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Chapter ⁰¹ : Final Moment in this cage.

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The Shrieking Shack had always been a place of screams—screams of pain, of secrets, of past regrets, of betrayals. Tonight, it carried only one: the rasp of Severus Snape’s labored breathing, a sound so fragile it could have been mistaken for a whisper of wind through the cracks in the roof. The moonlight slanted in through broken shutters, illuminating the dusty boards and the lingering smell of damp and decay.

Nagini had struck with precision, with so much force... like his existence was a curse...And now Snape was left sprawled on the floor, the dark stains on his robes spreading, vivid against the pale candlelight that flickered desperately in the corners. He chuckles, not being able to laugh at his pathetic self.

Harry stood awkwardly a few paces away, unsure whether to approach, whether to speak, whether even breath was appropriate in a moment so steeped in the inevitability of death. The boy’s eyes were wide, but not with fear—more like someone witnessing a strange, terrible play that they could not turn away from. "Professor..." He whispered.

“You have your mother’s eyes…” Snape’s voice cracked, really... that's all you could mutter out? Was his thoughts. The words dragging through blood and exhaustion. It was meant as a curse, perhaps, or maybe a memory, or both. Harry didn’t understand, could barely comprehend the weight of those words, but they hung in the air like smoke.

Severus’s gaze flickered upward, and for a moment, the fire of his hatred, the sharp edge of his bitterness, seemed to soften. Lily Evans. Her name came unbidden, not as a shout, not as a plea, but as a sigh carried by the desperate rhythm of his fading heart.

Funny, thought the world, that a man who had devoted so much of his life to vengeance could find his last comfort in a memory of laughter. He had chased ghosts—her laughter, her kindness, her rejection—like a fool chasing fireflies in a garden at midnight. And now, as his vision blurred and the edges of the world curled into white, he could only wonder: had he been the fool, or had the entire universe played the joke?

The memories hit him in fragments, a chaotic montage of everything he had been too proud—or too stubborn—to see. The first time Lily had smiled at him, a small, fleeting kindness, almost invisible, and he had ignored it. The humiliation of childhood, the cruelty of boys who called him names, snivi~... Oh he could hear it, the laughter that had followed him into every corner of the castle, the whispered taunts of “Mudblood” and “half-blood”—he had catalogued each injury like a precious treasure. And through it all, his obsession had grown, a twisted, loving, hateful thing that had consumed his very soul.

He remembered the first time he had tried to confess something that felt like love, only for her to recoil. He remembered James Potter, smug and infuriating, always a step ahead in the things that mattered most. Snape had hated him, yet part of him had admired that audacity, that arrogance. Although he will never admit that, well... He can't even now...

And yes… he had also hated himself, perhaps most of all. Hated that he had allowed someone else’s laughter to dictate the course of his life. Hated that he had allowed his choices, his cruelty, his arrogance, his passion, all of it, to twist him into someone Lily— no, no one could never love.

Funny, really, that he had spent so long chasing her and in the end, all he had caught was the bitter taste of regret.

The Shrieking Shack began to fade. Not in the literal sense—the moon still shone, the boards still creaked—but in that strange, liminal way the world does when life begins to unravel. Color bled away from the edges of vision. Sounds stretched and distorted. The rasp of his own breathing was suddenly alien, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere far away, like a memory of himself, or perhaps a warning.

His final moment in this cage.

Snape thought, with a wry humor that only he could muster in a moment like this, Well, at least I’ll finally be alone.

The floorboards dissolved beneath him. Or perhaps it was his mind unraveling. He could no longer say, because consciousness itself had begun to soften, to slip like silk between two worlds.

“If there’s another life… I won’t waste it again,” he whispered, and the words carried a strange mixture of defiance, longing, and, yes, a hint of comedy at the absurdity of speaking to a universe that would, in all likelihood, ignore him. He was pretty sure if that.

There was laughter then. Not his own, not hers, but a strange, cosmic laughter, gentle and mocking at once. The kind of laughter that suggests that life is both cruel and beautiful, and that the world has always been in on the joke.

A white void engulfed him. No floor, no moonlight, no smell of blood. Just weightless, endless silence. And then, something else: a spark, a flicker, like a heartbeat made of light, a whisper of possibility.

The void was patient. It waited as Severus thought, Maybe… maybe there is one more chance. One more chance to get it right. "But... I want to sleep... to sleep..." And then, without warning, everything fell inward, like the collapse of a star.

But Severus didn't had to know that he could have his beauty and most needed sleep as much as he wants but the surprise he might get when he wakes up will amuse him or irritate him... No one knows and no one wants to after all getting on the Half-Blood Prince bad side... No one wished for that.

The moonlight was gone. Instead, soft golden sunlight poured in, warm and almost absurdly cheerful for the end of all things. He stirred. His body felt different—lighter, younger, more… fragile, but not weak. He could feel magic thrumming beneath his skin in a way that was familiar and alien at once.

Such a nice sleep he had. He didn't wanted to wake up. Never. "Never..."

Wait.

He opened his eyes.

He gasped. A real gasp, not the dying rasp of the Shrieking Shack. His own heartbeat thudded, steady, strong, annoyingly persistent. Severus jolts up, maybe he shouldn't have done that as a really strong migraine hits him like trunk-kun hits their targets.

He clutched his head. "Agh... What..."

His eyes widens.

"No!"

•To be continued•

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Chapter ⁰² : The Boy Who Died Twice

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The sharp cry of a distant owl slipped through the night as sharp as Severus Snape's confusion. He opened his eyes—clear, unclouded, alive—and blinked into the dim greenish light of the Slytherin dormitory.

"What's happening... " What?

The stone walls loomed familiar yet alien, the scent of damp earth and ancient magic thick in the air.Severus’s hand shot instinctively to his head, wincing from the remnants of migraine like a shadow clenching his mind.

But this body, this frame beneath the blankets—it was different. Younger. Less worn by grief and death. Even the ache in his joints was restrained, balanced by a strange vitality.He pushed himself upright on the narrow bed, eyeing the ceiling where gloated faint scratches he'd remembered—his past marks of impatience or boredom. The cold stone floor sent a chill through his bare feet as he swung his legs over the edge.

A flicker of something caught his eye. The calendar pinned to the wooden door. He inched closer. "No… this is wrong," Severus breathed, voice low and stiff, like iron scraping stone, but no where close to his deep ocean like voice.

"I died." His mind reeled, memories crashing around him like fractured glass—the Shrieking Shack, the bite of Nagini, the slow fading of life. Yet here he was, flesh vibrant, pulse ringing in his wrists.He staggered to the small washbasin, water trembling beneath his clammy fingers. His reflection stared back with dark, haunted eyes, so familiar yet foreign in youth’s guise. “I’m… alive?” He muttered, fingertips tracing the sharp planes of his own face.

Hesitantly, Severus touched the stubborn scar above his brow, the one Lily had seen in nightmares, the one which had survived further battles he could not yet remember. It was there, real, a cruel anchor tethering him to the strange truth.He sank against the cold wall, mind rattling.

Laughter. It filled the room. Severus was going crazy, he was sure of it. "Ofcourse... Something like this will only happen to me... Ofcourse. I'm their toy of amusement afterall..." He couldn't stop laughing, the joke the universe was playing on him.

But he knew, even to most it may seem like a blessing, to return back in time and fix everything... But honestly it was just a nauseous, to do everything all over... What if nothing changed and fate played his cruel game again.

"But, if I have been given a second chance... I'll make sure to use it delightfully."

The universe gave me another chance. This time, I won’t kneel to anyone. Severus was tired. Tired of everything, he wasn't lying... "I... Just want to rest." He sat in his bed and instead of sleeping he started sorting everything, because ofcourse, he is Severus Snape not a idiot.

He is back in his 5th year because ofcourse fate wanted him to suffer or maybe because this is truly where change could occur to make his future a little, not so much, a little bit better. He had already called Lily a "Mudblood", but he have also apologised enough. Yes, he had done enough. He have apologised enough, but what about her, she laughed at him, her best friend was being bullied, humiliated but she was laughing at him.

Severus was blind to not see, not understand the hipocracy that he always saw. But now he does.

Severus realised. "I've wasted enough time on this bulls🪷🪷🪷." He stood up again. "I want to roam." Yep, 3am ideas. But he missed Hogwarts, even tho he have suffered tremendously here... He have also found peace in it. The castle itself was a mother watching her childrens. And he thinks, no he knows that the castle knows where he is from with how it's humming with him.

He had to be careful tho, curfew was still there. "Oh I already miss being a teacher." He casted silencing charm and notice me not, it always worked except against some 4 airheads, no 3, the other one oh he doesn't even want to name him, leave seeing him.

Somehow between his inner talking and his feet taking him God knows where, he finally arrived at the Great Lake, wow, ironically he ended at the core of the beginning. But can he blame this place, no. He still loved sitting here.

The uneasy stillness shattered with a whisper behind him.

“Snape.”

Lily’s voice, hesitant, soft, trying to bridge a gulf she hadn’t understood. Why, out of all the people, professors, head boy, hell he wouldn't even say anything if it was those bumbkins, but ofcourse! Ofcourse!

He rose sharply, the old bitterness sparking even if fragile. He didn't wanted to linger anymore. "It past curfew." He heard her say. "Yes, I know, and I'm leaving... Hope you don't report."

"Ofcourse I won—". He cut her off. "Even if you do you're also out so I will drag you too." Turning his back, shoulders rigid, he walked away, leaving a wide eyed Lily Evans.

He somehow feels good. He knows he's a moron, but he can't deny it, it feels amazing, no fabulous, he feels like he is dancing. The burden he was carrying all seem to vanish in an instant.

He called over his shoulder with finality. "I’ve said enough to you for a lifetime.” Her footsteps that were approaching him faltered, then retreated. Severus closed his eyes and swallowed the strange new cocktail of emotions and finally went out of sight.

How long would this second life stretch? What would he do differently? Would the mistakes of the past trap him once more? He didn't know but he knew one thing he won't let himself be controlled again. Never.The boy who died twice was again alone in the dark, but not lonely.

•To be continued•

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Chapter ⁰³ : Changed?

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The dungeon classroom smelled faintly of crushed nettle, damp parchment, and old stone. Severus didn't if it was because he was used to it or if was getting nostalgic which he knew is just impossible because this was his lair.

Slughorn waddled to the front with his usual cheer. “Now, my dear students, the Draught of Peace. Difficult to brew, but most rewarding, hmm?” He still hated this man but the difference is, right now he didn't wanted to do anything, he was honestly really tired of fighting, and he knew that old geezer rarely took his side.

And like always, even after knowing the rivalry, the Slytherin and Gryffindor will always share classes because you know someone thinks sharing time means growing love. When Slughorn talked, most Slytherins barely looked up. The Gryffindors groaned.

But Severus Snape—quiet, poised, detached—simply adjusted the flame under his cauldron, his movements smooth as water. Gone were the twitchy glares, the muttered insults. There was a strange serenity about him, as though something heavy had finally fallen away. And ofcourse it wasn't wrong. Severus felt like dancing but he won't, he had an image and a dignity.

“Add your powdered moonstone after the syrup,” Slughorn instructed.

Severus did without complaining about anything like he (his younger self who thought he knew the best which did but anyways-) used to do, but that didn't mean he would blindly follow Slughorn, stirring clockwise in perfect rhythm. When vapors rose, they shimmered pale silver.

Slughorn beamed. “Excellent! Mr. Snape, tell us why the potion reacts that way?” Great, when he didn't wanted attention he would get it and when he was dying for this man's attention for praise he would ignore him. Wow. [Reverse phycology I guess]. Severus thought.

Severus looked up, voice even and low. “Because peace is fragile, sir. It needs careful handling. Too much moonstone, and it loses its calm—explodes.” The amount of time those dunderheads have exploded his classroom was uncountable. Sighs.

There was laughter across the room, soft but surprised.

Even Slughorn chuckled. “Ha! Quite poetic, my boy!”

[What's poetic about this??]. We don't know Severus.

Across the aisle, James Potter blinked. “Did the slimy bat just—make a joke?”

Sirius leaned over, whispering, “Either that, or we’ve slipped into an alternate reality.”

Remus, however, wasn’t laughing. His quill had stopped moving halfway through a sentence. There was something in Severus’s tone—steady, almost melodic—that tugged faintly at his chest. And his scent… God his scent, it wasn’t just ink and potion fumes anymore. It was warmer, like smoke and wildflowers crushed beneath rain. And it was making his wolf lose it's control and he didn't knew why.

It made his throat dry.

“Moony, you okay?” Sirius muttered.

Remus startled, scribbling furiously. “Fine. Just paying attention.”

But he wasn’t. He was watching the way Severus’s hair caught the candlelight, the soft curve of his jaw when he leaned closer to his cauldron. There was still sharpness in him, but now it was refined—less venom, more like... quiet strength.

Something had changed. Remus could feel it, in the air, humming low and ancient.

And it made his wolf really stir uneasily.

When class ended, Severus gathered his books with methodical calm. He didn’t glance at Lily Evans, though she hovered uncertainly by the door. He didn’t spare a look at James’s muttered taunt, or at Sirius’s smirk. He just brushed past, silent as mist, robes whispering across the flagstones.

Remus’s eyes followed him out.

———

Later, in the Gryffindor common room, the gossip was unavoidable.

“Snape was smiling!”

“Did you see him? He actually smiled. I saw it.”

“No it wasn't a hallucination!”

“And he ignored Lily! Thought she was his weakness.”

James slumped on the couch, running a hand through his hair. “He’s definitely scheming. You don’t just wake up one day and become Zen Master Snape.”

Sirius snorted, tossing an apple in the air. “Maybe he’s trying to lure Evans back with the old ‘mysterious silence’ trick.”

Remus looked up from his book. “Or maybe he've just changed?”

The room fell quiet for a moment. Even James blinked.

“Since when do you take his side?” he asked.

Remus sighed, closing his book. “I was never against him to begin with, it was just you two and I’m not taking sides. I just… noticed something different. It’s not like before.”

“Different how?” Sirius asked, grinning. “Like he started bathing?”

James burst out laughing.

Remus rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. “He’s calmer. His energy’s… strange. Like he’s not pretending anymore.”

And his smell...

Sirius leaned in. “You sound like you admire him.”

Remus flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But he didn’t tell them the truth—that when Severus had looked up in class, for one brief second, his gaze had felt almost magnetic. Not human. Something deeper had stirred beneath his calm, something that made Remus’s instincts tremble.

He pushed the thought away, pretending to read while James and Sirius continued plotting “Operation: Find Out What’s Wrong with Snape.” Remus only sighed at their childishness

———

The next afternoon, they followed him. Yep, Remus too... Well, he didn't want James and Sirius to do something really terrible... Really.

But Remus did tried to dissuade them. “We’re not stalkers,” he said.

Sirius grinned. “Just concerned citizens.”

James added, “And brilliant detectives.”

Remus muttered, “Idiots.”

They found Severus in the greenhouse, surrounded by moonbloom plants glowing faintly in the filtered sunlight. He was trimming leaves with a precision that looked more like art than work. His sleeves were rolled up, pale wrists glinting with ink stains and faint scars.

“See that?” Sirius whispered. “No muttering. No glaring. Creepy calm. It definitely not our Severus.”

Our.

“Maybe he’s plotting world peace,” James whispered back.

Remus said nothing. His eyes stayed on Severus’s hands, the slow deliberate movements, the soft expression. Every time Severus exhaled, the plants seemed to lean toward him.

Then, without turning, Severus said, “You can come out now.”

Sirius nearly dropped his wand. “How—?”

Severus turned, eyebrow raised. “Your reflections in the glass. Subtlety isn’t your strength.” Pathetic.

James stepped out first, trying to recover his confidence. “We were… what! Finally grew a spin?! You've neen acting... Strange.”

“Strange?” Severus asked, looking at them in a bored expression, setting his shears down. “Or civilized?” He mocked 

That tone—quiet, sharp, confident—hit harder than any insult. James opened his mouth, but nothing came out. They always jocked how Severus should be civilized, professor, students, Lily. Ironic, it was.

Sirius grinned, intrigued. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve really grown a spine.”

Remus stepped forward, studying Severus. “You really have changed.”

Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air between them thickened. Remus’s pulse fluttered as Severus’s gaze softened just slightly—curious, assessing. He could feel warmth radiating from him, like invisible heat, gentle yet consuming.

“You keep staring,” Severus murmured, voice low. “Do I have dirt on my face?”

Remus blinked, stepping back quickly. “No, I just— I was thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” Severus said quietly, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. “For someone like you.”

“Someone like me...?” Remus echoed, confused.

Severus hesitated, as though if saying he knew his little secret was wise or not. His hand brushed Remus’s sleeve as he moved past him, and the touch—barely there—was enough to make Remus’s breath catch. The warmth of it lingered, buzzing through his veins like static.

James, noticing the look, frowned. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Remus said too quickly.

Sirius chuckled. “Moony looks ready to faint.”

“Maybe he’s allergic to Snape,” James muttered, though his jaw tightened when Severus glanced briefly at Remus again.

Severus’s expression remained unreadable. “You three should find a better hobby.”

“Spying’s a talent,” Sirius said with a grin. “Some of us were born for it.” Spy. What they knew about spying. Well, even if they do, they wouldn't know more then him. And he knew this job was far from cool and all.

“And some of us,” Severus replied softly, “were born to outgrow childish games.”

James stiffened. He didn't knew why but it struck in the heart. Sirius’s grin faltered. Well Severus look want you have achieved and Remus,he almost smiled.

Severus turned back to his plants, voice low but steady. “You all should leave if you have nothing better to do..”

For a moment, nobody moved. The only sound was the faint hum of the greenhouse and the beating of hearts no one wanted to acknowledge.

Then Remus spoke quietly. “Wait, what did you meant by someone like me...?” Remus didn't knew or did he was Severus implied to buy that was simply not possible right. Right?

Severus’s shears paused mid-air. “I meant nothing, beast.”

The simplicity of his tone silenced all three of them.

Remus felt something in his chest shift—heavy he was feeling so heavy and something much more dangerous.

James looked at Severus with narrowed eyes, torn between suspicion and something else he couldn’t name.

Sirius tilted his head, he felt like Severus knew something, he was such an idiot, he didn't know what to do as if seeing a rival he wasn’t sure he wanted to hate anymore.

The tension thickened like honey.

“Come on,” James muttered finally, turning away. “Let him play philosopher. We’ve wasted enough time.”

They left the greenhouse, but Remus lingered one heartbeat longer. Severus was still standing among the flowers, light brushing over his face like silver threads.

And for the briefest moment, he turned his head—just slightly—and their eyes met again.

No words. Just a flicker of something that made Remus’s stomach twist and his breath catch. Severus knew. He knew.

———

That night, the whispers continued.

Sirius teased. James denied. Remus stayed quiet.

When everyone else had gone to bed, Remus lay awake, staring at his hand—the same one Severus had brushed. The faint warmth still pulsed there, impossible to ignore. He smelled his hand like a creep but he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't.

And far below, in the Slytherin dorm, Severus traced the same hand over his wrist, feeling a strange thrum beneath his skin. A quiet magic stirring. Silver light pulsing faintly in his veins. He didn't wanted to admit but his long buried crush over Remus was resurfacing and he didn't like it.

Whatever it was, it was changing him.

And somehow, the Marauders, hell even Sirius could feel it too.

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•To be continued•

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Chapter ⁰⁴ : Shadow Of What Could Have Been 

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The Slytherin dormitory was silent that night—eerily silent, like even the ghosts had decided to mind their own business. The torches burned low, throwing greenish shadows across the stone walls that looked a little too alive for comfort. Moonlight filtered through the water above, rippling faint silver patterns on Severus’s desk—very pretty, very haunting, and very inconvenient for someone trying to ignore his own existential crisis.

He was alone, surrounded by tottering stacks of parchment and half-open potion books that looked one sneeze away from collapse. The air smelled of ink, herbs, and something faintly electric—like a storm that refused to break but was definitely considering it just to spite him.

A letter lay on the desk before him—ominous, plain, and far too innocent-looking for the amount of anxiety it radiated. It sat there like it knew something he didn’t, daring him to open it.

Thick parchment. Black seal. The mark of a serpent pressed neatly into the wax—because, of course, nothing says “definitely not ominous” like a snake-themed envelope delivered at midnight.

He didn’t need to open it to know what it was. The aura of bad decisions practically radiated from the envelope. It had that distinct ‘life-ruining opportunity disguised as formality’ energy—and Severus had received enough of those to recognize one on sight.

An invitation.

His hand hovered over it for a long moment, fingertips grazing the seal as if the parchment itself were alive. He could almost hear the whispers seeping through the wax—the promises of glory, the lure of power, the false brotherhood that once wrapped itself around him like silk hiding a blade.

Once, he would have torn it open without a thought, ready to chase the illusion it offered. Oh he would have died for the opportunity.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he was older. Wiser. Considerably more allergic to bad ideas.

He sighed, reached for his wand, and whispered, “Incendio.”

A spark flared, then flame kissed the parchment, curling it into ash. The serpent seal melted away with a hiss—fitting, really—and the faint scent of burnt wax filled the air, sharp and strangely satisfying.

He didn’t look away.

Let them whisper. Let them wonder. Let them choke on their own curiosity.

I’m done being their pawn.

The thought didn’t burn this time—it settled, soft and certain, like calm after a storm or calm before a storm, but he didn't care, he never did actually, just... He was too desperate.

It wasn’t rebellion, not really. It was peace, the kind that came when a man finally stopped trying to earn what was never his to begin with. For once, he didn’t need to prove anything—not to them, not to Lily, not even to himself. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was freedom.

He turned back to his books, fingers trailing along the spine of Advanced Draught Theories. The words swam before his eyes, stubbornly refusing to stay in one place—but he kept reading anyway. Learning had become his anchor, his one stable relationship in life. Books didn’t lie, didn’t gossip, and most importantly, didn’t ask him to join any secret cults.

Behind him, his dormmates stirred in their sleep. One muttered something about “the Dark Lord rising,” as if anyone needed a reminder in the middle of the night. Another shifted restlessly, mumbling names Severus had spent far too long trying to forget—because apparently, sleep was the perfect time to relive everyone else’s bad decisions.

Oh God he wanted to go back to his office his sanctuary... sighs.

He exhaled slowly. Let them dream of power. I’ve seen what it costs. And it cost hell too much for a poor little man like him, this could only be handled by those rich a🪷s motherfu🪷🪷🪷🪷s.

He reached for his quill, dipping it into the ink, but paused mid-stroke. The tip trembled just slightly—probably out of sympathy, or maybe judgment.

Would they ever understand?

The world seemed so eager to slap labels on him: dark, bitter, doomed, forever the pawn in someone else’s story. But maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to fit their definitions. Maybe he could be something else. Someone else. Someone who didn’t have to answer to expectations, or rumours, or fate itself.

———

The next morning arrived with unremarkable quiet, the kind that made the castle feel almost polite. Breakfast chatter hummed through the Great Hall like a poorly tuned orchestra. Lily Evans sat at her usual spot, laughing softly with her friends, though her eyes betrayed her curiosity, darting toward the Slytherin table more than once.

Severus, meanwhile, sat apart, flipping through his notes with an intensity that suggested the world beyond the parchment simply didn’t exist—or that he was actively trying to will it out of existence. Either way, no one dared interrupt, and he looked far too busy being impossibly studious for anyone to argue.

He liked it and he wished it to be like it, but ofcourse.

“Snape’s been acting weird lately,” one of the older Slytherins muttered.

“Didn’t even go last night,” another whispered.

“He burned it, didn’t he?”

Severus didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance up. Let them talk. Let them spin their theories and enjoy their little thrill.

Each word only reminded him how easy it was to become someone else’s story, to be twisted into a symbol of something he never wanted to be. The thought would have been maddening once—but not anymore. Not today.

He finished his tea, savoring the last sip with an almost imperceptible smirk, rose without a word, and left, letting the whispers hang like fog behind him.

———

By nightfall, the castle had returned to its usual, almost peaceful quiet.

In the Slytherin dorm, others crept out through hidden passages—gathering in shadowy basements, whispering oaths that probably involved too much drama and far too little sense. Severus, however, had other plans. He made his way to the library, where there was the silence he liked, the books obedient, and the murmurs of those doomed life mercifully distant, should he save them... No, Just no. Maybe Severus had enough of one lifetime being a spy. Curfew still loomed, but maybe—just maybe—there was time to steal a few precious hours in his now newfound sanctuary.

He wasn’t sure when studying had become a kind of rebellion, but it felt… right. Every potion he mastered, every spell he memorized, was a quiet defiance. Knowledge was safer than loyalty; it didn’t demand blood.

A faint sound made him look up.

Footsteps.

Then a voice—soft, sharp, and familiar.

“Severus...”

Lily stood in the there before him, arms crossed. Her expression wasn’t angry at first—just tired. But her eyes burned with the kind of hurt that words couldn’t hide.

“You’re avoiding me,” she said flatly.

“I’m not,” he replied, turning a page.

“You are. You barely look at me anymore.”

He sighed, setting the book down. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Lily frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She was making no sense now.

“It means I’m trying to stop making things worse.”

“By ignoring me?”

He hesitated. “By learning when to let go.”

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then she stepped closer, anger breaking through the worry.

“You’re not even angry anymore!”

Okay now she was literally making no sense. what does she wants me to do then, tail her like a puppy, no. Looks like Severus has found a new favourite word.

Her voice echoed against the stone.

He met her eyes calmly. “Anger’s for those who can’t change, and please, lower your voice, look around at where we are, it's not your house.”

Lily’s lips parted, as if she didn’t recognize the person standing before her. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he said softly. “Or maybe everything.”

The torches flickered. Between them hung the ghost of something that used to be friendship—something that might have been love, in another life. But, not touching that.

She stared at him for a long moment, eyes glistening. “You’re not the same person I knew.”

“Good,” he murmured. “The old one wasn’t worth knowing.”

Lily’s breath hitched. “You can’t keep doing this—shutting people out.”

“I’m not shutting them out,” Severus said quietly. “I’m just… done letting them in when all they want is to use me.”

Lily’s anger faltered, replaced by something softer—pity, maybe. “Then what are you going to do?”

“Live,” not survive, he said simply. “My way.” Ofcourse

She didn’t reply. Only stared at him like she was looking at a stranger. Then, with a frustrated exhale, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Severus didn’t follow. He just listened to her footsteps fade down the rows of books, each one softer until there was nothing but the whisper of his own heartbeat.

He sat back down, staring at the potion text before him. But his mind was elsewhere—on the choices not taken, on the faces fading from his life like smoke.

He could almost hear them—Lucius’s cool persuasion, Bellatrix’s venomous laughter, the whispering promises of power, belonging, importance.

And yet, when he closed his eyes, none of it mattered.

He saw the greenhouse instead. The moonbloom plants. The faint, steady warmth of Remus’s gaze. what no... Stop that Severus.

The way it had felt to be seen—not as a tool or a failure—but as something human.

Maybe that was what frightened him most.

That someone could look at him without hate.

That someone could sense the truth before he did—the restless, growing pulse under his skin that felt alive, foreign, waiting.

He flexed his hand. The faint shimmer of warmth flickered again beneath the surface, silvery and quiet. Not enough to see. Just enough to feel.

Something inside him was changing. It happened in his previous life too... He thought he was cursed and seeked Lucius's help to get rid of it without even knowing what it was... Maybe this time he should go to St Mungo's.

And this time, he wasn’t afraid.

He dipped his quill again, the words on the parchment steady and sure:

I will not be what they want me to be.

The quill stilled. His reflection in the ink looked older, sharper, but peaceful.

For the first time, he wasn’t defined by anger, or loss, or loyalty.

He was defined by choice.

Outside, thunder rolled faintly over the lake—distant, gentle, like applause from a storm that understood.

And Severus smiled, just barely, as he whispered to the empty room:

“Let them talk. I’m reborn afterall, have to take advantage ofcourse.”

The torches flickered once, then steadied.

Somewhere far away, fate finally decided to give the poor boy peace—its path bending, just slightly, around a boy who finally refused to be anyone’s shadow.

Severus casted a tempus, he decided to leave before someone else decides to barge in but oh boy someone was already there.

———

Remus had no idea why he was doing this. He was starting to act like James and Sirius—all reckless and, frankly, a little stupid—but following Severus under the Invisibility Cloak? That was something else entirely. Diabolical. Stalker-level diabolical. And yet… he couldn’t stop himself. His mind behave like it had a mind of its own. Okay what did he even say.

Severus stepped into the dormitory again, the sound of the stone wall moving announcing his arrival.

“Where were you?” A voice froze him mid-step. Evans.

“Library,” Severus muttered, his tone flat as he made for his room.

He opened the door—but before he could step inside, a hand shot out, snaking around his waist and yanking him in. The door slammed shut behind them with an almost satisfying thunk.

Severus blinked, caught between surprise and a very emphatic, “What the hell!?”

There, in all his awkward glory, stood Remus, smiling like nothing unusual had happened.

“Hi…”

“…”

Severus was utterly shook. Speechless. He could not fathom the audacity of this man—popping into his room out of nowhere, yanking him inside, and then having the nerve to say hi like it was completely normal.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Severus made a mental note: Remus Lupin was officially impossible.

“Please tell me this is a joke and your behavior is utterly…” Severus paused. No words. Literally none. How could there possibly be words for this?

Remus exhaled a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “No, but it is… concerning.”

He leaned casually against the bedpost, moonlight slicing across his features. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing faint scars along his forearms. Severus’s eyes flicked to them for a heartbeat before darting back to his book, as if noting them could somehow prevent further absurdity.

“You should rest,” Remus said softly. “It’s past two.”

Severus blinked, utterly unamused. “So… report me? Oh, right—you can’t, because it’s my room. And somehow you’re in it. I don’t know from where, I don't know when you became this brave. But yes, here you are, and yes, you should leave.”

Honestly, some people really had no concept of boundaries.

Remus tilted his head, a small, infuriating smile curving his mouth. “I’m not here as a prefect.”

Like that made any difference.

When Severus finally looked up, Remus’s gaze was already on him—steady, golden, and frustratingly unreadable. It wasn’t the look of someone mocking him, or pitying him. No. It was something else. Something unsettling. Something that made him feel… weird. Hot.

“You’re different lately,” Remus said after a pause. “Calmer. Like you’re holding something back.”

There they go again with the assumptions

“I’m not holding anything.”

“Really?” Remus stepped closer, until his knee brushed Severus’s thighs. Severus’s brain immediately went on strike, and his legs decided they were jelly. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Severus froze, caught between irritation and a very inconvenient awareness of the warmth radiating from Remus—so close that the small space between them suddenly felt suffocating. He reminded himself: Focus. Books exist. Air exists. Somehow survive this human proximity without combusting.

For a long moment, neither moved.

Remus’s eyes flicked down to where their legs had almost touched. His breath hitched—just barely—but Severus caught it, sharp as a blade.

“What are you doing?” Severus asked, voice low and dangerously calm.

“I—” Remus blinked, retreating a fraction of an inch. “You… smell different.”

Severus’s brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching in disbelief. “What… exactly does that mean?”

Remus opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, as if the words had betrayed him. Severus’s mind, naturally, went to the worst-case scenario: Did I accidentally put on perfume? Did I forget how to human?

“Your smell...” But Remus mind was on a different level. He pounded towards Severus and sniffed him to his heart's content, divine, so beautiful, so so... He didn't had words for how amazing Severus's smell was. He sucked at his neck while Severus let out sweet oh so sweet sounds, he had to bite him, mark him... Claim him...

Snap.

... What?

“What's wrong with you? …You’re bleeding…” Severus frowned at the sight of Remus’s nose. “Are you okay?”

Remus wasn’t exactly okay. He touched his nose, saw the red on his fingers, and instead of panic, his cheeks flamed bright red—blushing at the thoughts running through his head, the ridiculous things he was imagining, the hopeless hope.

Severus wasn’t some naive protagonist from a stupid romance novel—he understood in an instant what Remus was thinking.

“Pervert!” he snapped, about to cast a spell.

But Remus, panicked and embarrassed, caught his wrist and gave a quick, apologetic tug. “Sorry…” he breathed, eyes darting away. “Goodnight.” And just like that, he opened the door and vanished.

Severus stared in disbelief. There was no trace of him…

Wait. The Invisibility Cloak! He groaned, smacking his forehead. How had he forgotten that one simple, obvious detail?

He closed the door behind him and slid down, plopping onto the floor with a dramatic flop. For a moment, he felt absurdly aware of himself—like a full-on protagonist from a bad romance novel. He could almost hear a cheesy soundtrack playing in his head.

And, of course, he blushed. Hard. Gosh, what is wrong with him? He groaned, pressing a hand to his face. Seriously, Severus, get it together. You’re supposed to be calm, collected, terrifyingly clever… not squirming on the floor like some lovesick fool.

What the hell was even happening? He stopped being an idiot. One second he was perfectly rational, the next… boom. His carefully maintained composure had evaporated, and now things—unnecessary, ridiculous, completely inconvenient things—were happening. He was blushing. Hard. Over what, exactly? He didn’t know. And that was the worst part. Why does my face even have this reaction?

Severus groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. Absolutely ridiculous. Utterly embarrassing. And yet… somehow unavoidable.

He desperately hoped this… mess of feelings and blushing wouldn’t start happening with those two other bumbkins as well. Oh well, hope was free, wasn’t it?

But Severus—ever the brilliant planner—forgot one crucial detail: fate seemed to have a personal vendetta and absolutely adored meddling in his life.

•To be Continued•

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Chapter 5 : Encounter : Forbidden Forest

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The Forbidden Forest was alive tonight.

Mist curled low across the ground, weaving between tangled roots that clawed upward from the damp earth like the fingers of something ancient. Every movement in the distance seemed to breathe, every whisper of leaves carried a quiet, haunting rhythm. Above, the moon hung pale and wide, suspended like a silent guardian, its silver light spilling through the canopy and turning each leaf to glass.

The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, yet Severus Snape walked as though it were an old acquaintance — cautious, deliberate, but entirely unafraid. The faint glow of his wand brushed across bark and moss, revealing flashes of shadowed green, the shimmer of dew, and the outline of small glass jars clinking softly inside his satchel.

Moonshade root, Slughorn had said. Fresh, if you can find it.

It should have been a simple errand, something that began and ended without thought — find the ingredient, return before curfew, avoid unnecessary attention. But lately, nothing in Severus’s world stayed simple. Not since the letter he burned, the one whose ashes had curled in his desk and not let itself be cleared and cleaned until it makes Severus regret and the decision he made... To redo everything he did again and not change.

Not since the silence that followed, heavier than any insult, more cutting than any hex. And not since that brief, accidental touch — the odd, lingering warmth that hadn’t left him since the night Remus Lupin’s heat rubbed against his... That thick muscular thigh...[Get yourself together! You're not a horny teenager anymore!]. He was but he wasn't at the same time but no one had to know about that. It haunted him, that warmth — faint, absurd, and impossible to dismiss.

The forest quieted as he moved deeper in, as though it too listened — as though it sensed his distress and listened like a mother would to a child like Hogwarts would listen to him, something within him had shifted, and now waited for what he dared not name.

The Forbidden Forest never scared him. Its shadows were honest — they moved when the wind moved, they whispered only what the trees allowed. Monsters, he could predict. They followed instinct, not malice. Their hunger made sense. People — never. People smiled before they struck, promised before they left, and pretended before they destroyed. The forest, at least, didn’t lie.

He crouched low, cutting through the tall grass, the hem of his cloak brushing damp soil. His fingers moved with precision, practiced from years of gathering rare ingredients under worse conditions. He was searching for the faintly glowing roots of moonshade — pale veins that shimmered softly beneath the earth like threads of captured moonlight.

Slughorn’s extra-credit task was a convenient excuse, one that allowed him to escape... sighs... the whispers, and his own thoughts. Out here, the night was quiet, and no one expected him to speak. Oh Severus you truly are the embodiment of anti-social life...

A twig snapped.

Severus froze — breath caught, every sense sharpened. The faint rustle of leaves followed, too heavy for wind, too soft for a beast.

Another step — deliberate this time, closer.

“Bloody hell,” came a familiar voice from the dark, low and annoyed. “You move like a ghost, Snape.”

Severus’s grip on his wand tightened, the faint blue glow casting hard shadows across his face. Of course. Of course.

He didn’t need to turn to recognize that drawl.

“Black.”

He said it like a curse.

Sirius stepped into the light — hair a mess, smirk in place, but his eyes sharp. “Don’t hex me,” he said, hands half raised in mock surrender. “I’m just making sure the local vampire doesn’t drain the centaurs dry.”

Severus blinked, unimpressed. “How comforting. Should I thank you for your heroic concern?”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Sirius drawled, brushing a leaf from his shoulder like he owned the forest. “Though I’d prefer applause.”

Severus’s voice was calm, cold. “You followed me.”

“Curiosity,” Sirius said simply, crossing his arms. His tone was light, but his gaze wasn’t. “You disappear at midnight, and Remus said you’ve been acting strange. Thought I’d see what you’re plotting.”

Severus’s lips twitched — not a smile, just irritation threatening to surface. “You think I have the time or interest to plot anything involving you?”

Sirius took a slow step closer, smirk never quite reaching his eyes. “With you, Snape? Always a possibility.”

“I don’t plot. I study.”

“Right,” Sirius said, voice laced with amusement. “And I’m a saint.”

Severus turned away, robes whispering against the damp forest floor. “Go back to your friends.”

“Can’t,” Sirius said easily, falling into step beside him. The moonlight broke through the trees in thin silver lines, cutting across his face — wild hair glowing, eyes alight with something unreadable. “You’re far more interesting right now.”

Severus didn’t slow, didn’t look at him. “Interesting?” he hissed under his breath. “I thought I disgusted you.”

Sirius gave a low chuckle. “You do.” His grin flashed, feral... This mutt!. “That’s what makes this fun.”

The air between them tightened. The distant hoot of an owl filled the silence, and the smell of moss and cold earth lingered thick in the air. Severus’s hand flexed around his wand, knuckles white.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, every word edged with venom.

Sirius stepped closer, his boots sinking softly into the mud. “And yet here I am,” he said, tone dropping just enough to sound almost sincere, “chasing a snake through the woods.”

The way Sirius said it made Severus stop

He turned, wandlight catching the sharp curve of Sirius’s grin, the faint gleam of sweat on his neck. The forest air felt thicker suddenly — damp, charged, almost aware of both of them. Somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped, but neither moved.

Sirius stood there like a shadow carved out of moonlight, his smirk softer now, eyes flicking briefly to Severus’s mouth before meeting his gaze again.

“What?” Sirius asked, voice low, rougher than before.

Severus didn’t answer immediately. His fingers tightened around his wand; he hated the tremor in his chest, the way the silence between them seemed alive.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said finally, but it came out quieter than he meant.

Sirius tilted his head, grin curling again. “Like what?”

“...” Severus bit his lips... Lord why... Gave him a 2nd chance but did they take away his self control? No... That wasn't it, he had control when it came to other people so why... Why... Why was his face heating up...

The words hung between them, strange and heavy — and for the first time, Severus wasn’t sure who was toying with whom.

A breeze passed through, stirring the leaves, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and Sirius’s cologne — something sharp, wild, and unreasonably distracting. Severus hated how aware he was of it, how aware he was of him.

Sirius took a slow step forward, the grin still on his lips but his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. “You know… for someone who hates company, you never tell people to leave very convincingly.”

Severus exhaled, long and steady. “You mistake tolerance for invitation.”

“Do I?” Sirius murmured. He leaned in just slightly, enough for Severus to see the flecks of gray in his eyes — stormy, restless, alive.

For a moment, neither spoke. The forest around them felt miles away, distant and unreal.

Then Severus turned sharply, breaking whatever spell lingered in the air. “If you’re done wasting my time, Black, I have work to do.”

Sirius chuckled under his breath. “Right. Studying. In the middle of the woods. Alone. At midnight.”

“Precisely,” Severus said, refusing to look back — because if he did, he wasn’t sure what he’d see in Sirius’s eyes.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Severus asked quietly. “You’ve got everything. Why do you need to bother me?”

Sirius stepped closer, something restless flickering in his gaze. “Because I can’t figure you out.”

“Don’t try.”

“You used to bite back,” Sirius murmured, voice lower now, almost frustrated. “Now you just—ignore us. You walk past me like I’m air, and I hate it.”

Severus blinked, brows knitting. “You hate that I’m not reacting?”

Sirius’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. It’s bloody annoying.” He let out a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You used to make it easy to hate you. Now you just… don’t.”

For a second, neither spoke. The night pressed close around them, full of unsaid things and too many heartbeats.

“You—” Severus didn’t get to finish.

“Yes, okay.” Sirius said quickly, as if the words had been sitting on his tongue for too long. “I hate that you look right through me like I’m nothing.”

For a second, even the forest seemed to pause. The moonlight caught the side of Sirius’s face—sharp, reckless, too honest for his own good. Every Black had his obsession, and maybe Sirius had just realized his. Not that he’d ever say it out loud; Merlin forbid he sound like he had feelings.

They stared at each other—predator and prey, though neither knew which was which. Severus’s jaw tightened, his wandlight flickering slightly as his pulse quickened. He hated that Sirius’s words had weight. He hated that his mind noticed the faint scent of smoke and rain clinging to Sirius’s coat.

Sirius shifted, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. “Say something.”

“Get out of my way,” Severus said finally, voice cold but softer than intended.

Sirius’s smirk returned, crooked and uneven, like he was daring himself to keep it. “No. Not until you tell me why I can’t stop thinking about how damn calm you are lately.”

Severus’s tone turned sharp. “You’ve lost your mind.”

Sirius gave a low laugh that didn’t sound entirely sane. “Maybe,” he said, taking a slow step closer, “or maybe you’ve done something to me.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Oh, sure,” Sirius muttered, circling him like he was inspecting a particularly confusing potion ingredient. “Nothing at all. You just stopped snarling, started ignoring me, and now my brain thinks about you every time I breathe wrong.”

“Tragic,” Severus deadpanned. “Have you considered therapy?”

Sirius grinned, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “You offering?”

“Hardly.”

The space between them shrank, thick with challenge and something else neither wanted to name. Sirius’s hand brushed the edge of Severus’s sleeve — barely a touch, but it sent a pulse through the air.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” Sirius murmured.

“I feel irritation,” Severus replied, voice steady despite the warmth creeping up his neck.

Sirius leaned in, his breath ghosting just beside Severus’s ear. “Liar.”

Severus raised his chin, glaring. “Try me.”

The air snapped between them — electric, almost alive. The kind of silence that made the world feel smaller, tighter. Sirius reached out before his brain could catch up with his body, fingers curling around Severus’s wrist.

Severus didn’t flinch. His breath caught — just once — the faint tremor in his pulse betraying something neither wanted to name. His wandlight flickered between them, throwing shadows across their faces, both looking far too stubborn for their own good.

Sirius’s thumb brushed the edge of Severus’s sleeve, a motion too careful to be an accident. “You always this tense,” he said quietly, “or is it just me?”

“Congratulations,” Severus said dryly, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve finally discovered irritation.”

“Feels mutual,” Sirius shot back, grin crooked but his voice rougher than intended.

Severus’s eyes dropped to where their hands touched — his wrist still trapped, Sirius’s grip warm and steady. “Let go,” he said softly.

“You first,” Sirius murmured, smirk softening into something that wasn’t quite teasing anymore.

The wandlight flickered. Neither moved. Sirius’s grip loosened, but his thumb brushed against Severus’s skin—slow, deliberate. The touch burned, a ghost of heat that made his throat tighten. He hated that his body noticed.

“Still think I’m nothing?” Sirius asked, voice low, too steady for someone supposedly joking.

Severus’s eyes met his. “You’re a fool.”

Sirius tilted his head, smirk lazy but eyes sharp. “Then why aren’t you walking away?”

The silence that followed was unbearable—so loud it made the forest seem to hold its breath. Every heartbeat, every shift of air between them felt too close.

Finally, Severus jerked his hand free, the sound small but final. “Because unlike you, I have self-control.”

Sirius exhaled sharply, half a laugh, half something that didn’t belong to laughter at all. “You really don’t know what you do to people, do you?”

“Apparently, cause migraines,” Severus muttered, turning sharply, cloak snapping behind him like punctuation.

Sirius grinned at that, trailing after him because apparently he’d lost his survival instinct. “You’re insane,” Severus added without looking back.

“Maybe,” Sirius said under his breath, still following. “But I’m not the one glowing under the moonlight.”

Severus stopped dead. “…What?”

Sirius pointed, brows raised. “Your wrist. Either you’ve been cursed, or you’re auditioning as a night lamp.”

Severus glanced down — faint veins of silver light shimmered just under his skin, like threads of magic shifting beneath the flesh. His stomach dropped.

“Oh, brilliant,” he muttered. “Exactly what I needed — spontaneous bioluminescence.”

Sirius blinked, torn between concern and amusement. “You make it sound like a disease.”

“Knowing my luck,” Severus deadpanned, “it probably is.”

“Severus… I think it’s serious,” Sirius said, voice unsteady.

Severus smirked. “Oh? I thought you were the ‘Sirius’ one.”

“Severus,” Sirius warned, his eyes darkening. This time, he wasn’t joking — and that alone was enough to make Severus pause.

“Leave,” Severus muttered, pulling his sleeves down to cover the faint silver glow. It was happening again — the same way it had in his first life. Back then, Lucius had helped him suppress it, bury it. But this time… this time, he wanted to know. Just not with him watching.

“What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you like this.” Sirius stepped closer, stubborn as ever.

“Leave,” Severus said again, firmer, his voice cutting through the air like a spell. Before Sirius could argue, the shadows rippled around Severus — and he was gone, swallowed by the dark.

Sirius lunged forward, but the darkness recoiled as if alive, hissing — striking at him. He stumbled back, every instinct screaming danger. His canines lengthened; the beast inside stirred, furious and protective all at once.

He could transform, follow him through the black — but the shadows seemed to know him, to target him.

And for the first time that night, Sirius Black felt the darkness didn’t belong to Severus at all. It was protecting him.

———

Sirius’s face was—what! No… Black. Yes. Black’s face was really worth watching. But it was the first time Severus had seen him like that. Well… the first time that expression was directed at him.

He shook it off, turning away before that look could settle too deep under his skin. Something else flickered at the edge of his vision — a faint shimmer threading through the trees.

“Lumos,” he whispered.

The wandlight bloomed softly, catching on particles of mist that danced like silver dust. He followed the glow, boots pressing into the mossy ground, damp earth muffling every step. The deeper he went, the more the air shifted — thinner, almost humming with quiet magic.

And then he saw it.

A clearing — perfectly round, bathed in an otherworldly sheen. At its center stood a single flower, impossibly delicate. Its petals were silver-blue, half folded as if it were sleeping. Fine veins of light pulsed gently beneath the surface, each beat like a tiny heartbeat. The air around it rippled — alive, watching, breathing.

Sirius crouched down, brushing his hair from his eyes, a boyish grin flickering across his lips despite the unease prickling his spine.

“This shouldn’t exist…” he murmured, voice low. “Not in Britain. Not anywhere.”

Curiosity overpowered caution — as it always did with him. He reached out, fingers trembling just slightly, drawn by the quiet pulse of the flower’s glow.

And then—he touched it.

The moment his fingers brushed the petal, warmth flooded up his arm. Not burning — not even painful — but pulling, as though something inside the flower recognized something inside him.

The petals shivered. Then, slowly, they curled inward, enclosing his hand like soft, living silk.

The ground trembled beneath his boots. A low hum filled the clearing, deep and resonant, as if the forest itself had drawn a breath.

Severus tried to pull back — but the light caught him first. It spilled upward from the bloom, a flood of silver that swallowed everything, painting the trees, the moss, even the air itself in a ghostly glow.

It wasn’t just light. It sang.

A faint, wordless melody vibrated through his bones, threading into his veins until his entire body felt like a single, quivering note. He gasped, eyes wide, the sound caught halfway between awe and panic.

“What—”

The light climbed higher, wrapping around him like tendrils of moonfire. His pulse raced. Every heartbeat slammed in his ears. His magic — wild, instinctive, chaotic — responded, rising to meet it. He could feel it stretching, reshaping, like it was being rewritten.

His vision blurred. The forest faded. The scent of earth and moss dissolved into something sweeter — sharp, metallic, divine.

He staggered, his breath shuddering. “What are you?” he whispered, voice trembling.

The petals pulsed in answer — once, twice — then burst open, releasing a blinding surge of silver.

Severus shielded his eyes, heart hammering. “I feel… light…”

And then the world folded inward — sound, sight, everything — until all that remained was white.

•To be continued•

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Chapter ⁰⁶ : The Veela's Light 

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The first thing Severus felt was warmth— pulsing, alive, and far too bright for the cool stone walls of Hogwarts. When he opened his eyes, the infirmary ceiling came into view, blindingly white in the morning sun. His whole body felt heavy, humming with a rhythm that wasn’t his own. The sheets under his palms were soft, almost too soft, and every nerve in him tingled as though he’d swallowed light itself. His chest rose unevenly, breath catching on something invisible — a weight and a freedom at once.

He blinked again, dazed. The world felt sharper — colours too vivid, sounds too clear. He could hear the flutter of curtains, the slow drip of a potion vial somewhere nearby. It was overwhelming, beautiful, and utterly terrifying.

When Severus opened his eyes, the world was no longer dark.

He was used to waking in shadow — potions dungeons, cold rooms, dim lights. But this morning, even the infirmary windows seemed to spill silver instead of sun. The light felt wrong — too soft, too clean, touching his skin like silk instead of heat. He blinked, vision hazy, trying to separate dream from reality, the hum under his skin still whispering like static, what was this feeling. For a moment, he thought he was still in that clearing, that the light hadn’t ended at all.

Then a shape moved — pale, warm, real. The scent of mint and something sweet drifted close. He squinted, eyes adjusting until the blur of pastel and curls leaned over him, gentle and curious.

She bounced into view, curls frizzed and a quill tucked behind her ear, holding a steaming cup of something suspiciously pink. “You’re awake! Thank Merlin’s mismatched socks! I was starting to think you’d decided to nap through the rest of term!”

That voice… light, quick, unfiltered — the kind that always filled silence before he realized he didn’t mind it. For a second, he thought he was still dreaming.

Oh. Oh. Oh, the memories of her… “Please… Please, Severus…” That night, her voice trembling — begging him to save her when he—when he couldn’t. When he hadn’t.

His throat tightened. He blinked, the sound of his name pulling him back. “...Charity?”

“You’re alive!” Again. Charity Burbage giggled at her own joke, nearly spilling the cup of pink liquid she was carrying. The scent was offensively sweet — sugar and something artificial — like it was brewed happiness in liquid form. Her curls were everywhere, haloed by the morning light as if she’d run straight from class to check on him. But... Why?

“Regrettably,” Severus rasped, his voice a shade lower, almost melodic. His throat ached, but the dryness couldn’t hide the sarcasm laced between his words. Of course Charity would start his morning with sunshine and glitters.

“Oh, hush,” she said dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “You faint in the Forbidden Forest like some gothic prince and then wake up acting all broody? Absolutely unacceptable, Mr. Snape.”

He groaned softly, dragging a hand over his face. “You sound like you rehearse these speeches… and you found me?”

“Of course I do and of course I did—respectively,” she grinned, proud of herself. “Someone has to bring color into this castle! And can you believe me when I saw you—oh, Merlin, it was like some tragic painting, all pale and mysterious in the moonlight—”

Her voice became a pleasant hum in the background, because something else had caught his attention. A faint gleam — his hand. The light shimmered under his skin, subtle but unmistakable. He froze, staring as if his own fingers had betrayed him.

“Charity,” he murmured slowly, “why do I look… like this?”

“Like what? Oh!” she gasped, eyes widening, hands fluttering like startled birds. “You mean beautiful! You look beautiful, Severus! Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d eaten the moon.”

He turned sharply toward the mirror on the far wall. His reflection stared back—familiar yet foreign. Skin pale as frost but faintly illuminated, as if his veins carried moonlight instead of blood. His eyes, once bottomless black, now shimmered with a depth that made him look both human and something else entirely. Maybe, no-no no it can't be can it— His skin caught the sunrays and bent them, shifting like light through smoke. It was unsettlingly… ethereal.

And then—

“Oh shit!” he blurted, because his hair—Merlin’s greasy cauldron—his hair was brushing the floor. Long, sleek, absurdly glossy, cascading over the bed like spilled ink.

Charity clapped a hand over her mouth, failing miserably to stifle a laugh. “It’s… majestic.”

“It’s a hazard,” he muttered, touched his hair and it glided through his hand like black silk.

Charity giggled, eyes sparkling. “You look like you'd instantly get in shampoo commercial.”

What a funny thing to say...

“What…” he whispered, still dazed, eyes locked on his reflection.

Charity tiptoed closer, grinning like she’d just discovered a new magical species.

“Different how?” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Like you swallowed starlight,” she said reverently. Then, with a grin, “But, you know, in a handsome tragic hero sort of way. Oh and I get to do your hair.”

His brow twitched. “You want to do my hair?”

“Yup! And you don’t get to refuse,” Charity said, already rolling up her sleeves like she was about to face a dragon.

Well… it would actually be helpful. But he wouldn’t be Severus Snape if he admitted that. So what came out instead was pure reflex — the same old defense he was trying, and failing, to manage.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you smiled,” she teased, eyes glinting with triumph.

He hadn’t realized he had.

From the corner, another voice spoke quietly.

“She’s right, you do look different.”

Severus’s head turned sharply. Remus Lupin was standing near the bed curtains, half-draped in shadow, a book loosely hanging from his hand. His gaze was thoughtful, calm on the surface, yet behind that stillness lingered something—uneasy, searching.

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you been standing there?”

Remus gave a faint, almost self-conscious smile. “Long enough to hear her compare you to astronomy.” He stepped closer, his tone light but careful, as if testing the air between them. “Are you… feeling all right?”

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it.

The late morning light filtered through the infirmary curtains, painting the room in soft gold. It brushed over Severus’s hair, the curve of his jaw, the faint shimmer beneath his skin that hadn’t been there before. Remus’s eyes flickered faintly gold too, a betraying glint that caught the change. There was something about Severus now—an undercurrent in the air, warm and electric, like the hum of magic wrapped in human form which it was.

His scent, the one that had always drawn Remus toward him against his will, was now unbearable. It coiled in the air like smoke and moonlight, sharp and intoxicating. The faint hum that surrounded Severus vibrated through Remus’s nerves, setting his pulse racing in a rhythm that wasn’t entirely his own. A faint scent clung to Severus — earthy and wild, threaded with something ancient and alive — pulling at instincts Remus had spent years learning to cage. His head was getting cloudy, his chest tight. Every breath felt too close to losing control.

He clenched his jaw, forcing stillness into his trembling fingers. Whatever had changed in Severus, it wasn’t just appearance — it was something that reached into the bones, into magic itself. It called to him, the way the moon did. And that terrified him.

The wolf inside him stirred.

Remus swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the spine of his book. He said nothing. He didn’t trust his voice.

Charity noticed none of this, her thoughts too full of concern and curiosity. Seeing someone else with Severus, she brightened. “Oh! I’ll get Pomfrey,” she chirped, setting her cup aside and darting toward the door.

When she was gone, silence fell—thick and charged.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Severus said carefully, breaking it. His tone wasn’t accusing, merely observant, yet it carried a quiet edge.

Remus hesitated. “I’ve seen… transformations before. Not like this, but similar.”

Severus studied him closely. “You think something’s wrong with me.”

“I think,” Remus said quietly, “you’re not the same as before.” He have heard this enough but this it felt to hot him in the consciousness.

Their eyes met—his dark, Remus’s gold. The air between them pulsed once, heavy and uncertain. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still; the faint flutter of curtains, the distant ticking of the clock, even the light itself seemed to draw breath. They both felt it... A connection.

Remus’s hand twitched, as if pulled by something deeper than thought, almost like he wanted to reach out—to confirm, to understand—but he caught himself and stepped back instead.

“I should go,” he said, his voice tight.

Severus said nothing, though a strange disappointment fluttered in his chest as Remus left.

———

Later that day, in the Great Hall, he felt the eyes before he saw them. The moment he stepped through the doors, the chatter faltered — not silenced, but fractured into hurried whispers that darted like sparks through the crowd.

“He looks different.”

“His eyes—”

“Did you see his skin?”

“His skin? Did you see his hair?”

He was already regretting this. Coming back from the infirmary looking like some celestial experiment gone wrong wasn’t exactly ideal. The enchanted ceiling even seemed to gleam brighter above him, like it, too, wanted to show him off. He kept his chin high, refusing to let the stares bother him — until the real shock came.

Instead of heading toward the familiar shadows of the Slytherin table, his feet turned — right — straight toward Hufflepuff.

The reaction was immediate. Forks clattered. Someone actually gasped. A few Gryffindors leaned forward like they’d just witnessed the start of a duel. Even the ghosts paused mid-glide, translucent faces flickering with disbelief. Was he always this famous, oh who is he kidding.

And then, to make matters infinitely worse, Charity Burbage waved enthusiastically from the middle of the Hufflepuff table, beaming like the sun itself. “Over here, Sevvy!” she called. Loudly. Too loudly. Lily perked up at the nickname, and not in a good way.

He stopped dead. Every eye in the Hall was on him. Merlin save him.

Still, there was no turning back now. He walked over, sliding onto the bench beside Charity, ignoring the collective horror gasps from Slytherins and sweet smiles shocked but still sweet faces from Hufflepuff. Charity passed him a plate of treacle tart as though this were the most normal thing in the world. “You need sugar,” she said cheerfully. “You almost died, remember?”

Across the room, Sirius Black looked as if someone had slapped him. His smirk was gone, replaced by an expression somewhere between outrage and confusion. James elbowed him, muttering, “He’s sitting with Hufflepuff. Snivellus. At Hufflepuff.”

Sirius didn’t answer. He couldn’t stop watching — the way the light from the windows caught on Severus’s hair, the faint hum in the air that brushed against his senses again, that same pulse he’d felt in the forest. He couldn’t stop remembering — the faint warmth that had clung to his hands that night in the forest, when Severus slipped from his grasp and into the darkness.

His stomach twisted. Whatever had happened to Severus Snape, he wasn’t just different anymore. He was changed. And Sirius wasn’t sure if he should be worried… or drawn closer.

Later, in the Gryffindor common room, the fire burned low — lazy embers crackling against the hush of the hour. Sirius spoke first.

“There’s something wrong with Snape.”

James didn’t even look up from the Exploding Snap cards he was shuffling. “Please,” he scoffed. “He’s always been weird.”

“No.” Sirius’s voice was sharper than usual, enough to make Peter glance up. “He’s different.”

That got Remus’s attention. He closed his book slowly, marking the page with a finger. “You noticed it too.”

Sirius turned toward him, brows knitting. “What do you mean too?”

Remus hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the fire. “When I saw him in the infirmary… it wasn’t just magic around him. It was something else. Something living. Like the air itself bent toward him.” His tone was quiet, uncertain. “It felt wrong — or maybe too right.”

James frowned, trying to mask the unease creeping into the room. “You’re both talking nonsense. Maybe Madam Pomfrey gave him too many potions, that’s all or finally taught him basic hygiene.” James and Petter snickered.

But Sirius wasn’t listening. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes dark in the firelight. “You didn’t see him, James. The way he looked back at me… like he knew something I didn’t. Like he wasn’t—” He stopped, raking a hand through his hair, voice low. “—like he wasn’t human anymore.”

The flames popped softly, scattering light across their faces. Remus’s fingers tightened on his book, the faintest glint of gold flickering in his eyes.

He said nothing, but deep down, he agreed.

---

Meanwhile, Severus found Charity again in the courtyard, perched on a bench sketching flowers. Autumn sunlight poured through the high arches, catching in her hair and on the ink stains smudged across her fingers.

“You know,” she said, without looking up, “you could at least act like you’re happy to be alive.”

“I’m not dead yet,” he said dryly. He had gone through it before. He could go through it again.

“Yet?” She gasped dramatically. “Oh, you are improving! A little morbid humor!”

He gave her a long look that might have been a glare—until the corner of his mouth twitched. Something inside him cracked into a quiet chuckle.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” she said cheerfully, still sketching. “But you’re not.”

That made him pause. The scratch of her quill against parchment filled the silence.

“You don’t need to be angry all the time, Severus,” she said softly, still not meeting his eyes. “You can just… be. There’s a world outside of grudges and names. You might even like it.”

He looked away, gaze trailing over the courtyard — the marble fountain, the drifting leaves, the faint murmur of distant laughter. Her words settled somewhere deeper than he expected, somewhere he thought long sealed off. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel small or defensive. He felt seen — without judgment.

When she leaned over to show him her sketch — a lopsided drawing of him surrounded by moonflowers — he actually smiled. “You made me look like a saint.”

“Oops,” she said with a grin. “Maybe the halo’s too much?”

He laughed quietly — a soft, startled sound that even he didn’t seem used to hearing. Charity laughed too, bumping his shoulder lightly, the sound bright and warm in the crisp afternoon air. The world around them seemed to still for a moment — leaves rustling, sunlight breaking through the clouds like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

For a fleeting second, Severus thought — maybe Lily was wrong. Maybe friendship didn’t have to hurt. Maybe this—this ease, this laughter—was what it was meant to feel like.

And that was when Lily saw them.

From across the courtyard, she froze mid-step — eyes wide, hands tightening around her books until her knuckles whitened. Charity’s laughter carried softly across the breeze, followed by the low, unfamiliar sound of Severus’s laughter.

Her lips parted, confusion flickering into something sharper, something that burned quietly behind her eyes.

Because the Severus she knew never smiled like that — not for anyone but her.

And for the first time, it wasn’t her standing beside him.

“So? Friends?” Charity said, tilting her head with that bright, unfiltered grin of hers. Well, that’s not what you say after all she had done, Severus thought — after she’d dragged him back to the castle, scolded him half to death, and still smiled like he hung the moon himself.

“I thought we already are?” he said, tone even but eyes softer than he meant them to be.

Charity blinked, clearly not expecting that, then burst out laughing — loud and genuine, the kind of laugh that made a few Hufflepuffs glance over. “Oh, Severus Snape,” she said between giggles, “you have no idea how rare it is to hear that from you!”

He looked away, hiding the faint curve at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t make it sound like a miracle.”

“It kind of is,” she teased, and he couldn’t even argue.

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•To be Continued•

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Chapter ⁰⁷ : Grandfather...?

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The castle was unusually still that evening. Not silent — Hogwarts was incapable of true silence — but still, in a way that pressed against the corridors like a heavy cloak. From Severus's vantage point on the third-floor landing, even the portraits seemed reluctant to speak, their usual bickering reduced to wary glances and half-formed whispers. Candles burned lower than usual, their flames bending as though listening for something he had yet to hear.

His robes made the only consistent sound, brushing the stone floor with each step, and even that felt intrusive. The air tasted of a storm that had not yet arrived, sharp and waiting, and every staircase groaned only after he passed, as though unwilling to interrupt him.

Not quiet — Hogwarts was never quiet — but still, as though holding its breath.

Severus stood outside Dumbledore’s office door, letter in hand. Only it wasn’t really a letter. It had appeared on his desk in a swirl of silver feathers, each one humming with magic he didn’t recognize and, frankly, did not appreciate before his morning tea. When he touched it, the parchment had melted into words written in shimmering ink:

“Come to the Headmaster’s office at once.”

No signature.

No crest.

Just command.

A command his blood had obeyed without question—much to Severus’s irritation, because he was fairly certain he had not given his bloodstream permission to take mysterious magical orders. Yet here he was, standing stiffly at the door, clutching the not-letter like it personally owed him an explanation.

He knocked.

“Enter, my boy,” Dumbledore called. ugh. He truly hated that. My boy... Oh please.

Severus stepped inside—

—and froze.

Two completely new figures stood at the center of the room.

They were tall, imposing, and dressed in robes so immaculate Severus immediately felt personally attacked. One had the kind of posture that suggested he had never once slouched in his life; the other radiated the quiet menace of someone who could kill a man simply by adjusting his cufflinks. Both turned toward him in perfect synchrony, like they'd practiced this exact dramatic entrance for weeks.

Severus blinked. Once. Then twice.

His brain promptly exited the building.

These were not ordinary visitors. Ordinary visitors did not make the air suddenly heavier or Dumbledore suddenly look like he was enjoying a very specific private joke.

Two strangers, yes.

But not strangers; impossibilities.

The first was tall, stern, wrapped in emerald robes and ancient pride. His eyes were sharp grey steel — calculating, cold to the world, the air bending around his authority.

Lord Ealientor Prince.

He looked like the kind of man who would correct your posture from three rooms away and feel absolutely justified in doing so. Even the carpet seemed to straighten under his boots. His expression didn’t simply judge — it evaluated, weighed, and filed the results alphabetically.

The second man glowed.

Not metaphorically — actually glowed, faint threads of light drifting from his hair and shoulders like moonlit mist. His features were ethereal, too symmetrical to be human. His gaze, though bright, softened the moment it met Severus’s.

Lord Valenor. Part-Veela.

He radiated enough beauty to cause retinal damage. The furniture behind him appeared to be questioning its own worth. Severus’s brain, already struggling, quietly packed a suitcase.

Dumbledore stood beside them, hands folded neatly, looking far too pleased with himself for a man about to drop a life-altering revelation on a student. “Severus. I believe introductions are overdue. Umm, they are your Grandparents.”

Ealiento Prince’s voice was cold enough to frost glass.

“You did not think you were without family, boy?”

Severus stiffened. “…I… was never told—”

A gentle hand — warm, impossibly warm, like someone had cast Lumos on a hug — rested on his shoulder.

Valenor stepped forward, his expression softening in a way that felt almost unreal, as though he had been designed specifically to be reassuring.

“No, child. You were never given the chance to know.”

Severus’s breath caught. His mind scrambled, tripping over shock, suspicion, and the sudden awareness that this man’s hand was heating his entire shoulder like a sentient radiator. His mother had never spoken of her parents.

Never.

Not once.

Ealientor's jaw tightened, the air around him dropping a few degrees. “Eileen hid you from us.”

Severus flinched.

Valenor spoke before the pain could settle, his voice smooth enough to quiet the air itself. The glow around him dimmed, turning soft, almost protective, as though he were trying to shield Severus from the weight of Ealiento's words.

“Not because she feared you. Because she feared herself. She believed she failed both her worlds — the magic of the Princes, and the magic she did not inherit from me.”

Severus stared, voice barely a whisper.

“She wasn’t… abandoned?”

Valenor shook his head slowly, the motion graceful enough to make even the dust motes pause. Grief flickered in his luminous eyes, softening the glow around him until it felt like standing near a warm lantern. “No. She left. We searched for years.” Seriously this man is too beautiful.

Ealiento let out a slow, controlled breath — the kind that suggested he had practiced appearing calm specifically to avoid scaring furniture. His gaze stayed fixed on Severus, sharp and unyielding yet carrying a strain of something older, heavier. Too beautiful for this gloomy man.

"When you awakened the Veela blood in the forest, your magic rippled across our wards. We felt it. For the first time in seventeen years, we found you.”

Severus’s mind reeled.

Veela.

Blood.

Awakening.

Family.

Each word hit him like a separate spell. Veela made him question his entire genetic structure. Blood made his knees wobble. Awakening sounded far too dramatic for something he hadn’t even meant to do. And family... oh... Family...—Merlin help him—that one nearly shut down all his brain functions at once.

His thoughts spun in frantic circles, bumping into each other like first-years on moving staircases. If anyone asked him to speak, breathe, or remain upright, it would be a miracle if he managed even one out of three.

And Veela... Veela!?

Dumbledore cleared his throat gently. “Your grandfathers arrived swiftly. Very swiftly, I might add. They nearly burst through my wards.”

“Your wards were inadequate,” Ealiento snapped, the sentence crisp enough to qualify as a weapon.

Valenor ignored him entirely, gliding forward — too close — cupping Severus’s chin lightly with fingers warm enough to make Severus wonder if Veela ran on internal fireplaces.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes shimmering. “Your aura is bright. Strong. You survived awakening alone. That is rare… and extraordinary.”

Severus’s throat tightened, the words tangling with disbelief. “This… glow, the change… it isn’t a curse?”

“No,” Valenor said, lips curling into a warm smile that could probably make flowers bloom out of pure embarrassment. “It is your heritage. The blood you were always meant to inherit. Prince intellect. Veela instinct. You are the first of both lines.”

{Probably you → ಠ⁠_⁠ʖ⁠ಠ : Okay author we get it, Lord Valenor is magestic but stop already!

Your lazy author → (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) : Don't stop me or I'll start with Severus too and be aware I'll make it unbearable oh sorry, unreadable hehehe.}

He touched Severus’s cheek — a gesture that should’ve felt strange, intrusive, potentially alarming coming from a glowing stranger — but it didn’t. Instead, it settled over him like warmth seeping through cold stone, quieting the frantic storm in his chest.

Ealiento stepped closer as well, moving with the controlled precision of a man who had never once tripped in his life. He rested a firm hand on Severus’s other shoulder, grounding him not with softness but with sharp, steady presence that said stand tall, boy — you are one of us.

“You carry Veela blood — rare, potent, and dangerous,” he said. “But also proud. And ours.”

Severus blinked rapidly.

No one had ever touched him with care.

No one had ever claimed him with pride.

No one had ever said ours like that.

The words rattled through him, unfamiliar and too large, like robes several sizes too big. His chest tightened in a way that felt both uncomfortable and… frighteningly welcome. He wasn’t sure what to do with warmth given freely. Or hands resting on him without harm. Or voices speaking of him as though he mattered — as though he belonged.

His mind kept insisting this had to be a mistake.

But his newly awakened magic curled toward them instinctively, traitorously, like it disagreed.

Ealientor straightened, turning his steely gaze to Dumbledore.

“This boy has been neglected. Bullied. Nearly killed. And his Veela magic awakening alone could have destroyed him.”

Dumbledore inclined his head, beard swaying like it, too, was regretting decisions.

“I will not deny the dangers. Or the failures.”

Valenor’s voice softened again, gentle enough to qualify as emotional sabotage.

“Severus, we did not come to take you away from Hogwarts.”

Ealientor immediately added, voice sharp and honest:

“Although we want to, but we will look at your happiness first.”

Well that was new...

Severus exhaled shakily.

Ealientor continued, “We came to take you into our care legally. As heir. As grandson. As Prince that you are.” Although sharp, there was a look in Ealiento's eyes that showed pure adoration.

Valenor added, “We will protect you. Guide you. Teach you what Eileen never could.”*

Severus swallowed. Hard.

“You… want me?”

Valenor’s expression crumpled with emotion so raw it almost felt indecent to witness.

“Oh, child. We have wanted you since before you were born.”

Ealientor cleared his throat, regaining his steel.

“We can go to Gringotts now, but let us go tomorrow so you may prepare yourself.”

Then he sharply turned to Dumbledore, voice cutting clean.

“I trust Mr. Headmaster can free Severus tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

———

The Slytherin common room was unusually warm that night, glowing with the greenish shimmer of the Black Lake rippling through its windows. Students glanced up as the door opened — then immediately relaxed.

Because it was Charity Burbage.

The only non-slytherin that the Slytherins collectively agreed should be allowed in whenever she pleased. Well, no one knows the reason why...?

She marched straight in carrying a hairbrush, a blanket, and a bag of sweets.

Severus was slumped in one of the leather couches by the fire, head in his hands.

“Move,” Charity declared.

He moved.

She sat behind him, pulled his hair into her lap, and immediately began brushing through the dark strands with the seriousness of a healer preparing for surgery.

“You’re tense,” she said.

“I have reasons,” he muttered.

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” she replied cheerfully. “To fix you. And look cute while doing it.”

Severus sighed — but he didn’t pull away. Charity brushing his hair had become a bizarrely soothing ritual… even if he’d never admit it aloud.

“So,” she continued, “tell me everything. The glowing. The wingy-grandpa. The other-grandpa who looks like he eats politics for breakfast.”

Severus inhaled slowly. “Valenor and Hadrian Prince came to Hogwarts.”

“Already dramatic,” she whispered.

“They… want to claim me. Legally.” His voice softened, surprised even at himself. “They said I belong with them.”

Charity’s brushing slowed. Her voice, for once, lost its usual chaotic sparkle. “Severus… that’s good. Really good.”

“I don’t know what to do with it,” he admitted. “Their pride. Their… affection.”

She gently combed a hand through his hair. “You deserve affection.”

His throat tightened.

“And you deserve people who don’t leave when you’re hurting,” she added. “People who stay.”

He didn’t respond, but his shoulders loosened — just slightly. She felt it.

The moment softened into quiet warmth.

And then—

The door swung open from one of the dorms and walked down the stairs.

Daphne Greengrass — elegant, poised, blonde hair cascading like she stepped out of a painting — entered with a group of older Slytherin girls.

She spotted Charity.

Stopped walking.

Then stared like someone had switched on a lighthouse inside her chest.

“Oh,” Daphne whispered. “Who is that?”

A fifth-year smirked. “That’s Charity. Severus’s… friend.”

“Friend?” Daphne repeated, eyes wide. “She looks like a fairy godmother and mischief angel had a baby.”

Charity raised an eyebrow. “Compliment? Insult? Poem? Choose one.”

Daphne stepped closer, fascination radiating off her like perfume. “Your umm skin is… bright.”

“It’s just sugar,” Charity said. “And personality.”

Daphne blinked, enchanted. “You’re… beautiful.”

Charity beamed. “Thank you! You are too! But in a ‘touch my friend and I’ll curse your kneecaps’ sort of way.”

Severus groaned. “Charity.”

Daphne’s voice only deepened. “Would you— maybe— want to sit with me sometime? In the library? Or anywhere?”

Charity gasped dramatically, putting a hand to her chest. “Oh my goodness—are you flirting? Darling, I start fires when I flirt. Actual fires.”

Daphne’s eyes sparkled. “Sounds thrilling.”

Severus rubbed his forehead. “For Salazar’s sake…”

Charity turned to Daphne, suddenly serious. “Listen, Greengrass. I’m flattered. And you are extremely pretty. But right now I’m brushing Severus’s hair, because he had a very emotional day— he found out he’s basically magical royalty with glowy ancestors and a tragic backstory.”

The entire common room went silent. Did she had to— “yes I do”. What!?

Charity lowered her voice. “So if you want to flirt with me, book an appointment. Thursdays after dinner. No earlier.”

Daphne, absolutely whipped by this point, nodded without blinking. “Yes. Of course.”

Charity patted her cheek. “Good girl. Now scoot.”

Daphne floated away like a lovesick ghost.

Severus stared at Charity. “You terrify people.”

“Only the pretty ones,” she said sweetly, resuming brushing his hair. “Now, continue. Tell me how you felt when your glowing grandfather hugged you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh hush. You totally melted a little.”

He absolutely had.

And she absolutely knew.

The fire crackled, the lake shimmered, and for the first time in years, Severus felt something warm in the dungeons — not fear, not bitterness — but the beginnings of something he never expected to have.

Family.

And a new friend who wasn’t going anywhere.

———

Ealientor’s voice deepened. “Sign this. A magical guardianship pact. It binds us to protect you with our lives.” They were already at Gringotts.

A parchment unfurled, glowing gold — ancient symbols weaving together in Veela silver and Prince iron, the magic humming so strongly the goblin teller subtly scooted his chair back.

Severus stared at it, heart pounding against his ribs. This wasn’t a Hogwarts form. This wasn’t a contract with horrifyingly small print. This was power — old, protective, binding — offered to him.

Severus hesitated only a second before taking the quill.

His fingers trembled, but not from fear. From everything else.

No one had ever offered him safety before.

No one had ever wanted him.

He signed.

Light burst from the pact — swirling around him like wings. A warm wind swept the room, stirring papers.

Valenor pulled him into a soft, firm embrace — wings of light brushing his back, wrapping around him with impossible gentleness, as though he were something fragile and precious.

Ealientor rested a protective hand on his shoulder, steady and grounding, like a pillar carved from ancient stone.

Two powerful men, cold to the world —

but to him, warm as home.

“You are ours now, Severus,” Valenor whispered, his voice warm and luminous, as though every syllable carried a promise centuries old. His glowing hand remained on Severus’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly — reverently — as if afraid the boy might vanish should he let go. The soft wings of light behind him curved inward, cocooning Severus in a warmth he had never known.

Ealientor stepped closer, his presence solid and commanding, the air tightening with old magic and older authority. His hand pressed more firmly against Severus’s shoulder, not restraining but anchoring him — steady, unshakable, immovable in his vow. The cold lines of his face softened, only barely, but enough for Severus to feel the shift directly in his bones.

Between them, he stood suspended in a moment he had never dared imagine — held, wanted, claimed as something precious enough to protect.

“Always,” Ealientor added.

For the first time in his life, Severus believed it.

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• To be Continued •

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Chapter ⁰⁸ : The Mirror's Reflection 

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Severus had stopped counting how many mornings he woke before dawn. The castle was silent then—just wind whispering through stone corridors, just the pulse of magic faint and steady under his skin. These hours before sunrise had become strangely grounding; no students whispering behind his back, no sudden flare of Veela instincts whenever someone stared too long, no grandfathers bursting in like overpowered thunderstorms of affection. Just Severus, the dim blue light, and the quiet knowledge that life had become… different.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fingers absently brushing the edge of his pillowcase, feeling that same subtle hum beneath his skin. It was infuriating how his magic now had opinions—stretching, shifting, warming whenever he thought about Valenor’s soft smile or Ealientor’s iron-steady grip on his shoulder. He still wasn’t used to that. He wasn’t used to any of it: warmth, concern, being wanted. Hogwarts felt the same, but he wasn’t.

Ever since his grandfathers’ visit, something inside him had settled and shifted all at once. He understood, at least now, what was happening to him. But acceptance was… another thing entirely.

The mirror in his dormitory gleamed faintly in the half-light. He sat before it, the room quiet save for the soft rustle of the lake beyond the dungeon windows. His reflection didn’t feel like his.

Severus squinted at it, leaning closer as if proximity might magically fix whatever was wrong — which, ironically, in his case, it might. The reflection stared back with an expression that could only be described as: Yes, I know you’re confused. No, I’m not helping.

His hair — normally a sulky curtain of misery, now had the audacity to look soft. His skin wasn’t its usual “permanently offended by sunlight” shade but something suspiciously healthy. Worse, there was a faint shimmer around him, as though his reflection had decided it was too good for him and had taken up glowing as a hobby.

“Brilliant,” Severus muttered dryly. “Not only do I have unfamiliar magic, unfamiliar family, and unfamiliar emotions… now my reflection has joined the rebellion.”

He poked his own cheek.

The reflection poked back — with a smugness he swore wasn’t originally part of his face.

He scowled.

It scowled back, but prettier.

He hated it.

But he couldn’t look away.

It still didn’t feel like his.

His hair fell in smooth, ink-black strands that caught light where it absolutely shouldn’t — as if someone had charmed it with “Lumos but make it fashionable.” His eyes, now pitch black, glowed faintly in the dimness like he’d swallowed a lantern by accident. And there, at his collarbone, when the candle flickered—feathers shimmered into view, silvery-white before fading again beneath his skin.

He didn't like it.

Severus didn't like this at all.

He brushed his fingers over the faint mark, breath catching. “Not human,” he whispered to himself. “Not anymore.”

The words hung in the air like an accusation — or a confession — he wasn’t sure which.

He leaned closer to the mirror, squinting.

The mark pulsed softly in response.

“Oh, wonderful,” he muttered dryly. “Does being a veela means I have to be a lamp for 24/7. Absolutely nothing could be more subtle than spontaneously sprouting luminescent feathers.” Severus huffed.

The mirror, naturally, offered no comfort. Just his own too-bright eyes staring back with the exhausted disbelief of someone who used to worry about greasy hair and homework deadlines, and now had to worry about accidentally dazzling people to death. What a concern.

He sighed, long and dramatic, the kind of sigh usually reserved for exploding cauldrons and Gryffindor stupidity.

“Brilliant. Mother leaves me a legacy and it turns out to be… this.”

Another flicker of light shivered along his collarbone.

He braced his hands on the table, muttering,

“…Why.”

A lot was happening all at once... none of it happened in his previous life so why now? Maybe because he changed some incidents, or changed himself... The sole root was that he didn't get rid of his veela heritage like his previous life and now everything was changing. Maybe his is enjoying it... But don't let anyone know.

A tap sounded at the door — light, rapid, the kind that meant the visitor had knocked three more times on the way there.

“Enter,” he said, voice smooth but quiet, already bracing himself.

Charity Burbage burst in rather than walked, a satchel bouncing against her hip, her curls flying in every possible direction like they were trying to lead a rebellion. She took one look at him, gasped theatrically, and made a beeline for the nearest chair — his chair — plopping down with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no fear of Slytherins or their territorial tendencies. He stopped questioning her actions and results long ago.

“You didn’t come to breakfast again!” she declared, pointing an accusing finger at him as though she were his disappointed mother, academic advisor, and childhood friend rolled into one chaotic package. “Honestly, Severus, at this rate you’re going to waste away into an elegant wisp of moonlight if you don’t start eating.”

He gave her a dry look. “An elegant wisp of moonlight?”

“Well, you are glowy now. People are starting to think you’re made of porcelain.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that Severus had to pinch the bridge of his nose. Porcelain. Wonderful. Next they’d be asking if he needed to be stored in a glass cabinet.

He sighed but couldn’t stop the smallest curve at his lips. Charity had that effect—danger wrapped in sunshine, barging into his gloom like she paid rent.

She dug into her bag with all the subtlety of a niffler in a vault and produced a brush. A brush.

“Hair,” she commanded, pointing it at him like a weapon.

“What?”

“You heard me. Sit. You have veela hair now, apparently—it looks criminally too good for someone who doesn’t know what conditioner is.”

Severus opened his mouth to object. “Conditioner is unnecessary,” he began, preparing a full lecture on potion-based cleansing—only to freeze when she stepped behind him with all the authority of a tiny, determined general and began running the brush through his hair with shocking gentleness.

The brush glided through far too easily. Charity clicked her tongue like she’d discovered a rare species. “Merlin, Severus… this is silk. Actual silk. Do you realize people would duel for hair like this? I’ve seen students cry trying to make their hair behave and yours just—” she flicked a strand that fell perfectly back into place, “—does this.”

He scowled at the mirror. “I cannot help the curse of genetics.”

“It’s not a curse, it’s a blessing,” she said brightly. “A shiny, dramatic, bard-in-training blessing.”

He looked personally offended. She hummed something upbeat—so upbeat he suspected it was a Muggle commercial jingle—and the sound filled the room, chasing away the heaviness from his chest bit by bit.

And embarrassingly… he let her continue.

After a moment, she spoke softly. “You’re quieter than usual.”

He hesitated, watching her reflection. “My grandfathers took me to Gringotts… I’m a Prince now,” he murmured. But he soon regretted it—he knew exactly what he was going to hear next.

Charity paused mid-stroke. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened.

“Oh, okay Your Highness.”

Severus groaned, sinking lower in his seat like gravity had suddenly doubled.

Charity, unfortunately, took this as encouragement.

“Should I bow? No, wait—curtsy? Do princes accept curtsies? Should I start addressing you as ‘My Liege’? Should I fetch you grapes? Do veela-princes eat grapes? Do you need a crown? I can make one out of parchment—”

“Charity,” he warned, voice dangerously thin.

She beamed at him through the mirror, absolutely unbothered. “Relax, I’m only teasing. Mostly. But really—Severus Snape, og sorry Prince~ heir to ancient magical houses? I leave you alone for two days and suddenly you have a lineage.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was hoping for a quieter reaction.”

“Sevvvy~,” she is not going to stop, “you walked in here glowing. GLOWING. If you didn’t tell me you were royalty now, I would've assumed you swallowed the sun ho ho~.” She kept on going, exaggerating everything.

He closed his eyes. “This is precisely why I didn’t want to mention it.”

Charity ruffled his freshly brushed hair just to annoy him.

“Oh hush. Prince or not—you’re still Severus. And someone has to keep you from brooding yourself into a dramatic puddle.”

He nodded, gaze dropping to his hands. “They’ve taken me in legally. My mother hid me from them. She thought they’d curse me—believed they abandoned her. But… they didn’t. She was just afraid.”

Charity’s hand stilled in his hair, her reflection softening behind him. For once, she didn’t crack a joke immediately; she just watched him with that gentle, annoyingly perceptive expression she wore when she sensed he might actually be feeling things.

“And now?” she asked quietly, brushing a stray strand from his shoulder.

“They’re proud,” he said, voice distant, the words tasting strange—too heavy, too warm—for someone who’d grown up expecting nothing. “Too proud, perhaps. They call me their ‘heir of light’—their words, not mine.”

She guided her hands, touching his shoulder lightly. “Hey. Titles or not… you’re still Severus. My grumpy friend who pretends he hates humanity but still steals extra tea packets for me.”

He flushed. “That was one time.”

“It was twelve.”

“…An exaggeration.”

She laughed, bright and easy. “Heir of light or not, you’re stuck with me. Someone has to make sure you don’t disappear into your own dramatic fog.”

Despite himself, he let out a small huff. Not quite a laugh—but close.

Charity’s eyes softened in the mirror. “But… sounds like they finally see what your mother couldn’t.”

She said it so casually, as though it were the simplest truth in the world. Severus felt his breath hitch, just a little—because kindness always hit him harder than cruelty ever had.

He met her gaze, startled by how easily she could say something so kind without flinching away from him, without expecting anything in return. “You think I should be glad?” he asked, the words small, uncertain, like they’d slipped out before he could cage them.

“I think you deserve people who choose you,” she said simply, resuming her brushing as though she hadn’t just rearranged the foundations of his world. The gentle strokes continued, steady and warm, grounding him more surely than any spell. “Even if they come late.”

Silence settled again, comfortable this time. Charity fussed with the last strands, smoothing them with a precision that suggested she’d fight anyone who dared ruin her handiwork. When she finished, she tied a small black ribbon at the very low of the braid— delicate, neat, and absolutely something he would pretend to remove the moment she left but secretly wouldn’t.

She stepped back with a dramatic flourish, hands on her hips, eyes sparkling like she’d just sculpted a masterpiece out of a very confused Slytherin.

“For the record,” she said brightly, “I think you’re breathtaking.”

He blinked. “You’re insufferable.”

“Correct. But I’m also right,” she grinned, her curls bouncing with every word. Severus opened his mouth to retort—already crafting a perfectly scathing reply—but before he could, the dorm room door swung open with a dramatic creak.

In swept Regulus Black... Surprisingly, all polished grace, immaculate robes, and pureblood hauteur. Every step measured, every gesture precise, as if the entire world existed merely to showcase his perfection. His eyes landed immediately on Charity, sharp and assessing, and his smile was the kind of gleaming, razor-edged thing that could slice through iron.

“Well, well. What’s this?” he purred, tilting his head with infuriating elegance, the kind of movement that suggested amusement, disdain, and dangerous charm all at once. “A Hufflepuff in our dungeon? Or have you been sorted again, Miss Burbage?”

What was going on? Why was Regulus acting like those pureblood lunatics... Although Regulus may be a pureblood but he was still Kind? Anyways atleast he wasn't cruel like his older brother of a mutt.

Severus’s jaw tightened. Why was he acting like that…? Why did this always happen—just when things felt slightly under control, some pureblood aristocrat floated in, polished to a fault, and ruined the moment entirely? But Regulus...

Charity turned, utterly unbothered, her curls bouncing like tiny golden springs. “Oh, hello! I’m giving your housemate a makeover. Would you like to book an appointment too? I offer deluxe broomstick packages as well, if you’re interested.”

Regulus’s brows shot up, sharp and precise. “Bold of you to think I’d let a—what do they call it—halfblood commoner touch my hair.” His voice dripped with the kind of superiority only a Black could muster, polished to a gleaming point.

Charity gasped dramatically, one hand clutching her chest. “Halfblood and commoner! My stars, I must alert the Ministry immediately before I corrupt your pure locks with mortal hands! The scandal! The horror! How ever will Hogwarts recover?”

Severus blinked once, then internally sighed. Of course this is happening. Of course.

Severus coughed, half hiding a smirk, feeling the faint thrill of amusement he hadn’t allowed himself in days. Regulus, however, was having none of it. He stepped closer—far too close for comfort—and leaned over Severus’s shoulder, eyes narrowing at Charity like a hawk sizing up a particularly insolent sparrow. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low and dangerous, each word polished with menace. “This isn’t your place.”

“Oh, really?” Charity’s grin turned sly, catlike, almost feral in its precision. “Then why do I fit so well next to your veela heir?” She tilted her head, brushing a curl from her face as if daring him to argue. Severus felt heat rise to his cheeks—was it embarrassment, or the faint flutter of amusement at her audacity? Either way, he couldn’t help but think: she was impossible.

Something flickered in Regulus’s eyes—obsession, possessiveness, maybe both. He straightened abruptly, his expression sharp as broken glass, and stormed out, robes snapping behind him like offended wings. The echo of his footsteps lingered in the dormitory, a warning to anyone who might dare smile in his direction.

Charity watched him go, utterly unfazed, hands on her hips. “Well, that went brilliantly. Think he likes me?” She tilted her head, grin mischievous, as though she were entirely prepared to start a small-scale Slytherin civil war.

Severus exhaled through his nose, the faintest ghost of amusement tugging at his lips. “Charity, you’ve just declared war on half of Slytherin House,” he said dryly, a trace of incredulity in his tone. He added with a humorous chuckle, “And no, I don’t think he likes you. Daphne would be heartbroken.”

Charity froze, a frown creeping over her face. “Why would she be heartbroken?” She tried to play innocent, tilting her head in mock confusion, but the faint blush creeping across her cheeks betrayed her entirely.

“Pfft,” she waved it off, curls bouncing as if in defiance of decorum. “I’ll win them over with cupcakes. Or hexes. Whichever works faster.” Her grin was infuriatingly confident, the kind of charm that could disarm even the most stubborn of hearts—or irritate them beyond reason.

Severus stared at her reflection again—her laughter bright and unrestrained, her smile completely unguarded—and for the first time in years, the weight behind his eyes seemed to lift, just a fraction. Lily had once been the only light in his world, fragile and fleeting. But Charity burned brighter, in her own maddening, relentless way, unpredictable and warm all at once.

He didn’t need Lily’s pity anymore. He didn’t need to chase what had long turned its back on him. He shook his head, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips, as if even the shadows around him had softened just a little.

He had warmth now. Real warmth, not the cautious, flickering kind he’d clung to for years, but something steady, grounding, and almost… pleasant.

Later that evening, in the Great Hall, whispers stirred like wind through reeds, rustling over polished tables and bouncing off the enchanted ceiling.

“Did you see Snape today?”

“He looks unreal—almost like—”

“Not human, yeah. I’m still trying to get used to it.”

It started again, the familiar, tedious drone of gossip—half-formed theories, dramatic exaggerations, and the kind of speculation that never amounted to anything but noise. All their stupid talk, carried on by people who had no idea what was really the outside world was.

Up at the Gryffindor table, Remus’s fork paused midair, forgotten between bites of toast. His golden eyes followed Severus across the hall—quiet, poised, every movement precise, as if his very presence dictated the tempo of a song only he could hear. There was something mesmerizing about him, always was but no one admitted, something otherworldly that made the chatter around him fade into white noise.

James muttered under his breath, voice low enough that only Sirius could hear, “Bloody hell, he’s glowing again.”

Sirius smirked faintly, lips curling with the hint of amusement—or maybe it was curiosity—but he didn’t joke. He simply watched, the shadow behind his eyes unreadable, as if he were cataloguing every subtle shift in Severus’s posture, every flicker of the glow in his gaze, after the forest incident he felt more intimate with Severus... He didn't know if it was a good thing or bad thing yet.

Remus leaned closer to Sirius, voice barely audible over the clatter of plates and murmured conversations. “He’s not just glowing, Sirius. He’s… changed. Completely. I can feel it...” like he’s carrying something we can’t even touch.

Sirius’s jaw tightened, muscles tense beneath the smooth lines of his face, as memories flickered unbidden: the warmth in the forest, the way light had wrapped around them both, fragile and insistent. He exhaled softly, almost a whisper. “Yeah,” he said, voice low and steady. “I know.”

Remus’s hand clenched the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. “You think… he knows what he is?”

James still didn't understand what moony and padfoot was going on about and honestly it's starting to annoy him a little bit.

Sirius didn’t answer. His eyes stayed fixed on Severus—tracking the way every head subtly turned as he walked, the faint, unearthly grace that seemed to ripple around him like a current of magic. Every movement was precise, almost ritualistic, yet effortless, and the aura he carried made even the most mundane gestures look deliberate and magnetic.

From the Hufflepuff table, Charity caught Severus’s eye and waved cheerfully, her curls bouncing with her motion. The display earned several scandalized gasps from nearby students, but Severus allowed himself the faintest smirk before turning back to his meal, the gesture quiet yet entirely defiant.

And from the Gryffindor table, Lily Evans froze mid-bite, fork suspended as if she had suddenly forgotten how to eat. Her gaze followed him—his silver-glowing skin catching the dim enchanted ceiling light, his calm, composed smile, and the golden-haired girl laughing towards him, unapologetically vibrant.

For the first time, she realized the world no longer revolved around her forgiveness, no longer hinged on her approval or the judgments she had once believed could define him. Every moment she had fretted, every lingering worry about whether he would bend to her will or seek her pity, seemed suddenly trivial, almost laughable. She clenched her fist.

Severus Snape no longer needed it.

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•To be Continued•

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Chapter Text

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Chapter ⁰⁹ : Tension In The Air 

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The dungeon was warm with brewing heat, cauldrons simmering like small volcanoes. Shadows flickered across the stone walls, stirred by every bubbling mixture and every impatient sigh from a struggling student. Most of the class looked moments away from setting themselves—or someone else—on fire.

In the midst of that familiar disaster, Severus slipped through the fumes with an ease that felt almost unfair. Steam curled around him like it recognized its master. He moved with a calm precision that didn’t match the usual chaos of Potions class—robes gliding, steps soundless, posture sharp enough to cut through the haze. This, they were used to this.

A few Gryffindors watched him with the awed terror of people witnessing a creature that could either save them or hex them on sight. Someone’s cauldron hissed threateningly; Severus didn’t even flinch. He merely flicked his wand over it with the bored authority of someone preventing a catastrophe for the sixth time that morning. He should ask to be paid seriously.

His hands were steady, elegant in their movements, each motion deliberate. Even the way he adjusted his grip had a cold grace to it. His expression stayed cool, distant, untouched by the surrounding chaos. And his hair—Merlin, his hair—fell like black silk around his shoulders, gleaming faintly in the cauldron light, as if the steam itself wanted to soften him. This, they weren't used to this...

Severus moved between the fumes with a calm precision that didn’t match the usual chaos of Potions class. His hands were steady, his expression cool, his hair falling like black silk around his shoulders.

The glow under his collar—barely visible, faint and silver-blue—remained hidden to most. It flickered like moonlight caught beneath fabric, soft enough to be mistaken for a trick of the torches. Anyone else would have missed it entirely, too busy stirring their cauldrons or panicking about singed eyebrows.

But not the ones watching.

For those few, the shimmer was impossible to ignore. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat he didn’t know was showing. A secret slipping through the cracks. A quiet, enchanted warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold severity of his expression. The light danced whenever he leaned forward, tracing the shape of his throat before disappearing beneath his buttoned-up uniform.

Some held their breath without realizing it. Some stiffened, unsure if they’d imagined it. And one or two stared too long, drawn by that subtle, forbidden beauty—an accidental invitation from someone who never invited anything.

They shouldn’t have noticed.

They shouldn’t have looked.

But they did.

Because Severus Snape was impossible to ignore, even when he had no idea he was glowing.

The glow under his collar—barely visible, faint and silver-blue—remained hidden to most. But not to the ones watching.

From across their shared table, Sirius Black propped his chin on his hand, observing him shamelessly. He wasn’t even pretending to work anymore—his cauldron bubbled unattended, threatening rebellion, while he sat there staring like Severus was more interesting than any potion in the room. His eyes traced every movement: the precise tilt of Severus’s wrist, the careful sweep of his hair, the quiet command he held over ingredients that most students feared touching.

“Careful, Snape,” Sirius murmured, voice low enough to slip under the general noise. His grin curled slowly, deliberately. “Wouldn’t want that pretty hair catching fire.”

A few students nearby glanced over, sensing the familiar tension between them—though this felt different. They didn't know from where this tension came from.

Severus didn’t bother looking up; he didn’t need to. The dryness in his tone could have evaporated half the dungeon. “I could say the same for your brain,” he replied smoothly, adding powdered moonseed to his cauldron with quiet elegance.

The mixture shimmered in response—unlike Sirius, who only blinked, his grin widening as if Severus had handed him a gift rather than an insult. The air around their table tightened, warm and oddly intimate despite the chaos surrounding them.

Sirius’s lips tugged upward, the smirk forming almost on instinct. There was something addictive about this new rhythm between them—still sharp enough to draw blood, but threaded with heat that hadn’t been there before. Every quip from Severus was a challenge; every flick of his wand, every precise movement, felt like an invitation Sirius wasn’t supposed to accept but absolutely intended to.

James elbowed him under the table, nearly knocking a spoon into his cauldron. Sirius didn’t even flinch; he barely registered the jab, too busy tracking the curve of Severus’s shoulders as he leaned over his brew.

“Stop staring,” James whispered urgently, eyes darting around as if someone would arrest them for it.

Sirius only tilted his head, utterly unbothered, the edges of a grin tugging at his mouth.

“I’m watching,” Sirius corrected with a lazy grin. “It’s educational.” The Black heritage is catching up with him... But maybe it was always there and never removed...

Severus stirred his potion clockwise, each movement smooth enough to look rehearsed, controlled enough to make even the simmering liquid obey him without protest. He didn’t spare either of them more than a flicker of attention—just that brief, sharp glance that said he was aware of everything and impressed by nothing.

But the air around their table shifted anyway. Maybe it was the steam rising in slow curls, maybe it was the faint shimmer of magic in the ingredients, or maybe it was something far less logical and far more dangerous. The heat in the room felt heavier, settling on the back of Sirius’s neck like a hand that wasn’t really there.

Sirius swallowed once, pretending it was because of the dungeon warmth and not because Severus’s hair slid over his shoulder in a way that should not have been legal. James shot him a warning look. Remus didn’t even bother—he already knew it wouldn’t help. None of them agreed it outright but they all knew Sirius Black was beyond helping and many they were too.

And Sirius was definitely staring again.

---

Later, the library was unusually quiet; even the dust motes seemed to be behaving themselves for once. The shelves towered on either side like disapproving professors, silently reminding him that knowledge was vast and everyone else was an idiot. Severus took his usual seat with the grace of someone who had tolerated enough nonsense for one day.

He arranged his stack of thick books like small barricades against the world—though he could still feel a gaze on him, lingering, deliberate. Someone was watching him, he could tell from the prickling warmth at the back of his neck. Irritating… and strangely exhilarating. He refused to look up. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of catching the faint flush creeping across his collar.

He shifted in his chair, pretending to focus on the text, but the awareness of that stare curled around him like a touch he wasn’t receiving. His fingers tightened slightly on the page, breath a little too steady, controlled only out of pride. If they wanted to fluster him, they’d have to try harder. Much harder.

The lamplight caught him in an annoyingly flattering way—not that he’d ever admit it.

Severus settled in his usual corner with a stack of thick texts, the lamplight brushing his cheekbones and casting a golden sheen in his eyes.

He didn’t mean to look inviting.

He simply was—and he hadn’t yet realized it.

James Potter paused three steps away, book half-forgotten at his side. He told himself he was browsing the shelves, that he was absolutely not staring at Severus Snape like some lovesick idiot in a romance novel. Yet there he stood, eyes fixed, brain empty, dignity evaporating by the second.

He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. The sound came out too sharp, earning a tiny, irritated twitch from Severus—who didn’t bother to look up. Of course he didn’t. Severus was too busy existing in a way that should not have been legal, all long lines and quiet intensity, as if the library belonged to him and everyone else was trespassing.

James tried to glance away. Failed. Tried again. Failed harder.

It wasn’t his fault, truly—anyone would stare when Severus’s fingers curled around the page like that. Slow. Controlled. Almost graceful. Almost delicate. Almost… no, absolutely not, Potter. No thinking like that in the library.

He pretended to study a nearby spine, nodding to himself as though evaluating a book he’d definitely read before. In truth, he was watching from the corner of his eye, waiting—hoping—for Severus to shift, to tuck a strand of hair back, to breathe in that restrained, slightly dramatic way he always did. Merlin, even the irritation radiating off the boy felt weirdly magnetic.

Severus, meanwhile, radiated the crisp, silent energy of someone deeply done with the world and everyone in it. If he knew he was being watched, he didn’t show it. If he felt it—felt James—he buried it beneath that immaculate shield of disdain.

But the way his jaw tightened for a moment… the way his lashes lowered… the faint, nearly imperceptible pause before he turned a page…

James felt it anyway.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t staring. He tried to ignore the way Severus’s fingers curled around the page— So so beautiful hands...

He failed every attempt.

Severus flicked his eyes up. It was barely a movement—just a lift of dark lashes—but it was enough to strike the air like a spell. Their gazes met for a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary, and in that tiny slice of time, James felt every coherent thought evacuate his skull.

James froze. Completely. Even his breathing paused, as though Severus had cast Petrificus Totalus with nothing but eye contact.

Severus didn’t.

If anything, he looked annoyingly composed. He raised a single eyebrow—elegantly, judgmentally, effortlessly—and turned a page with the kind of quiet confidence that made James question every life choice he’d ever made.

James spun around so fast he hit the shelf behind him. Hard.

A book fell. Then another. Then the whole shelf trembled as if reconsidering its will to live.

Two rows away, Sirius choked back a laugh.

Irma Pince was not going to like that.

---

Books were balanced in an impossibly neat tower beside Severus, the kind of arrangement only someone with excessive precision or a death wish would attempt in a public library, even if he had died once and is reliving another life that doesn't mean he will be smiling every second.

He had been moving through them for the past half hour—sorting, skimming, discarding, reclaiming—until the stack looked like it was held together by sheer spite.

James kept glancing over, tense and ready to leap in.

Remus watched with the resigned caution of someone anticipating disaster.

Sirius just waited, chin in hand, as if certain the universe would eventually hand him entertainment.

It did.

It got worse—or better, depending on who you asked—when Severus’s stack of borrowed books collapsed near the central table.

He knelt to gather them, moving with the same annoyed precision he used for everything, as if even fallen books offended his sense of order. Pages fluttered, spines creaked, and the quiet shuffle of parchment filled the air. Severus reached for the nearest volume, fingers steady despite the faint flush of irritation rising along his throat.

Another hand reached down at the same time—slender, careful, gentle in a way that contrasted sharply with Severus’s clipped efficiency. Remus hadn’t even thought about it; he simply reacted, instinctively helping before his mind caught up.

Their fingers brushed.

Warm. Brief. Electric in that way accidental touches never should be.

Remus Lupin inhaled sharply.

Too sharply. It was getting cringy.

The touch was nothing more than skin against skin—brief, barely there—but it hit him with the force of instinct. Wolf-instinct. The kind that lived under the ribs, low and old, rising without permission. It wasn’t logic, or curiosity, or even surprise. It was recognition, sharp and primal, like a chord struck too cleanly.

Something old.

Something powerful.

Something dangerous.

Something beautiful.

It knocked the air out of him so suddenly he almost dropped the book he was holding.

Severus paused.

Not visibly, not dramatically—just a subtle stillness, a quiet halt in movement that meant he felt something, too, even if he’d rather die than acknowledge it.

Remus’s breath ghosted across his knuckles. Maybe there creature were really acknowledging each other... Severus didn't like that.

They both stayed there, crouched on the floor, hands touching for just a second past the time they should have pulled away. The world above them kept moving—chairs scraping, pages turning, someone whispering in the distance—but down on the stone floor, everything felt suspended. Stilled. As if the air itself was holding its breath, waiting to see who would move first.

Remus didn’t.

Severus didn’t.

The moment stretched thin, fragile, almost intimate in a way that made Remus’s heartbeat stumble and Severus’s jaw tighten by a fraction.

“Here,” Remus said softly, giving back the book he’d picked up. His fingers brushed Severus’s again—accidentally, intentionally, something between the two. His voice was calm, controlled, but his pupils were slightly blown.

“Thank you,” Severus replied, equally quiet, equally unreadable.

But his eyes—those gold-amber eyes—held Remus’s for a beat too long. Long enough to suggest questions neither of them should voice. Long enough for something unspoken to hum between them, quiet and charged, like a warning wrapped in curiosity. There was nothing aggressive in Severus’s stare, nothing openly defensive—just sharpness, awareness, and a depth Remus hadn’t expected to be looking into at such close range.

And Remus knew.

Not the full truth.

But enough.

Enough to feel that flicker of instinct coil low in his spine. Enough to sense that this wasn’t just an awkward brush of hands or a shared moment on the library floor. Something about Severus pulled at him—mysterious, guarded, faintly glowing beneath the surface. Something his wolf recognized before he did.

Remus had his doubts, but he was sure, very sure now, after Severus's recent changes and the pull... He knew.

Enough to know he should be careful.

He rose quickly, clearing his throat before slipping away between the aisles.

Sirius, who had been pretending to search for a Charms book, had seen everything. He wasn’t even subtle about it; his head kept popping around the end of the shelf like a badly disguised spy, eyes sharp and narrowed. The moment Remus and Severus’s fingers touched, Sirius’s posture changed—from lazy observer to something tense, coiled, alert.

His jaw tightened.

Not dramatically, just that small, sharp clench that meant something in him had reacted before he could name it. A low spark of emotion flickered up his spine, unwelcome and confusing.

Possessively?

Jealously?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t want to know.

All he knew was that the sight of Remus staring at Severus like that—soft, caught, curious—sent an uncomfortable twist through his chest. A twist that felt very much like a warning. Maybe the warning of the breaking friendship or something else...

He only knew he didn’t like the way Remus looked at Severus.

James returned moments later, brushing dust off his robes as though the shelves themselves had personally attacked him. He stopped mid-stride when he caught sight of Sirius—arms folded, jaw set, eyes locked on Remus with the intensity of someone trying to solve a murder or start one.

Then his gaze tracked the line of Sirius’s glare… to Remus standing stiffly between aisles… then to Severus kneeling on the floor with books gathered in his arms, the faint glow at his collarbone shimmering like moonlit feathers, soft and almost unreal in the dim library light.

James blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The pieces didn’t fit, but they were definitely pieces of something.

“Oh,” James muttered under his breath.

And he didn’t know what oh meant.

---

The tension followed them out of the library, clinging like static to the edges of every breath.

In the corridor, Severus walked with his usual stiff, precise stride, books tucked tightly under his arm as if they were a shield. The torches lining the walls flickered as he passed, shadows bending strangely—as though even the castle itself could sense the shift inside him.

Students stepped aside for him out of habit, whispering, their eyes following the faint shimmer beneath his collar. They didn’t know why they were looking, only that something about him felt… different.

Sharper.

Brighter.

Dangerous in a way he did not yet understand.

He ignored them.

He always had.

But not the three shadows trailing behind him at a distance.

They moved as one, almost unconsciously slipping into formation behind him like planets caught in a new orbit.

Sirius walked with an unreadable grin tugging at his mouth—a grin that wasn’t teasing this time, nor mocking, but something sharper, something curious. His eyes never left Severus’s back, tracking every subtle shift of his shoulders as if trying to decipher a language only he could see.

James hovered beside him with the world’s worst attempt at subtle observing. He kept pretending to look at anything else—the ceiling, the portraits, a crack in the wall—but his gaze snapped back to Severus every few seconds, as if drawn by a string he didn’t know how to cut. His brow furrowed each time, trying to put together a puzzle he hadn’t even known existed minutes ago.

And Remus…

Remus pretended not to look at all—and failed. His steps slowed whenever Severus did, his eyes flicking up in moments he thought no one noticed. Something gentle and hesitant flickered across his face, like he was afraid to get too close yet unable to stay away.

These bumbkins where getting on Severus's last bloody nerve. Felt like he was in a movie playing the pitiful female lead that somehow got all the handsome man.

Severus reached the moving staircase.

His footsteps slowed just enough for the marble floor to echo, the sound crisp in the charged silence stretching behind him. He didn’t turn, didn’t look back—but something in the line of his spine shifted, as if he could feel their eyes pressed between his shoulder blades.

The staircase groaned to life, gears clanking softly as it prepared to move, and that tiny mechanical sound seemed to snap the corridor into an even deeper hush. Dust motes drifted lazily in the slanted torchlight, suspended in the air like the moment itself was holding its breath.

Behind him, the boys stopped.

Not because they meant to—

but because something in the air coiled tight around them, pulling them to a halt as naturally as inhaling. Sirius’s smirk faltered, James’s brows lifted a fraction, and Remus’s fingers curled at his sides like he’d been caught reaching for something he didn’t understand.

For a moment, they were all still—caught in the strange, quiet pull between predator and something not-quite-prey.

Severus turned his head slightly, just a fractional tilt, the kind that suggested he’d been aware of them long before any of them realized they were following. The shadow of his hair slid across his cheek as he angled his face, giving the smallest glimpse of those sharp, dark eyes.

He didn’t glare.

There was no hostility rising off him, no usual simmer of annoyance or defensiveness.

He didn’t scowl.

Not even the faint tightening of his mouth he usually reserved for the Marauders.

He simply held their gaze.

Calm. Unwavering. Almost challenging. There was an ease to it that made all three boys straighten, like they’d been caught in something they hadn’t agreed to but couldn’t deny.

A silent I know you’re watching me.

The staircase shifted beneath him with a heavy, deliberate groan, gears locking into a new path. Severus didn’t move hurriedly—he stepped onto the rising stair with the same controlled grace he used for everything, robes whispering around his ankles.

As the staircase began its ascent, a faint draft lifted the ends of his hair, brushing a few dark strands across his cheek. The motion was small, almost delicate, yet it drew every eye fixed on him just a fraction closer. From below, the three boys watched as if the castle itself were lifting him out of reach.

Sirius’s breath hitched—barely audible, but sharp.

James swallowed hard, throat bobbing once.

Remus clenched his jaw, shoulders tight like he was fighting the urge to follow.

None of them spoke.

None of them had to.

Something was building—slow, hot, inevitable.

And Severus, without meaning to, was in the center of it.

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•To Be Continued•

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