom to wet it. He knew his father was in no state to bury his mother. That task would fall to him.

Returning to the room, he carefully wiped the blood from Eileen’s pale face, forcing himself to focus solely on the action.

When he was done, he turned back to the wardrobe. This time, he took out a black cloak. With trembling hands, he draped it over her frail body. He was treading on thin ice – it would take only a stray thought to make him lose control of his tears.

He didn’t allow it. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was suppressing his emotions. So much so that, at times, he wasn’t even sure if there was anything left inside him to suppress.

He did not give in when he lifted her fragile, emaciated body.

Nor when he carried her outside.

The rain had stopped. The sun had broken through the clouds, as if it had decided to accompany her on her final journey.

Severus unconsciously picked up the shovel leaning against the side of the house. He could have used magic, but he deliberately chose not to. This was the last thing he could do for his mother.

He drove the shovel into the ground. He counted every mound of soil he lifted.

One.
He was no longer a child.

Two.
But in that moment, he wanted to be.

Three.
Someone whose greatest pain was having an aggressive father.

Thirty-two.
A child whose mother was still alive.

Seventy-four.
A child whom at least one person had tried to protect from everything.

One hundred and twenty-three.
A child who was not burying his own mother.

One last time, he looked over her body before he let the first heap of earth fall. She had never been conventionally beautiful, but she had possessed a certain grace – someone who carried the elegance of ancient wizarding families. And yet, she had chosen such a tragic fate.

In that moment, she truly resembled the black swan engraved on Severus’ pocket watch.

Refined and unbearably sorrowful.

Severus shovelled the earth for a long time, forcing every fibre of his being to focus on the movements. The summer heat drenched him in sweat from the strenuous labour, his hair constantly falling into his face, some strands sticking to his skin – but he didn’t care. He concentrated only on the task.

When he was done, he left the grave for a short while. He walked to the river and knelt in the grass, searching for flowers. The riverbank was full of daisies. Severus gathered so many that they barely fit in his hands.

These were the flowers he placed on Eileen’s grave.

By the time the golden light of the sun sank behind the horizon, the earth had fully claimed her body, and the daisies had found their place.

Exhausted, filthy, and shattered, Severus apparated home.

He landed with a loud crack on the grassy patch in front of the concrete steps, nearly losing his balance. At the sound, Dalia jumped up instantly, almost tearing the door from its frame in her haste. Her face lit up when she saw him.

'Merlin’s beard, you’re in one piece!' She waited for him to step inside before shutting the door behind him. But as she got a better look at him, her smile faded. 'What happened?' she asked.

He looked terrible. His clothes and face were caked in dirt and blood, his shirt completely soaked through with sweat. He took a few steps into the entryway and kicked off his shoes, but as soon as his gaze met Dalia’s worried eyes, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together for much longer.

'What happened? Are you hurt?' she asked again, gently. She stepped closer, scanning him, and when she was sure the blood wasn’t his, she cupped his face between her hands.

'Hey, I’m here. Look at me, please,' she whispered. 'Talk to me. Talk to me, Severus.'

A deep, ragged sigh tore from Severus’ chest. This was as long as he could hold on – his knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed in front of Dalia, clutching onto her waist as sobs wracked his body.

She felt his shoulders shaking and instinctively leaned to him, her fingers carefully threading through his hair. She didn’t say anything. She just let Severus’ tears spill freely – as if she understood without needing words.

For minutes, he simply cried, as if every emotion he had ever buried was finally breaking loose. He buried his face in her skirt, his hands gripping the fabric tightly. He didn’t care what she thought of him. He wasn’t ashamed that she might see him as weak. He knew these were their last hours together.

Dalia slowly sank down beside him, wrapping her arms around him in silence, her hand gently stroking his back.

'Cry as much as you need to,' she murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair.

'It’s my fault,' he whispered into her chest.

'What are you talking about? What happened?' Dalia asked softly.

'She died because of me,' his voice broke. 'If I had taken her away in time… Mother…' His sentence dissolved into another wave of tears.

Dalia pieced together the scattered fragments of information at lightning speed. And when she fully understood what had happened, she pulled him even closer.

'I’m sorry.' It was all she could say, but she knew how woefully inadequate those words were. If she could have taken away all his pain, she would have. It tore at her heart to see him like this.

Severus clung to her as if she were his last lifeline – and maybe she was.

But he knew he couldn’t hold on for long.

Only after long, heavy moments did he finally pull away.

'I need to be alone for a little while,' he whispered, then got to his feet.

Dalia nodded.

'Of course, go ahead. If you need me, I’ll be here,' she said, standing as well and squeezing his hand before letting him go.

As soon as he reached his room, Severus went straight to his desk drawers. He rummaged feverishly through them until his fingers closed around two vials. Thick, silver-shimmering potion sloshed inside. Satisfied that he had found them, he tucked both vials into the front pocket of his bag – he needed them within reach.

He couldn’t start packing yet. Not now. He couldn’t disappoint her. He couldn’t bear to watch her break.

Instead, he headed to the bathroom to wash off everything – the sweat, the dirt, the blood. And somewhere, deep down, he hoped the water might wash away his guilt too.

But he knew, no matter how hard he scrubbed, the feeling wouldn’t fade.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he even forgot to lock the door behind him.

Soon, there was a knock, and Dalia’s worried face peeked inside. Severus stared blankly at his reflection in the mirror.

'Are you sure you’re okay being alone?'

'Are you honestly asking me that?' his voice rasped.

'How else would I ask?'

Severus shook his head, then, as if drained of all strength, sank onto the edge of the bathtub, still fully clothed.

Dalia stepped toward him, reached behind to turn on the faucet, then pointed to his shirt.

'Is it alright if…?'

He nodded, and she gently began unbuttoning his shirt. As she did, she discreetly checked for any injuries.

Once the last piece of clothing was gone, Severus slipped into the tub reflexively, allowing the warm, fragrant water to envelop him.

Dalia was careful, thorough, ensuring she didn’t miss a single spot as she washed him.

Under her touch, Severus let himself go.

Tomorrow, he would have to be strong again.

But for now, in this fleeting moment, he could still be weak.

Chapter Text

The first rays of sunlight slipped through the thin muslin curtain, casting uneven lines across Dalia’s face. She was sound asleep, her steady breathing the only thing breaking the silence of dawn. In contrast, Severus had been awake for hours – shallow sleep had carved deep hollows beneath his eyes. He watched her in silence, occasionally brushing his fingers along her face. He breathed in her scent deeply, as if it might be the last time.

He loved her – every part of her. Perhaps it wasn’t the same dreamlike passion he had once felt for Lily, but this was the first time his feelings had been returned. He wasn’t chasing a fairytale anymore. These were real emotions, rooted in the quiet joys of everyday life. He hadn’t truly understood what that meant until it was at risk. Just a few joyful months – yet at what cost? He had lost his mother, and he was on the direct path to losing the person who now meant the most to him in the world.

Severus slowly, reluctantly pulled his arm away from her, as if every inch of distance drove needles into his skin. He sat up in bed and ran a hand over his face, hoping to clear his thoughts – but it was no use. His mind remained clouded. He had to pull himself together.

Soon the house was filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Severus levitated a tray in front of him, carrying two cups of black coffee, along with milk and sugar. A tightness pressed on his chest – it was a wonder he could breathe at all. He could have added as much milk or sugar as he wanted – nothing could take away the bitterness of that morning’s coffee. At that moment, there was one person he hated more than his worst enemies: himself.

Dalia woke up soon after. She opened her eyes lazily, still disoriented, but the smell of coffee helped somewhat. When she spotted Severus approaching with the tray, her face lit up. He gave her a crumpled smile and set the tray down on the nightstand beside her before sitting on the edge of the bed.

'I brought you coffee,' he said, his voice faint.

'You should’ve stayed in bed,' she replied, reaching for his hand.

Severus shook his head and handed her one of the cups.

'Two sugars, a little milk,' he said. He couldn’t explain why, but he never forgot how she usually drank her coffee.

'That’s exactly what I needed,' she smiled, accepting the steaming cup. 'How are you feeling?'

'Better,' he replied, sipping his own coffee – left completely black. 'I have some errands in London today. I’ll probably be back late. Don’t wait for me,' he added in a quiet, almost muttered tone.

'I could come with you,' Dalia offered.

But then a strange wave of nausea washed over her, as if she had come down with food poisoning. She felt weak and barely managed to set the cup down before collapsing back onto the pillow. Something wasn’t right.

 'No,' Severus shook his head. His voice turned gravelly. 'I’m sorry,' he whispered, his words fading into a breath.

'What are you talking about?' Dalia began, but her words started to fall apart. 'Why... would you…' she managed before her voice disappeared completely. Her vision blurred, as if she had slipped into another world: the rug turned into damp grass, the furniture stretched into tall trees. Small objects trembled and began to float silently, transforming mid-air into birds. Only the bed – and Severus slumped at its edge – remained unchanged.

Illusion, Dalia thought. He must have used the Elixir. But why? Why would he do this?

She fought with all her strength against the potion slowly overtaking her mind. She couldn’t let the illusion swallow her completely.

Severus rose from the bed with a ragged sigh.

'I’m doing this for you,' he said. 'I don’t want to – but I have no choice. If you can still hear me now… soon you won’t hear anything at all.'

As he spoke, Dalia heard his voice growing more and more distant – like he was speaking from underwater.

'It worked on Quillon… it has to work on you too. I have to disappear. No matter how much I want to, I can’t stay with you… I’d only put you in danger.'

Dalia clung to consciousness with growing desperation, trying not to be swept away by the Elixir. No… she couldn’t let Severus leave like this. Without words. Without answers. If she could move, she would have reached for him. If she could speak, she would have protested. Screamed.

No… I have to approach this differently, she thought. She closed her heavy eyelids, and emptied her mind. Occlumency helped her see clearly, but it didn’t help her move.

Severus’ voice began to break through the fog again.

'…they left me no choice. There’s nothing else I can do,' came his desperate tone. 'I have to join them, and I can’t expose you to that. I can’t ask you to follow me.'

He stood. Dalia heard the floor creak under his step. A swish of his wand – and the wardrobe doors flung open. Clothes and objects moved in chaotic bursts as they flew into his trunk.

'I hope you’ll hate me… and forget I ever existed.'

Dalia’s eyes flew open as if she’d awoken from a dream. The details of the world snapped into focus – but only in her mind. She could follow Severus’ every step, hear every word he spoke, but she still couldn’t move or speak. Occlumency had preserved her clarity of thought – yet her body remained foreign to her. Trapped. Paralyzed.

She was imprisoned within her own body.

Severus’ words poured out. He believed Dalia couldn’t hear a thing – and maybe even if she could, it wouldn’t matter anymore.

'They’re the ones who killed my mother… and I’m certain they would hurt you too, just to get what they want.'

But I’m not afraid! There has to be another way! Dalia wanted to shout. But her lips wouldn’t move.

'I never should have fallen in love with you… Do you remember when I said I didn’t deserve you? Looks like I was right,' he let out a bitter laugh – more pain than sarcasm.

You’re wrong, Severus, and you always will be. You underestimate me. You underestimate my feelings, my strength! You don’t have to do this alone! her inner voice screamed, still silent to the world.

She felt as though her mind had split in two. Her body lay limp against the soft bedding, but her eyes flashed – ominously – for the first time. Then, as she realized he couldn’t see her, couldn’t hear her, the flash was replaced by an overwhelming bitterness.

She couldn’t reach him.

'Don’t bother looking for me. I’ll never let anyone close to me again. Not even you,' he said, glancing toward her. His dark eyes carried even more shadow than before.

Don’t do this to me. Don’t tear yourself away. What will I do without you?

Tears rolled down Dalia’s cheeks, the sparkle gone from her warm brown eyes. Her face remained expressionless.

Severus tossed the last of his things into the trunk and shut it with a single flick of his wand. The click of the lock cut through the silence like a cold blade. He was ready to leave. He pulled out a small piece of parchment and scribbled a few sentences on it.

'You’ll wake in an hour and think I left without saying goodbye. You’ll hate me, you understand?'

Though she couldn’t move her body with her own will, Dalia nodded. That was the moment the manipulation began. The same process they once used to twist Quillon’s mind.

The boy’s heart nearly shattered when he saw Dalia’s tears. How could she be crying? She was supposed to be lost in the sweetest of dreams…

There was no time to think. He turned away – his trunk in his left hand, wand in his right – and then…

Both fell to the floor.

He turned back. Ran. And once more – just once more – he pulled her into an embrace.

Dalia collapsed limply into his arms. She wanted to hug him back, but her body wouldn’t obey – and that feeling was slowly driving her mad.

'I love you.'
That was Severus’ last word before he vanished for good.

Dalia wanted to chase after him, drag him back, scream at him, hold him, kiss him, never let him go…

But locked inside the prison of her own body, there was only one thing she could do: she cried. Only the sorrowful eyes and bitter tears gave any sign that what lay on that bed was more than a lifeless wax figure.

'I’m glad you’re finally here,' Lucius said, clapping Severus on the back after opening the grand gate of the Malfoy Manor with a flick of his wand and leading the dark-haired boy inside.

'I won’t stay long,' Severus replied dryly. 'I need information.'

He struggled to breathe as his shoes crunched against the gravel path leading to the manor. Two images floated before his eyes: Dalia’s tear-streaked face and his mother’s lifeless body, covered in blood. He had lost too much in just two days.

Their path wound between hedges toward the dark, castle-like estate. Lucius proudly gestured toward the grounds.

'Soon this will all be mine. Mine – and my family’s. It’s time to introduce you to my fiancée,' he said, nodding toward the entrance.

Waiting by the door was Narcissa Black – graceful, a smile on her face.

'Narcissa,' Severus greeted with a nod.

'You can call me Cissy. It’s good to see you among us again,' she said, inviting him in. 'Would you care for some tea?' she offered once they reached the sitting room.

'I’ll have some,' Severus replied, taking a seat.

Lucius gently brushed a hand over Narcissa’s shoulder.

'Don’t worry, darling, I’ll bring it,' he said, and stepped out of the room.

It felt strange to Severus – seeing what love had done to someone he had once known as proud and untouchable. The great Lucius Malfoy making tea instead of his bride-to-be. It was absurd. A part of Severus even envied them, perhaps just a little.

As his eyes fell on the ring on her finger, a tightness gripped his throat. That was something he could never give Dalia. To make her happy… he was never good enough to do so.

Narcissa sat opposite him on a green velvet-covered sofa. Beside them, an old yet elegant black fireplace radiated warmth.

'I know why you’re here,' Narcissa said, breaking the silence.

'I doubt that,' Severus frowned.

'Your mother was killed. I know about it. And now you want to join… But I’m asking you – please, be careful. Serving the Dark Lord is a great privilege, but…'

'I’m not in a position to be careful, Cissy,' he cut her off. 'When is the next meeting?'

Narcissa’s gaze turned to steel.

'You men always think it’s so easy to silence me,' she said coldly. Severus felt as though her eyes were carving frost flowers into his skin. 'Let me put it differently,' she added, glancing around before lowering her voice. 'You’ll be used as a weapon, Severus. The Dark Lord needs talented young wizards now more than ever. In recent weeks, we’ve lost many… a lot have died at the hands of Aurors. Among them, the one you’re probably curious about.'

Severus knew – without her having to say it – she meant his mother’s killer.

'Rosier and Wilkes are dead,' Narcissa continued. 'Mulciber was wounded so badly he’s no longer fit for battle…'

'Who was it? Who killed my mother?'

Narcissa froze, clearly weighing whether it was wise to share the name.

'Evan Rosier,' she whispered at last. 'The Aurors got him… though one of them lost an eye for it.'

A mix of emotions clenched Severus’ throat: rage that he couldn’t take revenge with his own hands – and relief. As if that Auror had lifted the burden from his shoulders.

'When is the next meeting?' he asked again.

Lucius returned to the room.

'In a week. August 15th,' he said, placing a cup of tea in front of Severus.

'Where?'

'The Black residence, 12 Grimmauld Place.'

That seemed to be enough for him. Severus stood, downed the scalding tea without flinching – even as it seared his throat – and turned toward the exit.

'You’re leaving already?' Narcissa asked.

'I don’t want to disturb you. Thank you for the tea.'

Lucius shook his head with mild disappointment.

'Haven’t seen you since Hogwarts, and that’s all I get? You could’ve at least told us what’s happened to you. How’s the Dawlish girl? You two seemed rather close those last few months.'

Severus slipped back into the empty mask he had worn for so long before he ever met Dalia. He acted as though Lucius’ words hadn’t twisted like a knife in his gut.

'I don’t want to hear about her. Just pretend she never existed,' he said simply, though his tightly pressed lips betrayed just how far he was from being able to forget her.

'As you wish,' Lucius sighed.

'Do you have somewhere to go?' Narcissa asked carefully. 'If not, then maybe – '

'I do,' Severus cut her off bluntly, but seeing the hurt on her face, he quickly added,
'Thank you, Cissy. I appreciate it,' he said with a small bow, his lips brushing the back of her hand.

With that, he turned on the spot and disapparated from the Malfoy estate.

His final destination was an abandoned manor: the former residence of the Prince family. To the untrained eye, the field near Banbridge – overgrown with waist-high weeds – held nothing unusual, but those who knew what to look for would see the building.

Severus began dismantling the protective enchantments around the estate – wards Eileen herself had cast long ago. After the deaths of his grandparents, his mother had inherited the house – and now it had passed to him.

Not that anyone else wanted it: the old walls loomed, crumbling above him; few of the windows remained intact. If not for the faintly flickering magic holding it all together, the structure might have collapsed altogether.

A wave of bitter nostalgia washed over him as he stepped through the creaking, timeworn door. Every piece of furniture was blanketed in thick dust. He made only one room liveable, then collapsed onto the bed, still fully clothed. His chest felt heavy, his head throbbed, his heart was drained – and even in that very moment, he missed Dalia with an ache he couldn’t contain.

Later, he took a scalding bath in an attempt to silence the screaming thoughts in his head – but it was no use. Physical exhaustion gradually overtook him, and he nearly drifted off in the tub.

The water was hot, burning against his skin – and yet, he found no warmth in it.

Chapter Text

Severus was gone, and all that remained in his wake was screaming silence. The kind that drilled through one’s skull until nothing was left but throbbing emptiness.

Dalia counted the minutes. She saw everything, heard everything, felt everything.
The room had grown cold, and the chill slowly crept under her skin as her unresponsive body lay stretched out on the bed. She was suffering. She cried without a sound, but inside, she screamed.

His words echoed within her, one by one. She tried to remember all of them, trying to find the reason, the answer hidden between the lines – but she found none.

He had been forced – of that she was certain. The Death Eaters were behind it, just as they had been behind his mother’s death. They had killed the woman, and perhaps they had threatened to kill someone else he loved.

But why had he pushed her away? How could this have been the best solution? Why couldn’t he trust her? Surely it would have been easier together, they could have faced it as one. How could he claim to love her and still cast her aside so quickly?

A tingling returned to Dalia’s fingers. Gradually, she began to regain control of her muscles, at the same pace she had lost it before. Her face twisted as a sobbing fit overtook her, the kind that made breathing impossible – but she couldn’t stay still any longer.

She rose unsteadily from the bed, her feet thudding on the wooden floor as she hurried to the note Severus had left behind.

"I have gone, and I will not return. Do not write to me. Do not look for me. I have never loved you" –, she read the ornate handwriting.

'Liar,' she whispered, choking on her tears. 'An hour ago you said something very different.'

With that, she crumpled the letter into a ball and hurled it into the corner of the room. The manipulation hadn’t worked: It would have been impossible for her to hate him. But there were other things – and people – she could hate easily:
The Elixir.
The war.
Voldemort.
And Severus’ decision, with all her heart.

'Pippa… Pippa, where are you?' she called hoarsely for her owl. She swiftly grabbed parchment, ink, and a quill, then began writing, the ink bleeding with her tears. She poured every emotion into those few sentences, then, with a flick of her wand, scrambled the letters and sealed the page with protective enchantments, just in case it fell into the wrong hands. With trembling fingers, she melted wax and sealed the envelope with her sigil.

Just then, the owl reappeared, hooting excitedly on her shoulder, expecting her usual treat before any delivery. Dalia pulled a leather pouch from the drawer, filled her hand with treats, and offered them to the bird.

'Greedy thing,' she murmured, stroking its feathers. Once the owl had finished eating, she tied the letter to its leg. 'Take this to Severus.'

Pippa shook its head.

'What don’t you understand? I said take it to Severus!'

The bird didn’t move.

'Oh, for Merlin's sake, you stupid owl! Take. It. To. Severus!' Dalia snapped.

Still, Pippa refused.

'Please… don’t do this to me,' her voice broke.

She began to suspect that the problem wasn’t the birds' stubbornness.

'Why won’t you take it? Can’t you?' she asked.

The owl shook its head.

Dalia sprang to her feet, and the startled Pippa fluttered away from her shoulder, flapping angrily as it fled the room. Fury surged through Dalia.

Was this really the end?

Her muscles tensed. She felt as if she were about to explode. She paced the room in growing frustration, then stopped and gripped the back of a chair – just for a moment – before lifting it with all her strength and hurling it against the wall. The heavy piece of furniture rebounded, one leg snapping off on impact.

She was lost, desperate. What was she supposed to do? Should she roam the country searching for Severus? Where would she even begin to look? If he had truly joined the Death Eaters, he could be anywhere – likely protected by a legion of enchantments.

Was there even anything she could still do? Maybe right now… maybe in this very moment, she still had a chance to stop him. Maybe not everything was lost just yet.

But how?

The weight of helplessness settled on her like a heavy stone, while rage burned through her soul like a consuming fire.

'You should’ve killed me instead!' she screamed, then tore the empty vials from the shelves and hurled them one by one across the room, watching them shatter against the floor.

With shaking hands, she picked up the crumpled letter from the corner, not even noticing the shards piercing her skin. She smoothed out the paper and reread the message, as if it might somehow change. The fury burned through her more violently than ever before.

This time, she turned to the full vials.

'Time to brew something new.'

One by one, she threw the potion vials to the centre of the room, not caring what mixed with what. She just wanted everything to burn. Red with blue, Babbling Beverage with Sneezing Suffusion, Amortentia with Veritaserum…

She didn’t care, she didn’t think – her only thought was to tear apart the world that had taken him from her.

Then she sparked her wand and set fire to Severus’ letter – hers too – and tossed them into the broken potions.

The flames flared up instantly, and Dalia watched her work with grim satisfaction.
It felt like her soul, her emotions, were burning in the middle of the room.

And then she saw the photograph –
The one Pandora had taken of them in London, just a few days ago.
The one where they stood locked in each other’s arms.

The fire hadn’t yet reached the desk. Dalia rushed over and snatched up the picture. She stood there for a while, staring at it, as if entranced.

Her fingers traced the boy’s dark silhouette.

'Severus…' she breathed. She collapsed to her knees, tears once again streaming down her face. 'Please come back…' she mouthed, eyes shut tight.

She didn’t notice when the fire reached another broken vial. The potions fused into thick, colourful droplets, the mixture hissing and steaming. And then, the flames bit into it hungrily.

Everything lit up in an instant –
Then exploded.
The entire room was swallowed by smoke.

Dalia was certain:
There was no chance she had survived the blast.
She knew how dangerous it was to mix random potions and set them on fire.
But she hadn’t seen another way out.

Yet the smoke didn’t choke her. The heat didn’t burn her. She could feel it, far off, as if it were trying to reach her from a great distance.

She opened her eyes. The air shimmered with heat – but she was still there.
Alive. And between her and the flames, something hung in the air… Something translucent.

A protective shield.

A spell she hadn’t even realized she’d cast. But it was there – clearly – and it had saved her.

Swallowing her tears, she rose to her feet. She could feel her own inner magic pressing against the red-hot heat, shielding her like armour, even though she hadn’t used her wand for it.

But the moment had come when she knew she needed to fall back on more conventional magic as well.

'Aquamenti,' she whispered – again and again.

Water burst forth and smothered the flames – and with them, the uncontrollable rage that had consumed her just minutes earlier.

She felt wrung out – Inside and out.

The silence after the storm was suddenly broken – by something. Or rather, someone.

Dalia flinched. Someone was slowly, rhythmically clapping behind her.

'Nice work… Though you really could’ve spared the arson,' came the familiar female voice.

'Professor?' she whispered as recognition rushed through her.

When she turned around, she found herself face to face with Quillon.

The woman looked completely transformed from how she had appeared at Hogwarts: her hair was short now, the grey streaks turned blonde, her face smooth – as if she had grown younger by years.

'Thanks to a nosy little beetle, not anymore,' she said with a grimace. 'Just Morgaine.'

She extended her hand to shake Dalia’s, but stopped halfway. The girl was covered in bloodstains, shards of glass still stuck in her palms, her nightdress soaked and stained with soot.

Dalia looked down at herself in shame.

'Maybe later,' Morgaine said, reacting to the moment, then began carefully removing the shards from Dalia’s skin with the help of spells. 'I hope you weren’t planning on mourning for long – because I won’t let you,' she added, concentrating hard to avoid hurting her student any further.

'It’s none of your concern. But… how did you know? Why did you come?' Dalia asked hesitantly.

'I have a bit more to do with this than you think. I’ll answer your questions later – I promise. But first, get yourself together a little,' she said, scanning Dalia with a gaze that was just too sharp, then bandaged the cleaned wounds.

Hundreds of miles away from Widra St. Capdel, Severus Snape was trying to find a new sense of home.

He wandered the oversized Prince manor like a shadow, several times a day – dusting, cleaning windows, throwing away anything he deemed unnecessary, cutting down weeds or pruning the bushes on the estate – with or without magic, depending on his mood. Not that there was much variation from day to day: sometimes he was sad, sometimes angry, sometimes bitter – and sometimes he felt nothing at all, except the infinite ache of absence.

None of it showed. He didn’t cry, didn’t rage – he simply did what he could. He buried his emotions, lost himself in the work, and only stepped outside when he ran out of cigarettes – which happened quite often, as he went through several packs a day, smoking like a chimney.

He didn’t do it entirely consciously.
Maybe he hoped it would help push down the lump in his throat that had lodged there since he left Dalia.
Or maybe he thought it might fill the emptiness carved into his chest by helplessness.
But no matter how many times he watched the smoke curl from a cigarette – his feelings didn’t vanish.

Four days passed like this before he ran out of things to do. There was only so much to clean, to mend, to organize. Finally, he unpacked his trunk – the last thread that kept him from fully committing to this new home. It was filled with old, worn clothing. He would’ve liked to buy something new, but he simply couldn’t afford it – especially not with his daily cigarette intake.
Somewhere deep down, he had hoped that being a Death Eater might at least be a profitable profession – if he was already paying for it with his soul.

Then, beneath the pile of clothes, something caught his eye and stopped him cold:
The photo –
The one of him standing beside Dalia.

His heart stuttered as he saw her.
It had only been a few days since they parted, yet it felt like he had already forgotten her face.

With a trembling thumb, he brushed over Dalia’s image, wondering how she could’ve ever chosen him.
What had she seen in him?

Then he looked at himself. He’d never been satisfied with how he looked, but in this photo, he found himself more repulsive than ever.

In a burst of anger, he tore the picture in half – careful not to damage the part with her in it. He threw his own half into the air and incinerated it with a flick of his wand, until nothing remained but black ash.

The piece with Dalia he folded carefully and slipped into the pocket of his cloak.

He had three days left until the meeting. That was all the time he had to face his fate and prepare for an entirely new life. In part, he had no idea what awaited him – yet in another, he knew exactly. Would he have to kill, or would he have a choice? He suspected the latter was unlikely. What Voldemort commanded had to be carried out.

Would he be willing to do everything expected of him without question?
Would he be able to bow his head like a soldier?

He wondered what it would feel like when the Mark was burned into his arm. Would it be painful – or would he feel nothing at all? It seemed too great a thing to go unnoticed.

He thought of the others who had died. Those who had so proudly worn the title of Death Eater, only to perish before even turning twenty.
And in the end… had their sacrifice meant anything?

Death was still death, no matter where it happened.

With nothing else to occupy his time, Severus spent the final days brewing potions – formulas he knew would be useful in war: various antivenoms, antidotes, Focus Potions, healing salves, and blood-replenishing draughts. He figured it was the least he could do to prepare.

The night before the meeting, he collapsed into the armchair in his makeshift lab. The potion fumes had made his greasy hair cling stubbornly to his skin, and his face was sunken from exhaustion.

The time had come.

The next day, he arrived at the appointed hour under 12 Grimmauld Place, prepared and resolute. Lucius was waiting outside the townhouse. He didn’t say a word – just nodded – then tapped the ground three times with his cane.

A new flat materialized between the existing buildings, as though the terracotta-coloured walls had shifted to make room.

'Come on, Cissy’s already inside,' he said, striding toward the now-visible door.

'Narcissa? You mean she – ' Severus began, but Lucius silenced him with a look.
The realization hit him like a cold shower: she had likely already joined Voldemort’s ranks – or was about to.

In the hallway, they were greeted by a surly-faced but obliging house-elf offering glasses of champagne to arriving guests – just as at any similar gathering. Severus had seen the creature before: it was Kreacher, one of the Black family's house-elves.

He needed every ounce of self-control not to let his nervousness show. His palms were sweating, and his heart was pounding as he walked the narrow corridor lined with black wallpaper, drawing closer to the living room.

When he reached the threshold, he didn’t look directly at Voldemort – instead, he bowed at once.

'My Lord,' he greeted him with solemn respect.

'Severus,' came the man’s honeyed voice. 'What a pleasure to finally have you among us. What brings you here?' he asked, prompting laughter from the Death Eaters gathered around him.

The loudest by far was Bellatrix Lestrange, whose exaggerated cackling made it clear she thought their Lord had just made a delightful joke.

Everyone knew perfectly well why Severus was there.

As he straightened, he was met with a wave of judgmental stares – and one gaze in particular, which he had seen countless times before, and yet could never face without a chill running down his spine.

Chapter Text

Dalia, still in shock, tried to cast a charm to make herself look more alive. Her soul lay in pieces, and not even magic could have put it back together. After a quick shower, she walked toward Morgaine with heavy sighs, stray curls sticking damply to her neck.

The woman moved around the kitchen as if she were at home: she poured them both some water, opened the cupboards in search of something to snack on, and idly examined the spice jars.

'This house has changed a lot since I last saw it,' she remarked as soon as she spotted Dalia.

'What do you mean by that?'

'Please, sit down and drink some water,' Morgaine gestured toward the chairs and the glass. 'You need it after all that crying.'

Dalia sank into the seat, drained, and took deep gulps of the cool liquid. Only then did she realize how thirsty she’d been.

The woman sat down across from her, the chair creaking under her weight.

'Why did you come here?' Dalia asked, her voice hoarse from crying and screaming.

'I owe to your parents,' Morgaine replied curtly.

That one sentence – rather than answering anything – only raised more questions in Dalia’s mind, but for now, she chose not to press.

'But why did you come here?'

'Do you really think anything escapes Dumbledore’s attention?'

Fair point, Dalia thought.

'If you give me a little time, I’ll explain everything,' the woman continued, then took a deep breath and began. 'Perhaps it’s best if I start at the beginning. The knowledge and talent that you and Severus possess didn’t come from nowhere – it’s more of a… legacy. Something you both inherited from your mothers.'

'You know my mother?' Dalia asked, stunned, in between sips.

Morgaine raised a hand to silence her gently.

'Eleanor and Eileen were my mentors for years – and to be completely honest, our time together grew into much more than that. They became my friends… And without them, I wouldn’t be where I am today.' She paused, glancing around the room as if searching for something familiar. 'Nearly thirty years ago, when I first started at Hogwarts, they took me under their wings right away. They were two years ahead of me. Eileen was a brilliant student, especially when it came to Potions, and your mother… well, I suppose you already have some idea of what she excelled at.'

'She could create charms too?'

'Not in the amount you do, but yes, she managed a few. Your creativity comes from Thaddeus. That said, Eleanor was the finest witch of her time when it came to mastering spells – faster and more effortlessly than anyone else. By her first year, she knew more charms than the average seventh-year Hogwarts student. And as for Eileen – I never once heard of a potion she failed to brew. But beyond all that, what truly mattered was that they were my friends for many years. You might find this surprising, but Eileen and Eleanor were even closer to each other than I was to either of them.'

'What do you mean by that? My mother knew Eileen?'

'Not only did she know her – she was her best friend.'

Dalia felt as though she might faint from the flood of revelations.

'Then how is it that I never once heard her mention Eileen?' she asked, eyebrows raised.

Morgaine stood and walked over to the window, her gaze glassy as she stared out at the garden.

'In their sixth year, something broke between them… Eileen turned toward dark magic, and Eleanor couldn’t accept that. Then Eileen married Tobias Snape, and Severus was born… That’s when she finally gave up forbidden magic. As far as I know, she and Eleanor never spoke again after that – I was the only connection between them…'

Dalia listened, stunned. Her mother had never hinted at any connection with Severus’s mother or with Quillon.

What else had she kept from her? Things that might have shaped her life? Was this why she’d been so wary the moment Dalia mentioned Severus? Why she had warned her against him?
But if she knew…
If she knew – why hadn’t she intervened? Why had she let them move in together?

Morgaine continued:

'Right now, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’ve never heard of me as your mother’s friend. The reason is simple: when I was hired to teach at Hogwarts, Eleanor, Eileen, and I agreed not to reveal our connection to you, because of the fear it might influence your academic paths. Still, I tried to guide both of you quietly from behind the scenes.'

Dalia raised an eyebrow.

'That’s all very noble, but it still doesn’t explain why you’re here.'

Morgaine let out a deep sigh, her icy blue eyes growing misty.

'I learned from Dumbledore that Eileen had died – killed by Death Eaters. At first, I was looking for Severus. I had hoped to stop him before he made that decision. I went to Spinner’s End, but all I found there was his mother’s grave and Tobias, raving and broken…' Her voice faltered, but she forced down the emotion and pressed on. 'Knowing what had happened between the two of you in your final year, I went to Eleanor. She told me I’d find you both here. But as it turns out – ' she gestured at Dalia, 'I was too late.'

'You got that right,' Dalia said, finishing the last of her water. 'About an hour too late.'

With trembling hands, Morgaine refilled her glass.

'You need to tell me everything that led to this. It’s the only way I can help you find him.'

'You’ll help me find him?' Dalia’s eyes lit up with hope.

The woman nodded, and with that, the brown-haired girl finally let herself speak. She told her everything – every step that had led to setting fire to the room she had so carefully prepared for the boy.

'…and then he used the Illusion Elixir on me. He thought I wouldn’t remember a thing,' she said, tears welling up in her eyes once more. 'But I saw it all, Morgaine. I heard every single word.'

Morgaine stepped behind her and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

'Don’t cry. It’s not your fault. I know exactly what you went through,' she said firmly, a crease of anger forming between her brows.

'You mean…?'

'I mean exactly that. I remember who tried to force information out of me – and how. And sadly, they succeeded. I was the one who reported it all to the Order of the Phoenix.'

'You said earlier that you tried to guide us from the shadows… Then why would you betray Severus like that?'

A deep sigh escaped Quillon.

'I can try to protect him from the world but not from his own foolish choices.'

Dalia didn’t respond. There was nothing she could say against that. She understood. She understood why Morgaine had made the decision she did.

'What’s your plan?' Morgaine asked after a brief silence.

'I need to find him,' Dalia murmured. 'But I have no idea how. My owl refuses to deliver the letter.'

A faintly mocking smile tugged at the corners of the Morgaine's lips.

'I expected a little more creativity from you. Obviously, one of the first things he did was to ward his location. We may not be able to stop him from joining Voldemort’s ranks… but if we find him in time, maybe we can still save his soul. We need to start preparing for this war as soon as possible. And you – ' she shook her head, 'you still have so much to learn. But the situation isn’t hopeless.'

'Do you think you have a better plan?' Dalia asked, stung.

'Maybe just a slightly better one. First, you need to train. You can’t save Severus if you can’t even protect yourself.'

The words hit like a well-aimed hex. She knew Morgaine was right – and that only made it hurt more.

'Give me your arm, Severus,' Voldemort commanded.

With trembling hands, Severus pulled up the sleeve of his robe, exposing the skin of his left arm. He was the first. Around him stood everyone who had joined the dark ranks that day – among them, to his deepest disappointment, Lucius’s fiancée.

Voldemort pressed his wand so forcefully against the boy’s skin it seemed to cut into it, searing the Mark into place. The design slithered across Severus’s arm like a living serpent, starting at his palm and crawling toward the spot where Voldemort’s wand touched, then flared up – as if the skin itself had been branded. Severus’s face contorted in pain, but he made no sound. He endured it in silence.

When Voldemort finished, he handed him a Death Eater mask, sealing the initiation.

'Welcome to our ranks,' he said, giving the boy a pat on the back and sending him off toward the others.

Unlike Severus, not all endured the Mark in silence – several gasped or hissed at the searing pain. Not Narcissa, though. She stood perfectly still, enduring the brief agony as if pain had always flowed through her veins.

'I expected nothing less from a Black sister,' Voldemort noted. 'Welcome, Narcissa,' he added, letting his hand brush down her back.

Lucius tensed beside Severus, a reaction the boy caught, if only faintly. He couldn’t even imagine how he would’ve reacted if the Dark Lord had touched Dalia like that… Probably the same: stiffening, but swallowing his anger. Against Voldemort, even they had no voice.

Once the new initiates had been marked, everyone gathered in the living room of the Black residence, seating themselves around the large circular table. Voldemort didn’t need to say a word – they took their seats in complete, reverent silence.

'You may already be aware,' he began in that deep, fearsome voice, 'that in the near future, we must embark on a critical mission. A mission to secure one of the wizarding world’s most precious relics. I will need a brave volunteer from among you.'

Severus locked eyes with Regulus, seated directly across from him. It was a charged look – his own gaze silently warning the younger boy, full of concern and silent pleading, while Regulus’s eyes returned a quiet refusal: Don’t try to stop me.

'I volunteer,' Regulus said, standing.

'My Lord…' Severus spoke at the same time, a little hesitantly.

The room fell into a stillness so deep that one could’ve heard a feather drop. Regulus shot Severus an annoyed glare, unaware that his friend’s interruption was meant to shield him – from the likely danger of the mission, and from doing something reckless in the process.

'Do you object, Severus? Do you think it wise, just after receiving such an honour, to challenge my will?'

'No, my Lord,' he said, bowing his head. 'I only meant to draw your attention to a small detail.'

'Indeed? Speak.'

'I believe it would be wiser not to choose a volunteer from among us,' Severus said, trying to sound firm, though his voice wavered slightly. 'I don’t doubt the loyalty of those present – but… if this task is truly of great importance,' he lifted his gaze to the fearsome face, 'then perhaps it would be better to send someone who obeys without question. Someone incapable of disobedience.'

'And what are you suggesting, Severus?'

The boy tried to remain as composed as he could. He straightened his posture before speaking again.

'For example… you could take a house-elf with you.'

A beat of silence followed the statement – then Voldemort’s chilling laughter filled the space. Encouraged by this reaction, the Death Eaters began to murmur among themselves, as though their leader had asked them to.

Voldemort raised a single finger, and the room fell silent once more.

'Not a bad idea,' he said, spreading his arms. 'Regulus, my boy, you seemed eager earlier. Do you know of a suitable elf for the task?'

Regulus gave a graceful bow.
'If I must, I’ll summon one from the depths of the earth, my Lord.'

'Excellent.'

Severus allowed himself a moment of internal relief at Voldemort’s decision but kept his expression neutral. He thanked the heavens for the mask of emotionlessness he had learned to wear so well. The less they knew about him – truly knew – the less they could use against him.

'Rodolphus,' Voldemort addressed a bearded wizard in his thirties, 'hand out the lists.'

The man straightened proudly and, with a flick of his wand, sent sheets of parchment sailing to each Death Eater.

'We must strongly encourage our pure-blood brothers and sisters to join our cause. It is an honour to belong to us – I trust we all agree on that,' Voldemort said, casting a glance around the circle. 'Our goal, in the footsteps of Salazar Slytherin, is to elevate wizardkind and purify it from the filth of Muggles and Mudbloods. Those who do not support us in this war are no better than the scum we oppose. Do not forget that.'

At the word 'Mudblood,' Severus flinched.
So this was why he was here.
To rid the wizarding world of Muggles, Mudbloods, and anyone who dared to disagree with them?
People like his father. Like Lily. Like Dalia.

The thought made his stomach churn.

'On the parchment before you,' Voldemort continued, 'you will find names. Your task is simple: locate them. Each one is of pure blood – many will be familiar to you. Persuade them to join our ranks. If you meet resistance, you know what tools to use to change their minds.' He bared his sharp teeth in something more akin to a snarl than a smile. 'At our next gathering, I will expect a report – delivered through your memories.'

Severus swallowed hard before letting his eyes travel down the list. Most of the names meant nothing to him… witches and wizards he had never even heard of. But when he reached the very bottom of the page, two names stopped him cold.

It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

If he could have, he would’ve torn out his heart, his conscience, every part of him that made him human.

At the bottom of the list, written in smudged ink, were two names:

Eleanor and Thaddeus Dawlish.

Chapter Text

Regulus was pacing back and forth in his dark room, nervously twirling his pocket watch in his right hand.

'Tell me again, Kreacher, exactly what happened,' he said sternly, fixing the house-elf with a hard stare.

'Yes, Master Regulus,' the broken little house-elf began, his head bowed low. 'The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a distant, seaside cave and cut Kreacher’s hand. It hurt very much, but Kreacher endured it bravely – it is an honour to serve the Dark Lord. Then the Dark Lord took Kreacher’s bloody hand and smeared Kreacher’s blood on the stones. There was a passage there, leading to a lake, and in the middle of the lake was a small island. There was a boat to reach the island, and the Dark Lord got in. He asked Kreacher if he was carrying anything. But Kreacher must never carry anything, so he told him no. Then Kreacher crossed with the Dark Lord to the little island. There was a stone basin there, filled with potion, and beside it, a cup. The Dark Lord ordered Kreacher to drink the potion,' the house-elf rattled off quickly, but at this point, his face darkened. 'Oh, but what happened next, Master Regulus… Kreacher saw terrible things, heard screaming, saw the traitor Sirius Black again, who is not worthy of his name… And Kreacher’s whole body hurt, even from the first sip of that awful potion.'

Regulus listened patiently to the distressed house-elf.

'Then it got worse, but Kreacher could not disobey. And when he finally drank all of it, the Dark Lord placed a necklace into the basin, and left Kreacher there. Kreacher was very thirsty, and he bent down to scoop some water. But oh, Master, that was when the real horror began. From the bottom of the lake, Inferi came after Kreacher, tried to pull him into the depths – but Kreacher’s master had ordered him to return home.'

The house-elf looked up at Regulus with grateful eyes, as if he were some kind of saviour. And in a way, he was right – without that command, Kreacher wouldn’t have stood a chance of escaping.

So that’s how Voldemort treats house-elves… and he probably would’ve treated him the same way, had he taken him instead of the house-elf. Severus had no idea what a favour he’d done by making that suggestion – Regulus thought. There was no doubt in his mind now. After Kreacher’s account, he knew exactly what needed to be done. But the thought didn’t bring him any comfort.

He took out a piece of parchment and began to write. The first two words came easily. But the ones that were meant to follow – they caught in the fog that had settled over his mind after Kreacher’s tale.

Dearest Panda, – he began the letter, but the rest didn’t come. He knew exactly what had to follow. So why was it so hard to write it down?

After several heavy minutes, the dam broke, and then he wrote without thinking. There was nothing left to hold him back anymore: Pandora could never be his, not even if he came back from this alive. He wrote about his feelings, about his plan, and about the favour he wanted to ask of her in case he didn’t return. He knew it was a huge request, but there was no one else he trusted the way he trusted her. No one else he could entrust this secret to.

Once he finished, he sealed the envelope carefully, enchanted it with protective spells so that no one but Pandora would be able to read it. He didn’t even trust owls anymore – so he held the letter out to Kreacher.

'You must take this letter to Pandora Malfoy,' he said. But it sounded more like a plea than a command. 'Only after you’ve come with me to the cave,' he added, and Kreacher’s face twisted in pain, as though he’d been brought back to that place. He didn’t dare object – he merely made a small remark about the addressee.

'Blood traitor girl. She doesn’t deserve her house. She doesn’t deserve the Malfoy name,' Kreacher muttered, shaking his head.

Regulus responded with a deep sigh.

'Don’t speak ill of her, please. She had no choice… or at least, I really want to believe that,' he murmured, the last words meant more for himself than the house-elf.

He walked over to the display cabinets, opened one, and with a wave of his wand revealed a hidden drawer. From it, he retrieved a necklace and held it out toward Kreacher.

'Does this necklace look familiar?' he asked.

'Of course it does, Master. That’s the one the Dark Lord took to the cave!' the house-elf gasped. 'But how did it end up with you?'

Regulus crouched down beside him and grabbed the house-elf’s shoulder, holding the piece of jewellery close to his face.

'You mustn’t speak of this to anyone. Do you understand, Kreacher? No one can know about the necklace, or where we’re going. It has to remain our secret. You may give Pandora the letter, but you cannot speak to her. Was I clear?'

A sniffle escaped from Kreacher’s long, hooked nose, but he nodded.

'Yes, Master. Master has always been good to Kreacher. Kreacher doesn’t deserve him.'

A pang of guilt hit Regulus – he was sending the house-elf back into the same mission where Voldemort had shown no limits to his cruelty. But there was no other choice. Only Voldemort and Kreacher knew where the relic had been hidden. Still, Regulus made himself a promise: if he could help it, he would not let Kreacher suffer again.

He fastened a dagger to his side, then turned to the house-elf and whispered:

'Take me to the cave.'

Kreacher nodded, gripped his master tightly, snapped his fingers – and the next moment, they were standing in a damp, cold, pitch-black cave.

'This is the entrance, Master!' Kreacher pointed to the bare, rubble-strewn wall before them.

'Lumos,' Regulus murmured, raising his wand toward the wall. 'A blood sacrifice, right?' he said aloud, mostly to himself. He reached to his side and drew the dagger from its sheath.

Kreacher dutifully offered his hand, eyes shut tightly, waiting for the cut. But instead, Regulus closed the blade in his own palm and hissed as he dragged the edge across his skin. Bright red blood welled up instantly. Without hesitation, Regulus pressed his hand to the black stone wall, smearing it at a single point.

The wall, as if coming to life, split open – revealing the path ahead.

Kreacher still stood there, eyes squeezed shut, expecting pain. He only dared to open them again when he felt Regulus gently patting him on the back.

'Let’s go.'

The house-elf followed in stunned silence. When he finally processed what had happened, he burst out:

'But you were supposed to cut me, Master! Your noble blood – '

'Enough, Kreacher,' his master cut him off. 'Lumos Maxima. Are we crossing now?' he asked, as the inky surface of the lake emerged in front of them.

Kreacher nodded.

'But where is the boat?'

The house-elf reached out over the water, and soon a heavy chain shot out from it. He gathered all his strength to pull it, but it wasn’t enough to drag the boat to shore. Regulus stepped in to help.

'Leave it, I’ve got it,' he told the house-elf.

With a few pained grunts, he hauled the heavy contraption closer. Each movement made him wince, as the chain bit into his freshly wounded hand – but finally, the boat came into full view.

'And now?'

'Kreacher and the Dark Lord simply stepped in, and the boat moved on its own, Master.'

'Let’s hope it’s the same this time,' Regulus muttered, then carefully stepped into the boat. As he looked down into the black water beneath him, he swallowed hard. What lurked in those depths? Inferi… or something worse? Though even the Inferi alone would likely be enough to kill him if he fell in.

As soon as they were both on it, the boat began to move on its own. It felt as though some invisible magical force was pulling them toward a fixed point. Darkness engulfed everything around them – only the single spot illuminated by Regulus’s earlier charm remained visible. Occasionally, the dark surface of the water appeared, along with the damp, cold stones of the cave.

As they approached the small island, Kreacher shuddered. He feared the torment would soon begin again – he would have to drink that potion once more. But upon reaching the shore, his master said something that Kreacher wouldn’t have believed even in his boldest dreams.

Regulus pulled the necklace from his pocket and placed it in the house-elf’s hand.

'Take this,' the boy began. 'It’s a replica. You won’t need to do anything with it until I’ve finished drinking all of it.' He gestured to the potion in the stone basin. Kreacher opened his mouth to protest, but Regulus silenced him with a raised hand. 'As soon as it’s empty, you’ll switch the medallions. This is very important. No matter what state I’m in when it’s done, you must leave. If it comes to that, you’ll have to leave me here. Do you understand?'

'But Master…' Kreacher’s eyes welled with tears.

'If you get the original necklace, you must deliver it to Pandora – along with the letter. Do we understand each other?'

The house-elf’s already large eyes widened with grief, but he had no choice. His master had given him a command.

'Yes, Master Regulus.'

Regulus’s gaze shifted from the house-elf to the stone basin, and then to the goblet beside it. With trembling hands, he reached for it, hesitating as he drew up the first dose of potion. The liquid was thick, black spirals swirling through it – but as he scooped it up, it cleared, becoming transparent like water – innocent, crystalline… and utterly deceiving. What would it show him? Would it truly be as awful as Kreacher had described? Or worse? Was there any hope of resisting its effects… or was it already too late?

He knew the answer lay just one sip away.

He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank the first dose.

The potion hit instantly. Regulus collapsed to his knees, gripping the edge of the basin. A searing pain tore through his throat and stomach, as though the liquid had scorched a path through every organ it touched. Still, he couldn’t focus solely on the physical agony. No matter how often he blinked, his vision dimmed – and all he could hear were screams and anguished cries. At first, he couldn’t place them, but as seconds passed, the people behind the voices began to appear.

The Death Eaters. His classmates. Slughorn. Dumbledore.
His mother. His cousins.
His brother.
Pandora.

The moment he saw her face, he found the strength to return to his task.

'These are just voices,' he ground out through clenched teeth as he pulled himself upright, still holding onto the basin. His lips burned as he downed another dose.

The pain intensified. The visions became sharper – specific memories from his worst days surged before his eyes.

'Dad, don’t – ' he whimpered, as Orion Black appeared before him, belt in hand. As a child, Regulus had often received 'disciplinary' beatings from his father for the smallest misdeeds, while Sirius was punished mostly with words.

'Maybe you’ll turn out less of a failure,' his father’s voice echoed, just before the belt cracked across his back.
Would he still believe that now – if he saw all this? That Regulus was the lesser failure?
The thought that Sirius, the black sheep, would remain the man’s only son made Regulus smile, just faintly, and he reached for another dose.

The next memory: his mother, hollow and broken, sat on the edge of a black marble tub – emaciated, her eyes red and raw from crying.

'You think I’d have married your father if I had any choice at all?' she said, voice laced with sadness and fury. Then she reached for her son and pulled him into an embrace, continuing in a softer tone. 'There’s no other meaning to life for me, Regulus. Only you. Will you promise to be a good boy? For mama?'

Was that really what he lived for?
To fulfil someone else’s dreams?
To live the way his mother wanted him to?

Tears spilled down his face. From the depths of pain, a single touch pulled him back – a hand on his shoulder.

It was Kreacher.
The little house-elf’s heart broke at the sight of Regulus.

That hand gave the boy just enough strength to carry on.

The next vision tore into him – the day Sirius left the family. Regulus had sat at the bottom of the stairs, only fourteen years old. He had been close to tears as his brother, wrapped in his winter cloak and dragging a packed trunk behind him, looked back at him from the doorway.

'If you had a bit of sense, you’d come with me. They’re going to make you a Death Eater. You’ll be ordered to do things you don’t want to do. You’ll have to kill, if they tell you. Is that what you want, Reggie? Is the family’s honour worth that much to you?'

'If you can’t do it, I’ll have to,' he’d answered, full of pride.
Now, he saw himself from the outside – heard again the words he’d regretted ever since.

'That’s your decision,' Sirius had said, lifting his chin before slamming the door behind him.
That night, Regulus had cried himself to sleep.

The memory tore his soul to pieces all over again. He couldn’t turn back now – not anymore. His hand trembled as he dipped the goblet into the potion again.
There wasn’t much left.

Darkness closed in around him – dense, voiceless, all-consuming. For a few seconds, the potion sealed him into this prison.
Then Pandora appeared before him.

She was running toward him, a smile on her face – but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get any closer.

Then arms reached for her, caught her around the waist. Someone was dragging her back. Pandora reached for him, her arm outstretched as she struggled against the hand tightening around her middle, but she couldn’t break free. Regulus ran, with everything he had – but she kept slipping farther and farther away… until she vanished.

Regulus reached for the final dose, weak, his face wet with tears.

He saw a cross –
his name carved into it.

In front of it knelt a blonde-haired girl, her tears falling like diamonds into the grave. And where those tears landed, two small flowers began to bloom: a lily of the valley, and a blue cornflower.
Tiny flowers that looked beautiful next to each other – but never bloomed together.

The potion’s effect ended abruptly after the vision. It left behind only one feeling: searing, unrelenting thirst.

Kreacher moved swiftly, swapped the medallions, then hurried to Regulus.

'We must go, Master!'

'I’m thirsty, Kreacher,' Regulus rasped, his voice dry and cracked.

'You mustn’t drink here, Master – we have to leave. Please, Master!'

Regulus shook his head, his face contorted in pain. He felt like he would choke if he didn’t drink something now. He saw nothing else, felt nothing else – only the burning thirst.

'Master, please don’t go near it!' Kreacher pleaded, more and more desperate –
but he couldn’t stop him.

Regulus leaned over the dark lake and scooped up a handful of water. From beneath the surface, a skeletal hand shot out and dragged him into the depths in an instant.

The weakened boy struggled for a moment, as if it could help, as if there were any chance of escape. But soon, not one, but at least twenty rotting hands wrapped around his limbs, pulling him down with the weight of lead to the bottom of the lake. His lungs emptied, bit by bit.

So this is the end? he thought, letting go of every muscle in his body. The dark water rippled softly before him – he couldn’t see it anymore, but he could feel it.

I just hope… it was worth it.

That was his last thought, before the deep swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

Xenophilius Lovegood’s London flat was dimly lit by a few floor lamps, casting only a sparse glow. In the dining room, the long-haired young man and his newly engaged fiancée sat in silence, sharing a quiet dinner. Xenophilius could hardly suppress his grin between bites – he felt like the luckiest man alive knowing that the enchanting girl seated across from him would soon become Mrs. Lovegood.

But the peaceful moment was shattered by a loud pop: a dirty, ugly house-elf with swollen, tear-filled eyes appeared with a thud on the living room’s wooden floor. Pandora and Xenophilius sprang to their feet simultaneously, wands raised, ready to defend themselves against a potential intruder, only to find – somewhat relieved – that it was merely a house-elf lying before them.

Something, however, was strange. Pandora bent down to examine the elf. Its clothes were soaked, its skin covered in mud, its hooked nose sniffled loudly, and its round eyes poured tears. She offered a handkerchief, but the elf pushed her hand away.

‘Kreacher cannot accept anything from a blood traitor girl,’ the elf sniffled indignantly, clutching a soaking wet letter in its tiny, fragile hands.

Xenophilius raised an eyebrow.
‘What in Merlin’s name is going on here?’
Pandora glanced back at him and motioned for silence, then turned back to Kreacher.
‘What happened?’
‘Re...gu...lus... young... master...’ the elf choked out between sobs, barely intelligible. It stretched the letter toward the girl, pinching only the very corner of the envelope, taking great care not to touch Pandora’s hand.

Her heart trembled at the name. She wanted to believe the best, but Kreacher’s condition bode nothing good. She tried not to assume the worst and simply took the letter.

The envelope was thoroughly soaked, so she decided she’d need to dry it first before attempting to read it. As she lifted the paper into the air, her anxious gestures betrayed her emotions, though she kept her face composed. She didn’t think it wise to show vulnerability at the mention of another boy’s name in front of Xenophilius. Even if he had no reason to worry, she didn’t want to hurt him.

Once the letter was dry, she took it in hand again. Miraculously, the seal – the Black family crest – had survived intact. Pandora tried to break it, but couldn’t; it was magically protected. Realizing the letter must be important and that she couldn’t read it just yet, she rose from beside Kreacher and turned to Xenophilius.

‘I have to go,’ she said firmly. Though she tried to mask it, Xenophilius could see the fire of fear burning in her sky-blue eyes.
‘Where?’ he asked calmly.
‘To Dalia’s. I’ll need her,’ she replied, waving the envelope briefly before pressing a small kiss to his lips. ‘Don’t wait up – I’ll stay at her place tonight.’

Xenophilius didn’t say a word. He simply pulled a vial of brown powder from his pocket, removed the cork, and blew the contents into Pandora’s face. She coughed immediately.

‘Very kind of you, Xen,’ she said, struggling not to choke on the cinnamon. ‘This sweet scent does match my outfit,’ she added with a smile.
‘It brings luck,’ Xenophilius replied, his face unreadable. ‘Use the fireplace.’

Seconds later, Pandora vanished in a burst of green flames – and Kreacher with her.

Dalia was in her living room, trying to breathe life back into her slightly wilted plants. It was the first time she’d watered them since Severus had left – and the flowers didn’t take kindly to the neglect. Pandora appeared suddenly in the fireplace, causing Dalia to nearly leap up, watering can in hand.

‘You have to help,’ the blonde girl panted.

Dalia rushed to Pandora, grabbing her hand to help her out of the fireplace, now coated in grey ash. As she did, the girl pressed a letter into her palm and brushed off her white linen skirt. With a loud pop, Kreacher appeared – this time, however, he did not fall over, only hovered uncertainly toward the girls.

Dalia had no idea where to turn first.

‘What happened?’ she asked, stunned, casting bewildered glances between them.

Pandora pointed at the letter.
‘I think Regulus sent it.’ She turned to Kreacher. ‘It was Regulus, wasn’t it?’

The elf nodded.

‘I didn’t dare open it in front of Xen, but I couldn’t at first anyway. What kind of charm do you think protects it?’ she asked Dalia, her voice laced with desperation.

Dalia narrowed her eyes, inspecting the envelope and its seal. A heartbeat later – like a light flickering on in her mind – she looked up.

‘It's protected by a password,’ she stated plainly.

‘A password?’ Pandora echoed, puzzled.

‘Yes,’ her friend nodded. ‘If you’re sure Regulus sent it, the answer might not be far. Is there something only the two of you would know? A word or phrase he could be certain only you’d recognize?’

Tears welled up in Pandora’s eyes as realization dawned. She let her arms fall to her sides and began to whisper.

‘The lily of the valley… has withered,’ she breathed into the air.

At once, the letter flew out of Dalia’s hand, its seal breaking open on its own, and hovered in front of the blonde girl, waiting for her to take it.

Lily of the valley... Where does it bloom? Pandora’s words rose from Dalia’s memory. He was the lily of the valley! That was the one thing she regretted after parting with her family – not knowing what would happen to Regulus. And now she says it has withered. But what does that even mean? Surely not...

Pandora’s eyes darted along the elegant script. She stopped breathing as she read. Dalia watched her for a moment, then noticed that Kreacher was still standing there.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, folding her arms in front of the elf.

Kreacher’s face twisted into a grimace.

‘Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to give something to Miss Malfoy... but Kreacher may not give it until the blood-traitor girl has read the letter.’ He looked at Dalia as though every second spent in her home was torture.

The brown-haired girl didn’t even acknowledge the insult. She simply motioned to the elf to sit on the sofa. Kreacher was surprised by the gesture but accepted it.

‘What does it say?’ she asked Pandora.

Her friend looked up from the parchment with glassy eyes.

‘He’s dead,’ she said coldly. The words struck the walls like heavy stones. She swallowed, then repeated the phrase in a broken voice, this time as a question: ‘He’s dead?’

Kreacher nodded, pulled his tiny legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and began to rock.

Pandora held herself together. She wouldn’t let her emotions take over while Kreacher was still there, but the sight of the elf wasn’t helping.

‘What happened?’

At the question, Kreacher began rocking back and forth more violently, but didn’t answer.

‘You can’t speak?’ Pandora crouched in front of him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady the elf’s compulsive movements.

‘Master Regulus told Kreacher to give the letter to Miss Malfoy,’ he chanted. ‘After the young lady reads the letter, Kreacher will give her the other thing Master entrusted to him.’

‘I’ve read the letter. You brought a necklace, didn’t you?’ she asked gently.

Kreacher nodded again and pulled out a pendant wrapped in rags.

‘Kreacher cannot say more. Kreacher is going home,’ the elf declared. He pushed Pandora’s hand away and stood.

‘I have one more question… Do you know where he was buried?’

Kreacher shook his head and soon filled the room with loud, sniffling sobs.

‘Kreacher had to leave Master’s body… Master was lost, and cannot be brought back from there…’

‘It’s all right, Kreacher. Thank you.’ Pandora handed him a handkerchief, holding it out until the elf reluctantly accepted it. He blew his nose, tucked it away, snapped his fingers, and vanished.

Dalia looked after the small creature with disgust etched across her face. She couldn’t understand how something – or someone, she wasn’t even sure how to refer to him – could be so thoroughly unpleasant.

Pandora collapsed to her knees. She let the letter fall to the floor, and her tears soaked the black-inked words like a downpour.

‘How could he be so reckless?’ she sobbed, curled in on herself. She pounded her fist against the floor as though physical pain could dull the grief shredding her soul. ‘And for what? For a bloody necklace!’ she cried out.

Dalia knelt beside her but didn’t dare touch her. She had never seen her friend so broken. So instead, she chose silence, offering quiet support and saving her questions until the storm had passed.

Pandora slid the letter over to Dalia.

‘If you promise not to tell anyone, you can read it.’

‘Who would I tell?’ she asked, though she didn’t expect an answer. She picked up the letter and began to read.

Dear Panda,

By the time you read this, I am likely no longer alive. I’m sorry I wasn’t better to you. When you told me I might be able to free myself from this, I believed you. I thought I had a chance to kill him… But I’ve come to realize I’m nothing more than a mere pawn on the chessboard. I hoped I could wrest control from the player moving me, and change my fate.

If you’re reading this, it’s up to you whether I emerge from this battle as a victor – or whether all of my efforts were in vain. If you’re reading this, it means I died trying to retrieve the locket. Kreacher will have to give it to you soon. He may be a grumpy little elf at times, but believe me – his heart is in the right place.

Perhaps now you’re wondering what kind of fool would give his life for a necklace. Maybe you’re right, and I truly am a fool. But… if my suspicions are correct, this is more than just a necklace. If my research led me in the right direction, objects like this may be behind Voldemort’s immortality. Perhaps this is the only one, and if it can be destroyed, then Voldemort himself might die as well. Judging by the way Kreacher described its protections earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised if this were truly the only one.

I know it’s a lot to ask, but it must be destroyed. It likely won’t be easy, but I know you’re the only one I can trust – and the only one who might truly be able to do it.

You were right, dear Panda. I am more than the Dark Mark. I can choose to take another path, even if it comes at a cost. Thank you for opening my eyes.

I am afraid of death – it would be a lie to claim otherwise. But every time I want to give up, I think of your face, and it gives me strength to keep going. I am grateful to have had you as a friend.

I’d be lying if I said that friendship was ever enough for me.

I love you, Pandora.
Not just as a friend, but with my whole heart. I can only hope that Xenophilius will be able to give you everything I could not... And I hope that you truly love him.

Please don’t cry for me. It would only be a waste of your tears.

Your friend,
R. A. B.

Dalia stared at the lines in shock. Was he really dead? The boy who was two years younger than them… How could this have happened? How had he even discovered that Voldemort’s invulnerability was rooted in immortality and such dangerous dark magic? And how could Pandora possibly destroy an object imbued with dark magic all on her own? The questions raced through her mind.

‘If he had known… If he had known how I felt… Do you think I could’ve stopped him?’ Pandora asked. By now, she had straightened up slightly and stopped crying.

‘How you felt? What do you mean?’ Dalia looked at her, confused.

‘For Merlin’s sake, not even my best friend can see it?’ Pandora snapped. ‘Tell me that the question wasn’t serious. I loved him, Dalia,’ she added, her voice softening. ‘And not just as a friend...’

‘Then why didn’t you tell him?’ Dalia was even more confused. ‘You knew he was in love with you...’

‘And you think that was enough? Was it enough for you and Severus?’

‘Don’t compare the two situations! It’s not the same!’

‘Then how are they different? Do you think you wouldn’t have ended up like Narcissa Black? Do you think she joined Voldemort’s ranks with a smile?’

‘I can actually imagine her doing that. But I know I never would’ve!’

‘And Severus knew that perfectly well!’ the blonde girl shot back. At that, neither of them had anything more to say.

Sometimes love simply isn’t enough, Dalia concluded. She scooted closer and draped her arm around her friend’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry,’ was all she could say.

Pandora let out a deep sigh and rested her head on Dalia’s shoulder.
‘It’s not your fault,’ she murmured. ‘Will you help me? I’ll need you,’ she whispered.

‘It was never even a question,’ Dalia said as she ran her hand down her arm. ‘But it won’t be easy,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘Maybe Quillon could help.’

‘You can’t tell her!’ Pandora pulled away at once.

‘Merlin, haven’t you ever had to tell your parents something you didn’t want to? I’ll only tell her what she absolutely needs to know. I won’t mention Regulus, or you, or the locket’s connection to Voldemort.’

Pandora seemed to calm a little at that, exhaling loudly.

‘Want to look at the stars?’ she offered.

Dalia nodded and fetched a blanket.

A few minutes later, the two girls were lying beneath the bright constellations of the August night.

‘I already miss him,’ Pandora said, and the thought brought tears to her eyes once again. She had hoped that stargazing would ease the ache of his absence – but it had the opposite effect. It only made her miss him more. She didn’t need to trace the whole Leo constellation to find its brightest star: Regulus.

Her tears were caught by the soft summer breeze and scattered across the wide garden. Where they landed, they triggered a kind of magic neither girl had ever seen before. Tiny flowers with white buds sprouted throughout the yard. As Pandora’s tears continued to fall, the lilies of the valley soon blanketed the grass like a woven carpet.

It was then that Dalia understood how magic could take the most unexpected forms: flowers blooming in the wake of a fairy’s tears. As she looked over Pandora’s shoulder, she found herself staring into the eyes of a large black dog. The creature didn’t come any closer – only watched them. And when Dalia looked more closely, she saw that tears shimmered in its eyes as well.

She looked up at the sky just in time to catch a shooting star streak past Sirius. When she looked back, the dog was gone.

What a strange night, she thought, and lay back on the soft blanket.

Chapter Text

Dalia’s living room had undergone a complete transformation: all the furniture had been cleared out, save for a single table pushed beneath the window. On this table, she and Morgaine kept everything they might need for practicing spells. The girl and the woman were currently hunched over a thick, illustrated book.

‘Here it is,’ Quillon said, pointing to a painted illustration in the upper right corner of one page. The image – judging by its condition and style – had likely been created in the Middle Ages, and showed a blonde woman with exaggerated teardrops falling from her eyes, white flowers blooming at her feet. Morgaine began reading aloud:

"When the bloodline of the Flava Mediocris merges with that of a magical being (most often a witch, more rarely a wizard), a child is born bearing a unique gift: from their tears, fields arise; flowers bloom wherever their sorrow falls. This ability is only awakened when the half-blood experiences profound grief or an emotion that deeply shakes the soul. The magic of pain transforms into tears, and these tears carry the excess force of nature – born from the union of fairy blood and the human spirit. Neither body nor mind suffers harm. The phenomenon is not dangerous; in fact, many describe it as a wondrous, celestial vision – how sorrow clothes the earth in blossoms."

Dalia gazed absentmindedly out the open window. She found it difficult to focus on dense codices in the August heat, despite her fascination with the secret behind Pandora’s ability. It didn’t help that her thoughts were completely consumed by Severus. She didn’t reply, just murmured and nodded at Morgaine’s words.

‘I might as well leave you here if you're not paying attention,’ Morgaine remarked coldly.

‘Sorry,’ Dalia straightened, trying to force a more attentive expression onto her face. She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and gently dabbed the sweat from her forehead. ‘Could you repeat that?’

Morgaine sighed and shook her head.

‘In short, the passage says that the phenomenon isn’t unique. What Ms. Malfoy can do probably stems from one of her ancestors.’

‘Mrs. Lovegood,’ Dalia corrected quietly. ‘What kind of species is the Flava Mediocris, anyway?’ she leaned over the codex.

‘A fairy.’

‘A fairy?’ Dalia raised a hand to her chin thoughtfully. ‘But fairies are tiny creatures – how would they be able to…?’

Morgaine’s eyebrows drew together. She leaned on the table, dragging her hands down her face in frustration.

‘I’ve always told Dumbledore that the education you get at Hogwarts is lacking,’ she burst out. ‘Every other wizarding school offers deeper knowledge – except maybe Ilvermorny. But that old man is so stubborn. Fairies aren’t just pixies, you know,’ she added, straightening and turning to lean back against the table. From the pocket of her blue linen skirt, she pulled out a cigarette case, took a cigarette, and lit it with her wand. ‘Bloody British rigidity...’ she grumbled on.

‘As if you weren’t one of them,’ Dalia muttered, rolling her eyes. ‘And could you please not smoke inside?’

‘If that’s your biggest problem in life...’ Morgaine exhaled a plume of smoke, her face a mask of indifference. With an elegant motion, she brushed a short blond strand from her forehead. ‘And when are you going to stop using that cursed formal address with me?’

The girl didn’t answer. She’d just about gotten used to Morgaine calling her by her first name, but speaking informally still felt like too sudden a leap – especially toward a former professor who, only a few months ago, had been standing at the lectern giving exams.

Dalia wondered when the woman had changed so much. Where had the icy, sharp-eyed professor gone, the one who could silence an entire classroom with her presence alone? And who was this person standing beside her now? She knew by now that Morgaine had once been a friend of her mother’s, yet she felt as though she barely knew her at all.

‘How’s the protection charm coming along?’ Morgaine asked, as if she hadn’t expected an answer to her previous question. She was referring to the spell Dalia had once used to shield herself from fire.

Dalia sighed quietly. Weeks had passed, and she had tried to summon it again nearly every day, but every attempt had failed. She couldn’t find the spell’s point of origin, and so she couldn’t figure out how to wield it again.

‘I’m stuck,’ she muttered.

‘That’s a problem,’ the woman said, though her voice held no emotion. She wasn’t angry, didn’t scold the girl – just stated a fact. ‘You may need more time than I thought,’ she added, disappearing behind a curtain of smoke.

Dalia turned away, coughing. Ever since Severus had left, she hadn’t been able to stand cigarette smoke – it carried too many memories. She no longer wanted to master the bitter, stinging comfort it offered; she just wanted to forget it altogether.

She walked to the guest room, picked up the necklace from a stack of furniture, then returned to the living room and held it out to Morgaine.

‘What’s this?’ Morgaine asked, taking the pendant and leaning toward the window to extinguish her cigarette on the sill.

‘Something I need to destroy. Can you help?’ Dalia asked quickly, before the woman could ask any more questions.

‘That depends,’ Morgaine replied, turning the pendant over in her hands with curiosity. ‘But there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of,’ she added, giving Dalia a sideways glance.

‘And that is?’

‘It radiates dark magic. Where did you get this?’ Her eyes flashed ominously.

Dalia lowered her gaze.
‘I can’t tell you,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I’m not allowed to talk about it – but it’s important.’

So much for presenting it gracefully without raising suspicion – she thought.

‘The same thing I said about Severus applies to you: I can’t protect you from your own foolish choices.’

‘Please,’ she insisted.

With a heavy sigh, Morgaine finally gave in.

‘Fine,’ she said, clapping her hands once and handing the pendant back to Dalia. ‘Do you know what the most important difference is between oil and water?’

The girl didn’t quite know what to make of the question. She slipped the necklace into her pocket and crossed her arms, answering with a trace of impatience.

‘They have different densities,’ she replied, as if reciting for a Potions exam. ‘Oil floats on water – you can’t dissolve it in it.’

‘Exactly!’ Morgaine’s face lit up. ‘And what can dissolve oil?’

‘A solvent with a similar structure,’ Dalia replied, her tone flat as she quoted the material Slughorn had taught them in their early years. ‘Do you want the scientific term too? Maybe some examples?’

‘No, thank you,’ Quillon replied, as if she hadn’t noticed the girl’s sarcasm at all. ‘Like dissolves in like. That’s how dark magic works too.’

Dalia froze, as if the woman had just told her she needed to kill in order to succeed. However, what Morgaine had shared didn’t feel any less weighty.

‘You mean…?’ she asked, hoping the woman didn’t mean it. But Morgaine nodded.

‘I do. This object was created using dark magic. If you want to destroy it, you’ll have to use it too.’

‘There has to be another way!’ Dalia’s voice rang with desperation.

‘Perhaps. Maybe there is. Somewhere else, with years of research,’ Quillon shrugged. ‘But you asked for my help, and at this moment, this is the help I can offer.’

‘Absolutely not!’ the girl declared firmly, slamming the window shut as if afraid someone might hear them.

Morgaine remained calm – so calm that it unsettled Dalia. Could that article have been right? Was she really no stranger to dark magic?

‘Your biggest problem,’ the woman began, idly spinning her wand between her fingers, ‘is that you think you have a choice. That there’s right and wrong. But there isn’t. There’s only the powerful – and they control the world.’

‘I don’t agree with that at all,’ Dalia said, shaking her head.

‘Your purity is admirable – but useless. The price of purity is weakness.’ The woman’s words struck Dalia like stones.

Severus had believed the same for a long time – that there was nothing worth fighting for but power. Dalia had hoped she’d changed his mind. But had she really?

‘There was someone I loved the way you love Severus…’ Morgaine said softly. ‘But the world isn’t always just. You only realize that once it tears away something you believed to be stronger than anything else.’

Dalia had no reply. Something deep within her stirred, something whispering that maybe the woman was right… Maybe she truly didn’t have another choice…

She bit the inside of her lip, her thoughts racing. She knew she was a little naive – but she wouldn’t be someone’s puppet. What if this was how Quillon was trying to manipulate her into using dark magic? But why would she do that? That was the mark of Voldemort’s followers, and it was clear Morgaine didn’t share their beliefs.

‘If not, then not,’ the woman shrugged after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

Dalia resolved to stand by her values – and not let anyone sway her, even if they seemed to be helping. Not until she knew the whole truth.

‘Could you maybe show me a kind of magic they don’t teach at Hogwarts but could still be useful?’ the girl asked. ‘And… not related to dark magic,’ she added.

‘But of course I could,’ Morgaine’s face lit up. ‘At Hogwarts, you mostly learn spells that require wands. I know it’s not the most popular subject, but how closely did you pay attention in Professor Binns’s class?’

‘Just enough to get an Exceeds Expectations on my N.E.W.T.,’ the girl replied, her expression tinged with disgust.

‘That explains a lot. Not that the professor is a master of engaging storytelling or passing on knowledge. But you might recall how the first wizards began.’

Dalia shook her head.

‘You could’ve figured it out from my line of reasoning. The first witches and wizards didn’t use wands. If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Ollivander tells every child who walks into his shop that the wand doesn’t make the wizard. If you gave one to a Muggle or a Squib, it would be nothing but a useless stick.’ She ended her explanation and stepped in front of Dalia, holding out her hand.

‘Give me your arm.’

Dalia moved hesitantly, as though she feared the woman might harm her. Morgaine took her arm with swift, precise movements and rolled up the sleeve of her white shirt to access her wrist. As soon as Dalia’s skin was exposed, the woman found her pulse and closed her eyes.

The girl held her breath, unsure what to expect. Morgaine’s brow furrowed with concentration.

Soon, a strange sensation washed over Dalia: she could feel her blood flowing through her body. And when she too closed her eyes, she could see her own organs – see the intense, tireless work they performed to keep her alive. Then Morgaine let go of her hand, and the feeling vanished instantly.

Dalia opened her eyes and stared at the woman in disbelief.

‘What was that?’

‘A form of magic that helps breathe life into a weakened body. It can quite literally revive a person.’

‘And how does it work?’ the girl asked, still confused.

‘It accelerates blood circulation, allowing more oxygen to reach the organs. To the recipient, it feels surreal – like experiencing every process happening inside their body all at once.’

‘I did feel that,’ Dalia muttered. ‘But I still don’t really understand how it would be useful in practice.’

‘It’s a great stimulant. I learned it at Castelobruxo, where students often used it around exam time to study longer and more efficiently. But Hogwarts never allowed me to teach it – if it’s overused, it can be dangerous.’

‘Interesting,’ the girl noted, though her tone revealed she still wasn’t sure how it would help her.

‘Also,’ Quillon continued, as if reading her thoughts, ‘in emergencies, it can increase a person’s chances of survival. For example, if someone loses too much blood, it boosts the effect of a Blood-Replenishing Potion.’

At that, Dalia’s eyes lit up.

‘You’ll teach me?’

‘I will – but not now,’ the woman said, glancing at her watch. ‘We won’t see each other for a while – I’m traveling. I still have to make a living now that Hogwarts isn’t welcoming me back. We’ll meet again during the autumn holidays.’

‘You’re going to teach me?’ the girl inferred.

‘Yes. The French have always had a soft spot for persecuted revolutionaries,’ she sighed. ‘And who knows – at Beauxbatons, I might even pick up some style,’ she added with a wink. ‘In the meantime, I’d like you to catch a few animals. They’ll come in handy for practice. And dive into Animagus studies. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t already,’ she scolded gently.

As soon as Morgaine left, Dalia didn’t hesitate for a second. She knew half a year was a long time, but she didn’t want to waste a single minute. She hurried upstairs and retrieved the books she needed.

It was going to be a long road to get Severus back, but she had no other choice than to wait – and try to prepare for their reunion. She attempted to send her owl every single day, but it never succeeded. The boy had left no trace behind, nothing she could follow, and Dalia felt she was slowly going mad from the emptiness that echoed where her heart should have been.

Her stomach tightened every time she passed Severus’s room. After the fire, she had restored it – put everything back exactly as it had been before he left – and sealed it shut.

In secret, she still hoped that one day he would come home. Deep down, there was a part of her that believed this was all just a dream, and when the nightmare finally ended, the one she longed for most might return.

Chapter Text

Severus and his assigned companion, Yaxley, approached the Dawlish estate wearing masks. The boy felt strange in the oversized cloak; he had tied his hair back to avoid recognition. It was hard to breathe beneath the Death Eater mask. The mission felt unspeakably foreign to him.

As they passed through the old wooden fence, Severus’s stomach clenched. He hoped Dalia wasn’t home. He knew perfectly well that the Dawlish couple wouldn’t be found here – the address the Ministry had forced from them was their former one. The seaside house hadn’t yet been registered with the authorities.

Yaxley – the more experienced Death Eater – trampled through the flowerbeds without a second thought and stormed into the house. Severus hurried after him; he couldn’t allow the man to find Dalia first.

As the ground floor opened up before them, they saw Dalia standing in the kitchen. She had her back to them, bent over a chopping board, completely unaware – until she heard their footsteps.

She froze. A wave of unease overtook her. Her hand reached for her wand, but she didn’t move. She just stood there like a frightened animal.

‘Not what I expected, but not bad either. We’ll have a little fun with this one,’ the older Death Eater growled.

‘I’ll handle her,’ came Severus’s distorted voice from beneath the mask.

Yaxley lowered his wand reluctantly.
‘You’re no fun. I’ll check upstairs,’ he muttered, heading toward the staircase.

Dalia stood frozen, still too scared to act, clutching her wand nervously. She turned around cautiously to face the masked intruder. If she hadn’t had that instinct – that strange, inexplicable gut feeling – she wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. But something told her that the person behind the mask was familiar.

Severus slowly stepped closer, his wand aimed at her, but no spell left his lips. If Dalia had only known what he was feeling in that moment… His heart was pounding, terrified for her. Yaxley’s earlier comment had filled him with revulsion. All he could think about was what would’ve happened if someone else had been sent in his place. Would Dalia have been able to protect herself? Against two skilled dark wizards… He wasn’t at all sure.

As he came close enough, the girl caught his scent – that earthy, spiced smell she loved so much – and all her doubts melted away. She lowered her wand and took a step toward him.

‘Sev – ’ she began, but he silenced her with a hand over her mouth.

He pointed upward, signalling that Yaxley could hear everything from above.

Dalia nodded. She understood what he was trying to tell her, but she couldn’t stop herself from showing how much she had missed him. She threw her arms around Severus’s neck and pulled him close. She wanted to tell him everything. How lonely she had been without him. That she would have risked anything to get him back.

She couldn’t. So she tried to pour every emotion, every thought, into that single embrace.

As Severus inhaled her familiar floral scent, as he felt her arms around him again, he moved without thinking, pulling her tight against him by the waist. He was overwhelmed by the feeling that he would give anything to hold her like this every single day. To feel that he wasn’t alone. It comforted him beyond words that Dalia was safe, that she recognized him, and that she still trusted him – even when she had no reason to.

And still, he had to let her go.

Just as suddenly as he had embraced her, he released her again, hearing Yaxley’s footsteps descending the stairs. He stepped back a few paces and shouted:

‘Stupefy!’

But the spell wasn’t meant for the girl – it was aimed at a bottle on the kitchen shelf, which shattered loudly into pieces. Dalia understood her role. She pretended to be hit by the curse and collapsed onto the floor.

Yaxley didn’t hold back his thoughts as he descended the stairs.

‘I’d have been a bit more direct. A Crucio would’ve been more motivating. Though with a girl this young, I could think of... other things,’ he chuckled, his laughter rasping from behind the mask. ‘I hope you at least wiped her memories.’

Severus nodded. He was grateful for the mask – he didn’t know if he could have hidden the fury boiling inside him at Yaxley’s words.

‘Excellent. I didn’t find the targets, but I did find their address,’ the man said, waving a parchment in his hand. ‘Fortunately, they don’t correspond very discreetly. Let’s go!’

Severus glanced back at Dalia one last time before leaving her – who knew for how long. The thought brought him no peace, especially knowing they were about to go after her parents. And he knew all too well that as soon as Dalia found out where they were headed, she would follow.

The two Death Eaters turned their backs on her and Disapparated.

The seaside where the Dawlish couple had moved was beautiful. The water stretched endlessly into the horizon, a uniquely shaped arch of rock jutting into the sea like a gateway to the unknown. Behind the shore, green meadows spread out, the sunset painting the blue expanse in warm shades of orange, while the waves lapped quietly at the sandy beach.

At the boundary between the golden sand and the grassy field stood a charming little cottage, with a small magical garden beside it. In the warm early September weather, Thaddeus and Eleanor were gardening outside, making the most of the late summer.

Eleanor spotted them first – two figures approaching from the hillside. She squinted beneath her straw hat, the sunlight blinding her, but the Death Eater attire made it easy to recognize what they were. Severus saw her nudge her husband and draw her wand from her apron pocket.

But they weren’t fast enough to prevent the ambush from taking them by surprise. Yaxley wasted no time, launching a flurry of curses at them, which Eleanor deflected one after the other until Thaddeus managed to gather himself. Severus also joined the fight, but his spells were carefully chosen – not a single one meant lasting harm to the middle-aged witch or her husband.

Yaxley began to run, and Severus followed. The flowing cloak and mask made movement difficult; Severus stepped on the hem of his own robes and nearly fell. Thaddeus seized the opportunity and disarmed him. The boy hit the ground and rolled down the slope all the way to the sandy beach.

He knew he could have blocked it. He knew he could have stood right back up. But he didn’t. He didn’t have the strength – not physically, not mentally.

Severus’s feigned helplessness only fuelled Yaxley further. The man cast one dangerous curse after another, and the Dawlish couple fought valiantly to hold their ground. They resisted with all their strength – but Yaxley was not only a trained killer, he was also younger and faster.

Eventually, one of his curses struck true: invisible bindings wrapped around their ankles, yanking Eleanor and Thaddeus to the ground with a single pull.

Severus lifted his head and felt sand scraping between his teeth. The sight of the couple’s condition terrified him – he couldn’t let his companion torture them. But what could he do? He knew he’d be forced to surrender his memories to the Dark Lord. He couldn’t afford to be reckless.

Then he saw someone else – and suddenly, he didn’t care if he died for what he was about to do.

Dalia had Apparated straight into the garden, placing herself between her parents and danger.

‘Expelliarmus!’ she shouted reflexively at the older Death Eater.

Yaxley easily blocked it and counterattacked. Dalia deflected his curses one after another, but she could feel her strength waning – she didn’t know how much longer she could hold out. In desperation, she glanced at the figure lying on the ground. What happened to him? Why wasn’t he moving?

As her gaze locked on the boy, her heart pounded louder. She feared she was too late.

‘You said you wiped her memory!’ Yaxley snapped at Severus.

Every fibre of Severus’s being pulsed with urgency. Dalia. She was the only thought in his mind. Not himself, not his partner, not Voldemort. Just her. Still lying on the ground, he raised his wand toward Yaxley.

‘Stupefy!’ he shouted.

The spell struck Yaxley squarely, and he collapsed to the ground like a stone.

Severus stood up and rushed toward the Dawlishes. He had no idea what he was doing.
Should he have fought? Had he just ruined everything for good?
‘Get out of here!’ he growled from beneath the mask as soon as he was within earshot. ‘Hide – somewhere they’ll never find you!’

Eleanor and Thaddeus, now freed, stared at the boy in shock, holding their wands tightly before them in case another fight broke out.

Dalia stood frozen in front of him. There were so many things she wanted to say, and yet no words came. She wanted to tell him she loved him, that she was scared for him, that she missed him more than anything. But her lips wouldn’t move. She just stared at the masked figure, recognizing him only by his posture and the endless darkness of his eyes.
Was this still the same Severus standing before her? the thought flickered through her mind. Or had he become merely the shadow of the boy she once loved?

She didn’t know.

Severus turned his back to them, ran over to Yaxley, knelt beside him – and Disapparated.

They landed on the cold, dark floor of the Malfoy Manor drawing room. The boy jumped away from his companion as if Yaxley’s presence burned his skin. He glanced to the side and saw Narcissa and Lucius seated on one of the sofas, both staring at him and the unconscious Yaxley in alarm.

‘I messed up,’ Severus burst out in despair. He tore off his mask and let it fall to the floor. Backing up to the wall, he leaned against it and dragged both hands down his face.

Narcissa tried to signal with her eyes – Don’t speak – but it was already too late.

Someone was sitting with his back to the boy – someone Severus hadn’t expected to find there. A familiar voice spoke, one that sent a shiver down the spine of nearly every living witch and wizard.

‘Did you?’ Voldemort asked. ‘Tell us, Severus,’ he said, turning toward him.

Severus froze. There couldn’t have been a worse scenario, not even in his nightmares. He looked directly into the terrifying red eyes and tried to endure their soul-piercing gaze.
The Dark Lord is a Legilimens, echoed through his mind – just before he cleared it completely, making sure Voldemort couldn’t read it.

Realizing what he was doing, he lowered his head.

‘My Lord,’ he greeted, trying to mask the tremble in his voice.

‘Come closer,’ Voldemort hissed.

Severus obeyed mechanically. When he reached him, he dropped to his knees. The Dark Lord extended his hand, and Severus pressed his lips to it.

Meanwhile, Narcissa twisted her fingers in her lap, anxiety flickering behind her cool gaze. After a loud crack, Lucius silently reached out and took her hand.

Voldemort reached under Severus’s chin and forced him to look up at him.

‘Lucius, the Pensieve,’ he commanded, then rose and gestured for Severus to follow.

Lucius hurried to obey. He tapped his wand on one of the shelves lining the room, which slid aside to reveal the family’s Pensieve.

‘Your memories, Severus,’ Voldemort said, gesturing toward the basin swirling with silvery liquid.

Severus swallowed hard. He touched his wand to his temple and pulled a shimmering thread from it. Carefully, he excluded anything related to Dalia. He believed the remaining memories would still be coherent enough to convince Voldemort.

The grotesque figure leaned over the Pensieve and submerged himself in its depths. Terror rippled through Severus, but he had calmed himself just enough not to let it show. He stood with discipline, awaiting judgment, though the slight tremble in his fingers betrayed him.

Meanwhile, Yaxley had regained consciousness. He removed his mask and watched the scene unfolding before him with a satisfied expression.

Then the Dark Lord reemerged from the Pensieve. He was smiling – or rather, baring his teeth – at the black-haired boy.

‘So this is where we stand,’ he remarked. ‘No matter.’ He spread his arms. ‘I am merciful – and just to show you how much, I won’t kill you. Yaxley!’

‘My Lord,’ the man bowed.

‘It seems Severus is having difficulty with the Cruciatus Curse... Would you be so kind as to demonstrate it on him?’

A grin spread across Yaxley’s lips.
‘With pleasure,’ he nodded.

‘Excellent,’ Voldemort said, then turned once more to Severus. ‘I want you to learn that we do not tolerate weakness. Your only stroke of luck is that we still have use for you,’ he hissed. His robes rustled behind him as he left the drawing room.

‘Crucio!’ Yaxley’s voice rang out.

The moment the curse hit Severus, he collapsed. He had never felt pain like that in his life. It tore through every bone in his body, and soon he was writhing on the cold floor. He screamed as his back arched, flailing instinctively left and right, trying in vain to dull the curse’s effect. Within seconds, he reached the point where he wished for it to end – where even death would have been a mercy compared to this.

He saw Dalia’s face before him, the sea breeze blowing her hair as she stood fearlessly before her parents to protect them. Maybe she didn’t need as much protection as he thought.

But the thought of Yaxley doing this to her... That thought ripped at his soul in a different way.

The curse lasted nearly a full minute – a minute that felt like the longest of his life. When it finally stopped, Severus lay limp on the floor, breathless. Yaxley cast one final, contemptuous glance at him before leaving the room.

Narcissa rushed to Severus’s side and knelt beside him.

‘Did you have to go looking for trouble?’ she asked, her voice trembling with worry.

Severus didn’t respond. The curse had drained everything from him.

And yet – even after all of it – his thoughts returned to just one thing: he didn’t regret it. Not for a second. If he could go back, he would do it all over again.

Severus smiled. And then, exhausted, he closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

1 September 1981 – two years later

Severus Snape was uneasily measuring his own figure in the depths of his suite offered in the basement. He moved the tight collar of his inner robe away from his neck with his index and middle fingers. He felt almost suffocated in the prison of the closed, black suit he had tailored a month earlier in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions on Diagon Alley. At the time, the piece seemed like a good idea, and, together with the baggy, rustling gown, it gave him an air of authority. At least it made him look less like a failure – even if he found himself unfit for the task he had been entrusted with.

Voldemort realised shortly after Severus’s return from his unsuccessful battle against the Dawlish couple that he was of more than just use in duels. He had a remarkable talent for acquiring nonviolent henchmen by sheer force of argument. If anyone showed even the slightest unwillingness to join the Death Eaters, Snape would persuade them – and Voldemort was better off with that than with a force bent on torture.

But one thing he was even better at than being persuasive: gathering information. Severus took advantage of a skill he had often used during his years at Hogwarts. He could turn into a shadow when the situation called for it. He often snooped around the Order of the Phoenix, blended in to eavesdrop on tavern conversations, captured owls, or uncovered the whereabouts of some high-risk aurors – all without being exposed.

At least most of the time.

The Severus’s fist clenched in front of the mirror as he thought of that day.

The Dark Lord ordered him to find Albus Dumbledore and discover as much as he could about him. Voldemort was most curious about the old wizard's weaknesses, and Severus knew it. The problem was that Dumbledore was too careful not to make a mistake, and Severus had no hold on him.

During one of these attempts, Severus was hiding in a dark corner of the Hog's Head Inn. Dumbledore had interviewed the half-minded fortune teller, Sybill Trelawney, to see if she would be suitable to fill the empty position of Divination teacher. It seemed quite likely that she would not be, which Severus gloated. However, Trelawney stopped Dumbledore before he could leave and – in a sort of daze – began to tell the prophecy in a grunting voice.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord…”

However, at this point, someone unexpectedly pushed Severus over and threw a good chunk of cold butterbeer down on his back. The inn-keeper noticed the scene, and, as Severus was sitting alone, not ordering anything, trying to eavesdrop, sent him out.

Severus was annoyed, but he had heard just enough of the prophecy to make it worth his while to hand it over to Voldemort. He himself did not believe in it at all, so he did not attach much importance to it, but the Dark Lord took every whisper of his power being challenged seriously.

Severus hit the wall. Until then, he hadn't known that Lily had married James, and he had no idea that they had a son. If he had known that... if he had known that the prophecy might affect Lily, he would never have thought of giving it to Voldemort.

He begged. James Potter and his son didn't matter. Sure, he pitied the child, but since it was the child the prophecy was about, he knew he couldn't save him even if he wanted to. And with James Potter gone, the man who had made his life miserable for years would be gone. Somehow, he didn't mind.

But he couldn't let it happen to Lily.

He had to go. He couldn't think about it any longer. He began his first day of teaching with the first-graders from Slytherin and Hufflepuff.

It will be a great experience to teach Potions to a bunch of people who don't know the difference between separation and distillation – he thought as he dashed across the narrow corridor that connected his suite to the classroom. He tried to deny it to himself, but the sweat on his palms didn't lie: he was terrified of the task ahead. His head was buzzing – he had no idea what he was going to do with a group of children.

The students waiting in the corridor were a little startled at first when he passed them, but as soon as he was a safe distance away, they all scrambled behind him.

‘He looks like a bat,’ said a runt girl from Hufflepuff.

‘Are we going to take the fat from his hair for the potions?,’ whispered blond haired boy from Slytherin.

The young professor twirled, sending frosty glances towards the whispering students.

‘Excellent observations, Ms. Horton and Mr. Dale. Do you know what else is excellent?’ Severus opened his arms wide. The addressed students shook their heads, staring at the ground. ‘My hearing. 10-10 points from Hufflepuff and Slytherin.’

Judging from their behaviour in the corridor, Severus decided it wasn't time to get the cauldron out just yet – to avoid the lads harming themselves. He had to start by setting up order and discipline, but he had no idea how. Somehow no one had given him any guidance, and he had a hunch that it would be difficult to take a 21-year-old professor seriously. Especially for those who remembered him from his student days.

Stay cool and consistent. It will be easier – he tried to strengthen himself in his mind. He remembered Quillon, who could bring discipline with a single glance. Was she a different person beyond the cathedral? Or did she swallow stakes in everyday life just as she did at school? As he saw her before him, he suddenly gained some inspiration. He had seen what a good teacher looked like.

‘Get out your books!,’ he instructed the first-year students. His scratchy voice echoed through the old, damp walls. ‘You all have them, don't you?’

Except for one or two students, most of the group nodded. For the ones who had forgotten it, he silently slipped a copy in front of them.

‘Open at chapter one,’ he said, and then began to read aloud to them the basic knowledge and tools needed to brew potions: types of cauldrons, the importance of protective clothing, the use of scales and the choice of the right container. He also occasionally added his own comments to the lessons, hoping that the students would learn from them and understand that they could not rely on their textbooks alone.

At the end of the hour, Slytherin was 15 points poorer overall, while Hufflepuff was 30 points poorer, which, in Snape's judgement, could have been worse. There were a few reasonable remarks, which he rewarded with praise, but unfortunately the stupidity proved to be louder in this case as well. At the end of the lesson, he assigned the students a two-page essay for the next lesson on the most important materials and tools, hoping to build a solid foundation for a safe start.

As soon as he was completely alone in the classroom, he sighed loudly, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was not an easy task, but it was not impossible – or so it seemed at the moment.

That day he had two more classes of first-years: one for the Gryffindors and one for the Ravenclaws, as both houses had a large number of students starting. Each group had a different challenge, but the Ravenclaw group was perhaps the easiest to deal with.

After they too had been let go after assigning some papers, the wall clock showed five in the afternoon. Severus retired to his suite.

Sometimes he would instinctively reach into his pocket for the old pocket watch his mother had given him, but he had left it at Dalia's and hadn't bought a new one since. Somehow, he didn't feel like replacing the special piece with a meaningless, mass-produced watch, but he didn't mind that she had something important to him left. As if that could be a reason to see her again.

Even though a long time had passed, he thought about her a lot.

The young man glanced at the bookshelf in his room, then picked up one of the many books with identical black covers. As he opened it, a familiar name came to him.

D. Dawlish: Charm Exercises, it said on the inside cover. Severus stroked over her name. He was immensely proud of her. How much easier it had been to teach a mind as brilliant as hers... Instead, he was now blessed with a bunch of kids he didn't have the right methods or the patience for.

He had no idea what happened to Dalia after he asked her to hide with her family. But, apparently, she was alive, well and working. It was the only thing that kept Severus from trying to visit her and see for himself that she was doing great.

He would have liked to skip dinner, but he couldn't – at least it wasn't advisable. It would have attracted far more attention if he had not been present than if he had attended in silence.

He was still getting used to the new routes he could take as a teacher. He no longer had anything to do with the student quarters, and he approached the main hall by the back door.

'Hello, Severus,' McGonagall said, standing up as soon as she saw him. Snape took a seat next to Gryffindor's head teacher.

'Professor,' he nodded.

'Just Minerva,' McGonagall smiled at him.

Severus acknowledged the situation with another nod and took a seat next to her.

'How was your first day of teaching?,' Minerva asked, while having a cup of wine, some roast pork and vegetables.

Severus was pushing a few peas around on his plate.

'It passed,' he said dryly.

'Perhaps I was foolish to hope that your attitude would change with the position,' she said, disgruntled. 'How do you judge the difficulty of the job?'

'It is difficult to glean such things from one lesson, you probably know that,' snorted Severus. 'They won't be my favourites, but I might be able to handle the task.

'I see… We're planning a little get-together with the teachers this week at Slughorn's office. Maybe you would like to join us?'

'That is very kind of you, Minerva,' he began, then drank the rest of the wine from his goblet, 'but you do not need to bother yourself at all. Not just now, anytime,' he said, rising and leaving the diners. He was getting a little fed up with the curious looks from the students' tables and the pointing fingers to his direction.

He had put up with seven years of constant teasing, and now Dumbledore had forced him back into the same position.

Returning to his quarters, he made his way to the display cabinet and hastily took down the bottle of Firewhisky he had been saving for a harder time – for occasions when he needed to unwind.

Little did he know that this would happen on the first night. He poured himself a glass of the drink and sat down in his armchair.

It flashed into his mind as he knelt and begged Voldemort to spare Lily's life... And he would do anything in return. It was not enough. Voldemort will have what he wants, no matter the cost. Lily Potter fought him, and her fate was sealed.

Severus, however, was not quiet about it, and asked Dumbledore for help. His fingers tightened on the rim of his glass as he thought of that night. He begged. He had acted pathetically in front of two of the most powerful wizards in the wizarding world to save the woman he had once called a friend and had been in love with for a time.

How pathetic, he thought as he finished the content of his glass with a pull. He poured another.

‘It is your fault too that they are in danger, Severus,’ Dumbledore's words rang in his head. The most painful part of it all was that he himself knew well how badly he had failed.

He heard a mewling from beyond the door, but ignored it.

Dumbledore agreed to help the family hide, but only on one condition: if Severus was willing to accept the professorship at Hogwarts. He said yes straight away, of course, before he even knew the details.

He had hoped to get the Defence Against Dark Arts subject, as he thought – with good reason – that he knew more about the nature of dark arts than most applicants, and even had experience of the field. However, Dumbledore refused to hear of this, so Potions remained. The old headmaster justified his decision by saying that Slughorn was planning to retire and needed a good replacement. He would teach alongside him for a while, and in time he will take over Slughorn's post entirely.

That thing refused to stop meowing at all.

Severus threw his head back, dazed. He wished that alcohol could take the heavy thoughts out of his head. That was mostly why he drank it, but he didn't get what he expected. Only his heart was getting heavier.

Slughorn's role as Slytherin's head was not mentioned, but he suspected that he would be considered in that respect when the time came, and he did not want that much responsibility.

'Damn it,' Severus jumped up, fed up with the meowing. 'If you're Filches cat and you're just bothering me, I swear...' he began, but as he opened the door he was surprised. 'And who are you, little one?,’ he asked, a little shaken by the alcohol.

A black cat with a thick fur stood outside his door, the source of the constant meowing. As soon as the way was clear in front of it, it quieted down, rubbed itself against the professor's leg and let itself into the suite.

'That is not happening today!' snapped Severus, as he saw the cat taking possession of his furniture as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 'Get out! 'Shoo,' he tried to shoo it out, but it just settled lazily next to his armchair and curled up as if to sleep.

‘This was all I wanted,’ he sighed in resignation, then sat back in his chair.

The cat needed only that: it slowly stood up, stretched its paws and jumped onto Severus' lap.

'If you scratch my robes, I'll turn you into a fur glove,' he growled. The little black thing answered with a loud purr.

Perhaps you are not completely useless after all, Severus thought. The animal helped him in one way: it made him forget the thoughts that tormented him.

Soon he fell asleep with the cat on his lap.

Chapter Text

Severus was standing outside the entrance to the Malfoy mansion, his eyes squinted, exhausted. He had been working until dawn, revising essays so that he could spend the weekend in peace at the family estate.

Narcissa opened the door for him.

‘Good morning, Severus,’ she greeted him. ‘Draco, look who's here!,’ she called back, and a boy with milk-blond hair stumbled out, his steps uncertain but his smile wide.

‘Cissy,’ he nodded, then looked over her shoulder and saw the child approaching, his mouth open to her ears.

His godson.

Severus smiled at the sight involuntarily. He crouched down, spreading his arms, as the little Draco stepped towards him a little faster, and when he arrived he leaned straight against the man's chest, his head buried in the fabric of Severus’ robe. Severus put his arms around him, hugged him close, gave him a quick kiss on his fluffy hair, and then scooped him up onto his lap and walked him into the mansion.

His godson was the only one he allowed himself to become attached to.

Narcissa closed the door behind them and led him into the salon, where some coffee was waiting for them. The room had changed quite a bit since Severus had last been there. It was much brighter, more vibrant, as if it had never belonged to the Malfoy family.

Draco's birth had obviously changed a lot.

‘I'm glad you're here,’ Cissy began. 'It's not easy being alone with Draco, he has a hard time not being able to go out.’

Severus nodded. He knew that the little boy was not even allowed out into the garden, he was so protected. Not just on a noble whim: his birth had been kept secret from the wizarding world, to prevent anyone using the information to blackmail the family.

It was not fortunate to be the child of Death Eaters.

'Where's Lucius?,'  Severus asked as he sat down with Draco. He was holding the boy with confidence by then, as he had always done – even though he remembered how much he had been nervous of him at first.

‘At the Ministry,’ Narcissa said quietly, 'We hardly see him at home these days. If he's not there, he's with... the Dark Lord.'

Severus nodded.

'But let's talk about you,' she continued, her voice tinged with restrained curiosity. 'I hope you'll be teaching Draco, too.'

A frown came over Severus’ face.

'Don't be so sure about that. For now, it's awful. If I could have, I would have quit.'

His godson found this extremely amusing: he reached up to Severus' face and grabbed his nose.

'Hey!' growled Severus, as he carefully brushed the little fingers from his face.

Narcissa's lips curled as if she had suppressed a brief smile.

‘Don't be naughty, my boy.’

'So… The job itself wouldn't be a problem,‘ he continued, ’if I wasn't surrounded by a bunch of uneducated idiots. They can't even do the simplest tasks. If I don't scare them to death from the first moment, sooner or later one of them will harm their mate. Potion-making would require some common sense, but they seem to lack it.’

‘I think you have a very dark view of the situation, Severus. It's hard to imagine a more suitable task for you.’

‘What do you mean?,’ he raised an eyebrow.

'As you say, potion-making requires discipline. Not many teachers can freeze the blood in their students' veins, but you can. Give me Draco,' she reached for her son, nudging his head towards the coffee cup.

Severus pulled the boy to himself, as if he didn't want to let go. He wanted to savour every moment he had with him.

'Leave him, I'll manage,' he said firmly, and then, holding the boy tightly in his lap, he reached for his cup. He seemed to be doing well.

'Are you sure?'

Severus nodded.

Narcissa accepted it and stretched her arms out, leaning back on the emerald green couch.

‘I rarely see you smile as much as you do with my son,’ she noted. ‘In fact, I never really saw you smile before Draco was born,’ she wondered. 'Except when...’ she began, but Severus cleared his throat slightly and she fell silent.

Dalia's name was taboo.

‘You haven't seen her since?’

‘No,’ Severus shook his head. It was obvious that the subject made him uncomfortable.

Narcissa knew exactly why Voldemort had tortured Severus two years ago. And even though Severus trusted her to some extent, he wouldn't have said anything – even if he had known where Dalia was. It would have been too dangerous.

‘Do you miss her?’

‘More than you think,’ slipped out of Severus' mouth, and he immediately regretted it. A single sentence that said too much, yet said too little. He would have been unable to put into words all he felt when he thought of her absence. With her, a piece was torn from him.

Since then he had spent every day trying to forget her.

Draco lifted his big silver eyes to the man, and grabbed Severus’ arm with his small hands. The small movement brought Severus back to reality. He stroked the boy's head, then turned back to Cissy.

‘You don't look very overjoyed either, as a matter of fact,’ he turned his attention to her.

Narcissa did not look at him, and answered from the cover of her cup.

‘But I am,’ she said, and took away the steaming drink from his lips. ‘Just tired,’ she said, barely audible.

Severus looked around the salon, as if searching the walls for the truth behind her answer. He knew perfectly well that the woman was only trying to cover up the truth with her terseness. He drew his wand, closed the door with a simple gesture, and then he muttered:

‘Disaudio.’

Draco watched the process with fascination, and at the first opportunity, he reached for the man's wand. Severus gently brushed the child's fingers from it, then put his wand away.

'You're not being honest with me, Cissy.'

Narcissa stared at the man for long seconds, her cold gaze betraying no emotion – at least not to most. She sighed loudly.

'I don't like it when you see through me like that.'

'Lucius?'

'He is a wonderful husband. Much better than you think...'

'I have no prejudices.'

'If you want to know, then don't interrupt me!' Narcissa's words were like shards of glass beneath his skin, and they were accompanied by a few seconds of silence that seemed an eternity. ‘You are not the only one playing a role in this war.’

Severus snorted.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, come on, we all know very well that what happened to your mother is what made you join. You had no strong resolve.’

‘I have proven my loyalty,’ he retorted.

‘The Dark Lord trusts you, but no one knows why. How many times have you killed without specific orders? How many times have you used the Cruciatus Curse when you didn't have to?’

‘These are serious accusations, Cissy...’

‘I trust you for exactly the reason the Dark Lord shouldn't,’ she said, and after a pause she continued. ‘Of course, I believed in his principles for a long time. Some of them, perhaps, I still do. But not in his methods... I chose a man a few years ago, and I didn't want this battle on his side. It's not mine. First I became a wife... then a soldier... and not so long ago a mother... And I'm tired. I don't want any more nightmares where they take my husband or my son away from me. I never know the day when one of them will happen in real life.’

Severus swallowed. Draco in his lap leaned against his chest, startled, as if he too felt the weight of the moment.

‘I'm sorry,’ he said hoarsely.

‘Of course you do. You don't know anything else. You made the right decision.’

‘The right decision?’

‘You left her before she could have met the same fate. I hope she knows how lucky she is.’

Severus was furious at what she said. Lucky? Is that what Dalia would have been? In reflection, had she thought herself lucky? Was she not burned by lack?

‘It wasn't so black and white. She was in love... At least I think she was...’

But, on second thought, he couldn't say. Maybe Narcissa was right, and she was happier that way. He knew nothing about it. Or maybe she had loved someone else since then.

‘In love?,’ she laughed bitterly. ‘I didn't think you of all people would be so sentimental. Love is a wonderful feeling, but it's not almighty. I love Lucius, I would go to into the fire for him, but I would sacrifice our love any day if it would guarantee me a lifetime of safety for my son.’

Severus sat speechless. Until that moment, he had no idea what the youngest Black sister had been through. Though he might have thought so, he had not noticed her struggles before, for she had hidden them perfectly. She was like steel.

And all he could do for her was to listen.

‘I do have one thing to thank Merlin for,’ Narcissa spoke again.

‘What?’

‘Draco was born a boy.’

‘What difference does that make?’

Severus honestly didn't understand.

‘He will have a decision. He doesn't have to take it all in silence. He doesn't have to sacrifice his life for his family. He won't be labelled a cheap rag if he doesn't marry well.’

Narcissa took a deep breath here. Severus knew she meant her sister.

‘He will be Draco, not someone's wife or daughter. No one will be allowed to have possession of his body. I won't have to worry about his husband treating him well. He won't have to give birth and then see his baby in constant danger as it comes out of the womb. If he would be in the service of the Dark Lord himself, he would be a soldier, not an object...’

All Severus could see was the unrestrained rage that had, until that point, been silently consuming her. He knew that these words were not really about her son, but about her. His hand, which was not holding his godson, clenched into a fist.

No woman deserved to feel that way.

‘What have they done to you?’

Narcissa's eyes flashed with anger. She did not cry. She did not break. She straightened her posture, and with a frosty look, she uttered the words almost effortlessly:

‘I couldn't have a daughter even if I wanted one. Nor a son.’

Her statement struck Severus like a heavy stone, and he was unable to speak. Every word caught in his throat, and somewhere deep down he searched for the reasons, but could not find them. He could not imagine what it must have felt like.

Draco shifted uneasily in his lap.

‘Lucius decided, I had no say in it. I just had to put up with it,’ Narcissa added bitterly. ‘He made his decision for a reason.’

‘What could be a reason enough for that?,’ came out of him in a hoarse voice.

‘Let's just say that the Dark Lord is not trying to create an army by recruitment alone. ‘She blew out a ragged breath, as if tearing open an old wound. ’Bellatrix didn't go mad all by herself...

Severus' stomach clenched at what he heard.

‘Who else knows about this?’

‘Not many. Officially, only the women in the service of the Dark Lord...’

Draco then began to whimper softly, and then, as if someone had opened a faucet in his eyes, he cried bitterly. His shoulders shook, his hands began to scrabble, and the crying soon became more intense, hiccupping sobs. It was as if his small body had absorbed every emotion in the room. Severus tried desperately to calm him, but to no avail.

As if his godson was the only one who could no longer pretend that nothing had happened.

Narcissa jumped up to go to his aid, but just as she reached him, the room suddenly began to vibrate, and then all the glass objects were lifted as if by invisible hands – and in a single, tense moment they fell to the floor with a huge crash. Severus instinctively shielded Draco from the shards.

His godson might not have spoken yet, might not have understood everything, but he felt – and his feelings converged in magic.

Narcissa and Severus looked at each other.

‘I can't trust many people, Severus. You must promise to protect him.’

‘I will do my best,’ he nodded.

I wish I could have done something for you, he thought, but he didn't say it. He didn't want her to feel that he underestimated her pain.

Before he met some of the Malfoy family that day, he had thought that perhaps Dalia could live a similar life. In fact, selfishly, he was downright angry with her for not trying to find him. If she knew nothing else, she knew for certain that he had been brought to Hogwarts as a teacher. He was the youngest professor ever, even the Daily Prophet had written about him – as well as the questionable decision Dumbledore had made in taking this step.

He missed Dalia, every minute of every day. It was hard to resign himself to the bitterness of unhappiness that he could still remember the light taste of happiness. And it was even harder to bear the thought that she might not remember it the same way. That perhaps for her it was just a chapter she had closed. That maybe she was no longer grieving, no longer searching – just living.

With someone else. Or by herself.

But without him.

But after what Narcissa told him, he didn't regret his decision for a moment longer. He saw how the other side's fate had turned out. His heart was torn at the thought, but one image floated before him – Dalia could still be happy.

Chapter Text

31 October 1981.

The cold, ancient walls of Hogwarts guarded the students, as they always had for centuries. The corridors and halls were silent – but outside, in the magical world, everything was stirring. Something happened that night that changed everything, and every wizard and witch knew it would affect the fate of all of them.

Voldemort had fallen.

At least that's how most people understood what happened on the night of Samhain. Across the country, revelling magicians filled the streets, champagne bubbled in the depths of houses, music and noise broke the silence of the night. Crowds celebrated the end of the war.

Of course, there were a few exceptions.

The Hogwarts basement was as quiet as the rest of the castle. The bottles in the Potions Room were still, the cauldrons were shining, and nothing seemed to disturb the usual silence.

Yet, beyond the doorway to the chamber, someone was trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered soul.

The dark, musty room was lit only by a tiny oil lamp, its dim light casting long shadows on the empty walls. Severus sat on the edge of his bed, resting his elbows on his thin thighs and burying his face in his palms. He did not know exactly how long he had been sitting like that.

Perhaps only a few minutes.

Maybe an hour.

The only sound was his own breathing – and the memory of Dumbledore's voice breaking the silence in his head over and over again.

‘Lily and James had been betrayed by the one in whom they had placed their trust. [...] The child is alive.’

The Dark Lord fell that night, and Harry Potter did the impossible: survived the killing curse.

‘Lily's son is alive. The child has her eyes. I presume you remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans' eyes. [...] If you truly loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, there is no doubt what you should do.’

Severus' whole grew heavy. He was guilty, and there was no way out for him. They had killed the woman who had once been the most important to him. And it was all partly because of him.

He could not believe it. It couldn't have happened. Not like this, not this soon.

Voldemort had failed.

Not really, Dumbledore thought, yet Severus could hear the crowds of wizards celebrating the Dark Side's defeat from far away. Even there, deep in the basement.

He himself didn't know who to believe, but perhaps none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that he had lost his best friend, and it hurt him more than he ever thought it would. Slowly, the whole world was falling apart around him.

Someone banged on his door.

He thought he must be invited to celebrate, so he pretended he wasn't there. But the unexpected guest, who wanted to get in, didn't give up easily.

‘Get out!,’ shouted Severus.

That someone continued to pound on the heavy door of his chamber.

‘Severus Tobias Snape! On behalf of the Auror Command of the Ministry of Magic, I demand that you open this door immediately!’

‘You might as well be the Minister of Magic,’ he muttered, still unmoving.

The next moment an Alohomora was heard, followed by a Bombarda. The Ministry's men were not subtle, they slammed the door of Severus’ room in his face. Severus saw Alastor Moody first. The auror rushed in with hurried steps, then, taking the young professor by the collar, lifted him into the air with his bare hands.

‘Comfy in your dungeon, bat?,’ he asked in a scratchy voice. His magic eye – replacing one of the eyes he had lost in battle – moved back and forth, fixed on Severus in a frightening way. ‘Was it not enough that they killed your mother, you bastard? I don't know what you've done to gain the Headmaster's trust, but if it were up to me, the Dementors would have sucked out what was left of your soul long ago,' he hissed, releasing his grip and letting him back down before nearly strangling him. He pointed his wand at Severus, forcing him to move back against the wall.

Severus gasped for breath, feeling the tip of the auror's wand digging into his Adam’s apple.

If he had known how to, he would not have denied the accusations. Moody had been right to attack him, and Severus had no strength to fight him.

‘Show me the Mark!,’ the auror ordered, but he did not wait for Severus to move, violently reached for the sleeve of his robe.

But before he could touch it, Moody suddenly cried out and took a step back.

‘Oh, for the...’ he cursed, and then let Severus go, looked down at the ground, and clutched at his feet with a pained face. The other aurors prepared to take over from the senior wizard.

Something furry and black lay at Moody's feet.

'N... Nox,' Severus groaned.

The cat appeared almost out of nowhere – as if it knew exactly when to arrive – and rubbed itself against its owner's leg, satisfied after successfully biting the uninvited intruder's foot. The young professor was surprised, since he had not seen his cat for days. He bent down and took the animal in his lap while his attacker tried to heal his wounds.

Once Moody was done, he pointed his wand at Severus again.

‘Don't be so satisfied, basement rat! Out with the Mark!,’ he reached for his arm again.

‘There's no need for that, Alastor. The professor is with us,’ a deep, familiar voice said from behind.

‘Headmaster,’ Moody nodded reluctantly, and then he let go of Severus, letting his wand fall to his side.

Dumbledore gracefully scanned the ruined basement suite.

‘It's not nice to damage Hogwarts' equipment, am I right?,’ he asked lightly. ‘I am sure the Ministry has more important things to do tonight than to attack an innocent member of the Order.’

Member of the Order?

Severus and Moody's eyebrows raised at the same time. Neither of them knew of this piece of information, even though they were both – apparently – members of the same organisation.

‘I had no idea that...,’ the auror mumbled.

'Severus was actively involved in hiding the Potters. They were betrayed by someone who knew them intimately, someone they trusted. It is not him you are looking for.’

'In that case,’ Moody cleared his throat and gave Severus a final, dismissive glance, 'we'll be on our way. You should celebrate too, Headmaster.’ With that, he turned on his heel and left with all the other aurors who had come with him.

Severus grabbed his hand to his throat, leaned back against the wall and started coughing.

‘Are you hurt?,’ Dumbledore asked him as he tidied up the suite with just a few flicks of his wand. There was some concern in his voice.

The dark-haired professor shook his head.

‘Why did you tell them I was a member of the Order?,’ he asked hoarsely.

Dumbledore spread his arms.

‘Because the most logical move is if you become one.’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Of course you do. You might as well prepare for the Dementor's kisses.’

Nox staggered to its feet beside Severus, then blew him off angrily. The man stepped on the animal's tail after hearing Dumbledore's statement.

‘You didn't think Voldemort's followers wouldn't be held accountable after his downfall? The Ministry would have done it already if they knew who to look for.’

‘Where are they getting the names from?’

‘I am surprised that one of the greatest minds of our time can think so blindly. From other Death Eaters, of course.’

Severus looked at the old man with a pained expression. He had no strength to fear for himself. He had nothing and no one left... What did he have to be afraid of? Why should he wonder what would happen to him after Voldemort's fall?

‘What do I get if I join?’

‘An opportunity to make amends for your mistakes. You may think the world has collapsed around you, but it hasn't. Life goes on even when a flower withers,’ Dumbledore looked deep into his eyes. ‘You cannot give up, Severus. There are vulnerable souls, be they animal or human,’ he glanced at Nox, who was rubbing itself against the foot of the man, ‘who need your help. Think of Lily, and be brave.’

‘What do you expect from me?’

‘Don't make a broad statement about what you've agreed to do.’

Severus snorted. When he learned of Lily's death, he promised to help protect Harry Potter. All he asked the Headmaster to do was to keep it a secret.

‘As if I would...’

‘Voldemort will return, and if my instincts are right, he will be stronger than he has ever been before. You promised to protect the child. The day will come when he will need you most.’

Harry Potter. A name that sounded foreign to his ears, yet familiar. Would he really be forced to babysit a child whose father had abused him in his school days?

The answer was yes. His remaining conscience would not let him decide otherwise.

‘Stay close to the other Death Eaters. Don't turn anyone in. Let them think you're still loyal. If you come into possession of information that could help us prepare against Voldemort, don't keep it to yourself.’

Protect him... Help him... Care for him... What about me? Who will protect me? Who will take care of me? – Severus asked the bitter questions in his mind.

‘I will do it,’ he said at last. ‘But you cannot tell anyone.’

‘I promised once, and I'll keep my word,’ Dumbledore nodded. He was silent for a moment, then continued. ‘It would be unfortunate if you were to be left alone,’ he changed the subject lightly, ‘and I think that tonight we could all use a sip of what Horace has in store for the darkest of nights. I'm sure he needs a little comforting himself. Mrs. Potter held a special place in his heart.’

Severus shook his head. The weight of guilt pulled him down hard, he knew he would have been unable to face anyone who cared about Lily. Alone, he had only his own demons to contend with.

Dumbledore sighed resignedly.

‘You do you. If you change your mind, we're waiting for you upstairs in my office,' he said, and left the man.

The room echoed in silence – only the sound of a dripping tap was heard from the bathroom. Severus felt as if every drop had landed upon his head. He dropped to the floor, pushed the cat away and stared down at the floor with a blank stare.

How many bad decisions had led him to this? How had he become the man he had become over the years? Could he really have made no other choice? Had he really been at the mercy of his surroundings, or was he simply not brave enough to do differently?

The guilt was eating away his soul, the faucet kept dripping, each drop like acid, breaking down the pieces of his soul that remained in one piece. Many times he thought that nothing more could be taken away from him; that he had nothing left. But fate still decided to show him that he still had something to lose.

First his childhood was taken from him. Then his self-respect. His friend. His mother. His chance to stay on the right path. His love. His personality. The purity of his soul. And ultimately, Lily's life.

He remembered the times when the girl was the most beautiful thing in his day. How every evening they would meet at the willow tree, where he would wait for her insistently, and if she didn't arrive on time, he would worry.

Then they would usually talk. Lily asked him many questions. She was the first person who really cared about him. She was the first to listen to him with care. He did not notice, and soon became addicted to her attention.

Would things have been different if Lily hadn't chosen Gryffindor? No, and Severus knew that. Lily was strong, brave, and would never have done anything to intentionally hurt someone. She would never turn to black magic, and she deeply despised anyone who did – including Severus. Her soul remained pure for the rest of her life.

Like a stalk of white lily... She glowed for a short time and then withered.

Severus curled up on the cool floor, tears streaming down his hooked nose.

‘Where did everything get out of hand?,’ he whispered to his cat. ‘I just... I just wanted to find out how to be strong enough. To protect the ones I care about. But I was always late. Even with my mother. Regulus, too. Lily...’ There was a pause before he added hoarsely. ‘She died because of me.’

In the silence of the room, only the drip of the tap answered.

‘At least I managed to protect Dalia from myself.’ Severus' voice trailed off, then gained some strength as he continued. ‘Do you think I made the right decision?,’  he asked. ‘How would you know? You're just a cat.’

Nox moved cautiously, looking around the man as if searching for a safe place to touch him. Gently, it rubbed its furry head against Severus' face, as if sensing where it was most needed. The soft fur brushed against the man's skin, and when Severus yielded to the touch, Nox moved to his chest and purred – as loud and insistent as if it was trying to heal a wound to his heart.

‘I just wonder why you trust me so much,’ he whispered. ‘Sometimes I even forget to feed you... Not that you can't handle it. There are more rats in the cellar than students.’ A tired, bitter half-smile crossed his face. ‘Maybe that's why you like it here? Because there's nothing nice about it... just silence... and dust... And I'm not exactly a pleasant sight either,’ he stroked the animal's thick fur.

Nox didn't move, just pressed a little harder against him. Its warmth rushed through the cold, sad man lying on the floor.

‘I am ridiculous. I'm talking to a cat like Filch. At least you don't judge me,’ he sighed. ‘You know... There was someone who never judged me even when she had the chance. What do you think she'd say now if she knew what I'd done? If I were to find her, could she forgive me?,’ the thought crossed his mind.

Nox turned to him with tiny paws and began to playfully squeeze his chest through his shirt.

‘No. Not after what I've done to him. Hey!,’ he growled as the cat scratched his skin a little. ‘Do you think she's been with anyone since then? I'm sure she does. I don't mind. She deserves someone better than me,’ he said resignedly, and lay back.

Nox adjusted to the new circumstances and with a graceful leap landed on Severus' chest. It settled like a weight on the man, yet, interestingly, it made his soul lighter.

‘If you only knew what a wonderful woman she is,’ he stroked the cat's head, then closed his watery eyes.

The room filled with silence again, and Severus' steady, rhythmic breathing.

When he woke, Nox was gone.

Chapter Text

Dalia landed on the meadow beside Widra St. Capdel, her hair tousled, her mind scattered. The spell had set her down a bit rougher than intended, but she didn’t mind –familiar blades of grass and a familiar, starry sky greeted her. She stood before the former Dawlish house, now home to the Lovegoods. After Luna’s birth, Dalia had offered it to them herself: there was no sense in living alone in a two-storey house when Pandora’s family could fill it with new life. They needed more space for little Luna, and The Quibbler’s editorial office also required a corner of its own. Dalia had withdrawn to Xenophilius’s London flat-quieter, smaller, but she didn’t mind that at all.

That evening, after the fall of the Dark Lord, the Lovegoods held a celebration. They invited Xenophilius’s entire family, the Quibbler staff, Panda’s colleagues from the Ministry-and, of course, Dalia. White tents covered the fields beyond the garden, where musicians played every sort of music imaginable, and great feasts were served.

It didn’t take long for Dalia to spot Pandora beneath one of the tents. Though she was surrounded by wide smiles, Dalia could tell she wasn’t truly joyful. With a troubled look, she hurried toward her friend.

‘You’re late,’ Pandora remarked once Dalia was close enough to be heard above the noise.

‘We need to talk,’ Dalia leaned closer to her. ‘Where’s my goddaughter?’

‘In the house, with her grandmother. Let’s go inside.’

In the hallway, Dalia marvelled at how much her former home had changed. The wallpaper shimmered light blue, enchanted stars floated a few inches below the ceiling, lighting the room completely. The centrepiece of the living room was a single piece of furniture: a finely carved cradle adorned with floral motifs, gently rocking on its own.

The elder Mrs. Lovegood reluctantly handed the baby over to Pandora before returning to the tents. Dalia was surprised how much Xen resembled his mother: not a single strand of grey in her blonde hair, copper-toned skin glittering with golden bracelets, her tall figure and striking features standing out even in a crowd. As soon as the door shut behind her, Pandora placed Luna back in the cradle and turned to Dalia.

‘The Potters are dead. Voldemort slaughtered the entire family…’

‘Except Harry,’ Dalia nodded. ‘I know the story. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have come to celebrate.’

‘I’ve no idea what you know and what you don’t. Everyone thinks Voldemort’s fallen. I’ve waited two hours for you, Dalia.’

‘There was something else I had to take care of,’ she muttered, trying to divert the topic. ‘But you clearly don’t believe he’s dead.’

Pandora shook her head. ‘No. And I think you know exactly why.’

‘Do you still have the necklace?’

‘I do. I hid it. Xen doesn’t know. Do you have any new idea how to destroy it?’

Dalia’s gaze drifted to the cradle. Her goddaughter played happily with a rattle. Nine months old already.

Shame knotted in Dalia’s stomach. Once one of Hogwarts’s brightest students, her new spells and theories could fill two books, yet she still couldn’t figure out how to destroy that simple trinket – the one that made her stomach twist every time she looked at it. Still, she refused to follow Morgaine’s advice. She believed she could solve this without dark magic.

‘I don’t,’ she admitted at last. ‘Not even an idea… But I promise I won’t stop trying.’

‘I’m grateful,’ Pandora placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘There’s no one I trust more.’

‘You truly think he’s still alive?’

‘If Regulus was right, then yes. Until we destroy the locket, he cannot truly die. He’s probably just… very weak.’

It made a grim sort of sense. The child might have taken only a fragment of his power, not his life. And if that were true, Voldemort could return – once his strength returned.

‘Does anyone else know?’

‘No. I haven’t told a soul. But…’ She hesitated. ‘Someone’s been trying to get me to share information. To join him.’

Dalia tapped her foot impatiently. ‘Who?’

‘Dumbledore. He’s been coming by for months – whenever Xen isn’t home.’

‘What does he want?’ Dalia’s brow rose.

‘For me to join the Order of the Phoenix. I think he suspects I have something that interests him. But I can’t bow to him, Dalia. I have a family. I won’t put them in danger.’

‘I understand. But I wonder what he really knows. Or suspects.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Maybe he knows about the locket…’

‘I doubt it. If he did, he’d use it to threaten me.’

‘You really think the Headmaster would do that?’

‘If you think he wouldn’t, you don’t know him well enough. Power tempts him too. He simply doesn’t use forbidden means.’

Dalia could hardly believe it. It was difficult to imagine the kind old wizard as a manipulator – but she also knew Panda wouldn’t lie.

‘I won’t be anybody’s soldier,’ Pandora said, eyes flashing. ‘Regulus didn’t die for me to sacrifice his cause on the altar of power.’

‘You still miss him?’

‘There’s not a day I don’t,’ she sighed, leaning over Luna’s cradle. ‘But I believe the things we lose find their way back to us. Maybe not in the way we imagined.’

Dalia joined her, gazing down at the baby. Luna had the same gentle, dreamy features as her mother, though her round, wide eyes were clearly Xenophilius’s. Quiet and curious, she took in the world around her as the cradle swayed. Dalia felt lucky to be her godmother – a bright spot in her otherwise grey days.

Other than that, only spells still excited her – and even that was fading. Morgaine kept mentoring her, but Dalia felt stuck. Her recent work produced only small, practical charms – nothing truly meaningful.

‘And you?’ Pandora asked suddenly. ‘Do you miss him?’

‘I couldn’t forget him even if I tried,’ Dalia said softly.

‘Maybe it’s time to move on. There’s happiness beyond him.’

‘Not for me,’ Dalia shook her head. ‘Every step I take is one step closer to getting him back.’

‘The war may be over for now. You could reach out. He’s teaching at Hogwarts. I believe you’ve seen that. One letter, Dalia. I’m sure they’d let you visit. From what I’ve heard, he’s not popular.’

Dalia didn’t reply. From her pocket, she drew a small silver watch. A black swan stretched its wings upon it – the watch that once belonged to the Half-Blood Prince. She flipped it open, unfolded a small parchment, and handed it to Pandora.

At the top of the Prophet article read: ‘Hogwarts’ youngest Potions professor, 21-year-old Severus Snape joins Horace Slughorn as assistant.’ Beneath it, a photograph: Severus, standing uncomfortably in a classroom, cloak wrapped tight around his thin frame.

Dalia carried it everywhere, as though she carried him. She was proud of him, though she could only guess what it had cost. A faint crack had formed in her trust of Dumbledore; she suspected the old man had a hand in this, too.

‘So you knew. Then I’m even more surprised you never tried to contact him,’ Pandora said.

‘My owl still can’t reach him. I can’t go to him if he doesn’t want me to. I swear, I’m working on it. If he wants to find me, he will.’

‘I don’t think you’re being entirely honest,’ Pandora said gently. ‘I never liked Severus, but I respect your choices.’

Silence settled, broken only by the chiming of the floating stars and Luna’s rattle. The baby’s gaze flicked curiously between the two women.

‘Thank you, Panda,’ Dalia said quietly. ‘Is Luna always this quiet?’

‘Only when you’re here,’ Pandora smiled. ‘You calm her. Otherwise, she has quite the voice. But she saves it for Xen.’

Warmth spread through Dalia at the thought. She stroked Luna’s golden hair. The baby’s blue eyes widened. Dalia reached into her pocket again, pulling out a golden necklace with a moonflower pendant, and dropped it into Pandora’s palm.

‘When she’s old enough, give this to her. I put protection charms into it.’

Pandora nodded. Just then, Mrs. Lovegood appeared again. ‘I’ll take her now,’ she said in broken English.

‘Grazie,’ Pandora smiled, then turned to Dalia. ‘Shall we?’

Her friend nodded.

Outside, the revelry continued. The fields were alive with laughter and music, and Dalia let Pandora guide her toward one of the larger tents.

Xenophilius stood on a table, giving a speech. The tent was packed; bottles and glasses lined the sides, ready for toasts. From the ceiling hung charms depicting curious symbols – the kind only Xen would understand. The younger Dalia might have asked about them, but not tonight.

‘…and the prophecy is fulfilled! My dear friends, we cannot ignore what’s written in the stars. The cruel shall face their punishment – but only when the sky will it so. Harry Potter did not just defeat evil tonight; he is the prophet who will lead our world toward a brighter future!’ he proclaimed, half-drunk, but full of conviction.

Dalia leaned to Pandora. ‘What’s he on about?’

‘New prophecies keep appearing about Harry Potter. The Ministry tries to seal them, but a few leak out. Most are false, but Xen wants to publish them in The Quibbler.’ She handed Dalia a glass of clear liquid.

‘Thanks,’ Dalia said, taking a sip. ‘Don’t you think it’s misleading to print them all? What if people believe every word?’

‘People aren’t fools. They deserve to know what’s happening. We can’t decide truth for them. That’s what The Prophet does. But we trust our readers to think for themselves.’ She took a sip, grimaced. ‘Gin… The truth shouldn’t be filtered.’ She motioned for Dalia to follow, moving through the crowd with her usual grace.

There’s still a bit of Malfoy in her, Dalia thought.

‘I want to introduce you to someone,’ Pandora said, a sly smile forming.

They reached the other side of the tent, where a tall, golden-skinned man greeted them with a dazzling white smile.

‘Pietro Mancini. Enchanted,’ he said in a lilting Italian accent, pressing a hand to his chest before bowing. Straightening, he took Dalia’s hand and kissed it. ‘Mr. Lovegood’s cousin, at your service. You must be Miss Dawlish.’

‘Pleasure,’ Dalia said politely, though her smile was faint. She glanced at Pandora, beginning to see her friend’s intentions.

‘Pietro’s quite fascinated by your books,’ Pandora added innocently.

‘Indeed,’ Pietro nodded. ‘Would you care to discuss them… privately?’

Dalia froze at his boldness. Even if she’d liked him – which she didn’t – she would’ve refused. ‘I doubt my fiancé would approve,’ she said, perhaps a little too firmly. ‘If it’s my research that interests you, we can discuss it in broader company.’

She still couldn’t lie.

Pietro blinked, caught off guard. ‘I see… In that case, Miss… madam… enjoy your evening.’ He bowed stiffly and withdrew.

Pandora turned on her, exasperated. ‘Your fiancé?’

‘I didn’t lie much,’ Dalia shrugged, taking a gulp of gin. ‘There’s already a man in my life – and he’ll be the only one I’ll ever love.’

‘Your sentimentality will ruin your chance at happiness,’ Pandora sighed.

‘Maybe. But he’s lost too much already. He won’t lose my loyalty, not if I can help it.’ She downed the rest of her drink and looked Pandora straight in the eyes. ‘I won’t compromise.’ She slammed her glass down and lifted her voice above the crowd: ‘To the boy who lived!’

The tent erupted with cheers. ‘To the boy who lived! To Harry Potter!’

And Dalia filled her heart with that borrowed triumph. With hope. The hope that not everything was lost – that she could bring Severus back. It was that hope that kept her whole, even when she cried herself to sleep. And it was that same hope that would guide her for the next nine years.

Chapter Text

February 13th, 1990 – Nine years later

The Lovegoods’ peculiar tower-like house brimmed with life despite the winter day. Even the beetles hidden beneath the ground had crawled to the surface. The sun was shining, a few early birds were heralding spring, and the snow had begun to melt. Stepping inside filled one’s heart with warmth. The once pastel-blue walls had darkened by a shade, as they did every year on this date: Luna Lovegood’s birthday.

At the kitchen counter, Pandora and Dalia worked to make the girl’s day brighter. Dalia levitated candles into the air while Pandora placed the final shimmering crescent-moon sprinkles on a cake frosted in lilac cream.

Luna sat at the table beside her father. Xen held a tattered storybook in his hands, reading aloud to occupy his daughter while his wife and Luna’s godmother finished the preparations. The book was worn, a few pages missing, its cover proudly bearing the title: Fairy Tales for Fairies.

‘…and the soldier bravely crossed the forest until he reached a small, dusty cottage,’ Xen read dramatically. ‘It was growing dark, so he decided to stop for the night. He knocked three times. A hideous old witch opened the door. ‘What brings you here, stranger?’ she asked. ‘Shelter for the night,’ said the soldier. The witch agreed, but only on one condition…’

‘…that he drink all the pumpkin juice in the house!’ Luna finished the sentence eagerly. It was her favourite story; she’d heard it so many times she nearly knew it by heart. Every time the book opened, this was the tale she wanted.

Xenophilius nodded approvingly and continued. ‘So the soldier did as she asked. He drank every drop of pumpkin juice. But soon he grew terribly thirsty. He begged the witch for a drink. She was only too happy to oblige – she filled a mug and handed it to him. But the drink wasn’t water. It was poison!’

‘But the soldier was clever!’ Luna exclaimed.

‘Indeed, he was. He didn’t drink it. He sniffed it first and realised she’d tried to trick him, so he threw it in her face. And look…’ Xen acted out the surprise to his daughter’s delight, ‘…the ugly old witch turned into a fairy!’

‘And that’s the end of it,’ Pandora said with a smile, placing the cake on the table. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, glancing between her husband and Luna.

‘It’s beautiful, thank you, Mum,’ Luna beamed.

Dalia had finished her charms as well; the kitchen sparkled with enchantments. She had changed greatly: the roundness had vanished from her face, leaving refined, mature features that resembled her mother’s. Her figure had filled out, her fashion now more confident, reflecting her personality. That day she wore a deep midnight-blue dress tied at the waist, accentuating her graceful frame – Morgaine’s influence still clear. One thing, however, remained unchanged: the ribbon in her hair, just like Pandoras’.

She could hardly believe how much time had passed – and how little she’d moved forward.

Next month she would turn thirty.

Every year she published a new book on spellcraft. She was featured in articles, known across the country, honoured with Ministry awards. Her collaboration with Quillon flourished; together they perfected a protective charm she had once invented by accident. She’d filled an entire book with her research – but it remained in her drawer. Her theories were even taught at Hogwarts by the new Ravenclaw Head, Professor Flitwick. And yet, she felt empty – like a machine built without a soul, or one that had somehow lost it along the way.

She rarely left her flat, venturing out only to visit the Lovegoods or to the London print shop to handle her publications.

Or to look for Severus – usually in vain.

In truth, her investigations were successful; she knew nearly everything about his life. But she had never managed to speak to him face to face.

She knew Lily’s death had broken him. She knew of the mission that bound him to protect Harry Potter. She knew he battled his demons daily to keep teaching. She knew he read poetry in his quarters, often with a glass or two of whisky at his side.

She knew everything. And yet, she could do nothing.

She couldn’t reach him, unless he wished to reach her.

Eleven years had passed since their last conversation. Every day she tried to send an owl. And every day, her attempt failed. Pandora told her she was mad for still believing in him after all that time, for still hoping. But Dalia didn’t care. As long as a drop of hope remained, she couldn’t give up on Severus.

Her visits to the Lovegoods’ were her only true moments of connection, and she clung to them. For Pandora, Xen, and her goddaughter, her presence was joy – and for her, a sense of belonging. Birthdays were her favourite, for those were the days she could be part of the family, dazzling them with gifts crafted from love and magic. Luna’s gifts were always the most special.

After counting the nine candles and sugar moons on her cake, Luna took a deep breath and blew them out all at once. The candles had been placed chaotically by her mother, but the result was charming nonetheless.

Xenophilius was first with his gift. ‘Look at me, my fairy,’ he said, raising both fists before her. Luna watched with gleaming eyes, excitement written across her face.

Xen slowly opened his hands: two radiant butterflies flew into the air, fluttering above father and daughter. Luna laughed aloud, admiring the colourful creatures. Then, with two flicks of his wand, Xen sent the butterflies to her ears, where they transformed into delicate earrings. He held up a mirror for her.

‘What do you think?’

‘They’re beautiful,’ Luna said, studying her reflection. ‘I have a dress that matches! Mum, can I wear it tomorrow?’

Pandora laughed. ‘Of course, darling.’

Dalia saw the tears Pandora hid behind her laughter and smiled softly. Then, realising it was her turn, she knelt and pulled a large purple box from under the table, handing it to the birthday girl.

It was purple. Luna’s favourite colour.

The child tore the glittering wrapping in excitement and opened the simple cardboard box. She froze, uncertain. ‘It’s… a lamp?’ she asked timidly.

‘That’s right,’ said Dalia with a wink. ‘But not just any lamp. Try it.’

Luna carefully lifted the lamp onto the table. It was an elegant bedside lamp with a carved wooden base and a shade shaped like an open cube, each side like a picture frame. On top, a small button bore the image of a moonflower.

Everyone watched in silence – everyone except Dalia, who smiled knowingly. Luna placed her hand on the button, closed her eyes, and pressed it.

The lamp lit up, and the shade began to turn slowly. It was pretty, but not particularly magical.

‘What’s the trick?’ Pandora asked, smiling.

‘You have to activate it,’ Dalia said to Luna. ‘Think of your favourite story. Once you have it, say Initiatus and the title.’

‘Initiatus Fairy and the Soldier,’ Luna whispered.

To her amazement, the lamp began to speak – in Dalia’s voice – while grains of enchanted sand painted the story in motion across the four panels. The magic that powered it was a complex series of charms Morgaine had once learned in France and passed down to Dalia.

Luna forgot even to say thank you, so captivated was she by the living tale – but her eyes were gratitude enough. Warmth filled Dalia’s chest as she watched her goddaughter’s wonder.

‘I think she’ll be busy for a while,’ Pandora whispered.

‘I’m glad she likes it,’ Dalia murmured back. ‘It won’t just tell stories. It can bring any book to life. Perfect for studying, once she starts at Hogwarts.’

‘Brilliant idea,’ Pandora sighed. ‘Merlin, how much easier Binns’s classes would’ve been with one of those.’

Dalia laughed. ‘You’re right. I wouldn’t have minded either.’ She straightened, her voice softening. ‘I think I’ve found it. I mean, the right spell. Shall we try?’

Pandora’s face grew serious, but she nodded. ‘Yes. Let’s go to the greenhouse.’ She turned to Xen. ‘Darling, Dalia and I need to take care of something. Can you watch Luna for a bit? We’ll be quick.’ She kissed his cheek.

‘Of course. Where will you be?’

‘In the greenhouse,’ Dalia replied.

Once Xen nodded, the two women hurried to prepare. Dalia pulled on her boots and a black winter cloak. Pandora dashed upstairs, returning moments later, similarly dressed.

Beyond the door, a bitter wind howled. They trudged through the snow toward the lone greenhouse that defied the frozen world in every shade of green. As the door closed behind them, warmth enveloped them, and they shed their cloaks.

‘I could get used to this weather,’ Dalia sighed.

Around them, the air was thick with exotic plants and pots of soil. ‘It’s lovely,’ Pandora said proudly. ‘We come here often in winter. It shows on the plants, doesn’t it? So… You found something?’

‘I did,’ Dalia said firmly. ‘This is the incantation. Nothing I’ve tested could withstand it. I know it, Panda. I know this will be the one we were looking for. This one will destroy it.’ She handed Pandora a stack of folded parchments.

Pandora unfolded them, studying the runes. ‘Thorough, as always,’ she said, pride softening her face. ‘You’re certain?’

‘Completely.’

‘Then I’ll cast it.’

Pandora had forgotten many things over the years – but not why she had begun this fight. Somewhere beyond the Veil, she hoped Regulus still believed in her, still trusted her to finish what he had started and died for.

She paced the greenhouse, memorising the charm. There could be no mistakes this time.

Dalia watched in silence. After all these years, Pandora still stood loyal to a man she’d loved once, though differently than Dalia loved hers.

She never wanted to know that kind of pain.

Pandora looked up, meeting her eyes. ‘I’m ready.’

‘You’ll do fine,’ Dalia said with a weak smile.

‘Let’s hope so.’ Pandora drew the necklace from her pocket and set it before an empty flowerpot on the worktable.

‘Aim well,’ Dalia said lightly, half in jest, half to hide her nerves.

Pandora nodded, took a deep, shuddering breath, raised her wand, and whispered, ‘Spina pugionem!’

Blue light burst forth, striking the pendant…

…but instead of piercing it, the spell rebounded.

No. Dalia blinked, refusing to believe what she saw.

The curse hit Pandora square in the chest. A moment later she was on the ground, clutching her bleeding heart.

‘Dalia…’ she breathed.

Dalia rushed to her side, desperately searching for the wound. She knew it was hopeless. There’s no such amount of Vulnera Sanentur that could heal this. But she couldn’t stop herself. She tore Pandora’s shirt and muttered incantations until Pandora’s trembling hand caught her wrist.

‘Look at me,’ she whispered. ‘Take care of her. Take care of Luna. And destroy it.’ Her voice faltered. ‘Destroy that cursed locket. Just… don’t die.’ Her last words faded with her final breath.

Her arms went limp. Her fingers slipped from Dalia’s hand.

Only then did Dalia truly understand. She gently closed her friend’s eyes and straightened the blood-soaked fabric on her chest. Tears blurred her vision.

Then she heard a small, trembling voice.

‘Mum?’ Luna stood at the doorway. She took a step forward, but Dalia stopped her.

She couldn’t let her see more.

Instinctively, she rose and gathered the girl into her arms, shielding her from the lifeless body. Luna’s presence dulled her own pain; all that mattered was protecting the child from this sight.

‘Mum’s just sleeping,’ she rasped, trying to sound convincing, though her bloodstained clothes betrayed her. ‘It’s cold, sweetheart. Let’s go inside, all right?’

Luna nodded.

As Dalia held her close, Xenophilius appeared in the doorway. ‘Is everything all right? I heard a crash.’

Dalia didn’t answer. Just shook her head, swallowing her sobs. When she stepped aside, Xen saw Pandora. The world stopped. He nearly knocked Dalia and Luna aside as he ran to his wife.

Dalia hurried Luna back into the house, sparing her the sight of her father’s anguish. As the girl crossed the threshold, Dalia glanced back. Xen had collapsed beside Pandora, and his scream echoed through the snow.

That day, Dalia lost her dearest friend.

Xenophilius lost the love of his life.

Hours later, when the house had fallen silent, Dalia returned to the greenhouse. She searched every corner, every shadow, calling for the locket, but it was gone.

She apparated home. Her head throbbed from suppressed tears. She kicked off her shoes, tore off her bloodstained clothes, fell onto her bed, and buried her face in the pillow, sobbing until her voice broke.

It was all her fault.

Not only had she failed. She had killed Pandora. The guilt clawed at her like salt in an open wound.

Once again, she was just the girl whose wand was useless in her hand.

Her face contorted; she didn’t care how long or how loudly she cried. She only wanted relief, to have Pandora back. Her friend, who had stood beside her since childhood, who had trusted her with her daughter.

She had failed her promise. She couldn’t destroy the locket.

Maybe she could protect Luna, but she wasn’t sure she had the strength left.

Exhausted from crying, she rose at last.

That night, she learned an important lesson.

She tore a scrap of parchment, pulled on a light cloak, and wrote a single line:

“You were right.”

She tied it to her owl’s leg. ‘Take it to Morgaine.’

She opened the terrace door and let the bird fly into the night. Then she summoned a pack of cigarettes, stepped outside, and lit one. The icy February air and the harsh smoke burned her lungs – but she needed it. For the first time in a decade.

She could make no more mistakes.

Chapter Text

August 1, 1991 – One year later

Dull orange lights illuminated the Leaky Cauldron. The popular pub-like inn was bustling with life that day – even more so than usual. By then, all new Hogwarts students had received their letters with the list of supplies needed for the next school year, and many chose the Leaky Cauldron to get to Diagon Alley. Some parents liked to knock back a butterbeer or a Firewhiskey before or after shopping – sometimes instead of it.

Only the creaking hinges of the entrance and the slamming of the door signalled the arrival of a mysterious woman. The witch wore a dark purple, neatly tailored robe, her long black hair was elegantly braided, and her lips were adorned with lipstick that matched her outfit. As she stepped inside, Tom, the innkeeper, greeted her loudly.

‘Hello, Mrs...’ he began, then paused. He didn't recognize the woman, even though he usually remembered the faces that came to the tavern.. ‘...ma'am,’ he corrected himself. ‘What can I get you?’

The witch nodded.

‘A glass of mead, please.’

‘I'll bring it right away,’ replied the old innkeeper with a stooped back. ‘May I ask your name?’

‘Ms. Leaf,’ came the measured reply.

‘Forgive me, I assumed you were married. I am surprised that such a beautiful witch is still single at your age.’

The woman sighed softly, as if this wasn't the first time she had to explain this unpleasant, personal assumption.

‘My husband died,’ she replied dryly.

‘Oh,’ Tom swallowed. ‘I'm very sorry.’ The atmosphere became uncomfortable, so he remained silent and served the drink.

The witch paid, thanked him, and sat down at a secluded table, far from the bustling, pipe smoke-filled part of the Leaky Cauldron. She took a sip of her drink and felt the pleasant, sweet-tasting alcoholic beverage burn her esophagus. A familiar warmth filled her, one she didn't often feel – yet she knew full well that this feeling was not real. Slowly, she reached into the pocket of her robe, her fingers closing around a cold, familiar metal object. It was a pocket watch.

The pocket watch that she kept for 12 years. The one Severus had left behind.

However, the special object was not what it used to be, and not only in the sense that it was slightly worn and faded. When Dalia – who traveled incognito as Ms. Leaf – opened it, the hands of the clock did not show the exact time; in fact, only one of the two hands was visible: the minute hand. To the untrained eye, this would not have been particularly revealing, but when the woman pressed the crown on the side of the watch, the numbers behind the glass have been replaced with places. There was Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, Roxmorts, Cokeworth, Prince Manor, etc. The minute hand was pointing to Diagon Alley.

Severus was somewhere nearby.

Dalia pressed the crown of the watch again: the minute hand disappeared and was replaced by the hour hand. This also indicated Diagon Alley, so she turned the crown to narrow down the search. This time, the names of shops appeared, all of which were located on Diagon Alley.

This indicator was also at the Leaky Cauldron, just as it had been fifteen minutes earlier – which was why Dalia had come to the tavern. However, she was unable to get any closer than that, and she didn't even know exactly who she was looking for. It was quite difficult in the unusual crowd.

After Pandora's death, something in Dalia's soul broke forever. The old principles that had once given her strength were now nothing more than painful reminders. She bowed to Morgaine's words, which had once seemed too dark for her to accept. She realized that the woman was right – the price of purity was weakness.

She didn't want to remain weak anymore. She didn't want to be the girl whose wand was worthless in the most important moments.

She wasn't inclined toward black magic – at least, she didn't like to call it that way. She only invoked ancient, long-forgotten magic: whispering spells, curses slowly fading into oblivion. Those that the Ministry would have strictly restricted if they had known of their existence. The woman often reassured herself that she wasn't hurting anyone with them – no one who truly mattered.

And Severus' enemies... well, they didn't matter in Dalia's eyes.

It took months for her to pull herself together after Pandora's death. Quillon stayed by her side throughout – without question, seemingly unconcerned with the young woman's pain, as only someone who has been through terrible things can be.

Xenophilius forgave her after she shared her memories of the night that changed everything. He had a right to know what and who killed his wife.

Dalia didn't feel she deserved forgiveness. Especially after all the struggle Panda had dedicated her life to had been in vain. The necklace was lost.

Even before Pandora's death, Xenophilius was considered foolish, but afterwards he took an even more radical stance – both personally and in the newspaper he ran. It was as if he had gone completely mad. He saw stars in even the smallest oddities, conspiracy theories replaced news in the Quibbler, he demolished the greenhouse and surrounded the house with a fence. Dalia wouldn't have minded any of this if he hadn't dragged her daughter into his whims. No matter how much it bothered her, there was little she could do about it.

Yet she had perhaps the least right to judge. The loss of Pandora was the last straw that embittered her soul. The principle she had adhered to for many years, which had led her to warn Severus and despise Quillon, was now shattered into pieces. She tore it away from herself, ripped it out of her being, and finally understood why Severus had desperately wanted to be stronger even within the walls of Hogwarts. He had already seen what Dalia had realized too late: certain things could only be achieved with forbidden magic.

The woman enchanted objects and cast spells without ever getting her hands dirty. It wasn't her wand that cast the spells, but magic that she controlled from afar, allowing her to remain unnoticed in the background. One of the objects she imbued with special properties was the pocket watch.

She used the clock for two purposes: it showed her where Severus was, and it led her to those who wanted to harm him. The minute hand indicated the former, and the hour hand indicated the latter. In most cases, the hour hand was invisible, indicating that no one had any serious intentions of harming Severus.

But on that day... the hour hand was there constantly.

That's how Dalia ended up in the Leaky Cauldron.

She slowly sipped her mead, taking her time, while trying to observe everyone around her in case she noticed anything suspicious. She took out the Morning Prophet, spread it out in front of herself, and pretended to be interested in the latest law passed by the Ministry restricting the enchantment of objects. Hiding behind the newspaper, she tried to peek out from time to time. For several minutes, she saw nothing unusual among the company; the wizards and witches were eating, drinking, and chatting cheerfully. Then she spotted a strange figure wearing a purple turban.

She didn't want to jump to conclusions, so she just listened for a while as he talked to the innkeeper.

‘So you're going to be the new professor at Hogwarts? Professor Quirrell, I presume?’ asked old Tom.

‘Y-y-yes,’ stammered the man timidly.

What a weakling – thought Dalia. Wearing a turban in August... This alone made her suspicious, and his stutter – which sometimes changed intensity dramatically – did not help Quirrell remain unnoticed by the woman's suspicion. At least his hair should stick out from under it. Although, from what I can see, he doesn't have much. Never mind, I'll fix it, she thought, and then sprang into action.

‘Locum commutans,’ she whispered, pointing her wand at one of the waiters from behind the Prophet. The spell allowed her to take control of the waiter for a short time. It wasn't quite the same as using the Imperius Curse, as she had entered the target's body herself. During this time, her own body became empty, remaining in a position leaning against the wall.

‘So, tell me,’ said Dalia, who had moved into the waitress's body, stepping up beside Quirrell, ‘what makes such a handsome man wear a turban in this heat?’

‘I... I... I got it from an African prince, to protect myself from vampires,’ he stammered nervously.

Of course, Dalia thought to herself. His nervous, increasing stutter was becoming more and more obvious. Dressed as a waitress, she felt the cold air, the frosty aura surrounding the professor – one of the strongest signs of the presence of black magic. Morgaine had taught her how to recognize when someone or something was surrounded by dark spells.

The waitress – Dalia – lifted two mugs of butterbeer as if she were taking them to the tables.

‘What an honour!’ she exclaimed. ‘If a prince gave me something like this, I would wear it every day,’ she said, and as she started to walk away, she pretended to stumble and spilled the drinks right into Quirrell’s face.

Dalia returned to her own body, folded the newspaper in her hand with a measured movement, took out a handkerchief, and hurried over to Quirrell.

‘Here,’ she said, handing the cloth to the blinded man. Quirrell took it and wiped his eyes. ‘Tergeo!’ Dalia uttered the spell, and the man's entire outfit shone in all its glory before the butterbeer.

‘Th-th-thank you,’ he stammered, returning the handkerchief in the belief that the spell had cleansed it as well.

Dalia, however, knew perfectly well that this was not the case. She hid her lips behind her glass and muttered another spell, which restored the man's eyelashes, which had turned to mist. Once she had done this, she placed her glass on the counter.

‘You're welcome, Professor. Take care of yourself,’ she said, feigning some empathy for him. ‘Thanks for the drink, Tom, it was really nice,’ she said, waving, then headed for the brick door leading to Diagon Alley.

Her thin, pale fingers clasped the doorknob, but then she heard more guests arriving. A strange feeling in her chest made her turn around. At first, Dalia only saw Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts groundskeeper, but then a small boy – very small compared to Hagrid, at least – appeared behind him. Suddenly, she felt as if someone had stolen all the oxygen from the inn.

It was as if she saw James Potter standing before her. True, he was much younger than the last time she had seen James. She had to remind herself that this was impossible. Not even dark magic could bring the dead back to life.

Harry Potter walked in, wearing clothes six sizes too big and broken glasses, staying close behind the groundkeeper. He didn't speak, didn't draw attention to himself, but rather tried to hide. His face resembled his father's, his eyes his mother's, but his shy demeanour, poor clothes, and malnutrition reminded Dalia of someone else. It was as if she had seen this boy somewhere before – in a basement, wearing a Slytherin robe, hiding behind potions.

‘So he's the hope of the magical world,’ she whispered to herself.

She smiled, somewhat cynically, and then – before the other wizards and witches could recognize the boy who lived – stepped out to Diagon Alley.

Wandering among the shops, she was greeted by heat and terrible crowds. She took out the pocket watch attached to her skirt with a chain and opened the cover depicting a black swan. The clock still pointed to the Leaky Cauldron, but Dalia wasn't particularly concerned, as she had already obtained what she needed from there. She pressed the crown, then turned it and approached Severus's location, trying to avoid the crowds so as not to fall flat on her face.

She didn't even try to resist the urge to at least glance at Severus as she walked by.

The minute hand of the clock pointed to the pharmacy.

Dalia approached the store at a leisurely pace, looking around. Although her new appearance and the passage of time made it difficult for anyone to recognize her, she feared that Severus would recognize her immediately, just by catching her eye.

When she reached the shop window, she didn't have to search long. She was filled with both joy and disappointment when she saw the man browsing around the shelves of simpler ingredients.

Dalia didn't want to talk to him, didn't want him to know that she still cared about him. After all these years, she was too proud to fight tooth and nail for him. She didn't want Severus to know what she was doing for him. She was afraid he would despise her for it, despise her methods, and the fact that she hadn't sought him out face to face. At the same time, the man didn't give her a chance, clearly not wanting to see her again, even if she was doing it for her own safety. Dalia had to remind herself of this many times. Since Panda's death, she no longer believed she deserved happiness.

In a nutshell: he couldn't have known about it.

Still, the woman stopped in front of the shop window. The temptation was too great.

Just a moment. That's all she could afford. That's all, and no more.

Severus began searching the shelf, allowing Dalia a perfect view of his profile. His shoulders were broad, his long, searching fingers rough from hard work, his face showing the years spent teaching. He was not wrinkled, except for a few shadows on his forehead that hinted at the lines of the future. His hooked nose was a distinctive feature of his masculine face framed by dark hair, and his stern, onyx eyes froze the glass in his hand – at least that was how Dalia perceived it.

Then she stopped looking and walked away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone following her, but she didn't turn around. She couldn't take any chances. She ducked into a dark alley, leaned her back against the cold wall, and took a deep breath to calm herself down a little. The crowd milled around her, seemingly cheerful and excited as they walked the streets. She could not relate to them. She pushed herself away from the wall, dusted off her cloak, and with her back straight – Severus's face banished from her mind – she apparated home.

At home, her work table was waiting for her, with everything she might need. On the table lay a vial of salt, a faceless rag doll, a dagger, needles, thread, tweezers, a piece of white cloth, and a greenish potion looking like mud. These were the tools that brought the ancient magic of the Brazilian rainforest – the boneca de sombra – to life.

Dalia stepped up to the table, cut open the doll's back with the dagger with skilled movements, and unfolded her handkerchief. Using the tweezers, she hid Quirrell’s stolen eyelashes in the stuffing, then sewed up the slit. She then turned to the piece of fabric, cut a small strip from it, wrapped it around the doll's head like a turban, and put it back on the table.

It was ready.

A dark smile played on Dalia's lips. There was a certain beauty in the way she freed Severus from his enemies without killing anyone or getting her hands dirty.

She carefully sprinkled salt around the doll representing Quirrell, muttered a few protective spells, and finally pulled out the stopper of the potion and dripped it onto the doll.

The circle separated by salt glowed red, including the doll, which began to move intensely, sliding back and forth from one end to the other, prevented from breaking out only by the salt. It looked as if someone were writhing in agony.

Dalia knew that the same process was going on in Quirrell’s head. He was writhing in agony.

‘You will be afraid,’ the woman whispered to the doll, like an evil breeze. ‘You will fear Severus. If he comes near you, you will avoid him. You will not seek him out yourself. You will swear that this will be so. Because if you don't... I will find you, and even death will not hide you from me.’

Dalia waved her wand and sent the doll flying into the air, then slammed it down on the table, causing the red light to disappear and the spell to end. The spell seemed to have been successful, but the woman wasn't satisfied with that – she took out her pocket watch again.

Outside, pigeons sat in a row on the terrace railing, waiting for tasty morsels from the upstairs neighbour.

A palm slapped strong against the wooden deck.

The pigeons flew up at once, as if they sensed that something was wrong.

They were startled when Dalia slammed her hand on the table.

The clock hand was still on the dial.

Severus thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He was examining the quality of the dragon claws available in the pharmacy when he noticed someone watching him. He caught just a glimpse of the mysterious woman: her black, braided hair fell elegantly onto her pretty, crimson robe. Severus wasn't even sure if she was really watching him, but he decided to hurry after the mysterious witch anyway. He put the bottle back on the shelf and rushed out onto the road.

He saw the woman turn into one of the alleys. He saw her lovely face from the side, which was no longer youthful, having hardened over the years, but her brown irises still promised warmth. He caught her gaze just before she disappeared from view, but he tried to engrave her face firmly in his memory.

She was still beautiful.

Or maybe he just imagined all that.

‘Professor!’ shouted the pharmacist after him. ‘You left your frogspawn here!’

He nodded, then went back into the shop, paid for his purchases, and set off back to Hogwarts with a foggy mind. He wasn't sure who he had seen, nor whether anyone had actually been watching him – but the very thought made his heart ache.

The name repeated itself like a mantra in his mind: Dalia.

Severus typically did not leave the castle even in summer. He did not really like the Prince mansion because of its size – he was unable to fill it with life – and the house on Spinners End was haunted by the memory of his mother and father. His dad had died a few months earlier. Tobias Snape outlived Eileen by ten years, and in his final days he had almost completely lost his mind. In the end, the illness caused by his alcoholism led him to his grave.

Severus was not affected by his death very much. It almost felt like he deserved it.

The Flo network took him straight to his apartment, and as he stepped out of the fireplace, he walked over to the display cabinet, took out a bottle of Firewhiskey and a glass. There were patterns he couldn't get rid of, even if he didn't deliberately pursue the memory of his parents.

With lazy movements, he slipped out of his shoes, took a book from the shelf, and slumped wearily into his armchair. The black cover concealed a book that was unusual for the professor: The Great Gatsby. He didn't open it at the beginning of the story; he knew exactly what he was looking for. He flipped open the yellowed pages right at the table of contents, turned to the back, straight to the appendices. He was looking for the page with the author's letter.

He didn't have to search long, as there was a photo among the pages containing the letter. It was a photo made of Dalia. Severus took the picture in his hand and traced her figure with trembling fingers.

He had almost forgotten what she looked like.

Then he turned his gaze to the page where the photo was displayed. He underlined a single line in the letter, the line that came to mind whenever he thought of her.

“I love her, and that's the beginning and end of it all.”

At that moment, scratching broke the silence. Severus opened the door for Nox, his cat, with a practiced flick of his wand, then closed it behind it. The black creature jumped silently into the man's lap. Severus lifted the photograph depicting Dalia and held it out in front of the cat.

‘I think I saw her today. I'm not sure. But if it was her... she's still wonderful,’ he sighed deeply, and that sigh came from the bottom of his heart.