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Chapter Text

The Black Lake was quiet beneath the stars, a silver ribbon reflecting the moonlight as it shimmered across the water. Severus Snape sat on the edge of the stone walkway, cloak pulled tight around him against the cold night air. His fingers brushed absently along the jagged surface of the rocks, grounding himself, trying to make sense of the chaos still spinning in his mind.

Earlier that day, James Potter had humiliated him in front of nearly the entire school. He could still hear the laughter, sharp and mocking, echoing through the halls. Worse than the mockery, worse than the pain, had been the look on Lily’s face. Shock. Disbelief. Disappointment. The faintest shadow of hurt he could not bear.

He closed his eyes and let the night wash over him. I never wanted to hurt her. He had loved her for as long as he could remember, long before the world had made him cynical. Long before he understood houses, blood purity, and the rigid cruelty that divided them all. Yet today he had lost control. Today, he had spoken words he could never take back.

The wind carried a faint rustle of movement. His eyes snapped open, muscles tensing. He had been expecting, or perhaps dreading, the smirk of James Potter. Perhaps, even the crowing of Sirius Black.

"Severus?"

Her voice, soft and careful, made his heart lurch.

He turned, and there she was. Lily Evans, standing at the edge of the walkway, her hair catching the moonlight, green eyes wide and searching. For a moment, he felt the sting of tears he refused to shed.

"Lily," he said, voice low. Harsh. Too cautious, too careful.

She stepped closer, her hands fidgeting at her sides. "I thought… I might find you here," she said. "It’s… quiet. I like it."

He nodded stiffly, unable to say more. Words were useless. What could he possibly say? That he had loved her forever? That he had made the gravest mistake of his life today? That he was terrified she might never forgive him?

She did not move closer, but the tension between them was thick enough to taste. "Sev…" she murmured, and the use of the nickname, so familiar and intimate, was like a knife pressed into his chest.

He looked away, toward the lake, where the water reflected the stars like shards of glass. "I… am fine," he said finally, the words brittle.

"No," she replied softly, a frown tugging at her lips. "You’re not. I can see it."

Her gaze was steady, searching, patient. And for a moment, Severus wanted to tell her everything. To spill his heart into the night and risk everything, to let her see the truth behind the walls he had built. But fear clenched his chest, freezing the words on his tongue.

"I… I shouldn’t have said what I said," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I… I didn’t mean-"

"Yes," she said, cutting him off gently. Her expression softened, but the hurt in her eyes remained. "I know."

A silence fell between them, the night wrapping around them like a cloak. Severus shifted, tugging his cloak tighter, wishing he could disappear entirely. And then, as if on cue, a streak of light tore across the sky. A shooting star.

Lily gasped softly, pointing. "Look!"

Severus followed her finger. Another star arced through the heavens, bright, fleeting, beautiful.

"Make a wish," she said quietly.

He felt his throat tighten. Of course she would make her wish aloud, like it was some innocent game. But for him, his wish was already set, already formed in the quiet corners of his heart. He could not speak it. Not yet.

He closed his eyes, whispered a wordless plea into the night, and let the cold wind brush against his face. A single wish, private and desperate, for something he could never force her to feel.

"What did you wish for?" she asked after a moment, turning to him with an innocent curiosity.

He opened his eyes, careful to mask the torrent of longing inside. "Nothing you’d understand," he said, shrugging lightly, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes.

She tilted her head at him, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "You’ve always been mysterious, Sev. Sometimes I think you hide everything behind those dark eyes of yours."

He gave a small, humorless chuckle. "Perhaps I do," he admitted.

They watched the stars in silence, each shooting one across the sky. Lily’s eyes were bright with hope and wonder, her wish whispered on the wind, pure and untroubled. And Severus, his own wish burning fiercely behind clenched teeth, kept silent. He closed his eyes, letting the night hold his secret.

"You know," she said after a moment, "I used to think that wishing on stars actually did something. That maybe if you wished hard enough, the world would bend to your will."

"Perhaps it does," he said softly, almost to himself, "but only if you’re careful what you ask for."

She glanced at him, a curious spark in her gaze, but said nothing more. Instead, she turned again to the sky, her arms wrapped around herself against the chill. Severus watched her, the quiet ache in his chest tightening, knowing he could never let her see the depth of his longing.

Another star streaked overhead. Lily’s hand twitched instinctively, and she whispered her wish again. He imagined the words, soft as a secret, floating into the night. And he made another silent wish, his own heart buried beneath layers of fear, guilt, and hope.

When the last star faded into darkness, Lily sighed, content, leaning slightly closer to him. "I feel… better now," she admitted.

Severus nodded, forcing himself to smile, though his heart felt like it had been sliced open. "Good," he said. "I… I’m glad."

They lingered by the lake until the night grew colder, until even the stars seemed to fade into a hazy silver. And as Lily finally pulled away to return to the castle, Severus remained seated, watching her go, the echo of her footsteps mingling with the soft lap of water against stone.

"I will not fail you again, Lily," he whispered to the night, to the stars, to whatever small mercy might listen. "I will earn your forgiveness. I will wait as long as it takes."

Severus lingered near the lake long after Lily’s retreating footsteps faded into the castle. The chill of the night pressed into his bones, but he barely noticed. The stones beneath him were rough, unyielding, yet grounding. A harsh contrast to the turmoil in his chest. He had confessed nothing, revealed nothing. Yet somehow the act of simply being near her, sharing the night and the stars, felt like both penance and privilege.

He let his gaze drift over the still surface of the water, watching the reflection of the castle flicker and warp with each ripple. Hogwarts seemed almost peaceful from here, distant and detached from the petty cruelties that made up his days. And yet, the memory of James Potter’s triumphant laugh burned behind his eyes, relentless and sharp.

How does he always know exactly how to humiliate me? Severus thought bitterly. How does he make it so effortless while I can’t even speak without fear of destroying everything?

He clenched his fists, the stones digging into his palms. Every insult, every joke, every public embarrassment seemed trivial compared to the sting in Lily’s eyes. That one fleeting moment of disappointment had cut deeper than anything James Potter or the other Gryffindor bullies for that matter, could have inflicted. It was personal. It was final.

And yet, in the quiet aftermath, Severus found himself thinking of the shooting stars, of the shared silence with her. He could still feel the warmth of her presence beside him, her breath visible in the cold night air, her eyes alight with curiosity and quiet hope. He had not spoken the truth, yet somehow the night itself seemed to hold it between them, a fragile thread suspended in the darkness.

The stars above twinkled, indifferent and constant. If only wishes could change everything, he thought. If only words could undo what has been said.

But they could not. They never had. They never would.

A sudden movement from the shadows of the trees lining the lake made him tense. He turned sharply, wand half-raised in reflex, before recognizing the familiar figure of a Slytherin prefect. One of the older students patrolling the grounds. With a faint nod, the student passed, and Severus let his breath out in a long, slow exhale. The castle was still alive with activity. He could hear distant shouts and laughter echoing faintly from the courtyards.

He wished, not for the first time, that he could move through the halls unnoticed. That he could slip past the scrutiny of teachers, prefects, and peers alike, and simply exist in his own space, free to think, free to ache, free to wish without fear of judgment.

But of course, Hogwarts was never so kind.

Severus rose from the stones, brushing off his cloak. The air was colder now, sharper, carrying with it the faint scent of lilac from the gardens. He paused, breathing in the smell, letting it mingle with the remnants of the night. Lily. Her presence lingered like a ghost he could neither touch nor chase.

He tried to focus on something else, anything else, but his mind stubbornly returned to her. What does she think of me now? he wondered. Does she hate me? Or is it something more complicated… something worse?

The thought of her forgiveness, or the lack thereof, gnawed at him relentlessly. He had made mistakes, grave ones, but he had loved her every step of the way. Through every slight, every insult, every impossible, bitter day. And now, standing in the cold night air, he felt the weight of unspoken words pressing down on him like stone.

He could not tell her his wish, not yet. It was too dangerous, too fragile. To speak it aloud would be to expose himself completely, to leave his heart vulnerable to rejection. He had spent too long building walls around himself, and to tear them down now would be to invite disaster. And yet, every beat of his heart begged him to reach out, to tell her, to risk everything for the slender hope that she might feel the same.

He glanced toward the castle. The moonlight glinted off the windows of the Gryffindor Tower, distant and warm. Somewhere within, Lily had returned to her dormitory, perhaps thinking of him, perhaps already forgetting the night entirely. The thought was unbearable, yet he could do nothing to follow her.

He turned back to the lake, staring at the reflected stars, and allowed himself a single, private thought: I will not fail you again, Lily Evans. No matter how long it takes. No matter what it costs.

The wind carried a faint, distant laughter, unmistakably James Potter. Severus stiffened, fists clenching. He could hear the echo of Potter’s voice, the casual arrogance, the certainty that the world and Lily belonged to him. He ground his teeth.

He does not understand. He cannot understand, Severus thought bitterly. She is not his to claim.

But the knowledge did little to soothe the ache in his chest. He would have to fight for her in ways he had never considered. Not with duels or insults, not with superiority or magic, but with patience, with truth, and with the fragile, trembling hope that she might see him as he truly was.

And perhaps, in time, she would.

Passing under the shadow of an archway, he nearly collided with Theodore Nott, a Slytherin fifth-year known for enjoying the discomfort of others. "Out late, Snape?" Theodore sneered, peering at him. "What, pining for someone? Or did Potter give you another lesson today?"

Severus straightened instantly, masking his emotions with cold control. "Step aside," he said evenly. His voice, low and cutting, made Theodore flinch and mutter something under his breath before moving on.

Severus exhaled slowly, heart hammering, not from fear, but from anger and humiliation, layered over the exhaustion of the night. Every interaction, every whisper, reminded him of how fragile his place was, how exposed he felt.

He paused in a quiet courtyard, leaning against the stone, letting the memory of Lily’s presence seep back in. The way she had stood there beside him, tentative and cautious, yet still willing to share the night, replayed in his mind. He remembered her eyes reflecting the shooting stars, bright and full of hope, untouched by his words or by James’s arrogance.

She could forgive me someday, he thought bitterly. But only if I prove I am worthy. Only if I stop being the boy who lashes out in anger, and start being the man who protects what matters most.

And then, as if on cruel reminder, he pictured James Potter. James Potter smiling, confident, sure of himself. James Potter walking through the castle corridors, unaware of the storm of feelings and secrets swirling around him. Lily’s attention was his prize, and Severus had no right to demand it. He could only hope.

Severus allowed himself one last glance toward the distant tower where Lily slept, imagining her safe, dreaming, perhaps thinking of him. His hand brushed the stone beside him as though it could anchor his resolve.

"I will wait," he whispered. "I will endure. I will fight the parts of myself that are reckless and cruel. And one day… one day, if she can see me as I see her, maybe then she will know. Until then, I will guard this secret, and guard her heart, even from myself."

With a final shiver from the cold night air, Severus Snape turned and began the long walk back to the dungeons. The stars above still shone, indifferent witnesses to a boy in love, to wishes unspoken, and to a heart both bruised and fiercely determined.

Chapter Text

The following morning broke gray and reluctant, sunlight filtering weakly through the high windows of the Slytherin dormitory. The dungeons never truly brightened. Their walls swallowed light as easily as they swallowed sound. Severus sat on the edge of his narrow bed, already dressed, his hair damp and his expression unreadable.

He hadn’t slept.

The memories of the night before, of the lake, of Lily’s voice, of the faint warmth in her eyes when she spoke to him,had circled endlessly in his mind. Every word, every breath between them, replayed until the line between memory and wish blurred. For a moment, it had almost felt as though things could be repaired. That maybe, if he stayed patient, if he guarded his temper, if he proved himself… she might forgive him.

And then morning came, as it always did, with the cold, sober light of reality.

He stood, pulling his robes tighter around his shoulders. The rest of the dormitory was quiet. Most of his classmates were still asleep, or pretending to be. He could hear the faint snores of Mulciber and the restless shifting of Avery. Both had been silent since yesterday’s incident, aware that even they had overstepped when they laughed as Potter hexed him upside-down in front of Lily.

The thought made his stomach twist. He didn’t want their pity. Or their loyalty, for that matter. He wanted distance. Solitude. A clear mind.

He made his way through the empty common room, the greenish glow from the lake above casting ripples of light across the stone. The air was damp and cool, filled with the faint smell of moss. His footsteps echoed softly as he climbed toward the Great Hall.

Breakfast was already underway when he arrived. The usual murmur of conversation filled the hall, students swapping homework answers, gossiping, complaining about professors. Severus moved toward the Slytherin table, keeping his head down. He could feel eyes on him as he passed, could hear the whispers, see the half-smiles. They all knew. Of course they knew. News traveled fast in Hogwarts, especially when it involved humiliation.

He ignored them.

Sliding into an empty seat near the end of the table, he reached for a slice of toast and pretended to read the front page of the Daily Prophet. His appetite was gone, but it gave his hands something to do.

He sensed movement beside him. Regulus Black, small and sharp-eyed, sat down with the careful grace of someone who never said more than necessary.

"You look awful," Regulus remarked quietly, pouring himself tea.

"Insightful," Severus muttered without looking up.

"I heard what happened," Regulus continued, voice low enough not to carry. "Potter again, wasn’t it?"

Severus’s jaw tightened. "Does it matter?"

"Only that people are saying Evans was there," Regulus replied, studying him. "And that you called her a-"

"I didn’t mean it," Severus snapped before he could stop himself. The words came too quickly, too defensively. His cup rattled against the saucer.

Regulus blinked once, expression unreadable. "Didn’t say you did. Only that people talk. They always do."

Severus took a long, slow breath, forcing himself to calm. Regulus wasn’t mocking him, at least, not openly. But even the reminder of the word, of the way it had slipped from his mouth in blind anger, was enough to make his stomach twist.

"She came to see me," he said after a long pause, almost in disbelief at his own voice. "Last night. By the lake."

Regulus looked mildly surprised. "Evans did?"

Severus nodded, eyes fixed on his plate. "We talked."

"And?" Regulus prompted.

"She listened," he said finally, which was the truth, and yet not the whole of it.

Regulus gave a faint hum, something between curiosity and approval. "That’s… something, at least."

Severus didn’t answer. He didn’t know what it was, not yet. Hope, perhaps. Or just another chance to break what little remained.

When classes began, the day moved with the mechanical rhythm of routine. Severus barely heard the lectures. He sat through Slughorn’s potions demonstration in silence, mechanically chopping ingredients, measuring powders, stirring clockwise, then counterclockwise. The fumes curled lazily around him, bitter and sweet. Familiar. Safe.

It was the one place where control came naturally.

Across the room, Lily sat with her usual partner, Mary Macdonald. They worked quietly, efficiently, the faintest hum of laughter passing between them. She did not look at him. Not once. But she didn’t avoid him either. And that, he told himself, was enough. For now.

Slughorn’s booming voice broke through his thoughts. "Ah, very nice, Miss Evans! Excellent texture on your Draught of Peace. Perfectly mixed, I daresay. Ten points to Gryffindor!"

Lily smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting in that effortless way that made Severus’s chest ache. She accepted the praise gracefully, as always. She had never needed to seek attention. It found her naturally.

"Mr. Snape," Slughorn continued, turning toward him. "Yours is… quite good as well. A bit strong, perhaps. You’ll want to reduce the powdered moonstone next time."

"Yes, Professor," Severus murmured.

Slughorn smiled approvingly, unaware of the quiet storm behind his student’s blank expression. "Very well, then. Class dismissed."

The students began packing up, the scrape of stools and chatter filling the room. Severus moved slowly, deliberately, waiting until most had left. He didn’t want to be caught in the crowd. But as he reached for his satchel, a voice stopped him.

"Sev?"

He froze.

Lily stood a few paces away, clutching her own bag. Her tone was careful. It was neither warm nor cold, simply… gentle. He turned, searching her face for something. Anger, perhaps, or forgiveness, anything.

"Yes?" he asked quietly.

She hesitated, eyes flickering between his and the floor. "I just wanted to say… thank you. For what you said last night."

His brow furrowed. "I didn’t say much."

"You didn’t have to," she said softly. "It meant something. So… thank you."

Her words, simple as they were, struck him with unexpected force. He wanted to tell her everything, that he hadn’t slept, that he’d replayed their conversation a hundred times, that she was the only thing in his world that felt worth salvaging. But all he managed was a faint nod.

"I’m glad," he said.

She offered a small, cautious smile before turning to go. He watched her leave, her hair glinting copper in the dim classroom light, and something inside him shifted. A fragile, flickering thing that felt dangerously close to hope.

That night, the lake called to him again.

The wind was softer this time, the water calm and mirrorlike beneath the stars. He stood where he had before, the surface smooth and silent except for the occasional ripple of the Giant Squid far below. The reflection of the castle lights shimmered faintly across the black water.

He wasn’t expecting her voice again.

"Couldn’t sleep either?"

Severus turned. Lily was there, her cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders, hair tumbling loose against the night breeze. She looked pale but determined, as though she’d wrestled with herself before coming.

He blinked once, uncertain whether to speak at all. "No," he said finally. "I couldn’t."

She walked to stand beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of lavender from her hair. They both stared out at the lake in silence for a long while.

"It’s strange," she murmured, "how quiet it gets here. You can almost forget there’s anyone else in the castle."

He nodded slightly. "That’s why I come."

Another pause. Then. "Do you think the stars listen to us?"

He glanced at her, uncertain how to answer. "Listen?"

"When we wish on them," she said, smiling faintly. "You didn’t tell me your wish last night."

He looked back at the sky. A single star flickered overhead, distant and dim. "It wasn’t important."

"I don’t believe that," she said softly.

Her voice carried no accusation, only quiet certainty. It unsettled him more than anger ever could.

As if on cue, another streak of light crossed the heavens, faint but visible. Another shooting star, brief and bright. Lily gasped softly, the sound barely louder than a breath.

"Another one," she whispered. "Quick. Make a wish."

He hesitated.

"You’re not going to, are you?" she asked, tilting her head toward him.

"I already have," he said at last. His tone was low, almost reluctant. "And it’s the same as before."

She studied him in the silver light. "You could tell me, you know."

His throat tightened. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, almost against his will the words slipped free, quiet and hesitant, half-truths wrapped in shadows.

"I only wish," he said slowly, "that my hope doesn’t die."

Lily blinked, her expression softening. "Hope for what?"

He gave a faint, almost broken smile. "You’d call it foolish."

"Try me."

He shook his head, eyes fixed on the water. "Some things… are better left unspoken. Hope is fragile. It dies easily when you name it."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was gentle, almost sacred. The stars shimmered above them, and the lake reflected their scattered light like quiet witnesses.

Lily didn’t press him further. Instead, she whispered her own wish under her breath, her eyes never leaving the sky.

When the last trace of the shooting star faded, she turned to him again. "Then I hope your hope lives," she said simply.

He looked at her, caught off guard, and for the first time that night, something inside him eased. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he only nodded.

They stayed by the lake until the chill grew sharper, the moon sinking behind the clouds. When they finally turned back toward the castle, neither spoke again. Words, for once, felt unnecessary.

But as they walked side by side through the silent courtyard, Severus’s thoughts burned quietly in the dark.

My hope is you.

And he would never say it aloud.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Lake- Lily POV

Lily Evans awoke before dawn, the faint silver of morning spilling across her dormitory floor. The castle was still half-asleep, the corridors silent, the air carrying that soft chill that always came before sunrise. She lay still for a moment, her gaze tracing the ceiling’s slow-shifting shadows, and thought of Severus.

It hadn't even been a plan to follow Severus to the lake the previous night. Only hours had passed since the stars fell across the sky and his eyes had looked so haunted, so raw, that she’d almost reached out to touch him.

Lily sighed, pressing her palms over her eyes. She hated how tangled everything had become. Once, she and Severus had been inseparable. Two children on the edge of the Muggle world, peering in at magic with the same wonder. But Hogwarts had changed them. Slytherin had changed him. And the word he’d called her… that word… still echoed faintly in her mind, bitter and cold.

Yet, when she saw him sitting alone by the lake, something in her refused to turn away.

By breakfast, the Great Hall was already buzzing with chatter. James Potter was, as usual, at the center of it. His stupid hair untidy, grin too wide, voice far too loud for the hour.

"Evans!" he called across the Gryffindor table, waving a slice of toast like a wand. "Fancy tutoring me in Potions later? I promise I’ll pay attention this time."

"You never pay attention, Potter," Lily said, rolling her eyes.

He laughed as though that were a victory. Sirius barked his loud, carefree laugh beside him. Remus shook his head, muttering something Lily couldn’t hear, and Peter chuckled weakly, trying to keep up.

They were a strange group, she thought. Brilliant, reckless, and infuriating. And somehow James, arrogant, annoying James, was beginning to grow on her in ways she didn’t entirely understand.

He wasn’t just the boy who hexed Severus. Lately, he’d shown flashes of kindness, of restraint. But then, she remembered that awful situation by the lake the previous night, and all the feelings tangled together again. Feelings of anger, guilt, pity, affection.

She pushed her plate away, suddenly restless.

By evening, the day had softened into twilight. The corridors were quiet, the air heavy with the scent of rain from earlier in the afternoon. Lily wandered down toward the lake, unsure why she was going, only knowing that her feet seemed to move of their own accord.

And then she saw him.

Severus stood in the same spot as before. A dark silhouette against the silver water, cloak rippling in the breeze. His posture was tense, almost guarded, but when he heard her footsteps, he didn’t turn immediately.

"I thought you might be here," she said softly.

He exhaled, slow and controlled. "You have a habit of finding me here."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No." The word came out too quickly, and he seemed to regret it instantly. "You can stay."

Lily smiled faintly, stepping beside him. The water mirrored the sky again, deep and dark, the stars beginning to appear in slow, careful succession.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was comfortable, almost fragile in its peace.

"You come here a lot," she said finally. "Why?"

"It’s quiet," he answered. "People don’t follow me here. Not usually."

"Except me," she teased lightly.

He glanced sideways at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Except you."

The stars thickened above them, faint pinpricks of light stretching endlessly over the lake. Lily hugged her arms around herself against the chill. "Do you think we’ll see another shooting star tonight?"

Severus tilted his head upward, eyes scanning the sky. "Perhaps. The Leonids are still passing."

"I didn’t know you watched for things like that," she said.

He hesitated, then shrugged. "I don’t. Not usually."

"But you did last night," she pressed gently.

He gave no answer, only kept his gaze fixed on the heavens. The silence stretched again, quiet but charged, filled with unspoken things.

Then, almost on cue, a streak of light flared across the horizon, cutting through the dark. Lily gasped softly. "There! Did you see?"

He nodded, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his face.

"Make a wish," she said, smiling, her tone half-playful, half-earnest.

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t. But then he closed his eyes. The faint breeze stirred his hair, and his expression softened, as though the act itself hurt him.

When he opened his eyes again, she asked, quietly, "What did you wish for this time?"

He didn’t answer at first. His throat worked, as if the words caught there.

"Sev?" she asked again, voice gentler.

Finally, he said, "I wished… for my hope not to die."

The simplicity of it struck her harder than she expected. Not for forgiveness, not for love, not for things to change, just… for hope.

Her chest tightened. "Hope for what?"

He gave a faint, almost wry smile. "You’d think less of me if I told you."

"I wouldn’t," she said quickly.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and something in his eyes made her breath hitch. It wasn’t the bitterness she sometimes saw, nor the pride. It was raw, unguarded longing, so deep it almost frightened her.

"Maybe another time," he murmured, voice barely audible.

Lily turned back to the water, her own thoughts spinning. She wanted to ask, Do you still hate the people you call friends? Do you still hate James? Do you still hate me for drifting away? But she said none of it. The words sat heavy in her chest, unsaid.

Another star fell, faint but visible, tracing a silver arc across the sky. Lily smiled sadly. "Maybe I’ll make a wish too."

"What for?" he asked, quietly curious.

"For things to be easier," she said. "For us. For everyone."

He didn’t reply. But she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened as though the words cut too close to something real.

When she looked at him again, his gaze had softened. He seemed… tired. Not in the way of sleeplessness, but in the way of someone who had been fighting for far too long.

She wanted to tell him she still believed in the good in him. That she remembered the boy who had shown her the wizarding world for the first time, who had made her laugh, who had told her magic wasn’t just wands and spells, but understanding.

But the words wouldn’t come. Not tonight.

They stayed there until the air grew colder, until the stars faded one by one. When she finally rose, she hesitated.

"Sev?"

"Yes?"

"I don’t know what’s going to happen," she said softly, "but I don’t think your hope should die either."

He turned toward her, startled, but before he could speak, she smiled faintly and began to walk back toward the castle, her cloak brushing the grass.

Behind her, she heard his voice, quiet and rough as stone.

"Thank you, Lily."

She didn’t turn back. She didn’t need to.

The stars above them continued to fall, one by one. Lily looked up at the sky one last time and whispered her own wish again, though she wasn’t sure anymore if she believed in it.

Please, let there still be good in him. Let there still be a way back.

Chapter Text

The grass was still wet when Lily left, and Severus returned to the lakeside rather than face the dungeons quite yet. Severus stood where she’d been moments ago, the air carrying the faint scent of her, something like rain and lilies and the warmth of summer he hadn’t felt in years.

He didn’t move. Not at first. The stars had begun to vanish behind a wash of thin clouds, and the wind that rolled off the Black Lake had turned sharp. Still, he stayed.

"I don’t think your hope should die either."

The words clung to him. A strange, impossible comfort.

He didn’t believe in hope. Not really. Hope was a luxury for people who weren’t constantly reminded of what they lacked, things like family, status, and respect. For people who didn’t spend every day waiting for laughter to die down when they entered a room.

And yet, when Lily said it, hope didn’t feel so foolish.

He knelt near the water’s edge, watching his reflection distort in the ripples. The boy who looked back at him seemed older than sixteen. His eyes were hollow, mouth tight, like someone who’d already seen too much.

He hated that version of himself.

He hated the way James Potter’s laughter echoed in his head.

He hated the way Lily’s kindness could undo him with a single word.

But most of all, he hated that despite everything, despite the humiliation, the distance, the hurt, he still wanted to believe she might one day see him again as she once did.

The next day, the castle seemed to hum with its usual rhythm. All classes, chatter, shifting staircases, and the endless noise of hundreds of students who didn’t know silence like he did.

In Potions, he kept his head down. Slughorn’s voice boomed cheerfully over the bubbling cauldrons, congratulating Lily on yet another perfect Draught of Peace. James grinned across the room, giving her a silent thumbs-up, and she laughed.

Severus’s ladle slipped. A wisp of silver smoke curled upward, carrying the faint scent of burnt valerian.

"Careful there, my boy!" Slughorn called, waddling over with an indulgent smile. "A little too hot, I think. You’re usually the steadiest hand in the class."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Severus murmured, adjusting the flame.

Lily glanced over. Their eyes met for half a second before she looked away. Her expression was unreadable, soft, and uncertain.

He returned to stirring, the familiar rhythm steadying him, but his thoughts wouldn’t stay still. Every small laugh she shared with Potter hit like a spark to tinder. He told himself he didn’t care. That he’d long stopped caring.

But then he’d remember the stars. Her voice. Her words.

I don’t think your hope should die either.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

The dungeons were quiet except for the slow drip of condensation down the stone walls. Most of Slytherin slept soundly, content in their dark sanctuary of ambition and whispered promises. But Severus lay awake, eyes open to the ceiling, thoughts spiraling.

He’d seen the way Lily looked at James lately. She was irritated still, but her looks were softer around the edges. Potter had changed in small, insidious ways. Less cruel, more careful. He still laughed too loud, but his jabs had dulled, his arrogance tempered by something almost human.

And that terrified Severus more than the old James ever did.

He turned on his side, facing the wall, and pressed his hands to his face. The ache in his chest was worse than anger. Anger at least was sharp, clean, useful. This… this was slow, suffocating.

Hope. He nearly laughed aloud at the word. Hope was what fools clung to when logic told them to give up.

But then he remembered her standing beside him at the lake, her eyes reflecting starlight, her voice quiet but sure.

I don’t think your hope should die either.

For the first time in weeks, he closed his eyes and let the memory play without trying to silence it.

The following evening, the castle halls were lit with floating candles, their golden glow spilling over the marble. A soft snow had begun to fall outside, melting as it touched the windows.

Severus walked alone, as he usually did, books tucked under his arm. When he turned a corner, he nearly collided with Lily.

"Oh… sorry!" she said, catching her breath. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, a scarf wrapped haphazardly around her neck. "I wasn’t looking where I was going."

"It’s fine," he said quickly, stepping back.

She smiled awkwardly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I was actually going to the library. I’ve got an essay for Transfiguration I’ve been putting off."

"McGonagall never accepts excuses," he muttered automatically.

That made her laugh. A soft, genuine sound that startled him with its familiarity.

They fell into step together without speaking of it. The corridors were quiet, the only sound the echo of their footsteps and the distant creak of the castle shifting in the winter wind.

After a few minutes, Lily said quietly, "I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night."

He stiffened. "About what?"

"Your wish."

He didn’t answer.

"I know you didn’t really tell me what it meant," she went on, "but I think I understand."

He looked at her then, wary. "You think you understand me?"

"Maybe not everything," she said with a small, wistful smile, "but enough."

Something in her tone, gentle but certain, unraveled him.

He wanted to tell her everything. How hope was all he had left. How every time he tried to let it go, she gave it back to him, even without meaning to. How he was trying, truly trying, to be someone worth her faith.

But he said none of that.

Instead, he gave a faint nod. "Perhaps you do."

They reached the library doors then, and she paused. "Goodnight, Sev."

He hesitated. "Goodnight, Lily."

As she disappeared inside, he caught a faint glimmer through the high windows, snowflakes catching starlight as they fell. For a moment, they looked almost like tiny shooting stars.

He tilted his head up, whispering to the empty corridor.

"I still wish the same thing."

And somewhere, deep down, where he would never admit it aloud, he hoped the stars were still listening.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lily

The morning after the lake felt strangely still. Frost had crept over the windowpanes, delicate as lace, and the Great Hall shimmered with a faint winter light that made every surface seem too bright, too clean. Lily stirred her porridge absentmindedly, barely hearing the chatter around her.

Her friends laughed over something Marlene had said, but Lily’s mind was far away. Residing, still, by the Black Lake, under the whispering stars.

She could see it as clearly as if she were still there. Severus’s face half-hidden in shadow, the reflection of starlight in his eyes, the way his voice had caught when she’d asked about his wish. Only that my hope not die, he had said.

It wasn’t much of an answer. It wasn’t really an answer at all. And yet, the way he’d said it had lodged itself in her heart. Soft, a bit uncertain, but full of something she couldn’t quite name.

She had wanted to ask more. To press him, to understand what he meant. But even then, in that fragile moment, she’d known she couldn’t. He was like glass in her hands, beautiful, sharp, and breakable.

"Lily, are you even listening?" Marlene’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Lily blinked, startled. "Hm? Oh… sorry. What did you say?"

Marlene exchanged a knowing glance with Mary. "You’ve been off in your own world since breakfast started," she teased. "Is this about him again?"

Lily frowned, though she didn’t ask who him meant. They both knew.

"I was just thinking," she said, careful, "about what people say when they don’t mean to say anything at all."

Marlene groaned. "Merlin’s beard, Lily, that sounds like a riddle."

"Maybe it is," Lily murmured, half to herself.

Across the table, and a bit further down, James Potter laughed loudly. As usual, he was surrounded by Sirius and Remus, his messy hair catching the light like he’d never even heard of combs. Lily’s gaze flicked toward him and then away again, the motion automatic. His confidence was magnetic, but exhausting. He seemed to fill every space he entered.

Severus never did. He shrank from them. Hid from the noise.

And yet somehow, when she’d found him last night, he hadn’t been small at all. He’d been quiet, yes, but there had been something vast in that silence. Something that had felt almost… sacred.

That night had replayed itself over and over in her dreams. The stars, the cold, the faint sound of the lake lapping against the stones. The way the wind had caught her hair when the shooting star appeared.

She’d made a wish too, though she’d never admit it aloud.

Let things go back to the way they were. Let me not lose him completely.

But the universe didn’t listen to teenage girls, and Hogwarts moved on.

The weeks that followed blurred together in a rhythm of classes, essays, and passing glances. She still saw him sometimes. In corridors, across the library, in the Potions dungeon. Sometimes he looked up. Sometimes he didn’t.

When he did, though, when their eyes met, it was like something unspoken passed between them. Not forgiveness, not yet. But something gentler than resentment.

Still, the distance hurt.

Lily found herself lingering near the lake more often, even when he wasn’t there. She’d watch the water ripple in the wind, watch the stars begin to shimmer above it as winter deepened. The memory of that night haunted her in ways she didn’t understand.

It wasn’t just what he’d said. It was what he hadn’t.

She remembered the way his hand had clenched slightly when he’d spoken of hope, how his voice had cracked on the last word. Hope. What did that mean to him, really? Hope for her forgiveness? Hope for himself? Hope that the darkness gathering in the world would somehow pass them by?

She didn’t know. But she wanted to.

One evening near the end of term, Lily found herself there again, alone by the lake. The snow had begun to fall, soft and silent, blanketing the ground in white. The water reflected the faint shimmer of stars, and her breath fogged in front of her as she exhaled.

She looked up just as a streak of light tore through the sky. Another shooting star, just like before.

Her lips parted in surprise. For a heartbeat, she was sixteen again, standing beside him, hearing his low voice whisper, Make a wish.

"I already did," she whispered to the empty air. "But it didn’t come true."

A rustle behind her made her turn.

Severus stood a few feet away, half in shadow, half in moonlight. His hair was damp from the falling snow, his cloak dusted white.

She blinked, startled, then smiled faintly. "You again."

"I could say the same," he murmured, stepping closer.

The lake stretched before them, endless and dark.

Another star streaked across the heavens, slower this time, bright enough to paint a line of silver on the water.

Lily felt her breath catch. "It’s happening again," she said softly. "Another wish."

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the sky, unreadable, shadowed by the faint sadness she had come to recognize as part of him.

"Do you still believe in wishing?" he asked quietly.

"I don’t know," she admitted. "But I like the idea that something’s listening."

He was silent for a long moment. Then, so softly she almost missed it, he said, "Maybe it is. Maybe it just takes longer than we think."

Lily turned to look at him, snowflakes caught in her hair, her eyes reflecting the stars. "Then what would you wish for now?"

His mouth tightened. She thought he wouldn’t answer. That he’d close off again like he always did. But when he finally spoke, his voice was low and trembling, the words dragged from someplace deep inside.

"I wish," he said slowly, "that my hope doesn’t die."

Lily’s breath hitched.

He didn’t look at her as he said it. His gaze stayed on the lake, the stars, anywhere but her face. She felt something twist inside her. A mix of sadness, tenderness, and fear.

"Hope for what?" she prompted gently.

He shook his head, a faint smile ghosting his lips. "If I tell you, it won’t come true."

She wanted to reach out. To touch his sleeve, his hand, anything, but she didn’t. The space between them was fragile, and she was afraid that one wrong move would shatter it.

So she simply whispered, "Then I hope your wish finds you."

He glanced at her then, his dark eyes reflecting starlight and something raw, unguarded. For a heartbeat, the distance between them vanished.

The snow fell in silence. The lake shimmered. And above them, another star flared and disappeared.

They stood like that for a long time, saying nothing, letting the night and its secrets settle around them.

When she finally turned to go, Lily felt both lighter and heavier all at once. Hope, it seemed, was a strange thing. It was painful, stubborn, and impossibly alive.

And as she walked back toward the castle, her heart whispered its own small, secret wish.

Please, let him never stop believing.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Severus

The world was made of silence after she left.

Her footsteps faded slowly across the snow, swallowed by the soft whisper of winter wind. Severus watched until she disappeared between the trees, her red hair catching the starlight like a last flicker of warmth before the night reclaimed everything.

He stood unmoving, the cold pressing against him until he could no longer feel his fingers. But that didn’t matter. He felt too much elsewhere. Too much in his chest, where her voice still lingered, soft as snowfall.

Then I hope your wish finds you.

Those words had lodged deep inside him, sharper than any curse.

He turned back toward the lake. The stars reflected in the water looked fractured now, their light broken by the ripples of wind. His reflection wavered among them. A pale, dark shape framed by silver, as though the sky itself had refused to keep him whole.

He closed his eyes, letting the cold sting his face. He forced the image of her eyes, bright and questioning, out of his mind. But she remained there, as she always did, woven through every thought.

She had asked him what he wished for. Again.

And this time, he had given her nothing more than that which had already been confessed.

That my hope doesn’t die.

He had never intended to say it aloud in the first place. The words had slipped past his defenses before he could stop them on that firat night, and now they hung in the air between them. Too raw, too real. The only answer to a question that he had never expected to be addressed.

He wasn’t sure what he had seen in her expression then. Pity, perhaps. Or understanding. Or maybe something in between.

He didn’t want her pity.

But her understanding… that, he might have given anything for.

A faint shiver ran through him. The night was colder now. Snowflakes drifted down in thicker patterns, soft and steady. The lake was beginning to freeze along the edges, thin sheets of ice catching the light.

Severus sank to a crouch beside the water, his hand hovering over the surface. The reflection there showed only his own eyes, dark and hollow. The same eyes Lily had said hid everything.

Maybe she was right.

He’d spent years learning how to hide. Cowering behind sarcasm, behind anger, behind ambition. Behind the walls that Slytherin House built into all of them. But tonight, with her standing beside him again, the walls had cracked just enough for her to see the flicker of something he’d long thought gone.

Hope.

Not for forgiveness, not yet. Not for love.

Just for the chance that the version of himself she’d once believed in might still exist somewhere inside him.

He stayed there for a long time, long after the snow had begun to cover his boots, until the castle windows in the distance dimmed one by one. The world felt stripped bare, reduced to cold, starlight, and breath.

A memory surfaced, unbidden, and cruelly clear.

Lily at eleven, laughing as the boats carried them across the lake for the first time. Her hand had brushed his then, nervous but excited. "Can you believe it, Sev?" she’d whispered. "We’re really here."

He had believed it. He had believed in everything then.

He exhaled, the sound breaking in the stillness. Somewhere along the way, belief had turned into bitterness. Hope had withered beneath the weight of jealousy, pride, and the endless need to prove himself.

And yet tonight, when she’d looked at him, not with anger, but something gentler, he had felt it again. A small, defiant pulse of warmth against the cold.

The lake creaked as the ice thickened. A new streak of light traced across the heavens, another shooting star, brighter than the rest.

Severus lifted his gaze, the faintest of smiles ghosting across his lips.

"I didn’t ask for much," he murmured to the night. "Just to keep believing."

The wind stirred, carrying his voice across the water, thin and fragile, like the shimmer of starlight itself.

And for a moment, just one, he imagined that the lake shimmered in answer.

When at last he turned toward the castle, the snow was deep enough to swallow his footprints. The air smelled faintly of smoke and frost. The sky stretched wide above him, dark and endless, full of unspoken promises.

He walked slowly, each step deliberate. Behind him, the lake reflected the stars as though nothing had disturbed it at all.

But he knew better. Something had changed.

Inside him, the old ache of humiliation and regret still burned, but beneath it something quieter had begun to take root. Not forgiveness. Not peace.

Just hope.

And though it was fragile, uncertain, and easily crushed, it was his.

He would protect it the way he protected everything that mattered. With silence, and patience, and the fierce, stubborn endurance that had always been both his curse and his strength.

By the time he reached the dungeon entrance, the world was silent again. Only the faint echo of Lily’s voice remained in his mind, soft as snow, steady as breath.

Then I hope your wish finds you.

He touched the cold stone archway and whispered to no one.

"It already has."

Chapter Text

Winter softened into early spring, though the castle still held the ghost of frost in its stones. The lake thawed, the snow withdrew, and with it went the nightly walks and silent wishes that had once tied them together.

Lily stopped going down to the water after that last night.

At first, she told herself it was simply too cold, too damp, too far from the warmth of her friends. But she knew better. The truth was harder to name. She couldn’t stand the echo of that moment, the quiet that clung to her when she remembered the way Severus had looked at her beneath the falling snow.

She’d meant to talk to him. Meant to find him in the library or between classes, to keep that fragile thread from snapping. But days stretched into weeks, and somehow the space between them filled itself with noise, with other faces, with life that refused to wait for grief to fade.

James Potter was everywhere, loud and bright and insistent as sunlight.

He’d grown gentler lately. Less arrogant, more human. There were still the jokes, the confident smiles, the easy charm, but there was also something steadier beneath it. He didn’t badger her the way he used to. Sometimes he just walked beside her, saying nothing, letting silence settle comfortably where once there had been competition.

Lily found herself laughing again. Small, hesitant at first, then freely.

It felt strange, almost guilty, to find warmth where she’d once felt only irritation. But James surprised her. He seemed to sense when she needed quiet, when her mind slipped somewhere else, to the memory of dark eyes and unsaid words.

Once, by the fire in the common room, she caught him watching her with that curious mix of confidence and restraint. When he smiled, soft, almost shy, she didn’t look away.

And for the first time in months, the ache in her chest didn’t feel entirely like loss.

Down in the dungeons, Severus felt that same ache differently.

He noticed her absence like one might notice the lack of warmth after a candle goes out. The light gone, but the smell of smoke still lingering.

At first, he threw himself into his schoolwork and hobbies. Brewing, notes, runes, spellcraft… anything to occupy his mind. The Slytherin common room grew louder with talk of ideology and bloodlines, whispers of power and promises. He listened, as he always had, saying little.

But lately, the words had begun to sound hollow.

Mulciber and Avery spoke of glory. Of cleansing. Of belonging.

He’d believed them once. Or wanted to. But lately, the more he listened, the more he thought of Lily’s face when she said hope. The way she’d looked at him that night, not angry, not disappointed, but with genuine curiosity.

He thought he could bear her anger. But disappointment had a weight all its own. Curiosity…well, that was dangerous.

It was during one of those long evenings in the library that he met Pandora Lovegood.

He’d seen her before. A quiet Slytherin a year below him, known mostly for wandering the castle barefoot and muttering to herself about "energies" and "harmonics." She was odd even by Ravenclaw standards, and she’d somehow landed in Slytherin House through what most assumed was a sorting hat malfunction.

She didn’t seem to care.

"Your notes are upside down," she said one night, appearing beside his table without so much as a sound.

Severus frowned. "No, they aren’t."

"They are if you sit on the other side of the table," she said simply, and took the seat opposite him.

He stared at her. "I’m working."

"I know," she said, unbothered. "That’s why I came over. You look like someone who’s working to forget something."

He blinked, caught off guard. "That’s an odd thing to fixate on."

Pandora shrugged, her pale hair falling in wild tangles over one shoulder. "So’s inventing half a dozen spells no one will ever see because you’re too afraid to show them."

He stiffened. "How do you-"

"I read," she said, gesturing vaguely to the piles of parchment. "And I listen. Slytherin boys whisper. You’ve been busy. You’re trying to make things. But you only ever use them to protect yourself. You should use them to change things."

The words hit him harder than he expected.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed someone to see that part of him, not the bitterness, not the ambition, but the quiet, restless mind that wanted to create.

That night, they worked side by side until curfew. She questioned everything, challenged him, pushed him to think differently. She didn’t flinch at his sharpness or retreat when he grew impatient. She only tilted her head and said, "That’s interesting. But what if it could be kinder?"

KINDER. No one had ever used that word in relation to his magic.

He didn’t know what to make of her.

Weeks passed. The strange friendship took root. Pandora became a fixture in his evenings, parchment spread across the table, quills scattered, her odd little smile bright against the dim light of the dungeons.

They worked on charmwork and small enchantments. Protective sigils that repelled hexes, spells that restored damaged plants, a variation of Lumos that could filter through smoke without glare.

For the first time in years, Severus found himself creating not to destroy or defend, but to heal.

It didn’t erase the ache, but it softened it.

When Mulciber tried to pull him into another whispered meeting about the "Dark Lord’s future," Severus declined. Quietly, firmly. The others didn’t press, not yet. But he saw the look they gave him, a look of suspicion and confusion.

He didn’t care.

The path he’d thought was inevitable now seemed less certain, less alluring. What was glory compared to the quiet satisfaction of making something that helped instead of hurt?

And sometimes, when the light caught Pandora’s pale eyes just right, he could almost imagine Lily’s green ones, not in resemblance, but in feeling.

Calm. Understanding. Hopeful.

Lily, meanwhile, noticed the absence.

She’d see him occasionally in passing. He looked thinner, seemed quieter, always in thought, his robes dusted with chalk or ash. But there was something different in his carriage. The bitterness that once clung to him had dulled.

It hurt to admit, even to herself, that she was proud of him.

But she didn’t approach. Not yet.

Some wounds, she knew, had to breathe before they could heal.

And so she watched from afar, quietly wishing, though she told herself she no longer believed in wishes, that perhaps the paths they were walking, though separate, might still lead toward the same horizon.

In the dungeons, as spring rain tapped softly against the glass, Severus finished inscribing the last symbol of a new charm, one that shielded living things from decay. Pandora leaned over his shoulder, studying the glow.

"It works," she said simply.

He nodded, the faintest smile ghosting across his lips. "Yes. It does."

"Good," she said, eyes bright. "You’re getting better at building things that live."

He didn’t answer.

But when she looked away, his gaze flicked to the window, where a single star managed to pierce the misty night.

For the first time, he didn’t wish.

He simply let it shine.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The castle had softened with spring.

Dew beaded on the grass in the mornings, and the trees beyond the lake unfurled new green. Even the air smelled different. It was lighter, full of possibility.

Lily sat beneath one of those trees now, books spread across her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in nearly ten minutes. Her gaze had drifted across the water.

Somewhere, down near the far edge of the lake, she knew Severus often sat at dusk. She never saw him clearly, only the faint shape of someone cloaked in black, hair gleaming dark against the silver light. But she knew. She always knew.

James had told her once, teasingly, "You stare at that lake like it owes you something."

Maybe it did.

She closed the book and drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin there. The water rippled, and the sunlight caught on it like sparks. It should have been peaceful. But peace, lately, came with guilt.

Because James made her laugh again. Because his warmth was easy. Because she’d begun to look forward to his company without meaning to.

Because, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t sure where her heart belonged.

James had changed. She wasn’t imagining it.

He still had the same restless energy, the same mischief that made professors sigh and Sirius grin, but there was restraint in him now. He listened more. He noticed things.

When she forgot her gloves, he wordlessly offered his. When she lingered after Quidditch practice just to watch the sky, he didn’t press her to talk. He just sat beside her, letting the quiet settle until it was comfortable.

It wasn’t the heady spark of a crush. It was something slower, steadier. Something that scared her because it didn’t demand. It simply was.

And yet, when the wind carried the faint sound of laughter from the far side of the lake, his laughter, something in her chest tightened.

She told herself it was only memory. The echo of what had once been. But some echoes refused to fade.

That night, as the Gryffindor common room hummed with chatter, Lily found herself staring into the fire. James sat on the sofa beside her, his fingers absently tracing patterns on his knee.

"You’re quiet tonight," he said softly.

She smiled faintly. "I’m thinking."

"That’s never good for the rest of us," he teased, and she laughed, because he always knew how to make her.

But the laughter faded quickly. "Do you ever think about how things could’ve been… different?"

James tilted his head, thoughtful. "Sometimes. But then I remember things are still becoming different. That’s better, isn’t it?"

She looked at him then, really looked. The crooked smile, the earnest eyes, the way he always seemed to balance care and chaos in equal measure. And for a heartbeat, she thought maybe it was better.

Still, when she went to bed that night, she dreamed of a winter sky and falling snow, of her own voice saying softly, Then I hope your wish finds you.

Across the castle, in the quiet of the Slytherin common room, Severus was bent over a parchment when Pandora’s voice broke the silence.

"You’ve been drawing stars again."

He didn’t look up. "They’re symbols. For energy alignment."

She hummed, unconvinced. "They’re stars. You always draw them when you’re thinking about her."

That made him pause.

He set the quill down slowly. "That’s not-"

"productive?" Pandora finished, smiling faintly. "No. But it’s human."

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "You make it sound simple."

"It is," she said. "You loved her. Maybe you still do. But love doesn’t stop just because it can’t go where you want it to."

He frowned. "You think it’s that easy to separate want from love?"

"Of course not. But you’re doing it already." She leaned back, her tone softening. "You’re building things again. You’re making your own meaning instead of waiting for her to give it to you. That’s what love looks like when it grows up."

He stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or argue. "You talk like you’ve lived a hundred years."

"Maybe I have," Pandora said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Maybe I’ve just watched people ruin themselves over the wrong kind of love."

Something in that struck him quiet.

He looked back down at the parchment, at the lines of spellwork curling like constellations, and whispered, "I don’t want to ruin myself. Not anymore."

"Then don’t," she said simply. "Let what you feel become something useful. Something alive."

He nodded, though the ache remained with a small, persistent shadow.

That night, he etched a final star in the corner of the parchment. Not for wish-making. Just as a marker of where he’d been.

In the days that followed, Lily and Severus crossed paths only in passing. A hallway. The library. The edges of shared silence. They didn’t speak, but something unspoken lingered. A faint recognition, a quiet peace neither of them yet understood.

Each had begun to move forward, but both still carried the gravity of what had once tethered them.

Chapter Text

The air was warm again. The scent of spring clung to everything. Wet grass, lilac, and parchment, warmed by the sunlight. Hogwarts was alive with the hum of exams and late-night laughter, but for Severus Snape, the world felt muted, softened, almost kind.

He walked the familiar path toward the Black Lake, the same one he had haunted months ago in grief and shame. The stones still carried the echo of that night in the cold wind, the weight of words he hadn’t spoken. But something had shifted in him since then.

He’d been spending hours in the quiet of the dungeons, building spells that healed instead of harmed, guided by Pandora’s steady curiosity. Her presence was grounding. She never pried, never pitied. She simply believed that even darkness could be shaped into something good if handled carefully enough.

He was beginning to believe it too.

Still, the past had roots. Deep ones.

He thought of Lily more than he wanted to admit, although less like a wound now, more like a constellation. Distant. Fixed. Something that had once guided him through the dark.

And yet, as he reached the lake’s edge and saw her standing there, sunlight in her hair and her shoes half-buried in grass, all the quiet he’d built inside himself unraveled.

"Lily," he said, before he could stop himself.

She turned. Her expression froze somewhere between surprise and recognition, then softened. "Sev."

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the sound of that nickname until he heard it again.

She hesitated a moment, then smiled. "You come here still."

He nodded. "It’s quieter here than in the dungeons."

She laughed, a little awkwardly. "I suppose it would be."

For a moment, they simply stood together, the wind rippling through the grass, the sunlight scattering gold across the lake.

Then, without quite meaning to, they fell into step along the shore.

It felt strangely natural.

They talked about simple things. Lily chattering about classes, exams, the new charms Professor Flitwick was experimenting with. Severus listened more than he spoke, and Lily found herself filling the quiet easily, almost gratefully.

It wasn’t like before, when every conversation felt like a tightrope between friendship and frustration, but something gentler. Like two people rediscovering a language they’d once spoken fluently.

When the sky began to deepen toward dusk, they paused near the rocks where they had once watched the stars fall. The memory hung between them.

Lily tilted her head back. "Do you think we’ll see another shooting star?"

Severus followed her gaze. "It’s possible. The season for them isn’t over."

"Then make a wish," she said, her voice soft but playful.

He hesitated. The first time, he’d kept his wish locked inside, fearing it too private, too desperate. But now…

"I wished for my hope not to die," he said quietly, "but I find that there is more to it than that."

Lily turned toward him, startled . His voice was calm, but the words carried weight, the kind that pressed into the air between them.

"What do you mean?" she asked, almost whispering.

He met her eyes. "There was a time when I thought losing you meant losing everything good in me. I was wrong. You can lose someone’s light and still learn how to make your own."

Something in her chest tightened. "Sev…"

He looked away, toward the water. "I thought I wanted power once. I thought it would make me untouchable. But I think what I really wanted was to stop being afraid. Afraid of the world… of myself… of what I’d already broken."

Lily’s breath caught. The Severus she remembered had been sharp edges and fire. Brilliant, angry, desperate to prove himself. The man beside her now was still those things, but tempered. Softer around the edges. Sadder, perhaps, but stronger for it.

"Pandora helped me see that," he added, almost absently. "She said that what we create reflects who we choose to be. I used to make curses. Now I’m… trying to make something that heals."

Lily smiled faintly. "That sounds like you’re changing."

"Trying to," he said. Then, after a pause, "Does that make a difference to you?"

The question hung there, gentle, not pleading, but alive with all the history they shared.

It was not a declaration. It was not an apology. It was a quiet, impossible question. If I am no longer the boy who hurt you, could you see me differently?

Lily didn’t answer at first. The wind stirred her hair, and she looked down at the water where the evening sky mirrored itself in fragments.

"I don’t know," she said finally. "James… he’s good to me. And I care for him. But…"

She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"But?" Severus prompted softly.

She looked up at him then, eyes bright with conflict. "But you still make me wonder who I am."

The honesty of it struck him silent.

A long moment passed before he spoke again. "Maybe that’s all we ever were meant to do for each other," he said quietly. "Make each other see ourselves a little more clearly."

Lily didn’t reply. Instead, she leaned against the stone railing, gazing out at the lake. The reflection of the stars shimmered between them, scattered and fragile.

When a streak of light flashed across the horizon, both of them looked up instinctively.

"Another one," she whispered.

He nodded. "Make a wish, Lily."

She hesitated, then closed her eyes.

He didn’t. He only watched her. The way the faint starlight touched her face. The way the breeze lifted her hair. The way something in her expression softened into peace.

When she opened her eyes again, she found him still looking at her.

"What did you wish for?" she asked, echoing the past.

He smiled faintly. "Nothing. Only that your wish finds you as well."

She studied him a moment longer, then turned back toward the sky. "Then maybe that’s all any of us should wish for."

They parted soon after, quietly.

Lily walked back toward the castle, her thoughts heavy but strangely light all at once. James would be waiting in the common room, probably with that smile that made the world seem simple. And yet, nothing felt simple anymore.

Behind her, Severus lingered at the lake, hands in his pockets, watching the last ripples fade.

He did not feel healed. Not yet. But he felt whole.

And that, perhaps, was enough for now.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The walk back to the castle felt longer than it should have.

Lily’s footsteps echoed faintly against the stone path, the soft night air pressing cool against her cheeks. The stars still shimmered above her, bright and indifferent, silent witnesses to the conversation that would not leave her mind.

You can lose someone’s light and still learn how to make your own.

The words clung to her like the scent of rain. She had not expected them, not from him. Not from the boy she once thought she understood entirely. Severus had always been brilliant, guarded, volatile. But tonight he had spoken with a calmness that unnerved her, a clarity that felt new.

She had gone to that lake thinking the past might finally rest. Instead, it had woken up inside her.

By the time she reached the castle doors, her pulse had settled, but her mind hadn’t. The corridors glowed with the soft flicker of torches, and the air smelled faintly of wax and parchment. Somewhere distant, she heard laughter, James’s laughter, rolling from the direction of the common room.

Her heart gave a complicated twist.

She hesitated before climbing the stairs.

James had been patient lately. The edges of his arrogance had worn down, replaced by something steady and warm. She had wanted to believe that change was all that mattered. That if someone tried hard enough, they could become the version of themselves you needed them to be.

But then Severus had looked at her by the lake, and she’d seen something else. Not someone trying to become what she wanted, but someone trying to become better, even without her.

And somehow, that difference mattered.

When she finally entered the common room, it was quieter than usual. A handful of students lounged near the fire, whispering about exams and house points. James sat near the hearth, legs stretched out, parchment balanced carelessly on his knee. His hair was damp from a late Quidditch practice, and his glasses caught the firelight when he looked up and smiled.

"Hey, Evans. You disappeared today," he said, voice soft but teasing. "Secret rendezvous with your textbooks again?"

"Something like that," she said, managing a small smile.

He watched her carefully. "You all right?"

Lily hesitated. There was concern in his tone, genuine, gentle. The kind that should have made her feel safe.

But instead, she found herself hearing Severus’s voice again. You can lose someone’s light and still learn how to make your own.

"I’m fine," she said, too quickly.

James tilted his head, brow furrowing. "You don’t look fine."

"I just… needed some air."

He nodded slowly, setting his parchment aside. "You’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us?"

The question caught her off guard, though it shouldn’t have. He wasn’t dense. He’d always been able to read her in ways that surprised her.

"Maybe," she said quietly. "About a lot of things."

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "That usually means you’re overthinking again."

"Maybe I am."

He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, and she didn’t pull away. But the gesture felt heavy with expectation.

"I don’t want to pressure you," he said after a moment. "I just… I care about you, Lily. You know that."

"I know," she said softly. And she meant it. But knowing wasn’t the same as being sure.

When he leaned closer, she smiled weakly, then stood before he could bridge the distance between them. "I should get some sleep."

James’s hand fell back to his side, disappointment flickering across his face. "Right. Of course."

"Good night, James."

She left before she could see the look that followed her.

The girls’ dormitory was quiet when she entered. Marlene’s bed curtains were drawn, faint snores filtering through. Lily sank onto her own bed, staring at the canopy above, her mind a swirl of faces and words.

James. Smiling, patient, steadfast.

Severus. Tired, changed, still somehow reaching for her in silence.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, as if she could block out the confusion that pulsed behind them.

You still make me wonder who I am.

Her own words echoed back, and she realized how true they were.

James grounded her. Severus unsettled her. One offered safety. The other, understanding. And part of her hated that she couldn’t separate what she wanted from what she felt she owed to herself, to the memory of a friendship that had once meant everything.

Outside her window, the night stretched wide and quiet. A single star streaked across the sky, faint but clear.

Lily found herself whispering into the dark, "Don’t let hope die."

She didn’t know whose hope she meant.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Meanwhile, in the dungeons below, Severus sat at his desk, the faint light of a candle flickering over his notes. Pandora had gone for the night, leaving behind the scent of ink and tea. His spell diagrams were scattered. Half-finished runes, and the beginnings of a charm meant to mend broken enchantments lay in heaps on the table.

His mind kept circling back to Lily.

He had meant what he said by the lake. He didn’t love her the same way anymore. Not with that consuming, desperate fire, but with something quieter, deeper. Something that could bear distance.

And yet, when he’d seen her eyes widen at his words, when she’d looked at him as though seeing him for the first time in years, something inside him had flickered.

Not love. Not longing. Something else.

Possibility.

He looked down at the parchment in front of him and smiled faintly. Maybe that was all hope ever was. A kind of magic you couldn’t quite name, fragile but persistent.

He dipped his quill, wrote a single line of ink across the page, and let it dry.

Hope, once found, must be tended like a flame. Not caged, not forced, but kept alive by choice.

He set the quill down, extinguished the candle, and let the dark surround him.

For the first time in years, it didn’t feel empty.

Chapter Text

Lily

It began with small silences.

Lily noticed them more than anyone else. The pauses that slipped between her laughter with James, the quiet moments where her thoughts wandered elsewhere. He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, James had been… wonderful. Steady. He was growing into the man everyone said he would become. Brave, kind, and a little less arrogant every day.

But the more he changed, the less she understood herself.

They sat one afternoon beneath the beech tree near the lake, revising for Charms, sunlight flickering through the branches. James’s voice was bright and certain, his wand sketching patterns in the air. He was mid-explanation on something about the precision of vowel sounds in counter-charms when Lily realized she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

Her gaze had drifted to the water’s surface, where sunlight fractured into gold ripples. It should have been peaceful, grounding. Instead, it stirred something uneasy in her. She’d always found reflection deceptive. How one image could hold two truths at once. What the world saw, and what hid beneath.

Her mind wandered, uninvited, to Severus.

She remembered the look in his eyes by the lake had been neither pleading, nor possessive. Just honest. Open in a way she hadn’t seen in years. And she hated how that memory lingered, how it made her heart ache in a way that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with recognition.

"Lils?" James’s voice broke through her thoughts. "You’re miles away."

"Sorry," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about exams."

He grinned, half-teasing. "You? Worried about exams? That’ll be the day."

She laughed, but it was thin. The sound felt hollow in her chest, as if it belonged to another version of her. The one still certain of everything.

James leaned closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "You’ve been different lately," he said, softly, not accusing. "Just… quieter."

Lily looked down at her notes, at the neat rows of inked handwriting that suddenly felt foreign. "I’m just tired," she said. "This year’s been…"

"Long," he finished for her. "Yeah. I get that."

And she knew he did. James had changed in ways that humbled her. Becoming less boy, and more man. His arrogance tempered by loss and leadership. But somewhere in that transformation, she’d lost her footing. He was growing into everything she thought she wanted, and yet, each day, it felt harder to find herself beside him.

Later, when he brushed his fingers against hers, she didn’t pull away, but her hand didn’t fit in his the way she remembered.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Severus

The air in the dungeon hummed faintly with magic.

Candles burned low, their light wavering against stone walls slick with condensation. Pandora leaned over the cauldron, her pale hair slipping forward as she examined the delicate swirl of silver light hovering above it. Silvery and fragile, like spun glass. The spell they’d been crafting for weeks was nearly complete, though neither of them fully understood what it wanted to be.

"I think it’s learning to heal itself," she murmured, voice distant, eyes fixed on the shimmer.

Severus frowned. "Spells don’t want anything."

Pandora smiled faintly. "Maybe not. But you do."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue.

She was right, of course. He did want something.

At first, this project had been academic. An excuse to escape the whispers that clung to him, to bury himself in theory and precision. A way to quiet the ache of choices made too young, of friendships fractured beyond repair. But as the charm took shape, now becoming a spell meant to restore what was broken, to bind light and shadow in balance, he began to see it differently.

It was, in its own quiet way, a reflection of him.

Pandora glanced up suddenly. "You saw her again, didn’t you?"

He stilled, fingers pausing mid-motion. "What makes you think that?"

"You’ve been softer," she said simply. "And your magic hums differently when you’re thinking about her."

He didn’t answer. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Pandora smiled, faint and knowing. "You still love her."

He hesitated, then shook his head. "Not like before. Not… destructively."

She tilted her head. "Then how?"

He exhaled slowly. "I love what she reminds me I can be."

Her eyes warmed with something that wasn’t pity. Just quiet understanding. "Then she’s not your weakness anymore."

"No," he said, almost to himself. "She’s the proof I’m not lost."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lily

The Gryffindor common room felt too bright that evening.

Firelight spilled across worn armchairs and walls plastered with maps and moving photos. Sirius and Peter were arguing over chess, their voices loud and familiar. Remus sat curled in a corner with a book open on his knee, looking half-amused, half-resigned. James sprawled on the rug near the hearth, laughter bubbling up in bursts that filled the space.

Normally, that sound made Lily smile. The light in that reckless, boyish joy that reminded her why she’d fallen for him in the first place.

Tonight, it only made her feel far away.

The light caught in his hair, glimmering starkly in the black. He turned, caught her watching, and grinned.

"You’re staring, Evans."

She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About… change," she said softly.

He blinked, half-curious, half-wary. "You’ve been doing a lot of that lately."

"Maybe it’s about time."

Her voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the crackle of the fire. For a moment, something uncertain passed across his face. Not anger, not confusion, just… the awareness of a distance neither of them knew how to name. But he didn’t push. James never forced what she wasn’t ready to give.

He simply reached out his hand.

And after a long moment, she took it.

But in her chest, something restless stirred. Something that didn’t fit neatly beside his warmth. Something that whispered of a version of herself she wasn’t sure how to return to, or if she even should.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Severus

The charm fractured.

One wrong syllable, one flicker of breath, and the delicate thread of magic splintered into light. Severus jerked back, shielding his face as the cauldron hissed and went still. The silver vapor twisted upward, dispersing in a shimmer that painted his hands with starlight.

For just a heartbeat, the glow formed a shape, a falling star, before fading into mist.

Pandora exhaled a soft laugh. "You always reach too far, Severus."

He frowned, frustration sharp beneath his calm. "I’m not trying to make miracles."

"Good," she said, smiling faintly. "Because those tend to happen on their own."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. "You sound like her."

"Lily?"

He nodded.

Pandora’s smile turned wistful. "Then maybe she’s still teaching you things."

He stared at the lingering haze of light, the faint warmth still clinging to his fingertips. "Maybe she is," he murmured.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lily

That night, Lily dreamt of the lake again.

It wasn’t winter anymore. The snow and gray skies were gone, replaced by spring, soft and luminous. The air hummed with life returning. From bees in the reeds, and ripples against the shore, to the sunlight slipping through branches that whispered like old friends.

She saw Severus standing at the water’s edge, light falling around him like a spell. He didn’t turn, didn’t speak. He simply raised his hand, and when she reached for it, the reflection of her own face shimmered beside his in the water’s surface. Not separate, not the same. Just parallel.

When she woke, her pillow was damp with tears she didn’t remember shedding.

She lay still for a long time, heart full and aching all at once. Then she rose, crossed to the window, and looked out at the first blush of dawn. The world below was quiet. Students still slept. The lake gleamed silver in the early light.

She pressed her fingers to the glass and whispered, almost without thinking, "What are we becoming?"

The question wasn’t only for him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Severus

Later that morning, Severus stood in the courtyard with Pandora, sunlight filtering through the soft fog that rolled off the grounds. A few early students passed by, their laughter faint in the distance. Pandora was talking about finishing the charm, about what came next, but his thoughts drifted upward toward the tower windows he knew so well.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel anger or bitterness. Only curiosity. Quiet, patient. Almost hopeful.

"Severus," Pandora said gently, noticing his faraway look, "what are you thinking?"

He smiled faintly, eyes still on the horizon. "About how change doesn’t destroy everything it touches."

She tilted her head. "You mean her?"

He shook his head slowly. "I mean us. All of us. Maybe this is what growing up feels like. Learning that forgiveness isn’t forgetting… it’s allowing yourself to keep becoming."

Pandora’s eyes softened, as though she were seeing him, truly seeing him, for the first time. "That’s a good spell to master."

"Maybe," he said quietly, as a breeze stirred the hem of his robes, "it’s the hardest one."

And as the morning light broke fully across the castle, the world, though fragile, unfinished, and quietly mending, felt just a little more possible.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lily

The next evening, Lily escaped to the greenhouses.

The corridors had been loud with end-of-term energy. Full of laughter, footsteps, and the clatter of wands and inkpots. But out here, the world was softer. The glass panes of Greenhouse Three caught the last light of dusk, turning everything inside gold and green. The scent of soil and damp leaves grounded her more than any incantation could.

Professor Sprout had left for supper, and Lily was alone.

She rolled up her sleeves and knelt beside a pot of flutterby bushes, coaxing their trembling leaves with gentle fingers. The familiar rhythm… trim, water, murmur reassurance… slowed her racing thoughts.

It wasn’t about James or Severus, not really.

It was about her. The version of herself that used to be so sure of right and wrong, of what made someone good or not. That girl had spoken with certainty, had believed forgiveness was a single act, not a practice.

She whispered an old charm for growth. One she’d learned years ago. One Severus had once improved with a flick of his wand that made the leaves shine like glass.

The memory made her chest tighten.

"Still here," she murmured to the trembling plants, unsure who she was speaking to.

The bushes stilled, as if listening.

Lily closed her eyes. "Still becoming."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Severus

Night had long fallen by the time Severus returned to the dungeons. The corridors were empty, shadows pooling where torchlight faded. He liked it this way. When the castle was quiet, and the air thick with possibility.

Pandora had gone, leaving their workspace tidy but alive with residual magic. The air still shimmered faintly with traces of the charm. He stood before the cauldron, running his fingers along the rim. The surface of the potion reflected his face. Pale, worn, eyes dark with things unspoken.

He thought of Lily’s reflection by the lake. Of how she’d always looked at him as though she saw something he hadn’t yet become.

The word forgiveness floated through his mind like a ghost.

It wasn’t a word he trusted. But lately, it had begun to feel less like absolution and more like a spell. One that took root slowly, reshaping the caster from within.

He drew his wand, whispering the charm’s incantation under his breath. The liquid stirred, glowed faintly, then stilled again. This time, it didn’t fracture. Instead, the light gathered itself, quiet, and steady, and rose like breath from water.

Severus smiled, barely.

"Better," he murmured. "Not perfect. But better."

He wondered if she would understand what that meant.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lily

The next morning was misted over, the grounds draped in silver fog.

Lily sat by the window of the Great Hall, her toast untouched, her quill tapping absently against her parchment. Across from her, Remus was reading the Prophet, though she could tell from the flick of his eyes that he was watching her more than the print.

"You’re quiet," he said eventually.

She smiled faintly. "You sound like James."

"He’s worried."

"I know."

Remus folded the paper, his expression gentler than words. "You don’t have to choose right now, you know. Between who you were and who you think you’re supposed to be."

Her fingers stilled. "Is that what you think I’m doing?"

"I think," he said, "that we all are. These days, everything feels like a choice between versions of ourselves."

She met his gaze. "Do you ever wonder if we’re changing too fast?"

Remus smiled, sad and wise. "That’s what growing up is. Change that doesn’t ask your permission."

Lily looked down at her cold tea, the reflection trembling with each heartbeat. "Maybe I’m afraid I’ll lose the parts that mattered."

"You won’t," he said quietly. "You’ll just learn to carry them differently."

And for the first time in weeks, she let herself believe him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Severus

Pandora found him asleep at his desk the following afternoon, quill still in hand, parchment scattered with notes and sketches of runic patterns. The faint silver residue of magic clung to his skin, like dust that refused to settle.

She didn’t wake him immediately. There was something peaceful, almost fragile, in the way he slept. The hard lines of his face softened, his breathing steady.

The boy who had once burned with resentment looked, for a moment, at peace.

When she finally touched his shoulder, he stirred with a sharp inhale, wand half-raised before recognition softened his eyes.

"You fell asleep," she said lightly.

"Apparently."

She looked at the parchment, the half-finished charm. "You’ve added something."

He nodded. "It’s a stabilizing rune. It holds the light longer."

"Does it work?"

"Sometimes."

Pandora smiled. "That’s enough."

He hesitated, then asked quietly, "Do you ever think people can… change completely?"

"Completely?" She tilted her head. "No. But we can become something that surprises who we used to be."

He looked at her, thoughtful. "Then maybe that’s all I want."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lily

That evening, the castle was alive with noise. Exams were ending, summer almost within reach. James and Sirius were planning something elaborate and ill-advised. Their laughter echoed down the corridor like sparks.

Lily slipped away unnoticed. Her steps taking her, without intention, toward the lake.

The water was still. The setting sun painted the surface in bruised gold. She stood at the edge, remembering the last time she’d stood here with him. The words that had been said… and those that hadn’t.

The reflection staring back at her seemed older now. Calmer. And there was still something searching in her eyes.

She spoke softly, to the air, to the memory, to herself.

"I forgive you."

It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t lift the weight or erase the ache. But it loosened something just enough for her to breathe again.

A ripple spread across the lake, faint but sure, as though the world itself had exhaled with her.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Severus

At the same hour, deep in the dungeons, Severus completed the charm.

It was almost anticlimactic. There was no flash, no explosion, just the quiet settling of magic, the soft hum of something righting itself. The silvery light hovered in the air, trembling, then merged into a single thread that pulsed once before dissolving into nothing.

He stood still for a long time, the silence pressing against his ribs.

Pandora’s voice broke it gently. "What did it do?"

He exhaled. "It balanced itself."

She smiled. "So did you."

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, softly, "Maybe."

His eyes lifted toward the ceiling, toward the castle above, the world that would always hold ghosts and beginnings alike. And somewhere, impossibly far yet painfully near, he thought he felt something ease. A thread tugging between past and present, between what was lost and what was still possible.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lily

Later that night, as stars shimmered above the lake, Lily found herself sitting under the beech tree again. The grass was cool against her palms, the scent of water and earth grounding her.

Somewhere far across the grounds, she thought she saw a faint pulse of silver light through the windows of the dungeons. Brief, delicate, gone in an instant.

She didn’t know why it made her heart still.

The silence around her felt different now. Not heavy, not hollow. Just quiet in a way that promised space to grow.

She leaned back against the tree, closing her eyes.

For the first time in months, she didn’t feel torn between versions of herself.

She simply felt… becoming.