Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Severus Snape laid in his bed, hugging a pillow to his chest as he stared listlessly at the ceiling. He had just finished having one of the biggest mental breakdowns of life. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say “lives.” 

You see, Severus Snape was currently dealing with the fact that he was now Severus Snape and not a normal guy in his late 20’s from a completely different goddamn reality. A normal guy who had been walking home from work at the animal shelter when he had gotten hit by a semi truck, which in his honest opinion was kind of overkill because a Kia would've been more than enough to do him in.

Snape let out a dry laugh. It was the dumbest, most stereotypical way he could've ended up in this mess. Laughing about it was all he could do at this point. That and cry. Something he had been doing plenty of these past few hours as he tried to come to terms with his situation.

“Fuck me, why did it have to be Harry Potter?” the wizard said with a borderline hysterical giggle. He hadn't even read any of the books. He had only seen the movies because that's what everyone seemed to do at some point, whether in a theater or at a holiday dinner. It wasn't a series he had gotten invested in—especially with the author becoming an increasingly loud and annoying piece of walking trash over the years. Sci-fi had always been his preference anyway. Something that didn't help here at all unless a blue police box decided to materialize in the room. Snape gave a hopeful glance to the corner of his bedroom that had a perfect, empty police box-shaped space. Nope. Nothing. Dang.

At first Snape had thought this was some kind of dream or coma. Some senseless hallucination his brain decided to spit out in his last moments before death. However, in the back of his head, pushed into a corner, were memories of the life Severus Snape had lived up until this point. They came to him in flashes. Disorganized but there and undeniable. They felt foreign yet familiar at the same time. His brain was working overtime trying to figure out how to hold two lifetimes worth of memories. He wished one of those memories was of what his previous name was.

Alright, let’s put a pin in the existential crisis for now.

Despite that thought, it still took Snape twenty minutes to finally drag himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face at the sink then dared to look up at himself in the mirror. Wow, he looked like shit. His hair was a disheveled mess and his eyes were red and puffy from all the cool crying he had done. He also had a killer headache. From the memories flickering in the back of his head from the original Snape, he knew it was a Tuesday on the last week of summer break. It was one thing about this mess he could feel grateful for. He was definitely in no state to be teaching a bunch of kids right now. 

The wizard examined himself a little closer in the mirror, brows furrowed. He wasn't quite Alan Rickman, but he could've passed off as a distant relative. If those relatives were mixed Japanese. In fact, a decent amount of his appearance seemed to resemble himself from his previous life. Same beaky nose, same cheekbones (albeit a little sallower), same raven hair. Speaking of hair, it was greasier than he would’ve liked, but it was nothing shampoo and conditioner couldn't fix. He did have people in the past make comments about his “Snape vibes”, which he’d always roll his eyes at. If only he had known. On the bright side, gender dysphoria shouldn't be that much of a problem anymore. Now it was just existential dysphoria. Cool.

The Potions professor moved to the next step of his breakdown recovery: taking a nice hot shower. He ignored the scars on his skin and the Death Eater mark on his arm. Too much to unpack there right now. When he was done, he dug through his closet past all the black robes and found a pair of comfy slacks and a forest green sweater with a silver snake stitched on the front. As he pulled the sweater on, a memory flashed of Dumbledore giving it to him as a Christmas gift a couple years ago. He was surprised Old Snape had kept it despite refusing to wear it, but it was a pretty nice sweater.

His reminiscing was interrupted by a sound like a whip crack and the sudden appearance of a small being at the foot of his bed. The Slytherin yelped, stumbling back against the wall. 

The creature spoke, its voice high-pitched. “Is Master Snape alright?” 

Recognition sparked inside the professor as Old Snape’s memories finally caught up with him. The little creature was a house elf. Specifically the one that had been assigned to him at Hogwarts for years. She tended to fret over him like a little nanny. Probably because Old Snape tended to do or fail to do things that weren't so great for his health. 

Snape straightened up, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Y-yeah, Trixie. I’m fine. Just jumpy today.” 

“Trixie was worried that Master Snape didn't request his usual coffee this morning and also skipped lunch,” said the elf, straightening her apron. “So Trixie brought some chicken soup and ginger tea from the kitchens. They are on Master Snape’s desk if he wants it.” 

The Slytherin felt a pang of guilt in his chest as he looked at the magical creature before him with her cute apron and mismatched ears. Wizards didn't deserve these guys. The concept of house elves was just another thing he was going to have to unpack later. He could already tell his list was going to spiral out of control. 

At least house elves didn't seem to take on the more questionable features their species had in the films. Trixie had the same large eyes, but her nose was more of a stubby snout. Combined with her floppy radar dish ears and thin layer of bluish gray fur, she was more bat-like in appearance than anything. Minus the wings of course. 

“Thanks, Trixie. Soup sounds great,” Snape said with a smile. “Would you… Would you like to stay for tea?” As the question left his mouth, he realized he wasn't even sure if the elf liked tea. “O-only if you want to of course!” he quickly added. “I’m not ordering you or anything. I just—I dunno. Figured you could use a break.”

Trixie seemed quite taken aback by this, her already large eyes widening further. She hesitated for a moment before answering carefully, “Trixie is honored that Master Snape would want to drink tea with her, but Trixie… cannot. She must help with supper preparations.” The wizard visibly deflated at her words. 

“Ah, right, that makes sense,” he mumbled, avoiding the elf’s gaze. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

Trixie was flabbergasted. She knew for a fact the human in front of her was Snape based on his magical signature, but it was like talking to a whole different person. One who was apparently really good at the “kicked puppy” look. 

The house elf searched her mind for something she could say to make the wizard feel better. “Perhaps Trixie can have tea with Master Snape another time?” she offered.

That seemed to have done the trick because Snape perked right back up. “Yes! I’d like that.” He scratched the side of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, thanks again for the food.” 

The elf was still thrown off by the professor’s demeanor, but she smiled back regardless. “Please let Trixie know if Master Snape needs anything else. Trixie will be taking her leave now.” She bowed and vanished with a pop.

Snape’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. Way to mess up his first social interaction with someone in this world. He had dropped the question on the poor elf without thinking—something done out of a mix of guilt and his own loneliness. He was not in a good state to be entertaining anybody. Trixie had been right to decline. 

The raven-haired wizard wandered out of his bedroom and let his feet guide him to his office. It was a small room, but cozy. Two bookshelves lined the walls opposite each other and a nice mahogany desk sat against the far wall. 

Snape’s stomach growled as he caught sight of the soup bowl and tea amongst the mess of lesson plans on his desk. He hadn't realized how much he had been starving until now. The professor wondered if Trixie would be okay with getting a hand knit sweater as he plopped down on his chair. He ate a spoonful of the chicken soup and almost started crying again, but he managed to suck that shit back in. He wondered if Trixie would be okay with receiving the entirety of his life savings. 

Okay, enough forming a parasocial bond with an innocent house elf! You need to figure out a plan. 

There were some convenient sheets of blank parchment on the desk along with a fountain pen. There was a quill too but Snape would choose a good ol’ pen anyday. As he ate, he began jotting down everything he could remember from the Harry Potter movies. After an hour, he had written down important events he could remember happening in each movie with a rough timeline. Honestly, it wasn't the most detailed and Snape wasn't even sure how accurate some of it was. Again, he was more of a sci-fi guy. He had to take solace in the fact that he had seen each movie at least once at various points in his previous life. 

Snape leaned back in his chair, jaw set in a grim line. While it was nice to organize his thoughts on paper, writing this stuff down honestly just made his situation feel all the more daunting. At first he had considered just trying to play the role Snape originally had and letting events unfold how they were “supposed” to, but seeing everything spread out in front of him like this really brought into perspective just how much bullshit happened in the future. A lot of people would get hurt. A lot of people would die. He himself would die (although he found himself caring about that a little less than he expected considering he died once already). And for what? Drama? The “greater good?” 

For a moment, Snape had thought about running away and starting over somewhere else. The idea lasted for less than a minute before the guilt took over. He couldn't just stand by and let these things happen now that it was his new reality. He wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing he had left Harry Potter, a literal child, to deal with all this. He had made a promise to protect the kid. 

From what he could see in Old Snape’s memories, it seemed that they were at the beginning of Harry’s second year at Hogwarts. That meant they were already up to the second book/movie: The One With the Giant Fucking Snake Under the Sink. Extremely screwed up that there had been a danger like that lurking under the feet of hundreds of students all this time, but that was magic wizard school for you. Snape pondered if anyone had ever filed a lawsuit against the place before. They probably should. Like Jesus Christ. 

Anyway he needed to get his hands on Voldemort’s evil diary horcrux thing. Ideally before Ginny did. If Voldemort couldn't use the diary to possess anyone to do his bidding, then he wouldn't be able to make the Basilisk do shenanigans. That's what Snape understood from the movie at least. The biggest problem at the moment was that he couldn't remember when, where, and how Ginny got the diary in the first place. Which was unfortunate because Snape would've preferred keeping the girl safe and out of the drama completely, but it wasn't looking good. 

The Potions Master ran a tired hand over his face. If he couldn't get the diary first, then he had no choice but to try and break into the Chamber of Secrets and slay the Basilisk as soon as possible. He just had to figure out how the hell he was going to do it without dying or shitting his pants or both. The new semester starting in less than a week was no longer feeling like a blessing.

Snape took a shuddering breath, chest tight. It was all so overwhelming. A few hours ago he had been a relatively average guy whose day to day was going to work at the animal shelter, coming home to sleep, maybe getting in some reading or video game time, and repeating. His biggest worries had been paying bills and his student loan and wondering if he was wasting his life. Y’know. The average concerns of a millennial in the year 2025.

No, we are not freaking out again. I’ll schedule some time for it later.

The Slytherin glanced over at the clock. It was already 7 PM. A memory of promising Pomfrey to restock the hospital wing with a fresh batch of Dreamless Sleep potions by tomorrow flickered up in his mind. Snape groaned and put his head in his arms. This was going to be a long night. 

༻✦༺

Snape had gotten only three hours of sleep, but he had succeeded in brewing everything by the next morning. He was pretty proud of himself for not screwing up. He had only burned himself twice! Once he had gotten over a few initial hitches, everything came so naturally like he had been doing it for years. Which technically he had been. He thanked whatever deity that was out there for letting him keep Old Snape’s memories, because he would've been absolutely fucked if he had just been thrown into this world with zero background knowledge. 

Now Snape stood in front of the doors to the hospital wing, carrying a box of brand spankin’ new Dreamless Sleep potions under his arm and having a moderately sized anxiety attack. Not to mention another headache. He had made it here without running into anyone, but based on the footsteps he was hearing behind the doors, his luck had finally run out. He was going to have to talk to another human. 

One of the things the Slytherin had decided yesterday was that he wasn't going to make an effort to act like Old Snape. It just wasn't who he was anymore. His personality and memories from his other life was what was more dominant in this body right now, and that person had been quite different. Constantly putting on an act would be exhausting and he had too much on his plate already. 

That didn't make Snape any less nervous as he continued to hesitate at the hospital wing's doors. 

Stop being a coward and rip the band-aid off!

The Potions Master closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and raised an arm to knock, only to have the doors swing open before he could even touch them. He came face-to-face with Madam Pomfrey, who startled just as much as him. 

The castle matron wasn't in her typical Healer getup due to the school year not starting yet. Instead she was wearing a simple brown dress with the sleeves rolled up, her gray hair tucked under a headscarf. She must’ve been in the middle of cleaning.

“Severus! Merlin, you scared me,” gasped the witch, her hand over her chest. 

“Oh, uh, sorry, Poppy. I’m just here to deliver your potions,” said Snape, presenting the box he was carrying with an apologetic smile. 

Like Trixie, Pomfrey seemed immediately thrown off, staring at the professor as she slowly took the box from him. “Yes… the potions. Thank you.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence. Snape was starting to feel really self-conscious under the Healer’s scrutinization. Was it that weird that he decided to put his hair in a ponytail today? Although he had also ditched the usual black robes for just a white button-up and slacks. And he was smiling. Maybe he should've taken things slower with the changes. 

“W-well, if you don't need help with anything else, I’ll be off. Stuff to brew and all that,” Snape stammered. He took a step back.

“Severus, are you feeling alright?” asked Pomfrey in concern. 

“Never better!” the Slytherin answered a little too eagerly. “Let me know if you need any more drugs! Okay, bye!” He turned and speed-walked it out of there before Pomfrey could respond. 

When he had put enough distance from the hospital wing, Snape slowed down to a trudge, shoving his hands in his pants’ pockets. His face burned from the absolute catastrophe of an interaction that was. Really? “Drugs?” Way to look as suspicious as possible in front of someone who’s known you for years. He hoped Pomfrey wouldn't narc on him to Dumbledore. 

Well, with that disaster out of the way, there was nothing else to do but move onto the next potential failure on the day’s agenda: go to the library and find anything on basilisks. Snape needed to see if there was an easier way to kill one that didn't involve running a sword through its head. Or at least strategies to incapacitate it.

The Potions professor was snapped out of his thoughts as he turned a corner. There was a wizard standing in the middle of the hall, holding a suitcase and examining a classroom door with a hand on their chin and a puzzled frown. The person looked like the definition of “posh” with their fancy suit and luscious, golden blond curls that were so shiny they could’ve been made of actual gold (derogatory). Something about them seemed vaguely familiar but Snape couldn't quite put his finger on it. 

After already failing one social interaction that day, the Slytherin wasn't really feeling up to another try, but the poor wizard just looked so lost that he couldn't bring himself to ditch them. At least it wasn't somebody he knew. It would make it easier. 

“Hey, you need help finding something?” Snape called out as he approached, hands still in his pockets. Fancypants whipped their head around and Snape narrowly avoided getting a faceful of long, blond hair. 

“Why yes, my good sir!” answered Fancypants in a voice at least ten decibels too loud. “I’m looking for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom! It seems to have been moved since I was last here as a wee top-performing student. Otherwise I know this castle like the back of my hand!” 

The D.A.D.A. classroom hadn't been moved actually. Snape cursed himself from thirty seconds ago for deciding to talk to this person. Was definitely not helping his head. There was also a faint feeling of dread beginning to build in his stomach that he couldn't quite understand. 

“Okaaay,” the professor said slowly, brain overwhelmed by The Everything. “I can show you where it is if you want.” 

Fancypants flashed a grin so bright that the Potions Master had to squint. “That would be fantastic!” 

Snape cursed himself from ten seconds ago for offering to spend more time with this person. He motioned with his head to follow him and started walking. Quickly. Fancypants apparently hadn't expected their guide to move so soon because they had to scramble to catch up. The moment they did, they started talking again.

“Being back in this castle brings back so many wonderful memories!” Fancypants gave an exaggerated, wistful sigh. “It feels like just yesterday that I walked these halls as a bright-eyed, top-performing, Ravenclaw student. Who knew that I would get chosen by Dumbledore himself to come back as a professor!”

“Wow,” said Snape, employing his skills of working retail in the past and encountering customers who insisted on giving you their entire life story in the checkout line. That feeling of familiarity and dread was growing stronger. 

Fancypants was not deterred by the Potions Master’s unenthusiastic response. “At first, I considered turning Dumbledore’s offer down, because I’m just so busy dealing with my newest book, Magical Me, coming out and other important things, but I couldn’t ignore the plight of the next generation! I can only hope that by imparting my vast knowledge onto them, they will grow into great wizards and witches.”

Hah, hah, I’d sure hate it if another semi truck came crashing through that wall and killed me instantly on impact right now at this exact second, hah, hah, thought Snape as Fancypants continued to yap about their own lore. Why Dumbledore had decided to hire this individual was beyond him. Sometimes it felt like the Headmaster didn't take the education of Hogwarts’s students very seriously. 

After a few agonizing minutes, the two wizards reached their destination. Fancypants had prattled on the entire time.

“Here we are—one D.A.D.A. classroom for you,” said Snape, gesturing towards the door and interrupting Fancypants’s story about fighting off fifty trolls or whatever. “Have fun.” He turned to leave.

“Wait! I realized I never properly introduced myself!” the blond wizard exclaimed. They flashed another hundred watt grin and held out a hand to shake. “The name’s Gilderoy Lockhart, although you’ve probably already heard of me.” 

Snape’s brain finally connected the dots on why he had been feeling an increasing amount of dread this whole time. 

Goddammit. 

Both sides of Snape, old and new, had completely forgotten about Lockhart. The Potions Master struggled to remember what exactly the newly appointed professor did in the movie, but all he could get was that he was a huge liar and a general nuisance. That was Old Snape’s consensus as well from the little he could recall. He wasn't at a Quirrel level of threat—let alone a basilisk. There was a bit of relief in that. But he was annoying as hell. 

Lockhart scanned the Potions Master up and down. “I would also love to know the name of my lovely helper.” He winked.

The fuck? It took all of Old Snape’s spy experience to keep his face neutral and not scrunch up like he had just taken a bite out of a lemon. Sure, he was pan, but not for pompous pricks. 

“... Severus Snape,” he answered despite his better judgment, shaking the offered hand.

A flash of realization passed over Lockhart’s features upon hearing the name. It seemed he had connected some dots as well. He looked the Slytherin up and down again, but this time in surprise. “O-oh! Severus Snape! I almost didn’t recognize you! You seem so… different than when we were students.” 

“I got therapy,” Snape deadpanned. It was half true. His therapist was just in a whole separate reality. “Anyway, I gotta go think about snakes now. Good luck with your shit.” He was too tired to filter himself at this point.

“Y-yes, goodbye?” responded Lockhart, having trouble finding his words for the first time in a while as he watched the other man leave.

Snape found himself already exhausted and he hadn't even stepped foot in the library yet. He decided for the sake of his own mental health, that he would ignore Lockhart’s whole deal for now and just focus on the basilisk research. Parseltongue too while he was at it. Anything to take his mind off Gilderoy goddamn Lockhart. 

༻✦༺

After greeting Pince as quickly and normally as he could, Snape found a nice hidden corner of the library and got to work. He ran into a little hiccup right at the start when he tried wandlessly floating some books off a shelf and instead sent them flying at mach speed across the library. He managed to stop them right before they smashed into anything, so no damage was done, but the pain in his head did grow worse. Snape chalked everything up to the fact that part of him was still adjusting to having magic. 

To lessen chances of disaster, he spent the next few hours retrieving the books by hand when he could. It was grueling. Running on minimal sleep probably didn't help. At some point he had taken an unintentional thirty minute nap with a dusty tome as a pillow. It was college all over again, except without the internet. God, he missed the internet. Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed a good book, but not when he was on a time crunch with lives at stake. 

Snape shut the old journal he had just finished scanning through, eye twitching. A rooster? The mortal weakness of the giant man-eating snake monster was a gatdang rooster crowing? He couldn't believe it. He hadn't believed it. In fact, he had cross-referenced the information with as many sources as possible because there was no way this was the solution. But no. It was true. 

“I hate this stupid universe,” the wizard muttered to himself. The only issue he could find was that he’d have to use the Imperius curse to get the rooster to crow on command. He didn't exactly enjoy the thought of taking away a creature’s free will with a very illegal spell, but it seemed like the only option available to him right now.

Snape began putting books back on the shelves, a small frown on his face. To be honest, he felt sad that the ancient basilisk had to be slain. In the end it was just an animal with a bad owner. An animal who unfortunately had fangs and venom that was very useful for destroying horcruxes. Not to mention the threat is posed to the students.

As for the Parseltongue, Snape was disappointed to find nothing so far on how to learn the language. What he did learn was that it was supposedly a skill only Salazar Slytherin’s descendants could use, but there were cases of Parselmouths outside of that bloodline. Very few though. It was frustrating. He literally only needed to know a single word to unlock the Chamber of Secrets. Harry was the absolute last resort to this problem. He really didn't want to get the kid involved.   

The professor grimaced as the throbbing in his head kicked it up a notch. He needed to stop for the night before his brain exploded. His bed was calling for him. He could research Parseltongue more tomorrow. Maybe pop over to Diagon Alley to restock on ingredients to brew Mandrake Restorative Draughts in case anybody did become petrified by the Basilisk. He could grab some knitting supplies and clothes that weren't just black robes too… and also maybe a backup weapon in case the rooster strat didn't work out. 

Snape levitated a book with the intention of putting it back where it belonged on an upper shelf, but instead it exploded into shreds of paper and binding. The Potions Master stared at the mess for a moment before silently sweeping it all under a nearby rug. Yeah. A little shopping to de-stress couldn't hurt.

Chapter Text

Snape was stressed. When he had made plans to visit Diagon Alley, he had forgotten how busy the place usually was. Crowds were not his favorite thing and that was before he had died and been thrown into a whole other reality. Old Snape wasn't a fan of them either.

“Sorry!” the Potions Master apologized to the eighth person to bump into him as he made his way out of the clothes shop and into the street. He adjusted the strap of the enchanted messenger bag carrying his shopping haul so far and stuck his hands in the pockets of his new (well, technically used) trench coat. He loved some good pockets. Very useful for someone who never knew what to do with his hands.

The clothes shop had been small, but it was one of the only places in the Alley that sold Muggle-styled pieces. Snape hadn't expected to feel so happy to see jeans again. It was nice to have a couple more options that weren't just black robes. He would save those for when he needed to be intimidating. 

The raven-haired wizard ran through his mental checklist to distract him from the crowd he was currently weaving through. Clothes: check. Potions ingredients: check. He had been pumped to see the apothecary still had mandrakes in stock, even if it wasn't a lot. Knitting stuff: check. This morning, he had gotten Trixie to tell him what her favorite color was, so now he had plenty of periwinkle blue yarn to make a sweater. Backup weapon: check. He hadn't been able to find a sword that he could actually afford on a teacher’s salary, but he had found a secondhand forest axe in a junk shop. It would have to do.

Snape came to a gradual stop in front of the pet store, Magical Menagerie. He gazed longingly at the animals he could see through the window past the gaggle of excited kids also trying to get a glimpse. The professor was very tempted to go inside, but he knew that once he did, there was a 99% chance he was walking out with some sort of creature and it was something he wasn't ready for. The hole in his heart his last pet had left was too fresh. 

Snape stamped down memories he absolutely did not want to confront right now and forced himself to look away from the animals and out across the street. His eyes wandered over the shops half-heartedly until they landed on Flourish and Blotts. He doubted that the bookstore would have anything on Parseltongue, but it couldn't hurt to look. The Slytherin needed an excuse to escape the crowd anyway. 

The pleasant smell of parchment hit Snape’s nose as he ducked into the store. It was busy, but not terribly so. Way better than the sensory overload going on outside. It looked like employees were setting up things for a book signing, but it seemed like it wouldn’t be starting for a while. Not that Snape was interested. 

The Potions Master made his way to the back of the store where the older books were. After scanning the spines, he found one that seemed promising and began rifling through its pages. 

༻✦༺

Snape yawned as he wandered his way back through the shelves. He had lost track of time searching the bookstore's inventory. He hadn't found anything to solve his Parseltongue problem, but the reading material had still been interesting and gave him a couple small leads at least. 

The professor slowed as he neared the front of the store. Jeez, it had gotten crazy crowded up here. Snape hadn't noticed it when he was hiding in the back. 

“Now, now, ladies! There’s enough of me to go around!” emanated a familiar voice twenty decibels too loud from the center of the crowd. 

God-fucking-dammit. Snape ducked into the sea of wizards in an effort to stay out of Lockhart’s sight. For once he was grateful to be surrounded by so many people. He couldn't believe he had visited the store on the day of that obnoxious wizard’s book signing of all things. 

Snape dared to poke his head above the crowd to try and locate the shop’s entrance. He spotted it easily enough, but found his attention grabbed by a familiar group of people.

Harry, Hermione, and a few of the Weasley kids were standing near the entrance, being confronted by Lucius and Draco Malfoy. Only then did Snape realize he had seen this before. By some weird twist in fate, he had somehow tumbled into a story event. 

Shit.

Part of him told him to just walk away. He was still foggy on the details, but he was pretty sure nobody would be hurt here. However, he had a gut feeling nothing good would come of this if he ignored it. 

The Potions Master pushed through the crowd. He could hear Lucius speaking in a condescending tone as he got closer. “... Red hair, vacant expressions…” The man snatched Ginny’s schoolbook out of the cauldron she was carrying and examined it. “... Tatty, secondhand book.” He smirked at the children. “You must be the Weasleys.”  

Yeah, this was definitely a story event.

“Whoa, bullying kids now, Malfoy? Thought that was my thing,” said Snape, stepping between the two groups. He had no plan. It was time to wing it.

Both groups were caught off guard by the raven-haired professor’s sudden appearance. 

“Severus? What is the meaning of this?!” exclaimed Lucius, his expression a mix of anger and sheer confusion as he processed what had just been said to him. 

Snape shrugged. “I don't know. You tell me. Only thing I see is you teaching your poor kid how to be an arsehole.” He nodded towards Draco, who was staring at him like he had grown two heads. 

“You—! You can't be him!” sputtered Lucius, pointing his cane at the Potions Master. “He wouldn't dare speak to me like this! Who are you?!” 

“Hogwarts, 6th year, you got wasted on some fancy wine you jacked from your daddy’s cellar and cried on me for three whole hours because you thought Cissy didn't love you,” said Snape without missing a beat. It might have been a low blow, but he was pretty pissed right now. 

Lucius’s face had gone fully red. It was hard to tell how much of it was embarrassment and how much of it was rage. “I don't know what has gotten into you, Snape, but rest assured there will be consequences,” Malfoy Sr. ground out through clenched teeth. He flung Ginny’s book back into her cauldron. Snape didn't miss that there was now an extra book in there that was giving off some real bad energy. An energy that made the Dark Mark on his arm burn.

This was how the diary ended up in Ginny’s possession.

“Come, Draco, let us not associate with these shameful excuses for wizards any longer!” hissed Lucius, grabbing his speechless son by the arm and storming out of the shop. 

Snape let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He had never talked so aggressively to someone before without stuttering or blanking out. It was kind of exhilarating. He probably had Old Snape to thank for that. 

The professor turned to face the kids. They were all gaping at him in shock. Arthur Weasley had shown up at some point too and was doing the same thing. Whatever adrenaline Snape had been feeling evaporated, leaving him in his typical anxiety-ridden state again. 

“Hey, um, sorry you guys had to deal with that,” said Snape, scratching the side of his neck. He made eye contact with Harry and paused. The boy looked like his whole world had flipped upside-down. He could relate. 

The Potions Master’s heart felt heavy. While some may say he wasn't necessarily Snape, it didn't change the fact that he was now in his body and had his memories. And he felt terrible about how he had treated Harry so far. The fact the young Gryffindor was reacting like this to him being a basic level of nice said a lot. It wasn't just Harry either—there were quite a few other students who had been in his line of fire too. He was supposed to be the adult for god’s sake.

There were many things Snape wanted to say to Harry, but now was not the time or place considering there was a horcrux sitting in a kid’s cauldron. So instead he just gave the boy a warm, albeit awkward, smile. Of course, this only made everyone short circuit even further. Ron was about to catch flies with how far his jaw was hanging open. 

“Severus Snape, i-is that really you?” Arthur stammered, struggling to take in the other wizard’s new demeanor and appearance. He had never seen the man wear his hair in a bun before. 

Snape sighed. “Unfortunately.” 

“Well, I appreciate you for driving Malfoy off,” said Arthur, his shoulders relaxing. There was palpable relief in his voice. “I don't enjoy arguing with that man.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of a prick,” the Potions Master stated bluntly, trying not to glare at the evil diary said prick had planted on a child. The Weasley Twins gave a dual snicker at their professor’s language. 

Snape approached Ginny, who seemed to grow more nervous under his attention, glancing down and shuffling her feet. The Slytherin’s features softened and he crouched down to her level. He gestured towards Ginny’s cauldron. “Do you mind if I take a peek? I think Lucius might've accidentally chucked one of his own books in there during his big baby tantrum.” 

The baby comment was enough to break through the young girl’s shell and make her giggle. She held out her cauldron to the professor, showing the contents inside. Yup. There was Tom’s fucked up little diary. 

Snape picked it out of the cauldron like it was a used napkin, unable to mask his grimace. The thing had absolutely rancid vibes. Based on the lack of reaction from the others around him, it seemed he was the only one feeling the malicious energy. He wondered if it had something to do with the Dark Mark boiling under his sleeve.

“Uh, yeah, this is definitely Lucius’s,” said Snape, trying to reign back his disgusted expression. “I’ll get it back to him before he starts throwing around theft accusations.” In as casual a way as possible, he dropped the creepy soul diary into his own bag. He hoped it didn't touch the yarn. 

“No offense, sir, but is it wise for you to approach Mr. Malfoy after… all that?” Hermione questioned as her professor stood up and wiped his hand on his trench coat. “He was quite angry.” 

The Twins finally cracked, bursting into laughter. “More like livid!” wheezed Fred. “I didn't know faces could reach that shade of red!”

George was rubbing his hands together gleefully. “I think I even saw smoke coming out of his ears!” 

“Case in point,” said Hermione, shooting the Twins a withering look.

“It’ll be fine—Lucius wouldn't kill me over something so petty,” reassured Snape. He fidgeted with the strap of his messenger bag. “Probably.” That part was uttered under his breath but everyone pretty much heard it. 

Suddenly, a voice 30 decibels too loud called out from the direction of the book signing. “Is that Hogwarts’s resident Potions Master I see?” A golden mane of hair began to bob through the crowd towards them.

Snape flinched. “That's my cue to run.” He gave a little wave as he backed up towards the exit. “I’ll see most of you at school in a few days. Have-fun-with-the-shopping-bye!” His last few words came out in a rush and he bolted out the door just as Lockhart broke through the sea of wizards. 

The golden-haired man glanced around, confused. “Hm, I could've sworn I saw him.” He turned to Harry and the others. “Was Severus Snape just here?” 

“No,” lied Arthur, Harry, and the Twins in unison. 

Lockhart opened his mouth to say something when he was surrounded by excited, squealing fans once again. As the group watched the celebrity get swept away, Ron turned to Harry, his eyes round as saucers. “Mate, I think there’s something different about Snape.” 

Hermione smacked her forehead. 

༻✦༺

Somewhere in Diagon Alley, a decent distance from the bookstore, Severus Snape felt a shiver run down his spine. He glanced around in paranoia.

Something just happened. 

It felt like some sort of cosmic event, but dumb. Like his life was some kind of cringe, self-indulgent fanfic and the author had just made one of the characters do a title drop because they're unoriginal.

Snape shook his head. God, he really needed to get more sleep. His thoughts were jumping around even more than usual. Hopefully he’d be able to relax a little after all this diary and Chamber of Secrets stuff was over. 

Speaking of creepy, evil diary, he needed to get this shit secured in his room before it burned a hole through his bag or started whispering sweet nothings in his ear. The Potions Master was confident in his Occlumency skills, but it was better to play it safe. 

༻✦༺

If Snape had to praise the wizarding world for one thing, it would be the Floo Network. It was so convenient to have instant access to places from your living room with minimal people contact. Five stars. Ten outta ten. Could do with a teensy bit less soot, but nobody’s perfect. 

The moment Snape stepped out of the fireplace and into his living quarters, he beelined for his office where an old, wooden chest sat in one of the corners. He unceremoniously dumped the potions research, certifications, and whatever other important documents that were stored in it onto the floor. He'd clean up later. 

The Slytherin yanked the stupid horcrux out of his bag and was about to fling it into the chest when he paused. Should he be so quick to lock this thing away? There was a chance he could get some useful information if he had a chat with Tom. Maybe even be able to open the Chamber of Secrets. 

Snape contemplated the diary in his hand for a second. Then slam-dunked that sonuvabitch straight into the chest. He locked it, threw on whatever wards he could think of, and kicked it into the back of his closet. Nice try, Mr. Horcrux.

While it was a bit unnerving to have Voldemort’s soul diary chilling in his room, Snape was glad it wouldn't prove a danger to Ginny anymore. Now he just had to worry about the basilisk. 

He had the option of leaving the Chamber of Secrets unopened now that he had the catalyst to its dangers contained. However, Snape couldn't be sure whether or not Voldemort had other tricks up his sleeve regarding it. The Chamber and the beast within felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off the moment Harry Potter stepped back onto Hogwarts’s grounds. He was the main protagonist after all. It was already a weird coincidence that Snape had stumbled into a scene from the story earlier. Could you blame him for being paranoid about some omniscient force controlling fate in this world? If someone got killed because of his complacency…

Okay, he was starting to have another crisis. He should probably take his mind off the Chamber of Secrets stuff for a little bit before he panicked, because he wouldn't be of any good then. He still had some time before the semester started. There was another job of his that he’d been neglecting anyway.

After Snape unloaded his purchases from his bag and downed a potion for his newest headache, he began working on the lesson plans he had been ignoring in his office. Seeing the kids at the bookstore had reminded him that he was still a teacher. He had a responsibility to uphold. If he survived the Basilisk confrontation, there were definite changes he wanted to make to his curriculum and teaching style. 

Snape was buried in his work when a loud cracking sound signaled the arrival of Trixie with a serving tray. He only jumped three feet this time. 

“Trixie is here with Master Snape’s evening coffee,” announced the house elf, moving the cup from her tray to the desk.

“Thanks, Trixie,” said the professor, smiling up from his notes. “And don't worry about bringing me coffee five times a day anymore—just one in the morning would be great.” Jesus Christ, his old self had drunk a lot of caffeine. 

Trixie nodded, her mismatched ears flopping with the movement. “If that is what Master Snape wishes.”

The Slytherin paused in his writing. “Y’know, if you're comfortable with it,” he began carefully, “you don't need to call me ‘master’ anymore. I’m fine with just Snape or Severus.” He dared to take a peek at Trixie’s reaction. 

Much to his relief, the house elf didn't appear to be in a state of immense inner crisis. All she did was blink a couple times, then let out a soft sigh. “If that is what Professor Snape wishes.” 

“Close enough!” chirped the wizard. He gave a lopsided grin. “Man, you're so cool, Trixie.” 

The little elf raised a brow at Snape’s vernacular before bidding him farewell and apparating away.

He really did think she was cool. Out of everyone his new self had interacted with so far, he felt the most comfortable around Trixie. He wondered if it was because she wasn't human or if it was because she took his changes in stride. Or both.

There was a consistent ache in Snape’s chest that he had been trying to ignore ever since he woke up in this world. It chose this moment to remind him of its presence, surging forth in a wave.

He was lonely.

Getting thrown into a whole other universe, ripped away from everything and everyone you knew, can do that to a guy. He missed his small friend group and their antics. He missed his coworkers at the animal shelter. He even missed the chain-smoking old lady on the bus who called him “babe.” She was funny. He hoped his death hadn't caused too much hurt. 

Snape took a big gulp of the coffee Trixie had brought him. The burn helped ground him a little. He shook his head, blinking away the tears. Breathe. Focus. He could have another breakdown later. There was business to take care of. 

The raven-haired wizard downed the rest of the coffee and left his desk to go gather up his recently purchased potions ingredients. He had made a lot of headway with his lesson plans, so he was at a good point to take a break. And by “break”, he meant it was time to switch back to Basilisk Defense Mode and brew as many Mandrake Restorative Draughts as he could before he passed out from exhaustion. A coping mechanism that was not at all concerning.

A lil' doodle of his shopping fit :]

Chapter Text

“... And there I was, freaking out, thinking he’s dying on our kitchen floor, when he just looks up at me and goes, ‘Baby, I got stones in me.’”

I cracked up as my friend finished her story, bracing myself against the trunk of the tree so I wouldn't fall over. “Holy shit, that's one way to tell someone you have kidney stones,” I gasped. 

“If he wasn't in so much pain at the time, I would've kicked him!” snorted the woman sitting cross-legged in the grass beside me. 

It took a minute for our laughter to die down. My dog came trotting over to check if we were okay or if we had finally gone insane. I gave her a reassuring pat before throwing the ball for her again. 

My friend leaned back against the tree with a contented sigh, watching the Pitbull-Labrador mix bound after the toy. “I’ve missed hanging out like this.” Her voice was soft. “It’s felt so long since you or I or any of us have been together. Everybody’s just so busy now. Being stupid adults.”

I gave my friend’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Hey, we’ll all be at your wedding in a few weeks, won't we? The gang will be back together then.” 

“It’s not the same when it’s for a big event like that.” The woman twisted a strand of red hair around her finger. A quirk of hers when she was ruminating on something. “I miss our movie and game nights. Barbecues on the lake. Going hiking. Not worrying about our futures or where the world is heading. Just hanging out. Just living. You know what I mean?” 

My dog pressed her tennis ball into my hand. I looked down at her for a moment. Her snout, once a solid brown, was now dusted with white and gray fur. 

“Yeah. I know what you mean,” I murmured. 

We were both quiet, our minds filled with memories of a time when we were younger. When the horizon seemed to stretch on forever. 

“Maybe we can start up Monthly Movie Night again,” my friend said quietly. “Once the wedding stuff calms down.”

“You’ll regret that when you see what I have in store for you guys. My crop of shitty movies has grown large and plentiful,” I joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

It drew a laugh out of the redhead like I had hoped. “Leave it to you to immediately plan how to terrorize your friends.” 

“I’m all about that psychological damage.”

The woman gave a playful nudge to my side. “I wouldn't have it any other way, Severus.” 

It was like all background sounds vanished at once. No distant honking from the street, no birds chirping in the trees, no happy panting of a dog.

My face fell. “That's… that's not my name.” 

“What are you talking about?” laughed my friend. “You're Severus Snape!” 

The park around us disappeared. It was just us and the tree in a white void. 

“Severus Snape,” the red-haired woman repeated, her voice seemingly emanating from everywhere at once, but still carrying a warmth to it. She turned to look at me. I think she was smiling. “Professor Snape.” Her eyes were green. “Wake up.”

༻✦༺

Snape jolted awake with a gasp. He was met with the sight of a very concerned Trixie and every item in his lab floating. Tables, shelves, stools, cauldrons, jars… the box containing the precious draughts he had spent hours brewing. The second he processed what was happening, the magical hold he had on everything broke. 

“Oh, shit—!” Snape lunged over the counter he had been using as a pillow and caught the box of draughts before it could hit the ground. Trixie managed to grab most of the jars of ingredients in the room with her own magic despite the strain. Both the wizard and the house elf grimaced as everything else came crashing down around them in a cacophony of noise. Then silence. 

“You okay, Trixie?” asked Snape after a moment, still draped over the counter. 

The elf set the jars down on whatever shelves were still standing straight and gave the Potions Master a worried frown. “Trixie is fine, but is Professor Snape alright? Trixie has been trying to wake him for the past few minutes, but nothing was working!”  

The Slytherin dragged himself up so that he was sitting on the counter with the box beside him. He groaned, holding his throbbing head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, thank you. Just got a bit of a headache,” he mumbled. 

“A bit” was an understatement. It felt like his brain had grown little brain arms and was trying to punch its way out of his skull. He was handed a headache relieving potion, something he had become quite familiar with lately. 

“Thanks. You're so cool, Trixie,” he told the house elf before downing the potion. Tasted like shit, but the effects were almost immediate. 

As the pounding in his head became a faint thud, Snape slid off the counter and started picking cauldrons off the floor. Trixie was already working on righting the furniture. 

“Sorry about the accidental magic,” said the Potions Master, ashamed of the mess he had created. “That hasn't happened to Old Sna—I mean me—since I was a kid.” Was this the wizard equivalent of wetting the bed? God, now he wouldn't be able to stop thinking of it that way.

“Professor Snape doesn't need to apologize. Even grown magical folk can lose control once in a while.” Nooooo, Trixie, don't say it like that.

Desperately needing to think about anything else before he died of embarrassment, the wizard turned to the other most prominent thing on his mind: the dream. Or what he could remember of it at least. To be honest, it was all kind of blurry. He knew his friend and perfect, wonderful dog from his previous life had been there. He just… couldn't remember their names. Why couldn’t he remember their names? Maybe he shouldn’t be that surprised considering he couldn't even remember his own name from the other reality, but still. It felt bad. Really bad. 

Great, add “mysterious dreams” and “highly specific memory loss” to the list of tropes my life has become, Snape grumbled internally, stacking the cauldrons in a corner. Trixie had already finished with the furniture and had summoned a broom to sweep up the debris.

“You don't need to help me clean, you know,” said Snape, guilt lacing his words. “It's my fault anyway.”

The house elf shook her head. “This is part of Trixie’s job. Also if Professor Snape did this by himself, he would most definitely run late for the staff meeting.” 

The Potions Master almost dropped the brewing stand he was carrying. “The what.”

Trixie gave him an exasperated look. “Professor Snape’s staff meeting. The one this morning at eight o’clock.” 

Snape slowly raised his eyes to the clock hanging above the door. It was 7:45. 

“Fuck.” 

༻✦༺

After telling Trixie to stop cleaning until he came back to help (the way the elf had agreed but made no effort to put the broom down gave him the feeling she wasn't going to honor his request), Snape had left his lab in a rush. He proceeded to break his shower speedrun record, dried his hair as best he could, and threw on his least wrinkled black bat robes before making a mad dash for the staff meeting room. He made it with three minutes to spare. 

The professor stopped in front of the door, anxiety welling up once again as he realized he was going to have to deal with a room full of people. He decided maybe it was best that he channel some of Old Snape for this. He wasn't sure if he could handle being stared at a bunch today after how chaotic his morning had been already. The Potions Master took a deep breath, put on a scowl, and grabbed the door handle.

You can do this.

Severus Snape strode into the meeting room, flinching as the door slammed open louder than he had intended. All of his coworkers' gazes immediately turned to him. He watched his confidence fly out the window and get snatched by a hawk. 

Oh, my god, I can't do this.

Despite the internal screaming, he managed to keep the scowl on as he made his way to his seat beside McGonagall. 

“Never thought I'd see the day where you would arrive late to something, Severus,” the Vice Headmistress commented, one of her sharp eyebrows arching. 

Snape stopped himself from pointing out that he had gotten there at 7:57 and technically hadn’t been late. “I was at a delicate point in the brewing process that I couldn't step away from,” he responded with instead. Nice. That was a good excuse that sounded very Old Snape. Maybe there was hope yet.

Dumbledore smiled at him. “I’m glad you could join us, Severus.” The greeting was innocent enough, but there was something else in the older wizard’s gaze. He was observing him. Damn, Poppy must’ve narc’d on him like he was afraid she would. 

The Slytherin made sure to maintain steady eye contact with Dumbledore as he simply gave a nod. He couldn't trust himself to not say something stupid with how nervous he was right now. The Headmaster seemed satisfied by his response and turned back to the rest of the table. Snape felt like he could breathe again. 

“Now that we’re all here, let us start with the announcements!” Dumbledore proclaimed way too cheerfully for someone leading a meeting at eight in the morning. “First off, I would like to give an official welcome to Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart.” He gestured towards the man in question, who gave one of his blinding grins. “He will be joining our staff as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year.” 

The clapping that followed from everybody was very much half-hearted and kind of pathetic, but it didn't appear to deter Lockhart, who stood up and bowed as if he had just finished a performance. “I am honored to take such a prestigious position. To be able to impart all the knowledge I’ve gathered over my many grand adventures onto the young minds of the next generation is a dream come true!” 

“More like a nightmare,” Snape heard Hooch mutter under her breath a couple chairs down from him. He held back a snort. 

Lockhart was in his element at this point, basking in the attention. “Hogwarts has always been my second home. I made some of my most beloved memories here and gained valuable experiences that helped shape me into the immensely successful wizard I am today! It is wonderful to return to these halls and see so many familiar faces. I look forward to working with all of you.” He bowed again, this time with extra flourish. “I especially look forward to getting to know my fellow professors better.” The celebrity wizard winked. Specifically at a certain Potions Master. 

Snape had started reading his copy of the meeting itinerary halfway through Lockhart’s crowing and had completely missed the flirting attempt and subsequent stares from his more observant coworkers. If he had noticed, he probably would have curled into a ball and rolled under the table. Hedgehog style.

“Thank you for that impromptu speech, Professor Lockhart,” said Dumbledore in amusement. “I’m sure there will be many opportunities to come for everyone to get to know each other. Now onto the next item on the list…”

As the meeting droned on, Snape felt himself relax a bit more. It wasn't so bad as long as he wasn't the center of attention. He let everyone else do the talking while piping in once in a while with simple remarks so it would count as participating. Lockhart was being kind of annoying with how he kept trying to take charge of every discussion, but McGonagall, Hooch and Sinistra were having none of it. Their passive aggressive back and forth was the only thing keeping the Potions Master from dying of boredom. It was getting harder to hide his yawns though.

“... What about you, Severus?” 

Snape jumped at the sound of his name, having almost dozed off. “S-sorry, repeat the question?” he stammered. 

Something flickered across Dumbledore’s wise, serene expression. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers together. “I was asking if you had any changes to your classes you wanted to discuss.” 

It could've been because of how goddamn tired he was, but Snape was finding his mask more difficult to keep up. “Ah, right. Well… I’m decreasing the amount of homework I assign.” This got him some surprised looks. He kept going despite it. “I-I’m not doing it to slack off or anything! I just think Potions is better learned with hands-on experience, so I’m planning on holding open labs with the time I free up not grading a million essays.” 

Yup. There was the staring again. 

“Did you, Severus Snape, say you're going to willingly put yourself in a situation where you have to interact with the students more?” questioned Flitwick in disbelief. 

The Head of Slytherin scratched the side of his neck self-consciously. “Just thought it’d be more fun that way.”

“Fun?” 

Welp, the jig was up. Even ol’ Dumbledore looked dumbfounded now. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Severus?” said McGonagall, her eyebrows almost disappearing into her hat. The query was meant as a joke, but there was a hint of legitimate doubt in it.

“I got therapy,” Snape blurted out. The resulting silence was deafening. He really needed to stop using that excuse. If he could shrink any further back in his seat, he would’ve become part of the chair.

Pomfrey was the one to break the awkwardness. “Well, in my opinion,” she began, looking around the table. “I think Severus’s plan to hold open labs is wonderful.” She received murmurs of agreement. The Healer smiled at the Potions Master. He gave a grateful smile back. He felt bad for calling her a narc now.

Everyone else was hit with the realization that Severus Snape had dimples. 

“Yes, I believe the idea will be a great benefit to the students,” said Dumbledore, having apparently recovered from the shock if his twinkling eyes signified anything. “Thank you for sharing, Severus.”

The staff meeting continued on a bit after that, but Snape was definitely more awake for it than he was before thanks to the glances his coworkers kept shooting at him throughout. Dumbledore’s was the worst. The Potions professor found himself actually hoping the meeting would run longer. He knew the Headmaster would approach him the second he got a chance to. 

No matter how much Snape willed it not to, the meeting did eventually come to an end. As his coworkers began to get up and casual chatter filled the room, he took the chance to escape. He didn't even make it five feet when he was stopped by not Dumbledore, but by McGonagall.

“Where do you think you're running off to, Severus Tobias Snape?” said the older witch, crossing her arms. “You need to explain what's come over you!” Her face was stern, but there was no malice behind it. Contrary to her movie counterpart, she didn't appear as old. She had crow’s feet and a few wrinkles, but her hair was still mostly jet black with only a few gray strands mixed in. 

Snape couldn't throw the therapy excuse at McGonagall again. He couldn't bring himself to totally lie to her either. The Mom Aura™ she radiated was too powerful. 

“I just felt it was time to make some changes to my life,” was the answer he decided to go with. It was vague, but still the truth. He hoped it was enough to satisfy Gryffindor’s Head of House. 

McGonagall studied the younger professor’s face. He didn't put the mask back up. Whatever the witch was searching for, she found it, because her features soon softened. “Well, I have to say that I’m proud of you, Severus.” 

Wow, this was the first mother figure across both of Snape’s lives to tell him that. Which was kind of a depressing fact. He was definitely not going to cling onto this memory and let it be one of the only things to fuel his fragile sense of self worth. Hah, hah. 

Before Snape could thank McGonagall for fueling his fragile sense of self worth, a hand landed on his shoulder. He shut his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose so he wouldn't swear out loud. He didn't need to turn around to know who was looming behind him. 

“Apologies for interrupting, Minerva,” Dumbledore chimed in, “but I would like to borrow Severus for a moment.” 

McGonagall did a small shooing motion with her hand. “Of course, of course! I need to stop Hooch from murdering our new Defense professor anyway.” She bid farewell and headed towards the argument happening on the other side of the room, leaving Snape behind with the Headmaster.

“Severus, my dear boy, do you have time for a little chat in my office?” said Dumbledore with a benign smile. 

The other wizard knew he didn't actually have a choice in the matter. “Sure, Albus.” 

༻✦༺

The Headmaster’s office was as grand as ever with its towering bookshelves and vaulted ceiling. Portraits covered the stone walls, their occupants very much active and nosy. The circular layout of the room brought focus to the large wooden desk in the center, which Snape was currently seated at with Fawkes on his arm.

Dumbledore sat across from them, watching with a furrowed brow as his pet phoenix preened the Potions Master’s hair. “How unusual. I’ve never seen Fawkes do this with anyone else.”

“This means he likes me, right?” asked Snape, trying not to sound too excited. And failing.

“I guess it does.” 

The Slytherin resisted the urge to do a fist pump and instead channeled that energy into giving Fawkes a scratch under the chin. The magical bird leaned into it with a happy chirp. It was adorable. 

“I have to say, Severus. You are full of surprises today,” Dumbledore hummed. “I feel like we haven't gotten to chat like this in quite a while. How have you been, my dear boy?”

Oh, yeah. This was supposed to be an interrogation. 

Snape regarded the Headmaster in front of him cautiously. By all appearances, Dumbledore was the typical wise, eccentric, old wizard. He had a long, silvery white beard that was probably a pain in the ass to manage. Colorful robes (he had gone with the starry sky fit today). A pointy wizard hat with little charms dangling off it. Bright blue eyes that had the tendency to twinkle. He looked benevolent. Disarming.

Snape knew that wasn't all there was to the old wizard. He had firsthand experience with Dumbledore’s more cunning, manipulative side. Not only that, but he now knew some of the shenanigans the Headmaster would pull in the future. Although perhaps calling the Astronomy Tower incident a shenanigan was a bit too blasé. 

The point of the matter was, Snape wasn't sure how much he could trust Dumbledore. He knew the older wizard was working towards the “greater good” in the end, but a few of his methods were… questionable. And he was stubborn. He was a man whose hands were in too many pies. Someone who had been playing this game of chess for so long, the lines between people and pawns were blurred. 

But goddammit, the old coot deserved a chance too. 

Snape sighed. “Let’s skip the whole song and dance, Albus. I know you're suspicious of me.” He tried not to let his nerves show as he continued, “And you're justified! I’ve been acting weird. With the whole Quirrel thing last year, it's totally understandable that I’d raise alarm bells.”

He had caught Dumbledore off guard once again, but the other wizard recovered faster this time. Gone was the quirky old man. The chess player had come out to the frontlines. 

“Yes, from what I’ve seen and heard, you have been acting quite out-of-character lately,” he said, leaning back in his seat, hands folded. “A sudden change. As if you became a whole different person overnight.”

Snape had been petting Fawkes for the entire conversation. It was helping a lot in keeping him calm. He needed to see how far he could take this. 

“You're not wrong per se,” the professor confessed. “It’s… kind of hard to explain.” He closed his eyes, trying to find the right words. “The best way I can put it is that I had a really long and detailed dream. Like really long.” Fawkes let out a low trill beside him. “I was someone else living a whole other life. Then when I woke up, the person I was in the dream was still there.” He couldn't trust Dumbledore with the full truth. It was too high a risk with how the Headmaster could be. Also he would sound even more insane than he already did. 

When Snape looked up to meet the piercing blue gaze, he felt the push of something against his mind’s shields. He had expected Dumbledore to do this at some point. It was the most logical way to see if he was an imposter or not after all. Didn't make it feel any less shitty though. Well, if the older wizard wanted proof, then he’d get it.

The raven-haired Slytherin pulled forward a few innocuous memories from his past life, ones that hopefully wouldn't raise too many questions. Riding on the bus, earphones in, watching the way raindrops slid down the window. Carrying a lost puppy out to the shelter’s lobby and seeing how her family’s faces lit up. Cuddling with his own dog on the couch.. 

He dug up some snippets of Old Snape’s life too. Holding his wand for the first time and gazing in awe at the silvery blue sparks lighting up the shop. Being awake at three in the morning, bleary but satisfied, putting the finishing touches on the thesis that would help get him his Mastery in Potions. Opening the gaudily wrapped Christmas present he had received from Dumbledore to reveal a green sweater with a snake stitched on the front. 

With these memories gathered, Snape lowered his shields just enough to show them. He felt Dumbledore root around these small parts of his lives, turning over each piece, searching for anything to justify suspicion. Honestly? It fucking sucked. Didn't feel great to have his privacy violated on a fundamental level like this. He hoped he wouldn't have to teach Harry Occlumency in this timeline.

After what felt like hours when in reality had only been a few seconds, Dumbledore’s presence left Snape’s mind. The professor slammed his shields back on immediately. Terrible experience. Zero out of ten. 

If anything, at least Dumbledore seemed to be placated by what he had seen. For now. 

“I’m sorry I had to resort to that, Severus,” said the old wizard, bowing his head as an added apology, “But I needed to be sure.” 

“I get it. Still sucked though,” Snape replied bluntly.

This pulled a chuckle out of Dumbledore. “I guess we’re all going to have to get used to this ‘new you,’ hm?” Only those closest to him would be able to detect the almost imperceptible caution that remained in his tone. 

Snape was just glad the older wizard wasn't throwing him into St. Mungo’s or Azkaban (for now). He’d count this as a win.

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It is an unusual situation. I’ve heard of troubles involving the dreamworld in the past, but in my many years of life, I have never seen a case quite like yours.” He paused, contemplating the mystery of a wizard before him: a man he witnessed at his worst. A man who had crawled his way out of the darkness and into the light. A man who was now making cooing sounds and baby talk at the phoenix nuzzling his cheek. 

For the first time in a long while, Albus Dumbledore wasn't quite sure what to do.

Chapter Text

Snape took in the sight of his perfectly clean and organized potions lab and sighed. He knew Trixie wouldn't let such a big mess sit there for long. She wasn't even around anymore for him to thank. He really needed to start knitting that elf-sized sweater at some point.

Trixie had left the box of Mandrake Restorative Draughts on the counter untouched. Good, at least he’d be able to help with something. 

Snape carried the draughts to his potions storeroom down the hall. He hadn't been able to brew as much as he would've liked due to the apothecary's low mandrake stock. He also would've preferred using fresh ones to improve the draughts’ quality, but he couldn't afford to wait for Sprout to plant and grow them. This would have to do for now. If the wizard succeeded in slaying the Basilisk, he wouldn't have to worry about curing anybody’s Petrification anyway. If he succeeded.

Whoa there, partner, let's think positive thoughts, Snape coached his brain. There’s only a 41.3 percent chance you’ll get absolutely fucking decimated by the ancient, giant, magical snake monster and also die. Again. 

Honestly though, things were going pretty well so far for his standards. Dumbledore had let him off the hook (for now) after answering some questions and he had almost collected everything he needed to confront the Basilisk. Next item on the list was a nice, big… rooster. 

You see, there was a really easy joke Snape could have made there—which he almost did—but in the end he avoided temptation and you should be proud of him. 

Anyway, it was time to pay a visit to Hagrid. 

As Snape stepped outside of the castle, he breathed in the cool August air and hummed contently. It felt good after being stuck in a three hour long staff meeting and an uncomfortable interrogation from his boss. 

The walk to Hagrid’s hut was quite pleasant. The sun was out, yet it wasn't too hot thanks to a gentle breeze. Snape was glad he had ditched his billowy bat cloak in his quarters earlier. If he wasn't on a mission, he would have taken a nap in the grass. 

Snape spotted the towering form of Hagrid working in the small garden in front of his hut. It was hard not to miss him with his height and bushy brown beard. He was tilling the earth with a hoe that didn't seem to be made for his size. His dog, Fang, was lazing about on the steps to the hut. As Snape approached, the Great Dane perked up, sniffing the air. 

The Potions Master couldn't stop the excited grin from spreading across his face as Fang happily loped over to him. 

“Hi, boy, how are you doing?” he greeted the canine, scratching him behind the ears. The wizard made sure to brace himself for the Great Dane Lean™, but still almost lost his balance as Fang shoved his large, clumsy body against his legs. Snape chuckled, giving the dog the pats he wanted on his side.

Someone cleared their throat. Snape looked up to see Hagrid standing there uncomfortably. It was then that the Slytherin realized the faux pas he had just committed. 

“I’m so sorry, Hagrid, I forgot to ask if I could pet your dog,” Snape said, mortified. How could he have broken such an important social code?  

The half-giant shook his head quickly. “N-no, yeh can pet Fang all yeh want, Professor Snape!” he stammered. “It’s jus’... I wasn' expecting a visit from yeh. Yeh’ve never come ‘round these parts before. Me hut that is.” 

“Oh.” The Potions Master searched Old Snape’s memories. Yup, Hagrid was right. “Uh… sorry about that then?”

“I-it’s no problem.” 

Snape once again found himself in a dreaded awkward silence that he wished would stop happening to him. He petted Fang as a coping mechanism. Hagrid shuffled his feet.

“I never knew yeh liked dogs, Professor,” admitted the half-giant. 

Snape glanced down at the Great Dane leaning against him, expression softening into a nostalgic smile. “Yeah. I do.” Fang nosed the wizard’s hand in a familiar way. His heart wrenched in his chest.

Okay, this was starting to veer into dangerous territory. He needed to change the subject before he was forced to do something healthy like confront his emotions. 

“So the reason I stopped by is because I wanted to ask you a favor if that's okay,” said the Slytherin, getting back to business. 

Hagrid scratched his beard. “I don’ know how much help I’ll be, but go ahead.” 

“Can I borrow a rooster for a few hours on the weekend?” There. A date was set for the showdown. 

The half-giant took a moment to process the question before he opened his mouth and went, “Whuh?"

Snape quickly elaborated, “I’m not going to hurt him or anything!” That’s what he hoped at least. He was going to do his best to keep the poor bird from becoming basilisk lunch. “I just need some feathers for a potion I’m going to brew. They have the best effect if they’re added immediately after harvesting, so I need him to chill with me for a bit.” This was the excuse the professor had come up with on his walk. People were used to potions needing weirdly specific bullshit. He felt bad for lying, but he needed to get this rooster somehow.

Hagrid appeared convinced enough. “Alrighty then.” He gestured for Snape to follow him. “I got a coop over here if yeh wan’ to see.” 

Fang padded after the two wizards as they went around to the back of the hut where an old coop sat. Chickens clucked around outside it in a large pen, doing typical chicken things. Snape couldn't help but feel a little jealous. He wished he could go about his day finding juicy worms in the dirt and not worry about the threat of an insane, racist tyrant taking over the country. You’d think that would only happen to somebody in one lifetime.

Snape crouched down to get a better view of the farm fowls. The single rooster in the pen strutted up to the fence and puffed out his chest to show he was the boss around here. Perfect.

"Got a Mr. Tough Guy over here,” chuckled Snape. “Does he have a name?”

Hagrid apparently hadn't expected the Potions Master to ask him that. His cheeks flushed and he rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment before mumbling, “It’s, er, Sir Henry.” 

Snape looked up at the half-giant. “Hagrid,” he said in an utmost serious tone, “You are bloody brilliant.” 

Hagrid spluttered, his round cheeks growing even rosier. Fang wagged his tail.

“I’ll pick Sir Henry up on Saturday morning if that's alright with you,” said Snape, standing and smoothing the wrinkles in his coat. He would’ve found amusement in how he sounded out of context if he wasn't distracted by the welling apprehension. 

A flustered Hagrid agreed with the time. Snape thanked him, gave Fang an ear scratch for the road, then excused himself. His mind was very much elsewhere as he retreated back to the castle. 

It was already Thursday. The students would be arriving on Sunday for the ceremony. It suddenly felt like he didn't have as much time as he thought. 

The wizard could take some solace in the fact that he had gathered most of the supplies needed to deal with the Basilisk itself. However, there was still a major obstacle in his way… getting into the goddamn Chamber of Secrets in the first place.

The Parseltongue route was not looking possible. There were no resources to learn the language and Snape really didn't want to get Harry involved. Using Tom Riddle’s diary was out of the question altogether for obvious mind control and soul-sucking reasons. 

Instead of heading back to his room in the dungeons, Snape took a detour to Hogwarts’s second floor. It was about time he actually visited the Chamber’s entrance and examined it.

Before the Potions Master entered the girls’ bathroom, he knocked. He was pretty sure it would be empty since there were currently zero students in the castle, but it didn't hurt to be safe and avoid yet another awkward situation. When the professor got no response, he let himself in. 

Wow, the sound design in here sucks, Snape thought as his steps echoed in the spacious lavatory. Whoever did this has never felt the anxiety of taking a dump in a public restroom.

He approached the circle of stone sinks in the center of the room. It didn't take long to find the faucet with the snake engraved on it. He twisted the handle. No water came out. Yeah, this was definitely the one. 

Snape closed his eyes and tried to sense for any wards. His work as a spy had attuned him to detecting troublesome things like that. From what he could feel, there was something placed on the sink, but it wasn't a ward. Probably the enchantment that made it open upon hearing a certain hissy language. Someone had been quite confident that the Parselmouth requirement would be enough to hide the Chamber’s entrance. And they had been right. It was proving to be an irritating obstacle. 

The raven-haired Slytherin stepped back to observe the sink in its entirety, a hand on his chin. If there weren't any protective wards, then maybe… just maybe… he could just blow it the fuck up.

He noted the cracks in the stone from the decades worth of wear. It wouldn't be too difficult to destroy with a Bombarda or two. Although there was still a risk to it. His ward detection skills weren't infallible. He could've missed one in there that would cause a lot more damage than an exploded sink. He was also a bit scared of what McGonagall would do to him when she found out about the destruction to school property. 

Snape set his jaw in determination. These were risks he would have to take. There wasn't much time or options left. He would test the waters with a little chip damage first to see how the sink responded to attacks.

The Potions Master flicked his wrist, the motion sliding his wand out of his sleeve and into his hand. He took a moment to bask in how badass that was before aiming at the sink. 

“What do you think you're doing?!” a high-pitched voice screeched from behind him. 

“HOLY SHIT!” screamed Snape, promptly losing whatever badass points he just gained. He whirled around to see a literal ghost. A very familiar ghost sporting student robes, round glasses, and pigtails. She was floating above one of the bathroom stalls with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the professor. 

“Oooh, you were about to do something to my sink, weren't you?” Moaning Myrtle accused.

Snape, doubled over as he worked on getting his heartbeat back to a reasonable pace, held up a finger. “G-give me a second.” When he could finally breathe again, he faced the ghost properly and said, “Yes, I was going to blow it up.”

He received a shrill “What?!” that made him wish he had earplugs.

Moaning Myrtle flew towards him until they were almost nose-to-nose, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You may be a professor now, Severus Snape, but that doesn't give you free reign to cause chaos in my bathroom!” 

The professor took a step back, raising his hands in a placating manner. “Sorry, Ms. Myrtle, but I kinda need to destroy the sink so I can fight the giant, deadly creature living under it.” He felt like honesty was the best policy in this situation. It totally wasn't because he couldn't think of an excuse fast enough after getting the shit scared out of him. 

Moaning Myrtle seemed to hesitate at Snape’s words. “Did you… did you say a ‘deadly creature?’”

“Also giant, but yes.” 

The ghost shrunk back a bit, now staring at the sink behind the dark-haired man. “I remember… that dreadful day,” she whimpered. “I saw two great, big, yellow eyes at that very spot. Then… I died.” 

Something clicked in Snape’s head. “Ms. Myrtle,” he said, “Can you tell me more about that day?”

The ghost brightened almost immediately. She liked to take every opportunity to recount her tragic tale to everyone who asked (or didn't ask). She thought it was the most exciting thing to happen to her after all. 

“Oooh, it was terrible,” she began with a flourish. “It happened in this very bathroom. Olive Hornby was being horrible and was teasing me about my glasses, so I hid in that stall over there,” she pointed at the location, “I was crying of course. Then I heard somebody come in. It was a boy! I knew this because I heard him say something. I couldn't understand him though—he was speaking a different language, I think. Anyway…”

Snape let the spirit ramble on about her death as his mind raced. How could he have forgotten Moaning Myrtle’s story? She had been Tom Riddle’s first murder. She had heard him open the Chamber of Secrets. She had heard him speak Parseltongue. 

“I need your help,” Snape told the ghost the moment she finished her tale. “Those eyes you saw? That was a basilisk. It’s what killed you. That’s the creature I need to take out before it hurts anybody else.” He gestured towards the sink. “There’s a secret passage under here that leads to its den, but it can only be opened with a password. It’s what you heard the boy say.” He avoided mentioning that the guy had been Voldemort. This was already an overwhelming amount of info he was dumping on the poor ghost. “I know this is a lot to ask, but do you remember what he said exactly?” 

“Of course I remember!” Moaning Myrtle said indignantly. “It was my death!” With a huff, she adjusted her glasses. “The word the boy said, it went a bit like…” The ghost made what was supposed to be a hissing noise, but came out as a sputter instead. She flushed red. “N-no it was more like a…” More sputtering. She tried a couple more times before stomping her foot in the air in frustration. “Forget it! I can't do it!” 

“Hey, it's okay, you tried,” said Snape. 

His attempt at reassurance seemed to annoy the ghost more. She crossed her arms and glared. “Don't patronize me! If you could hear it, I’d like to see you try to replicate such a ridiculous language!”

Ah, shit, thought the Potions Master as a certain idea formed. One that was painfully hypocritical of him considering what Dumbledore had subjected him to a little less than an hour ago. Maybe he should just blow up the sink.

“There is a way I can view your memory actually,” he said despite his hesitation. “I’ll just be looking at that single memory and nothing else, but I want to be absolutely sure you're okay with it before I—”

The professor was interrupted by Moaning Myrtle flying right up to him again, an excited grin on her face. “You’ll be able to see my death?!”

“Well, I was just going to hear the password and then leave—”

“Finally! Someone else will be able to witness my tragic, senseless end and share my pain!” exclaimed the ghost, clutching her chest dramatically.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. What the fuck is wrong with this world. He sighed, “Okay, well, all I need you to do is focus on the memory.” 

“That’s easy! I’m always haunted by it.” 

“Great. Keep doing that. Let's get this over with.”

The Slytherin’s eyes met the ghost’s. To be honest, Snape wasn't even sure if it would work. He had never heard of somebody performing Legilimency on a spirit before. It might be impossible for all he knew. 

That theory was crushed when the memory was practically thrown at him like a Bludger. 

There Myrtle was, crying in the bathroom stall. She looked miserable, curled into a ball on top of the toilet, trying to muffle her sobs. The sight made Snape’s heart ache for the girl. It was one thing to be told the story by an overeager ghost. It was another to witness it firsthand. No kid should have to go through something like this. 

Outside the stall, there was the creak of a door opening followed by footsteps. Myrtle went quiet, listening close. Was her bully back to pick on her more? 

The footsteps didn't move towards the stalls, but towards the sink. They stopped. There was a shuffling sound, then a male voice spoke.

Snape could see how Myrtle had trouble relaying the password. It was definitely a lot of hissing. But there was a pattern. He would be able to replicate it with practice, especially now that he had this memory to reference back to. 

Gotcha, bitch, thought the Potions Master smugly. 

He debated leaving since he had already gotten what he needed, but decided on letting the rest of the memory play out. He could at least stay with Myrtle until the end. It’s what she seemed to want anyway. He hoped it would help the girl feel a little less lonely. 

With a flash of yellow, reptilian eyes, Snape exited the memory. He could feel the beginnings of a headache again.

Myrtle was looking at him expectantly. 

“Wasn't it tragic? Exciting? Thrilling?” she questioned, bobbing up and down in the air. 

Snape smiled softly at her. “It was. In fact, I think someone should write a book on it.” 

“You're absolutely right!” beamed Myrtle. “Oooh, that will show Olive Hornby!” She flew a lap around the bathroom, giggling, before coming back to the professor. “So you know the password, right? Are you going to go slay the beast?”

“Not yet. I’m saving the fun for the weekend so I can set everything up,” said Snape as if he were hosting a party instead of meeting his potential doom. “Do you mind keeping this a secret until it’s over? The less people involved, the better.” 

Myrtle pouted in disappointment. “Aw, fine. At least until it’s over,” she grumbled. 

The Potions Master gave her a grateful look. “Thanks for your help, Ms. Myrtle. I really do appreciate it.” 

“Just make sure to avenge my death and we’ll be even,” quipped the ghost. She paused, tapping her chin. “By the way, when you were in my head, what was that phrase? ‘Gotcha, bitch?’ I haven't heard that one before.”

Snape paled. “Uh.”

“It’s catchy! I might start using it.”

“Oh, god, please don't.”

Chapter Text

Friday came and went without much fanfare. Snape didn't have any weird, mysterious dreams or awkward social encounters that would haunt him for years. It had just been him and his own fretting. He had spent the majority of the day preparing for the Basilisk showdown while trying not to think about all the things that could go wrong. 

Now here the wizard was, bright and early Saturday morning, in the girls’ bathroom once again. 

“It sounds weird when you say it like that, Sevy,” said Myrtle, sitting on the circular slab covering the tops of the sinks. She had apparently decided they were friends at some point and had taken to calling the professor by a nickname. He didn't mind either of those things.

Snape groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night.”

The ghost appraised him in his messy ponytail, wrinkled button-up shirt, and jeans with a critical eye. “Are you sure you're ready for this?”

“It’s now or never,” he stated from his crouched position, wand glowing as he applied a protection spell to Sir Henry. The rooster was sitting in a wire cage borrowed from Hagrid with a falconry hood covering his eyes. By the lack of squawking and flapping, the small dose of Calming Draught he had received was working. Snape was trying to make this as easy on the poor bird as he could.

The wizard casted one last defense charm onto Sir Henry’s cage and grimaced as the throbbing in his head increased. He was still getting headaches every time he used magic, so he had been trying to keep the casting to a minimum. Today was an exception. Needless to say, the two pain relieving potions he had already downed were proving ineffective.

Whatever. He could deal with a gatdang headache. 

Snape straightened and slung his pack over his shoulder. The axe was strapped to his back within easy reach, ready in the event Operation Cock-A-Doodle-Doo failed. He was as ready as he would ever be for this crazy shit.

The Potions Master faced the sink with the snake engraved on the faucet and recited the Parseltongue he had heard in Myrtle’s memory. The hisses came out smoother than they did when he first started practicing yesterday. If this didn't work, there was always the explosion route.

For a few agonizing moments, nothing happened. Then the sound of stone grinding against stone filled the bathroom. 

Myrtle was startled off her perch on the circular slab as it rose into the air. Meanwhile, the sinks slowly pulled out and away from each other, revealing the cavernous maw of the pipe beneath. Finally the sink with the snake faucet lowered into the ground to make an opening wide enough for someone to step through. 

Snape and Myrtle peered down the creepy hole. It was so dark that they could only see a few feet into it.

Wow, just like in the movie, the Slytherin thought to himself with zero enthusiasm.

“Oooh, I’m a literal ghost and even I think that's scary,” commented the literal ghost. 

Snape gave a resigned sigh. Well, there was just one last thing to do. He turned and called out a name.

Trixie appeared in the bathroom with a sharp crack. “What can Trixie do for Professor… Snape…” The house elf’s little voice trailed off as she absorbed the sight before her. She looked at the wizard in confusion. 

“Sorry, Trixie, no time to explain, but I need a favor,” said Snape. He pulled a letter from his jeans pocket and presented it to the elf. “If I don't come back out of that hole in an hour, can you deliver this to Dumbledore? It’ll tell him what he needs to know.” Like how he’ll have to find a new Potions Master.

Trixie took the letter hesitantly, her wide eyes flicking between it and its giver. “What… what is Professor Snape about to do?”

“Something stupid probably,” answered the Slytherin in his usual blunt manner as he picked up Sir Henry’s cage like a lantern. He walked over to the pipe’s opening and summoned an orb of light to his wand. 

“If you die, make sure to come back as a vengeful spirit, Sevy!” Myrtle chirped, waving goodbye. 

Snape laughed despite his nerves and gave the ghost and shocked elf a mock salute before jumping into the hole.

Sir Henry squawked in alarm as they slid down the pipe. Snape wasn't having much fun with it either. He had never been a fan of theme park slides. As they neared the end of the pipe, he used magic to slow their descent so they wouldn't fly out into god knows what.

The raven-haired wizard landed on his feet in something brittle and crunchy. He glanced down. Yup, those were bones. They covered the floor of the small chamber he had found himself in. A lot of the remains appeared to be animal in origin—mostly rodents by the looks of it—but there were so many it was hard to say for sure they were all from just animals. Sir Henry couldn't see the horrors thanks to the hood, but he could smell the decay and it was making the rooster agitated.

“Real sorry about this, Sir Henry,” Snape said quietly to the rooster before putting him under the Imperius curse. The bird’s fluttering stilled as he fell into a calm trance. 

Trying to ignore the guilt, the Potions Master moved forward through the bones to the large pipe opening on the other side of the room. To his relief, this pipe was not sloped and was actually walkable. 

Light from his wand guiding him, Snape traveled through the tunnel until it opened up into a natural cavern. Tangled amongst the stalagmites was the shed skin of the Basilisk. It was difficult to estimate the length with how it was twisted, but it was definitely longer than forty feet at least. The professor couldn't tell if it was his heart or his headache pounding in his ears as he cautiously stepped past the oversized snakeskin.

He came to a stop a little further into the cavern, his orb of light revealing something that he had both been hoping and dreading to see.

The main entrance to the Chamber of Secrets loomed before Snape: a large vault door with seven snakes decorating its surface. Very thematic.

Snape extinguished his light and applied a Supersensory Charm to himself, his surroundings immediately sharpening. He downed his third headache relieving potion. Didn't help much, but it was better than nothing.

Alright, pre-fight buffing was done. It was showtime.

The Potions Master hissed the password in Parseltongue again. The groaning and creaking of the vault door opening was almost painfully loud. What followed was a wave of humid air carrying the stench of death. All great signs. 

With a shaky exhale, Snape kept his eyes down and climbed through the entrance. It was a much shorter pipe this time. Once he got to the edge that dropped into the Chamber itself, he crouched and set Sir Henry’s cage down in front of him. The wizard pulled up the blindfold he had been wearing around his neck, sending him into darkness. His other magically enhanced senses took over. He couldn't see, but he could feel each minute change in the air hitting his skin. He could smell the stale water and mold beneath the rot. 

He could hear the sound of scales shifting against stone. A sound that was rapidly coming closer.

Snape let Sir Henry rip. 

The rooster’s crow bounced off the walls of the Chamber, amplified by magic. Through the ringing in his ears, Snape heard the Basilisk hissing and thrashing. Then a heavy thud. Then… nothing.

The Potions Master waited, heart racing in his chest as he listened for any movement. When the silence remained unbroken for a good few minutes, he dared to peek out from under his blindfold. 

A gargantuan black serpent, at least fifty feet in length, lay sprawled on its back across the center of the Chamber. Its body was limp, jaw hanging open over the edge of one of the room’s canals. To be extra safe, Snape had Sir Henry crow again. The Basilisk didn't so much as twitch. 

The wizard dropped into the Chamber of Secrets and cautiously approached the body, axe in hand. The whole thing had been too easy and it was making him paranoid. He had consumed enough media in his previous life to know how these situations usually went. 

Snape gave the Basilisk an experimental poke with the axe. No response. His gaze flicked to its large, yellow eyes before he could stop himself. They were dull. The most damning proof that the creature was dead was the fact the young professor hadn't perished himself upon making eye contact. 

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, bud,” the Slytherin murmured, stroking the cold scales. Maybe if he were a smarter man in a kinder world, he could’ve figured out a solution where the Basilisk didn't have to be slain. Wishful thinking.

Once he had paid his respects to the ancient beast, the wizard began harvesting. He used the axe to pry out a fang, then carefully wrapped it in cloth and placed it in a glass jar enchanted with an Unbreakable Charm. He used another jar to collect some of the Basilisk’s blood as well for future use. He was still a Potions Master after all. The possibilities with such a rare ingredient were endless.

Snape was putting the jars back in his pack when the feeling hit him. 

It came out of nowhere and everywhere. A deep, unexplainable dread. A feeling of absolute wrongness. He wanted to run, but he remained frozen in place—his gaze drawn to the statue of Salazar Slytherin at the end of the Chamber. He blinked and suddenly something was there. 

Even with the charm enhancing his senses, Snape could not fully understand what he was seeing. He couldn't seem to focus on it no matter how hard he tried. It seemed to flicker in and out of existence. All he could gather was that it was vaguely humanoid in shape. Then his head was filled with a voice that wasn't his own. 

You shouldn't be here.

It was like a hundred different people were speaking at once. The Something hadn't moved, but it felt like it was closing in on him all the same. 

Do you really think you can weave your own threads without them breaking?

His brain was screaming, thudding against his skull, trying in vain to comprehend the incomprehensible. 

Although perhaps… this could prove interesting.

As suddenly as it appeared, The Something was gone. He could breathe again. 

Then a heavy tail slammed into him.

Snape hit the ground a few yards from where he had been with a pained gasp. His axe skittered across the floor out of his reach, coming to a stop near Salazar Slytherin’s statue. A piercing hiss made him look up in horror.

The Basilisk towered over him in all its fearsome glory. It reared its head back and hissed again, revealing a gaping maw that was now short of a fang.

“Oh, fuck my stupid, gay-ass li—”

The serpent lunged. Snape barely managed to roll out of the way, the beast flying past him and crashing into one of the snake statues lining the Chamber. He scrambled to his feet despite the sharp flare in his ribs. The Basilisk seemed unaffected by its rendezvous with the statue, head swinging around to face its prey. Its yellow eyes remained unfocused and dull. 

Snape couldn't stop and think about how the giant snake had become a freakin’ zombie. He was just glad he didn't have to deal with its death stare. He had more than enough to worry about right now. 

With a yelp, the professor flung himself to the side to avoid the Basilisk’s lashing tail. To his dismay, the attack struck the pipe where Sir Henry still sat, knocking his cage into the Chamber. The rooster began squawking and flapping in alarm, no longer under an Imperius curse to calm him. The frantic movements caught the predator’s attention. 

“Accio!” Snape shouted, more pain blossoming in his head. The cage came flying into his arms just before the massive jaw could close around it. 

The Basilisk wasn't going to give him any time to recover. It struck like lightning. He casted a Protego the moment before impact. The summoned shield took the initial blow, but not without cracks spreading across its rippling blue surface. Seeing the Basilisk rearing for another attack, Snape grit his teeth, pouring more magic into the shield. 

The sound of an explosion tore through his ears and his vision suddenly filled with white. The worst pain he had ever felt in his lives shot through his right arm. It felt like his flesh was being torn apart from the inside out. 

Snape was blown back from the blast, body tumbling across the Chamber before hitting something hard. Dazed, he glanced up to see Salazar Slytherin’s stony countenance. The professor’s eyes trailed back down to the main source of agony he was feeling at the moment. 

His arm was still there, but it was a mess. Starting from his hand, jagged slices ran up the length of the limb, stopping a little past his elbow. There was a lot of blood. Probably not good. 

Snape realized he was still gripping something. With his wounds screaming in protest, he opened his hand. It was his wand… or what was left of it. Only the handle remained, smoke rising from the charred end. It was then he understood what exactly had exploded. 

A squawk brought the wizard out of his stunned stupor. He had somehow managed to hold onto Sir Henry’s cage throughout everything. The rooster was terrified, but thankfully unharmed. Snape was relieved the protection charms were working for one of them at least. He struggled to his feet, leaving Sir Henry on the ground behind him.

The wand’s explosion had disoriented the Basilisk and bought Snape some precious time, but not nearly enough. In under a minute, the serpent had regained its bearings. It charged towards its cornered prey, mouth wide open and fangs bared. 

Ignoring the agony coursing through his body, the Potions Master dove for the axe that had landed near Slytherin’s statue earlier. His hands closed around the handle just as the Basilisk lunged. Snape swung with all the strength he had left, a single spell forming in his mind on instinct. 

Sectumsempra.

The axe cleaved into the Basilisk’s head like it was butter, creating a massive red arc of magic that sliced through the rest of its body and everything behind it. The two halves of the ancient serpent crashed to the ground on either side of the raven-haired wizard, sliding until they ran out of momentum. 

Snape stood there covered in blood, breathing labored and eyes wide. His arms trembled as he held the axe in a white-knuckled grip, surrounded by the bisected remains of the Basilisk, viscera pooling around his feet. Deep gouge marks marred the stone floor and wall that had been in the red arc’s path. 

This was the sight Dumbledore and the other Heads of Houses were met with when they burst into the Chamber a minute later. 

“Sweet Merlin,” gasped Flitwick. 

Sprout’s hand had flown to her mouth and McGonagall had paled considerably.

Snape looked up at the group upon hearing the new voice. As the adrenaline faded, the pain came rushing back tenfold. He wobbled, dropping the axe. His vision blurred.

Dumbledore was the one to step forward first, unable to hide his shock. “Severus…?” 

The Potions Master fainted.

Chapter Text

“You're an idiot.” 

All I got from my friend was a stupid grin as he held the ice pack to his cheek. If he wasn't already injured, I would have shoved him. I made do by glaring at the other teenager. “I’m serious! You could’ve ended up in a… in a hospital bed instead of here in the principal’s office!”

“I’m not a brown belt in Taekwondo for nothing,” said the teen, shooting a wink and a finger gun at me.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved,” I snapped back. 

My friend’s grin faded into a frown. “You really expect me to just walk away when I see you getting bullied?” 

“Yes, have a teacher handle it!” I cried, throwing my arms up in frustration. “You don't have to be the hero all the time!” 

Hazel eyes hardened behind oval frames. “Yeah, because the adults here are great at handling transphobic assholes,” the teen said sarcastically.

I opened my mouth to retort, but stopped when I caught a glimpse of the dark bruise on his cheek again. The guilt drowned whatever anger I had been feeling in that moment. I slumped in my chair, putting my face in my hands. 

“I… I’m sorry for yelling,” I mumbled, trying to swallow the lump in my throat, “a-and for getting you hurt.”

My friend ran a hand through his messy mop of black hair and sighed. “Now you're being the idiot.” He bumped my knee with his own. “It's not your fault this school’s fucked. You don't have to deal with all this on your own, man.”  

I nodded, afraid the waterworks would activate if I spoke. I knew he was right. I didn't have many friends, but the few I did have were the best support group a person could ask for. The proof was right next to me.

“Thank you,” I murmured after a minute, “for being there.” 

My friend smiled. “Anytime.” 

“... Just promise not to punch anyone else out for me?” Seeing the contemplative expression I received, I added, “Even if they deserve it.” 

The boy with glasses groaned. “Aw, fine. I won't kick any more asses in front of you.”

“Gonna choose to ignore that ‘in front of you’ part.” 

My friend stuck his tongue out at me lightheartedly. I laughed. 

Maybe things would be okay.

༻✦༺

The first thing Snape noticed as he drifted back into consciousness were the voices. They were muted, yet urgent. He picked up on his name a few times, but didn't care to listen any harder. He was too busy dealing with the horrific, burning agony coursing through his body. 

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. The pain was actually a lot more manageable now. His headache had lessened to a dull thud and his arm felt like it had only been through a shredder once. 

Something soft rubbed against his cheek. After some deliberation, the Potions Master decided to crack open an eye. 

He was lying on a bed in the hospital wing. This particular ceiling was apparently a familiar sight to Old Snape, which was yet another thing to unpack later. His injured arm had been wrapped in bandages and he was no longer soaked in blood. Now he was dressed in a clean, loose-fitting shirt and pants. The wizard was grateful for it. Being coated in the blood of something that he had killed… it hadn't been a pleasant feeling. 

Fawkes was sitting on his chest and nuzzling him. The serotonin boost was a needed distraction from his spiraling thoughts. He smiled and gave the phoenix a scratch under the chin with his good hand, receiving a happy trill.

Past Fawkes’s beak, Snape spotted Pomfrey, Dumbledore and McGonagall arguing in hushed voices near the foot of his bed. 

“I can assure you that this is Severus and not some imposter like you're implying,” said Pomfrey, giving Dumbledore a stern glare, “nor is he under some dark spell.” She jabbed the Headmaster’s chest with a finger. “I’ve treated him since he was a child! I know it's him.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Poppy, you must understand my caution—”

“This is ridiculous!” snapped McGonagall. “He slew a monster for us for Merlin’s sake! Isn't that proof enough? Just look at the state he’s in!” Upon the Head of Gryffindor’s gesture, three pairs of eyes turned to the Potions Master. 

Snape did a peace sign. “What's up.” 

A beat of shocked silence passed before Pomfrey and McGonagall were rushing to his bedside. 

“Oh, Severus, how are you feeling? Do you need another pain relief potion? Do your bones feel like they're in the right places?” fretted Pomfrey, wand already out and scanning her patient for any new abnormalities. Fawkes hopped onto the headboard to avoid getting smothered.

Snape had known to expect a bombardment of questions from the Mediwitch, but it overwhelmed his exhausted brain nonetheless. He just went with the default answer he usually gave her. “I’m fine, Poppy.”

Pomfrey didn't seem pleased by the obvious lie, but before she could press further, McGonagall jumped in. “I cannot believe I’m saying this, but that was the most foolhardy, most idiotic, most Gryffindor thing you have ever done!” Her tone was harsh, but it was betrayed by the concern and hint of pride in her eyes.

“Wow, thank you, Minerva, that means a lot,” replied Snape, touched.

“That wasn't a compliment!”

“Aw.”

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled, shoulders slumping. “I was planning on giving you the biggest tongue-lashing of your life for what you did...” She softened as she gazed upon the younger professor. “... but I shall hold back on the scolding for now. I’m just glad you’re alright.” 

“Is Sir Henry okay too?” asked Snape nervously, sitting up in bed with a bit of effort. He had been worried about the condition of his partner in crime ever since he woke up. 

McGonagall raised a confused eyebrow. “Who’s ‘Sir Henry?’”

“The rooster.”

A myriad of emotions passed over the witch’s face in that moment. She slowly turned her head towards Pomfrey. “May I strangle him?” 

“After he recovers,” the Mediwitch replied, not missing a beat. Snape suddenly didn't feel so safe anymore. 

Dumbledore, who had been observing the scene in silence, stepped forward in all his benign old man glory. “Sir Henry is fine, my boy. He is back in Hagrid’s capable hands.”

“Thank god,” Snape breathed. He still had to apologize to the half-giant, but at least it wouldn't be for getting his rooster killed. 

“More importantly,” Pomfrey cut in, “we need to discuss your condition.” She was still running diagnostics on the Slytherin with her wand as she spoke. “You had three broken ribs and a concussion. Not to mention the deep lacerations in your right arm causing substantial blood loss.”

“Three broken ribs? Not bad,” said Snape. The resulting scowl he received made him quickly change the subject. “How long was I out?”

“Only around five hours. It’s still Saturday,” the Mediwitch answered. “I repaired your ribs and replenished your blood supply, but Fawkes was actually the one to close the wounds on your arm.” 

“The healing properties of phoenix tears are potent indeed,” hummed Dumbledore. 

Snape’s mouth formed an “o” shape. He remembered Fawkes had done the same thing for Harry in the movie. If it was some kind of predetermined event, then at least it was a positive one.

Before he could thank his healers, Pomfrey was continuing on with her medical breakdown. “Those are the problems that can be fixed with some spells, potions and a bit of bed rest. My biggest concern is your magic.” She tapped Snape on the chest. “You are practically overflowing with raw magic. Or ‘mana’ as some call it. Your body should be naturally processing it into a more refined, less volatile state. That’s how it works for all wizards.” Pomfrey paused, brow creased in worry. “But for some reason, that innate process has stopped in you… and I don't know why.”

Snape knew why. This was definitely a side effect to the whole “dying and waking up as a fictional character” thing. He couldn't really admit that to anyone here though. 

“Explains why my wand exploded on me,” he muttered.

“We found what was left of it,” McGonagall said with a pitying look. She nodded to a small box sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. “I’m sorry, Severus. I’m afraid it's beyond repair.”

The Potions Master let a tired groan escape him. “Yeah. I suspected that.” That didn't make him feel any better. His wand had been a constant in his—no, Old Snape’s—life since childhood. It was hard to not have a sentimental connection to it. 

Pomfrey gave his good arm a comforting squeeze. “I know it's impossible to avoid using magic completely considering your work, but try to minimize it as much as you can for now until we figure out a solution.”

“Mana is an unpredictable force that wizards aren't built to wield,” advised McGonagall. “If you cast a powerful spell, like when you slayed the Basilisk, the damage done to your body and surroundings may be worse.”

Snape nodded reluctantly. This was going to be a pain in the ass. 

Speaking of pain in the ass, Dumbledore had finally decided to make his move. “Poppy, Minerva,” he regarded the two witches, “if you don't mind, I would like to speak to Severus.” His expression was inscrutable. “Alone.”

“Albus,” said Pomfrey warningly.

“Don’t worry, it won't be anything strenuous,” the Headmaster said with a placating smile. “There are just some private things we need to discuss.” 

The witches were hesitant, trading unsure glances with each other, but relented in the end. Pomfrey shot one more warning glare at Dumbledore before leaving with McGonagall. 

As the doors to the hospital wing closed with a soft thud, the Headmaster summoned a chair to Snape’s bedside and sat down. He had dropped the smile. “I received your letter, Severus.” 

“Trixie gave it to you early, huh?” said the professor wryly. He didn't blame her for it. She hadn’t been thrilled to see him jump into that dark, creepy pipe. Having her wait a whole hour to give the letter while she was in such a worried state had been unfair.

“I dealt with the horcrux as you instructed,” Dumbledore informed. “Although your wards on the chest were a bit stronger than you likely intended.” 

Snape grimaced. “Ah. Sorry.” 

The Headmaster didn't react to the apology, instead driving ahead with his interrogation. “How did the horcrux come into your possession?” 

Perhaps the Slytherin should've detailed that part in the letter too. He had been too busy spinning a tale about the diary revealing the Chamber of Secrets to him. At least he didn't have to lie about how he got it in the first place.

The Potions Master proceeded to tell Dumbledore about his run-in with Lucius Malfoy at the bookstore. His audience remained unreadable right until the end. When he was done, he was met with a stern stare. “Why didn’t you inform me about any of this when it happened?” 

“Because I wasn't sure I could trust you,” Snape said before he could stop himself. 

A tense quiet fell over the pair of wizards. Dumbledore appeared conflicted. Fawkes ruffled his feathers. Snape just wanted to smack himself. His filter liked to fail under pressure and at the worst possible times, it seemed.

To be honest, he was tired of having to worry about whether Dumbledore believed any of his stories or not. It was always something nagging him at the back of his mind. He had enough going on in there as is. If Snape wanted to help Harry and as many others as he could, it would be best to have the Headmaster on his side. He just had no idea how he could assure the older wizard's trust. 

Actually… maybe he did. 

“I want to make an Unbreakable Vow,” declared Snape without fanfare, “One where I promise to fight for the side of the Light and protect Harry Potter.” 

This time Dumbledore did nothing to hide his shock, staring at his Potions Master as if he couldn't recognize him. “You understand how serious of a request that is, do you not?” 

“I know what it means.”

Sharp blue eyes bored into the Slytherin, studying. Calculating. Finally, the Headmaster spoke again: “What is your goal, Severus?” 

It was the professor’s turn to be caught off guard. It was a question he had many answers for, which was the problem in itself. He wanted to destroy Voldemort’s horcruxes. He wanted to prevent as many bad future events as he could. He wanted to give Harry the chance to just be a kid.

He wanted his life to mean something this time. 

“I’m trying to find a happier ending,” was Snape’s simple but resolute reply.

Dumbledore seemed to consider his answer, brow furrowed and fingers laced. After a few tense moments, the Headmaster let out a resigned sigh. He suddenly looked a lot older.

“Of all the variables I could have planned for, never could I have predicted anything like you, Severus,” uttered the Headmaster. There was no malice in his voice. “We have long since passed a crossroads I’ve only recently realized was there.” His gaze was gentler now. “There is no need for a Vow. I can hear the truth in your voice. When the time comes, I will not make you go back to Voldemort.”

Snape blinked, surprised. He really had been prepared to go through with the Vow. He also hadn't expected Dumbledore to free him of his spy duties (he hadn’t been planning on going back to the Dick Lord anyway so this was one less awkward conversation to deal with). Sure, the old coot probably had some other ideas on how to use him, but for now… this was a nice change.

“I appreciate it, Albus,” he murmured, giving him a small smile. 

“To be quite honest,” said the Headmaster after a brief pause, “I’m not sure Voldemort would have been able to handle you in your current state.” 

“I can't tell if that's a compliment or not.” 

All Snape got in response were a pair of twinkling blue eyes and a cheerful chirp from a phoenix. 

༻✦༺

Pomfrey had held Snape hostage in the hospital wing until late the next day. She seemed excited that she had managed to keep him there for that long. Old Snape would've been trying to escape the moment he woke up. Not that New Snape hadn't thought about it either—he just didn't want to disappoint Pomfrey after everything she had done for him.

McGonagall had upheld her promise to come back and scold him. She had even brought Flitwick and Sprout along for extra firepower. They had torn Snape a new one for not informing anyone about the Chamber of Secrets and going in alone to fight the Basilisk. However, it had eventually turned into them praising his success with slaying the ancient beast. They had asked for the full story and he obliged.

As Snape had recounted the events in the Chamber, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting Something important. 

After the emotionally confusing interaction with his fellow Heads of Houses, the raven-haired wizard had spent the rest of his time in the hospital wing working on lesson plans and knitting. Some may call him a workaholic, but he just thought of it as being efficient. Constantly. 24/7. 

Trixie had snuck items in for Snape during his confinement. She did indeed feel terrible for “disobeying” him with the letter, but he had assured her that it was fine. It had been something they discussed over the tea they were sharing. Trixie had wanted to cheer him up in her own way. It made his heart feel warm inside that the elf had remembered his weird little tea request.  

Snape had finally earned his freedom after promising Pomfrey not to do anything stupid. The start-of-term feast would be starting in a couple hours and he wanted to change his clothes and stretch his legs before then. Being kept in the hospital wing for so long had made him antsy. 

The professor—now sporting his signature black robes so he wouldn't shock any students on their first day back—scanned Hagrid’s hut and frowned in disappointment. Neither the half-giant nor his really cute dog were around. They were probably already at the train station escorting the kids. Bummer. Snape’s dog petting quota would not be met today it seemed.

At least he could pay Sir Henry a visit. He hoped Hagrid wouldn't mind.

The raven-haired Slytherin had almost reached the chicken coop when something in the evening sky caught his eye. He stopped and squinted. 

Whoa, that is a big-ass bird.

The bird was swerving towards the castle at an impressive speed. The bird also looked suspiciously like a car. Specifically a light blue Ford Angila.

“Jesus Christ,” Snape swore out loud before taking off into a run. He knew where the car would be landing. He just wished he had remembered this whole event earlier. In the story, Harry and Ron had come out from this misadventure unscathed, but what if it was different this time?

The Potions Master wasn't sure where this sudden paranoia was coming from. Maybe he was still too high strung from the Basilisk fight. The nagging feeling that he was missing Something about it hadn't gone away.

A crashing sound yanked Snape out of his thoughts. He put in a burst of speed, cresting the hill just in time to see the Whomping Willow bash a Ford Angila out of its branches. The car landed upright, but didn't move. Snape could see Ron at the wheel with Harry beside him, desperately trying to get the vehicle to start. The Whomping Willow swung again. 

Snape’s hastily casted Slowing Charm struck the tree just before it could slam down on the car. It bought an extra few seconds for the engine to start and for Ron to floor it out of there. Stuck in slow motion, the Whomping Willow struck the spot where the car had been with the strength of an angry Chihuahua.

The professor sighed in relief. He had been discharged from the hospital wing only an hour ago and he was already using magic. Luckily the spell hadn't been an intensive one. A slight throb in his head was all he had to deal with. That and being murdered by Hogwarts’s resident Mediwitch if she found out.

The Ford Angila screeched to a halt a safe distance away from the magical willow. Snape watched as the doors and trunk flew open on their own, ejecting Harry, Ron, and all their luggage onto the grass. With a honk that somehow conveyed disgust, the Ford Angila drove itself off into the nearby woods. 

Trying not to think about how much damage a sentient flying car could do to the Forbidden Forest’s natural ecosystem, Snape jogged over to the two dazed Gryffindors sprawled on the ground. “Hey, you kids alright?” 

Ron took one look at who was talking to them and groaned, “Oh, no.” Harry didn't seem thrilled either by the grimace he made. Other than that, they appeared to be fine.

The Potions Master understood their reactions considering his reputation. A single interaction in a bookstore wouldn't change their perspective of him overnight. He was still a teensy bit offended though.

“I’m gonna need to see some license and registration,” Snape joked in an effort to break the tension. He received a pair of blank stares. 

Yup, this was going well. 

༻✦༺

Harry and Ron sat in Snape’s office, shifting nervously in their chairs. The Potions Master was leaning back against the edge of his desk, reading a newspaper that displayed a photo of a flying Ford Angila on the front page. 

“Frankly I don't know how they got this story out and circulating so fast,” said Snape with a raised eyebrow, “but go off, I guess.” 

“What does ‘go off’ mean?” Ron whispered to Harry. His friend kicked him in the shin to quiet him. 

Snape put down the newspaper and turned his full attention to the two students, doing his best to not be intimidating. “Care to tell me what happened?” He had a decent idea of how everything had gone down, but he wanted to hear it straight from them. 

Harry and Ron seemed to have a silent battle of wills with each other. After a minute of this, the former finally relented. 

“The platform wouldn't let us in so we… um… missed the train,” mumbled Harry. “Mr. Weasley had that magic car and Ron’s flown it before, so…” The boy trailed off as his confidence wavered. 

Snape sighed. “I don't think I need to explain how dangerous that was. You could have waited for one of the adults to come back.” He didn't enjoy scolding anybody, but he needed to be firm here if these kids were going to learn anything from this. “Missing the train and showing up late to school wouldn't have been the end of the world. Especially when it’s due to something out of your control like a faulty platform."

“A-are we going to get e-expelled?” stammered Ron. 

The Potions Master chuckled and shook his head. “No, you guys aren't getting expelled for this, even if it was kind of wild.” 

“What about all the Muggles that saw us?” questioned Harry, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. 

Snape waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, the Ministry will handle it. A single flying car isn't going to expose wizardkind to the masses.” He shrugged. “People are more likely to think it was a UFO anyway.”

Based on their wide eyes, it was clear the two students hadn't expected such a measured and reassuring response from their professor. All they could do was nod in stunned silence. 

“Now just because I said you aren't getting expelled, doesn't mean you guys are off the hook,” said Snape as he crossed his arms. “It’s not fun, but you gotta have consequences for your actions.” He nodded towards something behind the young Gryffindors. “I’m leaving that part to your Head of House.” 

Harry and Ron turned their heads around to see a very irate Minerva McGonagall looming over them. 

“Aw, bloody hell,” whimpered Ron.

Chapter Text

In his past life, Snape had never handled public speaking very well. Being the center of attention while having to talk at the same time was a nightmare for someone whose brain was analyzing and overanalyzing everything nonstop. Is he standing weird? What should he do with his hands? Did he accidentally make too much eye contact with that one person in the crowd and now they’ll remember this forever until the end of time? All important and necessary things to think about. 

However, as Snape stood in front of his class, many pairs of young, expectant eyes focused on him, he felt at home. Teaching Potions was something he had been doing for years. He knew the subject and this classroom like the back of his hand. Plus, in his opinion, kids were just easier to talk to than adults. Different expectations and stuff. 

Of course, that didn't mean he was entirely free of anxiety. The professor was a bit worried about how the students would respond to his sudden personality change. He had a taste of it last night when the Heads of Houses had gathered up their students to escort them to their dorms and do the usual introductions. His speech had surprised his Snakes to say the least: very informal with a decent dollop of humor on top (it's how he coped). He had emphasized that his doors were always open for anyone who needed help with anything—something Old Snape had already established in the past. He had also made sure to solidify his stance against “blood purity” bullshit. It had been awkward. These first few weeks of the term were going to be hella awkward in general. His whole existence was awkward.

Teaching the First Year classes this morning had been fine because the kids were new. They had never gotten the chance to know Old Snape. The Second Years however…

… Well, it was better to just rip the band-aid off.

“Alright, nerds, welcome to Potions class,” Severus Snape said with a clap of his hands and a good-natured smile. 

If minds could physically explode, he would be looking at a classroom of headless Gryffindor and Slytherin students right now. All wondering if Snape had always had dimples.

“I had a minor/major existential crisis over the break that changed me fundamentally as a person,” the Potions Master explained as if everything he was saying was totally normal, “so things are going to be a little different from here on out.” He leaned forward on the podium before him, taking a second to mull over his next words. “I want this to be a place where you feel safe and supported—not somewhere where you're always walking on eggshells, afraid of getting picked on.” His gaze lingered on Harry for a moment. “I’m sorry for treating any of you that way in the past. It wasn't fair of me. Especially as the adult.” The boy stared back, green eyes wide behind his glasses.

The person Snape had been in his previous life was still in the forefront, but the line between him and Old Snape was becoming more muddled by the day. Actions and memories across both lives were gradually intertwining, and from this grew the guilt. He needed to hold himself accountable if he was going to sleep at night. 

“So yeah, I’m going to be changing things ‘round here. Don't freak out too much,” said the Potions Master in a lighter tone. He looked upon the classroom of slack-jawed students. “Any questions?” 

A hesitant hand raised and Snape acknowledged them with a nod. 

“Is it true that you fought a basilisk, Professor?” Daphne Greengrass asked.

Snape closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. That fucking old coot and his inability to not meddle in people’s lives. 

During the announcements at the feast yesterday, Dumbledore had revealed the Potions Master’s monster-slaying feat to the entire school. Without consulting him first of course. Snape had choked on the buttered bread roll he had been shoving down his throat at the time and had to get rescued by Hagrid. His back still hurt from the slap. And his pride.

“Yes, Ms. Greengrass,” Snape responded flatly, “I punched the Basilisk real hard with my fist.” He was definitely not thinking about his boss while saying this.

“Is that why your hand is all scarred?” blurted Seamus Finnigan in awe.

The professor looked upwards to the ceiling as if he were a forsaken soul in search of a god that had long since abandoned the world. Albus Dumbledore would be getting a special gift in his goblet tonight. 

༻✦༺

Harry Potter paced back and forth in front of his two friends, who were both perched on the brim of the courtyard fountain. He was muttering something along the lines of, “It doesn't make sense.”

Hermione had her head in a book while Ron watched the pacing happening before him with increasing annoyance. “Harry, mate, you need to calm down.”

“He’s obviously lying,” said the other Gryffindor, ignoring his friend’s advice. “An ‘existential crisis’ isn't enough to explain why he’s so… so different now. He even talks different! It doesn't make sense!” Harry threw up his arms, receiving a few weird looks from passing students. “What does an existential crisis even mean?!”

Hermione lowered her book. “An ‘existential crisis’ is a period of inner conflict in which a person questions the purpose of one’s life, identity, and—”

“I don't need the definition, Hermione.”

The girl gave an indignant huff. “Well, you did ask.”

“I don't know why you're so worked up about Snape,” said Ron. “Isn't it good that he’s not being a smarmy git anymore?”

“You're just saying that because he gave us food after McGonagall banned us from the feast,” Harry accused with his hands on his hips. 

“They were pretty tasty sandwiches… and soup… and crumpets… and hot chocolate… and then McGonagall came in with that pie…”

“Sure doesn't sound like you two missed the feast,” remarked Hermione wryly.

Harry groaned in frustration and resumed his pacing. “What if this Snape is an imposter? He could be doing all this to bring our guards down and then attack when we least expect it.”

“If that were the case, wouldn't it make more sense for him not to act so out of character? He wouldn't be drawing as much attention otherwise,” Hermione noted. “Not to mention he killed a basilisk that was endangering the school. Even if it was to gain trust, it doesn't seem very beneficial for him if his plan was to hurt us.”

Harry kicked a stray rock into a patch of grass. “That’s why nothing makes sense!” The young Gryffindor finally stopped pacing and plopped down beside his friends on the fountain. “I just think we need to keep an eye on Snape. Make sure he isn't doing anything suspicious.”

“I’m getting a sense of déjà vu here,” piped Ron. “Is Hermione going to set his robes on fire again?” He received a hard punch in the arm from the bushy-haired girl. “Ow.”

“We’ll help you, Harry, but let's try not to jump to conclusions like last year,” Hermione said gently to her less irritating friend (at the moment). “Professor Snape might really be turning over a new leaf.” 

The-Boy-Who-Lived sighed in defeat. “Alright.” 

A part of him did want to believe the Potions Master. He hated to admit it, but the class today had been fantastic. Snape had kept everyone’s attention not through intimidation, but through a genuine passion for the subject. And the occasional dumb joke. He had taken the time to explain things in a patient manner—encouraging students rather than belittling them. By the end of it, mostly everybody's perspective on Potions class had flipped.

Despite all that, Harry just couldn't bring himself to trust Snape. Not yet. Living under the Dursley’s roof had taught him to be cautious. A couple good days wouldn't make up for the months of bullying from last year. The Potions Master would have to do more to earn Harry’s trust. 

Hermione glanced at her watch. “We should probably head to our next class if we don't want to be late.” She stood, packing her book into her bag and trying not to look too excited. “It’ll be our first class with Professor Lockhart!” 

Ron and Harry both made faces as if they had taken a bite out of an onion.

༻✦༺

Snape was exhausted. For each class he had to do his “hey, I’m not going to be a dick anymore and also I’m sorry” spiel. For each class he got hounded with questions about the Basilisk. By the time he had gotten to the Seventh Years, he was running on fumes. He was pretty sure he had actually said the word “dick” in there at some point. Thank god it had been in a class of 17-year-olds instead of anybody younger and more impressionable. He hoped he’d be able to muster enough strength to censor himself for his last class of the day.

Flitwick entered the teacher’s lounge to see Snape lying facedown on one of the sofas. He had to pause to make sure he wasn't hallucinating before speaking, “Start-of-term blues?” 

“I’m dying,” came the muffled reply. 

This pulled a chuckle out of Flitwick as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the communal pot. “I’ve been hearing a lot of talk about your classes. All positive things of course,” he complimented. “You've had quite the change of heart!” 

Snape pushed himself up to a proper sitting position because it would probably be rude to keep talking to his coworker while suffocating himself in a cushion. “That’s one way to put it.” His baritone sounded rough from use.

The half-goblin professor moved to the armchair across from him. He smirked, the corner of his curly moustache lifting up. “I’ve also heard a lot about your adventure in the Chamber of Secrets.”

Snape’s face became an expressionless mask. “I am going to kick Dumbledore’s arse,” he stated with utmost seriousness.

“Now there’s some of that fire!” guffawed Flitwick. “Don't let Minerva catch you saying that!” Once his laughing fit had died down, he deemed it safe to take a sip of his coffee. “I know you dislike the attention, Severus, but I do think keeping your act of heroism a secret would've been a shame. It’s a great accomplishment.”

Take the compliment, coward, Snape ordered himself as his cheeks flushed. Don't disappoint the therapist you're never gonna see again. 

“Thanks, Filius,” he said instead of whatever self-deprecating comment he had ready. Doctor... Whatever-Her-Name-Was would be proud. 

Flitwick dropped another sugarcube to his cup and stirred. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something about that,” he began. “The axe you used to slay the beast—do you still have it?” 

Snape tilted his head. “Yeah, it’s back in my room. Why?”

“I’m curious as to how it remained intact when mana was channeled through it. If you're willing, I’d like to take a gander at it at some point.”

That question was one of the many things that had been on Snape’s mind as well. How had a secondhand axe from a junk shop survived his screwed up magic when his wand (rest in peace) hadn't? His interest was piqued.

“Sure, I’d appreciate any insight,” said the Slytherin. He suppressed a yawn. “Although I don't think I could do it tonight.”

“Oh, no, me neither,” Flitwick agreed. “There’s a reason I’m drinking coffee this late into the evening!” He waved his cup for emphasis. “Just thought I’d bring it up since we were on the topic of the Basilisk.”

“Did somebody say ‘basilisk?’” boomed the absolutely last voice either professors wanted to hear. 

Gilderoy Lockhart strolled into the teacher’s lounge, his purple mantle cape fluttering behind him. Despite his efforts to keep up appearances, his long locks looked a little more frazzled than usual. 

The obnoxious celebrity immediately zeroed in on the Potions Master. “Ah, Severus! I was hoping I’d run into you today!” 

Flitwick seemed relieved to be ignored. “I just remembered I needed to prepare some things for my next class,” he announced, hopping off his seat so fast he almost spilled his coffee. “We can set a time later, Severus. Good lu—I mean goodbye!” 

Snape silently cursed as he watched his traitor of a coworker escape the room and leave him to perish.

Although perhaps he was being too hard on Lockhart. He still couldn't remember what the man’s whole deal was in the story. Honestly, he didn't seem that threatening or malicious. Right now he was just a braggadocious guy who was kind of annoying. Maybe he even had a tragic backstory that explained how he had turned out this way.

“What do you need, Lockhart?” inquired Snape. The goodwill he had been trying to develop took a hit as the celebrity sat down right next to him on the sofa instead of one of the many chairs available. 

“You sure are the star of the school, Severus!” said Lockhart, ignoring the Slytherin’s question. “It seems like all anyone can talk about is your exploits.” His laugh was strained.

The jealousy was so obvious it would've been comical if Snape weren't uncomfortable as hell right now. He scooted as far away as possible from the other wizard, which wasn't much considering he was already sitting at the end of the sofa. Glancing towards the room’s exit, he mumbled, “I’m sure they’ll move onto the next new thing in a few days.”

Lockhart draped an arm over the backrest, cutting into Snape’s personal space even more. “You know, I had actually been doing research on the Chamber of Secrets,” he informed. “I had just pinpointed its location and was making preparations to battle the Basilisk when you happened to beat me to it.” The golden-haired man turned to Snape, eyes filled with manufactured concern. “If only you had told me what you were planning! You might not have gotten so injured if I had been there.” He ran his fingers along the lightning-patterned scars on the other wizard’s hand.

Whatever goodwill Snape had left for the guy evaporated. He yanked his hand away and sprang to his feet. Tragic backstory or not, he was not going to tolerate this kind of creepy bullshit. 

“Oh, hey, I just remembered that I also have stuff I need to prep before my next class,” the Potions Master lied, moving towards the exit. 

There was something behind Lockhart’s grin that couldn't quite be placed. “What a shame! I would love to discuss a potential book collaboration the next time you're free then.” 

Snape pretended not to hear the other wizard as he quickly left the lounge, suppressing a shudder. If he had looked back, he would have seen Lockhart’s visage darken. 

༻✦༺

The Golden Trio trudged down the hall along with the stream of other students leaving their classes. They looked like they had just gone through the American school system and now had to spend the next few decades not being able to afford a house or have enough for retirement. 

“I don't think I can go on for much longer,” moaned Ron, dragging his feet behind his two friends, “You’ll have to carry me the rest of the way.”

“Nah, we’ll just leave you to rot,” Harry deadpanned. 

Hermione nodded solemnly. “It’s sad, but it has to happen.”

The Golden Trio traded looks with each other for a moment before breaking into a fit of giggles. Their bout of silliness provided enough energy for them to make it to the Great Hall just as Dumbledore finished the evening announcements.

Ron was inhaling mashed potatoes before his arse even hit the bench. “This makes everything we’ve been through today worth it,” he proclaimed between mouthfuls. Hermione made a face at the lack of table manners on display. 

“It’s official—Lockhart has taken the spot for worst class,” said Harry, resting his chin on his hand as he lethargically chewed on a bread roll. 

Hermione let out a mournful sigh. “I hate to say it, but you're right. After all of those adventures he’s had, I really thought he'd be a bit more… competent.” 

“Oh, we heard about the D.A.D.A. disaster!” chortled Fred as he and George plopped themselves down on either side of Ron. 

George was wearing a mischievous grin. “So Lockhart unleashed a horde of Cornish Pixies upon the innocent masses, eh?”

“Yeah, and then the arse ran away and left us to clean up his mess!” fumed Harry, crossing his arms. 

“I want to say he was just having first day jitters,” said Hermione dejectedly, “but I have a feeling we’re not going to learn a lot about Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.” Ron made a muffled sound of agreement from within his turkey leg.

“Too bad Snape wasn't teaching it,” mused George. 

“Still can't believe we live in a world where that isn't a joke,” Harry muttered.

Using a fork, Fred flicked a pea onto the younger Gryffindor’s plate in a lighthearted manner. “You’ve got to admit Potions is a lot more fun now. Snape’s a pretty funny bloke when he’s not doing his whole ‘Bat of the Dungeons’ shtick.”

Harry’s eyes traveled up to the teachers’ table. Snape was in the process of inhaling food as fast as Ron until he was stopped by a disappointed glare from McGonagall. His next bite of pudding was done with a sheepish smile. Dumbledore chuckled at the exchange and took a sip from his goblet. 

Everybody in the Great Hall proceeded to witness the Headmaster’s hair—beard and all—turning multiple shades of green. 

A certain Potions Master gave a single, victorious, “HAH!”

Chapter Text

Much to Snape’s dismay, the majority of the school was still talking about his jaunt into the Chamber of Secrets two weeks later. He had thought his comment about “punching the Basilisk real hard with his fist” had been read with the intended sarcasm. Apparently it had not, because now the story had evolved into him fistfighting the giant serpent to death. The professor tried clarifying things whenever he could, but his attempts were proving ineffective. His version of events had a lot of details left out on purpose. There was no way he was telling these kids that he cleaved the Basilisk in twain with a fucking axe. They would be talking about it for the rest of the year. 

Snape would've found the whole situation kind of funny if it didn't link to Lockhart’s increasing jealousy levels. The guy really didn't like how his presence was being overshadowed and kept trying to win the spotlight back through different means. One such method was spending the entire class time regaling and reenacting his adventures. Another more recent attempt was doing a literal book signing event in the Great Hall during lunch. He had decorated the walls with banners of himself and everything. Snape had to give him props for the effort. 

Lockhart had also taken to hounding the Potions Master for details on his Basilisk fight. Apparently he wanted to “collaborate” together on a book where he would take credit for finding the Chamber of Secrets. Snape couldn't care less if he stole the story wholesale. He didn't want anything to do with the overbearing wizard. Especially when he kept hitting on him. Like, Jesus Christ, could the guy just stick with the hate?

Okay, enough with the negatives. Some pretty good stuff had happened too. For instance, Potions classes and open labs were going well. The students were gradually adapting to Snape’s new quirks and coming out of their shells. When he started dressing in more casual clothes on lecture days, the class had only gawked at his jeans for ten minutes straight instead of twenty. A definite improvement.

The point was that they were becoming more comfortable with him. His open labs were becoming busier by the day with students either needing extra help or just wanting to experiment. They were willingly approaching him and asking him questions. Sometimes it wasn't even related to Potions. 

Like right now, for example.

Snape looked down at the broken wand held together by tape on his desk. Then he glanced up at Ron, who was anxiously shifting in front of him. Then he looked back down at the wand. 

“So if I'm hearing you right,” the professor started, “this has been broken since the Willow whomped you. Two whole weeks ago.” 

The Weasley boy nodded. 

“And you've been using it.”

Ron rubbed the back of his head and mumbled something unintelligible. With an exasperated breath, Hermione stepped up beside her friend. 

“Yes, he’s been using it, sir,” she translated. “It flew and struck Professor Fitwick in the forehead during Charms today.”

“You didn't have to mention that part!” hissed Ron, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. 

Snape was turning the wand over in his hands, admiring the tape job. “I’ll be real with you guys—I’m surprised it took this long to hurt somebody. Using a damaged wand is risky business.” He should know. His own wand (rest in peace) had exploded.

“I-is it fixable?” Ron asked, expression hopeful. 

That hope was immediately crushed with a shake of the Potion Master’s head. “Sorry, Mr. Weasley, but no.” 

The young Gryffindor drooped. “Oh, bollocks… my parents are going to kill me.”

Snape’s brow shot up. “You haven't told them yet?” The resulting silence from the boy answered everything. “Dude,” said the professor, “you need to tell them.”

Harry, who had been pouting behind his friends and very much appeared to have been dragged along against his will, let out a snort. He coughed to try and cover it. Snape took this as a little victory. 

“You can use one of the school’s extra training wands in the meantime,” instructed the Potions Master. He handed the broken wand back to Ron, giving him a pointed look. “But you need to tell your parents, alright? If you don't, then I will.” 

“Yes, sir,” sighed the ginger in resignation. Upon getting nudged in the side by Hermione, he added, “Thank you, sir.” It was genuine at least. 

Snape chuckled, “I’ll get you the training wand after I close labs. Don't nail anyone else in the head until then.” 

Their meeting was ended by another student coming up to the desk to ask a question. As the Golden Trio left the classroom, Harry threw a glance over his shoulder at the Potions Master. When their eyes met, the boy quickly turned away. 

Snape tried not to let it sting. Harry was one of the holdouts in warming up to him, still seeming guarded, which was totally understandable to the professor. His past self had subjected Harry to the brunt of his assholery on the basis of who his parents were. It was petty. Sure, James Potter had been a dick, but that didn't mean his son had to carry his sins. Harry hadn't even gotten the chance to know him. Or Lily.  

A mix of sadness and guilt rose in Snape’s chest. The boy was only twelve, yet had been through so much—growing up without parents in a household that neglected him. 

And it’s your fault, a tiny but ever-present voice whispered to the professor in the back of his head.

Whoaaa, okay, that was going in the “unpack later” list for sure. 

Snape knew that his next main goal was to get Harry away from the goddamn Dursleys and into a better living situation. Somewhere where he could get proper meals and an actual room of his own. He owed the kid that much. Harry was way too small and skinny for his age. Snape knew the signs well. He had lived through them twice.

The Slytherin had brought his concerns to Dumbledore a few days ago, but the old coot had made some stupid excuse about blood wards. Saying the safest place for Harry was under the roof of a family member. Assuring that he had somebody trustworthy watching over the young wizard when he was at the Dursleys. That person had never reported any problems and Harry had never once complained. 

“It’s nice to see you caring so much for the boy, Severus, but there is nothing to worry about,” Dumbledore had said with a smile. 

Sometimes it was hard to believe how blind the Headmaster of Hogwarts could be. A blind, stubborn man with his hands in too many fucking pies. Despite it, Snape couldn't bring himself to completely blame the older wizard. Not when he himself had been blind too.

The Potions Master would have to take a different approach. First and foremost, he needed to earn Harry’s trust enough to broach the subject of his home life. It would be good to get his opinion on what he wanted to do. Give the poor kid some autonomy for once.

He wasn't going to rush it. He had until the start of summer break to get Harry away from the Dursleys. Best to build the trust naturally on both sides instead of forcing it. To be honest, Snape wasn't sure he even deserved the kid’s trust, but those feelings would have to be pushed aside for now. 

Jeez, why did everything have to be so goddamn complicated?

༻✦༺

“Oh, no. The trolls are attacking the village. Who will save us,” Harry monotoned from the book in his listless grip. 

“And that's when I arrived in the nick of time!” Lockhart recounted with much more flourish, sweeping an arm out towards his captive audience. “With my wits and wide repertoire of spells, I single-handedly defeated the group of monstrous ruffians!”

Applause filled the classroom, but there was no passion behind it. The students had learned it was best to clap if they didn't want to upset their D.A.D.A. professor and prolong the class’s time. Even Lockhart’s biggest fans were beginning to grow disillusioned after two and a half weeks of these shenanigans.

“I bet Snape would’ve beaten those trolls before they reached the village,” Blaise Zabini whispered to his fellow Second Year beside him.

Lockhart’s head swiveled so fast in their direction that it was kind of scary. “Not to disparage the skills of our resident Potions Master,” he objected, “but he hasn't had as much combat experience as yours truly.” The celebrity gave one of his patented blinding grins.

“Snape killed a basilisk fifty yards long with just his fists!” exclaimed Dean Thomas, offended on the Slytherin’s behalf. 

Hermione cleared her throat. “Actually, Professor Snape said it was around sixteen yards and that he did use a weapon.” 

“He also said if he heard anybody else claim he fistfought the Basilisk, he would throw up on the spot,” Pansy Parkinson added.

A chorus of giggles and “eww”s echoed around the room at the comment. Even Draco had joined in despite his own wariness over Snape’s changes. Harry couldn't help but snicker too. 

Lockhart’s eye twitched. 

༻✦༺

While the student populace was aware that the Chamber of Secrets had been found, the entrance’s location was kept from them. The staff couldn't have kids running amuck down there. It was still dangerous even though the Ministry had sent people over to clean up the bone pile and basilisk remains. Therefore the Chamber of Secrets would stay mostly true to its name. 

That’s what made it a perfect place for Snape to test his magic. 

The Potions Master stood in the center of the Chamber, sporting his casual fit with his axe at his side. He had been wanting to experiment with the tool-turned-weapon ever since his appointment with Flitwick last Saturday. The Head of Ravenclaw had suspected something was special about it, which he had confirmed once he had a chance to examine it. Apparently the axe was goblin crafted. 

The Goblin race was well-known for their metalsmithing capabilities. According to Flitwick, they also processed their magic differently than wizards. The end result was closer to mana—something more in tune with the natural world around them. This was infused into the objects they created. That was how the axe had survived when the wand had not. 

Snape tested the weight of the weapon in his hands. It was definitely well made. Comfortable to grip and not too heavy, even for a wimp like him. There was an intricate pattern of leaves and vines carved into the handle. If wizards hadn't been a bunch of racist assholes and banned goblins from owning and crafting wands, there would be so much more beauty in the world.

Pushing aside his disappointment with wizardkind for the time being, Snape adjusted his position so he could hold the axe like a baseball bat. To be honest, he wasn't sure what the right way to wield it was. He was just copying what he had seen in all the zombie apocalypse media from his past life. 

The raven-haired Slytherin closed his eyes and reached for his magic. He hadn't realized it before, but ever since his “existential crisis,” he could sense the mana around him. It was faint, yet everywhere: in the air and in the earth. In the stones of the castle. He had never smoked weed before due to barely being able to handle alcohol, but he imagined it felt similar to this. 

God, he was so dead if Pomfrey found out what he was doing.

Snape let the mana well up inside him, then focused on channeling it into the axe. He set his jaw, tightened his grip on the handle, and—

“GOTCHA, BITCH!” 

The sudden shout caused the professor to jolt with a startled yelp, throwing off his swing. His Sectumsempra spell exploded from the axe in a crooked, horizontal red arc. It streaked unimpeded across the Chamber before slicing straight through the statue of Salazar Slytherin and a few feet deep into the wall behind it. The upper half of Salazar toppled to the floor with a thunderous crash.

“Oooh, so that's how you slayed the Basilisk!” said a familiar ghost with glasses and pigtails, admiring the damage. 

Snape had sunk to his knees, trying to regain the breath that had been jumpscared out of him. “Myrtle,” he wheezed, clutching his chest, “why.” 

The girl floated in circles above him. “I wanted to see what you were doing down here this late at night.” She mimed the motion of patting the wizard’s head even though she couldn't actually touch him. “Sorry, Sevy. Didn't mean to frighten you that bad. Peeves has been a terrible influence on me!”

“I think I’m having a heart attack.” 

“Alright, now you're just being dramatic.” 

Snape rose on unsteady legs, leaning on the axe for support. “I’m just a little guy, Ms. Myrtle. I can’t handle this kind of drama,” he whined. 

“You fought a giant serpent monster by yourself,” deadpanned the ghost. 

“And I was very stressed about it!”

Myrtle rolled her eyes and flew over to the broken statue to inspect it. “So what are you doing anyway? Training?” she asked, voice echoing across the Chamber.

“Pretty much, I guess,” replied Snape as he checked the axe for any damage. After seeing it was unharmed, he popped open a headache relieving potion from his pack. The pain wasn't as bad as when he used a wand, but it was still bothersome. “My magic's been a little fu—” he caught himself before he could imprint another swear word onto Myrtle’s brain “—fudged lately so I’m trying to work with it.”

The young spirit peered into the deep gash Snape’s spell had left in the wall. “Sure doesn't seem 'fudged’ to me.” She spun around and flew back to the professor with an excited grin. “I’m bored, so I’ll watch you destroy things!” 

The Potions Master cringed inwardly. He was planning on testing some other offensive spells with the axe and then going “wandless” to see how much he could handle before his head exploded. It wasn't like Myrtle was in danger of getting hurt, but man, he was probably going to look like a big, ol’ dorkus swinging the axe around. A huge freakin’ nerd. There was no way he wasn't going to embarrass himself somehow.

He couldn't say no to the girl though. It was like having a little sister who was curious about everything. And was also undead.

“Sure, you can stick around if you want,” said Snape. 

The ghost responded with a giddy, “Yay!” She flew to a spot nearby that would give her the best view of the show. “Try a fire spell next!” she urged.

Trying to play it cool, Snape shifted his weight to stop leaning on the axe… then promptly slipped in a puddle of water and ate shit on the floor. 

Myrtle clapped.

༻✦༺

Trixie hummed a soft tune as she sat in a window on the second floor of the castle, gazing at the scenery. Beside her was a cup of honey lemon tea that she took the occasional sip from. She had discovered recently that she quite liked the drink. It was warm and comforting—not unlike the wizard who had invited her to try it for the first time. 

The house elf glanced down at her new cozy sweater and smiled. It was periwinkle blue, her favorite color, and had a white crescent moon and stars stitched into the front. Professor Snape had presented it to her the other day, having hand knitted it just for her. He said it was a thank you gift for everything she had done for him over the years. Trixie had never felt so touched before. 

Professor Snape had apologized for not being able to free the house elf since he technically wasn't her “master,” but she didn't mind. Trixie was not a young elf by any means and had seen and experienced much. She counted herself lucky to be under Hogwarts’s roof. The Potions Master hadn't looked too eased by her answer, but he hadn't pushed it further. 

The September morning air was crisp and cool. Taking in the view of the castle’s grounds from her window perch, Trixie’s gaze wandered over to a group of students. They were heading down the path towards the Quidditch field. Training sessions for the teams would be starting today. From the colors she could see on the students’ robes, Trixie deduced that Slytherin and Gryffindor would be using the field for this session. Quite unusual for those two Houses in particular to be having practice at the same time, but it wasn't any of her business. 

A sudden movement below caught Trixie’s attention. Peeking from behind a fence at the students was a small figure that had appeared out of nowhere a second ago. As Trixie squinted, she realized it was another house elf—one she didn't recognize. She wondered if there was a newcomer to the castle’s roster. 

Just as Trixie was deciding whether she should pop down and say hello, the other elf vanished. Oh, well. She could always introduce herself later. 

Trixie drank the last few drops of her tea, then stood and straightened her sweater. It was time to get back to work. 

༻✦༺

Snape made it to the Quidditch field with five minutes to spare. After taking a second to catch his breath in the locker rooms, he sauntered out onto the field and joined Hooch and McGonagall, pretending he hadn't just been running. 

“You look terrible,” Mcgonagall stated bluntly to him.

Snape pouted in exaggerated offense. “Wow, thanks, Minerva.” He thought he had done a decent job making himself presentable with the little time he had this morning. His hair bun was stylishly messy and he had picked the jeans and green hoodie on purpose so he wouldn't have to iron them. 

“I’m mainly talking about those bags under your eyes,” his fellow Head of House clarified. “Did you get any sleep?”

“I may have stayed up a bit late,” Snape said in as vague a way as possible. If he valued his existence, he was not going to tell McGonagall about the hours he had spent last night flinging spells around in the Chamber of Secrets. He was also not going to tell her that he had forgotten Quidditch practice would be starting this Saturday and not the next. 

“Well, I for one didn't sleep a wink!” huffed Hooch. “I was too busy worrying about the stunt we’re pulling today.” She gestured towards the gathered students on the field, who had separated themselves into their Gryffindor and Slytherin teams so they could shoot nasty glares at each other.   

McGonagall grimaced. “I have to admit, Severus, I'm beginning to regret agreeing to your idea. It’s good in theory, but maybe we should have started off with the other Houses first.”

“No, it’s best to address the biggest problems now,” maintained the Potions Master. “They’ve been festering for long enough.” He gave his coworkers an encouraging smile. “It’s definitely going to suck at first, but I think it’ll work out in the end.” He had done test runs in his own classes by pairing Gryffindors and Slytherins with each other during brewing assignments. There had been some conflicts, but nothing he hadn't been able to handle. Most of the students had gotten into the flow once given a shared goal to focus on.

Making sure to keep carrying that confidence, Snape turned to the young Quidditch players, calling for their attention. It wasn't too hard considering a good number of them were already gaping at his very Muggle outfit. 

“Morning, kids. As you've probably all noticed, we’re going to be trying something a little different today,” he announced, masking his tiredness with a cheerful tone. “This year, instead of the traditional House teams, we’ll be doing teams built from two Houses.”

The shocked exclamations, sounds of protest, and confusion resulting from the students were expected. Snape let them get it out of their systems for a minute before continuing, “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a little crazy, but it's for a good reason. The goal is to improve inter-House unity in this school, because—to be frank—it’s kind of crap.” 

McGonagall resisted the urge to scold the younger professor for his language as she stepped forward to take over as they had planned. “The intent of the House system was to gather like-minded students together and encourage friendly competition that inspires each other to learn.” Her face turned somber. “However, over the decades, the division between Houses has grown deeper. Competition has become hateful rivalries. Traits made to pull the best out of students have instead become reasons to discriminate.” She put a hand on Snape’s back. “Our Potions Master here helped me see these issues I’ve been blind to. Ones I have been perpetuating for years.”

“Professor McGonagall talks as if it’s her fault, but it isn't,” said Snape, giving the witch a reassuring nod. “I’ve been blind to them as well. It’s something that's been rooted in this school for a long time.” He focused on the students again, standing up straight, making sure to meet each gaze. This was important. Not just to him, but to the future of these kids. “All Houses are equal—there’s not one that’s better than the other. The place you're sorted into doesn't determine if you're ‘good’ or ‘evil.’ Everyone has the capacity to be either. It’s something you determine for yourself with the choices you make. When it comes down to it, you all hold the potential to be resourceful, intelligent, loyal, and brave.” He grinned. “And I think that's pretty darn cool.” 

Some students looked conflicted, but there were more than Snape had expected who wore expressions of dawning wonder and understanding. Especially from his Slytherins. Harry was staring at him with something that might've even been respect. 

A wave of relief washed over the professor at the mostly positive reception. He and McGonagall traded meaningful glances. It was a small group, but it was a start. They had planted the seed. Now they just had to nurture it. 

Hooch clapped her hands, snapping the students to attention. “Alright, let’s get this started, Slythergryff! Yes, that's your team name. No, it doesn't matter who comes first in it. This rolls off the tongue the best and I'm not changing it! Do I hear a ‘yes, ma’am?’” 

“Yes, ma’am!” came the chorus of voices.

As Hooch rounded up the students and began breaking down the new team dynamics to them, McGonagall leaned over to Snape. “Did you rehearse that speech of yours?” she asked in a lighthearted manner.

The Potions Master winked at his coworker. “Nope. I was winging it the whole way.”

“You're an anomaly, Severus Snape,” chuckled McGonagall. She squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “An anomaly that I’m very proud of.”

Snape smiled, his heart swelling with warmth. “I’m proud of you too, Minerva.” The witch had listened to him when he expressed his worries about the Houses and now she was helping him change things. Even though she had her concerns, she was willing to try. And that meant a lot to him. 

That was Lockhart’s cue to enter the scene. All shiny golden locks and expensive, fancy robes. His tendency to interrupt moments in Snape’s life was a talent. 

“I see I made it right on time!” the celebrity exclaimed as he approached his two peers. He made a show of looking the Potions Master up and down. “I have to say, Severus, you manage to stun in even the most ‘untraditional’ outfits.”

It had become increasingly difficult for Snape to tell whether Lockhart was insulting or flirting with him at any point, so he just gave a noncommittal grunt. 

McGonagall stepped in front of Snape like the protective mother lion that she was. “What are you doing here, Professor Lockhart?” she inquired coldly. 

Undeterred as always by the less-than-friendly reception, Lockhart replied, “I wanted to stop by and see Harry Potter’s Quidditch skills in person! I’ve heard great things about his performance last year.” He flicked his mantle cape so it settled in an aesthetically pleasing way across his shoulder. “To have accomplished this much at such a young age… the boy reminds me a lot of myself.” 

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Christ, this guy’s preening was unbearable. Over the past few weeks he had known the celebrity, his bragging had gone from annoying, to comedic, to sad, then circled back to annoying. 

Whatever. Snape had a job to do. He’d tolerate Lockhart’s bullshit until he got bored and left. At least McGonagall would be here too.

The next hour was spent helping Hooch supervise the students and keeping the peace between Houses as best they could. There was tension in the beginning and a few arguments had broken out, but with the combined efforts of the teachers, nothing had escalated past petty insults. Of course, Lockhart was of little help. Apparently he just wanted to sit in the stands and preen. That was fine with Snape as long as he stayed out of his hair. 

Once the initial tension had died down, things started to progress the way the Potions Master had hoped. The students were actually working together. They had been separated into two teams of Slythergryffs and were running mock games against each other. A lot of them had begun to have fun with it, even going ahead and dubbing the second team as “Gryfftherin” much to Hooch’s chagrin.

Snape leaned on the wooden railing of the stands overlooking the Quidditch field. He watched as Fred Weasley approached Draco Malfoy for a high five after the latter had done a tricky move. The Slytherin boy hesitated for a moment, a bit confused by the gesture, then accepted the high five. 

The Potions Master smiled at the scene. It was nice to see them just be kids. Not worrying about Houses or blood status or what their parents would think. Just playing a game with their peers. Kind of an unnecessarily dangerous game in his opinion, but that was wizardkind for you.   

“A Weasley and a Malfoy getting along? The world must truly be ending,” mused McGonagall as she joined her coworker at the railing. 

“Better to end it on a high note,” Snape joked.

It was as if the world had heard their words and wanted to screw with them, because a startled cry met their ears only a moment later. The two professors’ heads whipped back to the field just in time to witness a Bludger collide with the back of Adrian Pucey’s broom, causing him to lose control. The Slytherin was rescued by Hooch on her own broom before he could crash into the stands. 

Meanwhile, the Bludger had begun to pursue Harry. It was hellbent on catching him, doing maneuvers that it shouldn't have been able to make and not caring who or what was in its path. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin players alike were either trying to escape to safety, watching on in shock, or had started chasing after the rogue iron ball. The field had erupted into chaos within a mere few seconds. 

Before he could fully process what he was doing, Snape was summoning a spare broom and vaulting the railing. He flew into the havoc, barely managing to catch Katie Bell before she hit the ground. As he set the girl down on the turf, he heard McGonagall yelling for the students still in the air to land, trying to bring some control to the situation. 

Then Lockhart’s voice rang out, clear and heroic: “I’ll save you, Harry!” 

Snape looked up to see the celebrity wizard in the stands, attempting to aim his wand at the speeding form of the Bludger. The Potions Master paled. There was a reason nobody else was casting spells. The risk of hitting a student on accident was too great. 

McGonagall shouted at Lockhart to stop, but his lips were already moving. “Flipendo Maxima!”

The spell streaked across the field, narrowly missing several students, before—by some miracle—actually striking the Bludger. It was thrown off its path, smashing through the support beams of one of the tower stands. The students nearby scattered as they were showered in splintered wood. 

Draco had not been fast enough, a large piece of debris striking him. He was knocked off his broom with a terrified shriek. Harry saw this and immediately put his own broom into a nosedive. He reached for the other boy and grabbed his arm, stopping his fall mere feet from the ground. This was when the Bludger came flying out of its hole and slammed into Harry’s shoulder.

Both students were sent tumbling onto the field, the iron ball coming to a stop beside them, its mission accomplished. Harry clutched his broken shoulder in agony, lip trembling as he fought back tears. There was a loud snapping sound and the Gryffindor and Slytherin raised their heads to see the top half of the tower stand plummeting towards them. 

On the opposite end of the field, Snape felt his magic surge.

Hogwarts answered him.

Harry and Draco blinked and suddenly their Potions professor was crouched over them, shielding them with his body. He thrusted a hand upwards, the mana flaring. His Protego spell covered them in a silvery blue dome just as the wooden mass landed with a thunderous crash. A bolt of pain shot through Snape’s arm and head from the impact against his shield, but it stood strong. A huge difference from when he had used it to defend against the Basilisk. 

The outside world was enveloped in darkness as the trio was buried in debris. The only source of light was the shimmering blue glow of the magic around them. The only sounds they could hear were their own labored breaths. 

“Are… are you two alright?” Snape asked his students. Obviously they weren't alright—one had a broken shoulder and the other seemed shell shocked—but he didn't know what else to say at that moment. 

Draco whimpered, his eyes watering. 

“H-hey, it’s okay,” murmured Snape as his Slytherin grabbed onto his hoodie and began to sob into it. He rubbed comforting circles on the boy’s back with his free hand, the other still raised to power the shield. “You’re okay.”

Harry had started crying too, but silently. The professor couldn't use any major healing spells due to the majority of his energy being used to power the shield. However, he was able to channel a little bit of magic into the Gryffindor’s shoulder to ease the pain. 

Snape’s head and arm were throbbing at this point. It was getting harder to hold back the heavy pile of rubble on top of them with each passing second. He could feel blood trickling down his trembling arm. His stupid scars must've reopened. He hoped the blood wouldn't show through the sleeve. That would just scare the kids more. 

The Potions Master gathered Draco and Harry closer to him, shrinking the dome around them a fraction to conserve energy. He wasn't sure how long it was going to take for rescue to come. 

“You’ll be alright,” he said softly to the two terrified children leaning against him, “You're both being so brave. You're doing a great job, okay? You're doing great.” God, they were only twelve. They shouldn't have to go through this. He hated it.

Snape continued to comfort his students as sunlight began showing through the debris and the frantic voices outside became louder. He kept the shield up until the last piece of wood on top of them had been cleared. Only then did he release the spell, arm dropping to his side in exhaustion. His head was killing him. 

They were surrounded by people. Hooch was helping him stand and McGonagall was kneeling down in front of Harry and Draco. Someone had fetched Pomfrey as well. She looked like she had just run a mile, gray hair frazzled beneath her Mediwitch hat. Her worried eyes were drawn to Snape’s blood-soaked sleeve. He shook his head, “I’m fine. Check the kids.” 

Pomfrey clearly didn't believe him about being “fine,” but she didn't argue. The students were the priority.

Hooch was still supporting him. She was asking him a question. Something about Apparition, but he couldn't process her words fully through the pounding in his head. 

“Sorry, you're gonna have to leave a message after the beep,” Snape mumbled, not even sure what he was saying anymore. 

At least the kids were safe now. It was a relief. He hoped they weren't too traumatized. 

Man… he could really use a nap. 

Chapter Text

“Here, drink this.” 

Draco took the bottle of Calming Draught from Snape, examining the orange liquid inside with trepidation. “Is this going to taste bad?” 

“Oh, yeah, it sucks,” was his godfather's nonchalant response. He made a show of glancing around for eavesdroppers before he leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the side of Draco’s bed, and whispered, “I had my buddy Trixie sneak in a slice of cauldron cake you can have afterwards. It’ll help with the taste.” 

Snape reached down to something beside the hospital bed and—with a grin—held up a house elf wearing a periwinkle sweater. The elf in turn was carrying a plate of the promised dessert. They both looked at the platinum-haired boy expectantly.

Draco couldn't say no to a presentation like that, so he held his breath and downed the potion. As he shoveled cake into his mouth, he questioned in an incredulous tone, “You're friends with a house elf?” 

“Yup, because she’s cool,” said Snape. “I knitted that sweater for her because she’s so cool.” He glanced over at the magical creature and started upon seeing her dusting the nightstand. “My god, Trixie, what did I tell you about giving yourself a break?” 

The elf paused her cleaning and shot the Potions Master a withering look. “Trixie could say the same about the Professor who should be resting in bed.”

Snape turned back to Draco, pointing at the house elf. “See how she just decimated me? Very cool.” 

“Why are you like this?” the boy suddenly blurted, almost sounding accusatory. His cheeks flushed red at his outburst. “I-I mean why are you so… different now?”

Trixie excused herself with a silent bow, knowing when privacy was needed. Snape’s grin evened into something a little less silly and a little more contemplative as he looked at his godson. The kid was a hell of a bully, but he was only twelve. His innocence hadn't yet been completely tainted by his father and the other negative influences in his life. There was still hope for him. 

After pondering his words for a moment, Snape answered, “I’m different now because I want to be.” He rested his elbows on the side of the bed again, propping his chin in the palm of his un-bandaged hand. “I was very angry and bitter at the world because of some bad things that happened to me. Those feelings were making me hurt people who really didn't deserve it.” Warm obsidian eyes rose to meet pale blue ones. “I realized the way I was acting was leading me to a much sadder, lonelier life. So I decided to make a change.”

Draco regarded the Potions Master silently as he swallowed the last of his cake. His godfather had swapped his bloody hoodie with a clean shirt a little while ago and bandages were once again wrapped around his right arm. Draco was relieved to not see red staining him anymore.

“Was it easy?” asked the boy.

“Most things that are worth it aren't,” admitted Snape as he traded his godson’s plate with a glass of water from the nightstand. “Some days are easy, some days you slip up. Maybe there are even more bad days than good. And that's okay.” The corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile. “In the end, what matters is that you're trying.”

The Slytherin student stared down at his reflection in the glass, brow furrowed. “... Father has been asking about you a lot, you know,” he eventually mumbled. “I don't think he approves.” 

Snape recalled his own vaguely threatening letter he had received from Lucius Malfoy over a week ago. One that said things like “remember where your loyalties lie” and other ominous shit. He had chucked the letter into his fireplace without replying to it. 

You can tell your dad that I’ll be putting my “loyalties” in my fist and shoving it up his ass if he doesn't set his own fuckin’ priorities straight first, was what the Potions Master wanted to say, old American accent and all, but held himself back for the sake of Draco’s uncorrupted ears. He went with the more tempered route instead: “If your father doesn't like it, then he’ll just have to deal with it, because I’m not changing for him.”

Draco wasn’t as surprised as he thought he'd be at Snape’s casual dismissal of the Malfoy patriarch. His expectations had been tempered by the incident at Flourish and Blotts. Remembering how red his father’s face had gotten during that interaction, the young Slytherin snickered. 

“Didn't think I was being that funny, but I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” remarked Snape, his baritone lighter.

Before Draco could share the source of his mirth, Pomfrey appeared from behind the curtain divider. Her expression was grave. 

“Severus, we need to talk,” was all she said. 

And there it was.

Snape had known this was coming, but it wasn't enough to stop the dread from settling over him like a heavy blanket. He released a tired exhale and rose from his seat, reaching to ruffle his godson’s platinum blond locks as he did so. “Get some rest, kid.” 

The professor followed Pomfrey out of the hospital wing. McGonagall was already there, waiting. She had a few strands of hair sticking out of her normally neat bun and there were dark circles beginning to show under her eyes, but she kept her poise. Snape felt bad for leaving her and Hooch to handle the rest of the Quidditch mess, especially when Lockhart was nowhere to be found to help. Okay, sure, the two witches had kicked him out themselves so he could get treated, but he could still feel bad about it.

Once the large wooden doors had shut behind them, Pomfrey casted a Muffliato charm. She didn't want to risk Draco overhearing anything with his bed being the closest to the entrance. Her preparations done, she turned her full attention to Snape and McGonagall.

“I finished Mr. Potter’s examination,” Pomfrey spoke. She paused, swallowing. “You were right, Severus.”

Even though the Slytherin had expected it, the news still felt like a punch to the gut. His jaw clenched as he simply nodded. He couldn't think of how else to respond right now. His body couldn't even decide whether to be angry or exhausted or both.

Unsure of what had transpired between her two coworkers before her arrival, McGonagall’s brow formed a puzzled crease. “Right? About what?”

“Minerva… those Muggles are abusing him,” Pomfrey said in a tremulous voice. “He’s malnourished. Very much beneath the height and weight that he should be at for a boy his age. It’s clearly been something that's been happening for years!”

The Vice Headmistress had paled considerably at the revelation, shocked into silence. Her wide eyes turned to Snape as if hoping he’d tell her it wasn't true. He wished that he could. There was a part of him that had hoped he would be wrong about Harry’s home life. That the neglect both implied and shown in the films had been exaggerated. He had wanted so badly for it to stay fiction. 

“I’m sorry, Minerva,” was all he could say. 

McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, letting it sink in. She took a shuddering breath. “Was there anything else?” 

“Other than the malnutrition, no. Nothing else physical,” replied Pomfrey, trying to remain professional despite the tremble in her lip. 

The three of them knew those findings didn't necessarily mean physical abuse had never happened. It just meant nothing had been bad enough to leave any evidence. Even if it was confirmed that the Dursleys had never raised a hand to Harry, it didn't make the neglect and emotional trauma they had put the child through any less terrible. 

It didn't make Snape not want to strangle Petunia and Vernon Dursley any less. This wasn't Hogwarts’s first case of a student being mistreated at home. Far from it. Circumstances were just a lot more personal this time.

McGonagall leaned against the wall, bringing a hand to her face. “We should have never left him with that family.” The last word was spat out in disgust towards both the Dursleys and herself. “I should have done more to argue against the idea. Instead I helped Albus leave that poor child on a doorstep with nothing but a letter!” 

“Minerva, it's not your fault,” consoled Snape, reaching out to the devastated witch. “If anything, it's mine—”

“No, we are not playing this game of self-flagellation,” Pomfrey firmly interrupted. “Blaming ourselves and wallowing in the past isn't going to help Mr. Potter. Right now we need to focus on what to do next.” 

McGonagall looked pained, but she squared her shoulders. “Yes. Yes, you're right, Poppy. We’re of no use like this.” They could always rely on Hogwarts’s resident Mediwitch to be the voice of reason. She straightened herself up, regaining her stern aura. “We must inform the Headmaster of this immediately.” 

“I must warn you that Albus is being a stubborn fool about this,” said Pomfrey. “Severus has already tried to tell him about his concerns for Mr. Potter and had them dismissed.” 

“That was before I had any direct proof,” Snape pointed out, crossing his arms. “Now that we’ve got the examination results, we might have a better chance at convincing him.” He made a face. “Although he was pretty insistent about those stupid blood wards...”

McGonagall’s mouth thinned in frustration. “That was the argument he used on me too back then, but it won't be enough this time,” she growled. Her sharp eyes blazed with determination and possibly some murderous intent as well. Snape had never been so glad to be on the same side as the Head of Gryffindor. 

“While I trust Minerva’s ability to corner our Headmaster,” said Pomfrey, acknowledging her riled up coworker, “We still need to get a testimony from Mr. Potter himself if we want anything ‘official’ done on the Ministry side.” The Mediwitch glanced at the doors of the hospital wing, frowning. “I tried broaching the topic with him, but he just gave me vague answers. He’s clearly not comfortable talking about his home life, which is understandable.”

“It shames me to admit considering he’s one of my Lions, but I don't believe I will have much luck either,” muttered McGonagall, reigning in some of her fearsomeness as she became self-aware of it. “We need someone with a softer touch. Someone with a relaxed demeanor that makes students feel comfortable.”

Pomfrey nodded in agreement. “Yes, and it would be ideal if that person had already established a level of trust with Mr. Potter by doing something like saving his life…” 

Both witches were staring at their raven-haired coworker intently at this point.

“I get it, guys,” sighed Snape. There was a part of him that had been hoping Pomfrey or McGonagall would take the role. It was a selfish, cowardly part of him that wanted to run from the voice chanting “this is all your fault” in the back of his mind. Pomfrey was right to say that lamenting over past mistakes wasn't going to help anybody, but his old self’s mistake had orphaned a child. How could he not be haunted by it? How could he not feel guilt whenever he looked into those bright green eyes?

This shouldn't be your responsibility—you're not Severus Snape! hissed another part of his mind.

Shut up, jackass, the man snapped back. It shouldn't matter who he was anymore. There was a child who needed help. It wasn't like he could remember his other name anyway. 

If parts of Snape wanted to run or be in denial, an even larger part wanted to spend the rest of his existence atoning for his sins. To give Harry a better chance. Even if it killed him. Again.

Yeeaah, he should probably find a happier, less sacrificial medium between those things at some point, but right now the kid’s issues were more important. No, he will not be taking any criticisms. 

“Give me a few days,” the Potions Master said, toying with a loose thread on his sleeve. “I’d like Mr. Potter to have time to readjust to his normal routine before I throw another curveball at him.” 

“That sounds best. The poor boy has been through enough today,” agreed McGonagall. “That will also allow me time to work on my approach to our dear Headmaster.” Snape imagined that if the witch had been wielding a shotgun in that moment, she would've cocked it. So cool.

On the calmer end of the spectrum, Pomfrey gave the Slytherin a soft smile. “I overheard a bit of your conversation Mr. Malfoy earlier. You really are wonderful with the students, Severus.”

“Yes, you were always good at rooting out and handling these types of delicate cases amongst your Snakes, even before your ‘existential crisis,’” added McGonagall, radiating a motherly pride. “I know my Lion will be in good hands.”

Snape wasn't sure he deserved such raving reviews, but he bowed his head in thanks anyway. It helped hide his burning face. His body’s automatic allergic reaction to sincere compliments never ceased to amaze him.

Now he just had to make sure he lived up to them.

༻ ✦ ༺

Good news: the school had calmed down with the crazy rumors and discussion about Snape’s Chamber of Secrets adventure. Bad news: everyone had moved onto the Quidditch incident instead. 

It was almost worse than the Basilisk stuff because there were more witnesses to the event. The firsthand accounts added a lot of unnecessary hubbub to an already dramatic mess. Most of the talk focused around Harry catching Draco and Snape shielding them from the falling tower, since they were the most “exciting” parts of the story. 

If the Potions Master wanted to look on the positive side, the students were definitely acting a lot more comfortable with him now. Maybe too comfortable. A full day hadn't even passed before the secret admirer letters started coming in—snuck onto his desk or dropped off via owl in front of everybody in the Great Hall. His coworkers would just smirk at him in a way that made him want to turn into a worm and bury himself in the dirt.

As one of the youngest professors on staff, Snape had gotten unrequited love letters and confessions before, but they had been few and far between throughout his teaching career. His old self’s cold, unapproachable vibes and appearance had made it rare for a student to feel brave enough to make any sort of move. However, the tides had changed. Now the Potions Master was prancing about Hogwarts in Muggle-styled clothes, doing different things with his hair, and smiling. With goddamn dimples. The heroic stunts were the icing on the unfortunate cake. It was inevitable. 

Snape was pretty mortified honestly. He had zero interest in dating any of his students. It would be so fucked with the age difference (they were minors and he was a 32-year-old man for god’s sake). That wasn't even including the unbalanced power dynamics. It was also against policy, which was how it should be! If this kept up, he was going to have to do a lecture on boundaries and personal safety. Actually, now that he thought about it, maybe he should just go ahead and do it anyway because Lockhart was raising some red flags.

Uncomfortable student crushes aside, Snape’s main concern with the Quidditch incident was how it happened in the first place. Rumors were flying around about who had hexed the Bludger to go after Harry. Some said it was the work of a dark wizard who snuck onto Hogwarts’s grounds. Some said it was a student who supported the Dark Lord. Others said it was the ghost of Voldemort himself.

Snape knew from the original plot that it was actually Dobby, the Malfoys’ house elf, who had done it. He just didn't know why. From what he remembered, Dobby’s aim was to scare Harry into leaving Hogwarts so he wouldn't be endangered by the Chamber of Secrets. However, the Potions Master had already dealt with that danger. It was highly unlikely the elf hadn't heard the story considering it had been the talk of the school. The Daily Prophet had even run a whole freakin’ article about it (thank god Dumbledore had pulled some strings and gotten Snape out of the interview with Rita Skeeter). So why was Dobby still messing with Harry? Did he have another danger he was worried about? There were certainly plenty to choose from, but the elf would have to be aware of them first. 

This was the problem with having knowledge of the future. The moment you start trying to change things, the butterfly effect comes into play and pretty soon you don't know what the hell is going on anymore. It didn't help that Snape wasn't confident in his knowledge in the first place. He could be forgetting a crucial detail and get someone killed because of it. And that terrified him. 

The Potions Master wondered if there were any wizard therapists nearby that he could see because this shit was getting ridiculous. Not that he even knew what to say to them without being thrown into St. Mungo’s…

“He seems to be lost in thought again,” Hooch said as she observed Snape standing at the other end of the school’s dueling room, gazing off into space. 

“He’s been doing that a lot, hasn't he?” commented Dumbledore beside the short-haired witch.

Flitwick let out an exasperated groan. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” He cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted, “Severus! I said we’re ready!” 

The Potions Master jumped, yanked back to the present. “Ah, right, sorry!” He got into position. “Okay, doing it in three, two, one—”

With a small pop, Snape vanished from his spot at one end of the room and reappeared right in front of his boss and coworkers at the opposite end. 

“I knew my eyes weren't playing tricks on me down at the field,” said Hooch with a triumphant grin. She did a circle around Snape, examining him. “Doesn't look like you’ve splinched yourself anywhere. That was a proper apparition within Hogwarts’s walls!” 

Flitwick had his wand out and was scanning the air with it. “I don't understand,” he murmured, brow furrowed, “The Anti-Apparition wards are still activated. It should have been impossible for you to do that.” He glanced up at his fellow Head of House. “Did you feel any resistance? Anything different at all?”

Snape tilted his head as he thought about it. Doing it the second time hadn't really felt different from a normal apparition. However, the first time down at the Quidditch field was a whole separate can of worms. It was like Hogwarts itself had given him permission. Like the school was alive. When he walked the halls, he could feel the mana coursing through the old castle like blood through veins. Sometimes while lying in bed at night, if he listened close, he could hear a heartbeat separate from his own. Snape was growing more sensitive to it by the day. Or maybe he was finally going crazy.    

“Helloooo, still with us?” sang Hooch as she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

The Potions Master gave a start. “Hi! Yes, still here.”

“Are you doing alright, Severus? You’ve seemed distracted lately,” said Dumbledore, sounding concerned.

No thanks to you, Snape grumbled internally as he scratched the side of his neck. “Sorry, I’m fine. Just been busy.” He took a second to recall what Flitwick had asked him before his mind had wandered. “To answer your question, Filius: apparating felt pretty normal to me. No resistance or anything.” He wouldn't go into how he suspected Hogwarts was alive. Not when he had no proof and hardly believed it himself.

“It must have something to do with how you’re channeling mana now,” the Head of Ravenclaw theorized, tapping his wand against his chin. “Similar to how house elves are able to bypass the Anti-Apparition wards. They use a rawer form of magic as well.”

“If it makes you guys feel any better, I promise to only apparate into your chambers if the school’s on fire,” Snape half joked. 

Hooch gave his shoulder a light smack. “Do that and you'll kill me with a heart attack before the flames reach me!” 

“Your sacrifice won’t be in vain, Rolanda,” the Slytherin said in a solemn tone. He barely dodged the next smack attempt. 

Dumbledore chuckled at the antics of his two professors, shaking his head. “I trust Severus not to abuse this new power.” He focused on Snape. “Although I must request you keep its use to a minimum—especially around the students. I wish to keep their confidence in the castle’s wards.” 

“Of course.” The Potions Master wasn't planning on teleporting around unless it was an emergency anyway. Doing it gave him a headache (no surprise there) and he was kind of scared of splinching a limb off. His health insurance definitely wouldn't cover that. They never covered shit. He had to fight them so long just to get some goddamn testosterone in his past life.

Wait, this job didn't have health insurance. That wasn't even a concept for wizards, which honestly might be a good thing considering how corrupt it could get. What was the wizarding world's healthcare system like…?

“... And there he goes,” sighed Flitwick as he watched Snape zone out once again. 

༻ ✦ ༺

It had been around half a week since the Quidditch incident when Harry got asked by Snape if he could stay after class to help with cleaning. The young Gryffindor’s immediate assumption was that he was in trouble somehow. Then the logical part of him kicked in and assured him that he wasn't, because the professor had made the request of other students before. 

Harry knew he was allowed to say no—many of his classmates were more than willing to volunteer in his place—but curiosity got the better of him. Maybe it would get him closer to unraveling the mystery that was Severus Snape.

The-Boy-Who-Lived was feeling conflicted. Specifically about Hogwarts’s resident Potions Master. 

The man had protected him twice so far. The first time had been easy to dismiss because of how much of a git he continued to be afterwards. But now… now he was nice. And sort of funny. And warm. Very much warm. Harry could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at him. It was there when the professor had held him and Draco close under that pile of rubble, telling them everything would be alright. Snape had felt safe.

How could a person change so much?

That was how the young Gryffindor ended up lugging a bucket of leftover dandelions and Billywig parts across Hogwarts’s grounds. Snape walked just ahead of him, holding his own bucket of discarded ingredients from class. 

“Um, sir, where are we taking these exactly?” questioned Harry as he jogged a bit to catch up with his professor’s long strides. His shoulder was fully healed thanks to the wonders of magic, so carrying the bucket wasn't an issue. He just had no idea why they were doing this in the first place.

Snape noticed the boy was having difficulties keeping pace with him and slowed his steps. “Oops, I guess I forgot to mention that part, huh?” he said with a sheepish chuckle. “We’re taking these to Hagrid’s. It’s for the school’s chickens.” 

Ah, so that's what these were for. In class earlier, Hermione had asked why they were discarding their unneeded bug and plant parts into the buckets instead of the garbage. Without missing a beat, Snape had answered, “They’re my snack for later.” He had then proceeded to pick up a Billywig leg and slowly inch it towards his mouth as half the class screamed at him to stop. The other half had called their professor's bluff and were cackling. 

Harry fought back a snort at the memory and instead examined the contents of his bucket. “Chickens eat dandelions?”

“Yup! They’re omnivores, so they can eat a lot of things,” Snape explained, “Like fruits, veggies, and even eggs.” 

The child squinted. “Wait, doesn't that make them cannibals then?” 

The Potions Master coughed into his sleeve, trying not to laugh. “I guess technically, yeah? I don't think chickens see it that way though. It’s just survival for them. The eggs give them a good source of protein.” 

Before Harry could ruminate on the morality of poultry, the familiar pointy roof of Hagrid's hut came into view. The half-giant didn't appear to be around, but Fang was there lounging in his usual place on the front steps. When he noticed the two visitors, he let out an excited bark and came loping over to them. The Great Dane didn't even stop to sniff—he just immediately went to lean against Snape’s legs. 

“Hey, ya big lug, didja miss me?” said the Potions Master, a bright grin spreading across his face as he scratched behind the dog’s ears with his free hand. Ever since his “existential crisis,” there were moments where the man sounded very American. 

Harry tried not to stare as Snape cooed over Fang. This was the happiest he had ever seen his professor so far. Fang was certainly happy too. When the Great Dane came to greet Harry next, he gave him a few pats.

“Hagrid’s usually doing his rounds around this time,” said Snape, “but he doesn't mind if we pop on back to drop these goodies off.” He started moving towards the aforementioned destination, calling back over his shoulder, “Plus we can give his chickens a snack!” 

Harry followed with Fang padding along behind him, unable to help but feel a little excited at the idea of feeding chickens. He had gone on a field trip to a farm when he was attending his old Muggle school, but hadn't been able to do anything fun thanks to Dudley’s persistent bullying.

The professor and student duo set their buckets down near the chicken coop. Harry tried not to look too eager, peeking at the birds clucking around inside the enclosed pen.

Snape handed the boy wizard a few dandelions. “Here, give them some of these. Make sure your fingers aren't in the pecking zone though.”

Keeping the Potion Master’s warning in mind, Harry took the flowers and dropped them into the pen through the wire mesh. The chickens immediately swarmed the offering, fluttering their wings and squawking in delight. A rooster grabbed a whole dandelion for himself and started scurrying away from the hens that witnessed his crime. Harry couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

“The rooster’s name is Sir Henry,” said Snape, resembling a proud parent as he watched the bird. “He’s a cool guy. Helped me defeat the Basilisk.” 

Well, now Harry absolutely needed to know more about that. 

They stayed there by the coop for a little while, feeding the chickens and petting Fang when he started nudging them with his nose. Snape tried his best to sate his student’s curiosity about his Chamber of Secrets adventure. Harry was surprised at how easy it was to talk to the man he once thought hated him. He was just so easygoing. It made you drop your guard.

“So when your wand exploded, were you… scared?” Harry asked.

“Oh, I was terrified,” the Potions Master responded without hesitation. He was crouched down in front of the pen, chucking a piece of Billywig to the chickens every minute or two. “I was terrified the whole time I was down there. It would've been weirder if I wasn't scared at all.” 

Harry picked at the dandelion in his hands, the little yellow petals drifting to the ground. “Then how did you do it?” he said, quieter, more unsure. 

His professor gave him a soft smile. “The same way you flew to save Draco when he was falling.” He leaned back to sit in the grass. “You’re a good kid, y’know. A good kid who deserves better. I’m sorry it took so long for me to pull my head out of my arse to see that.”

Unable to form a sentence due to his brain functions grinding to a halt, Harry just blinked owlishly at Snape from behind his glasses. He wondered if he should pinch himself to check if he was dreaming. To be honest, the whole school year had been nothing but surreal so far. 

Do I deserve better? thought the young Gryffindor. His life seemed pretty alright. He was learning magic and even had friends now. He just had to deal with a dark lord who wanted him dead and a “family” who acted like they wanted him dead too.  

Snape was looking at Harry, his smile replaced with a pained expression. “The Dursleys make you feel like that?” 

Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat. Oh. He had been speaking out loud the whole time. The thoughts had come pouring forth before he knew it. He had messed up. Like always. All he did was mess up. Uncle Vernon was going to be so angry—

“Harry, you’re okay,” his professor’s baritone broke through the haze, “You did nothing wrong.”

The boy realized he was hyperventilating. When had that started? The dandelion he had been picking at was now crushed in his hands. When had he done that? He buried his head in his knees to hide the welling tears.

“I need you to focus on breathing, Harry,” soothed Snape. “Just follow mine, okay? Through your nose and out your mouth.” 

The young wizard tried to follow the man’s instructions, but his chest felt tight. He couldn't get enough air in. It felt like he was suffocating. 

“Take it slow, Harry. You’re doing a great job. Just keep focusing on your breaths. In, out. You're doing great...” 

Snape's voice was gentle and steady, washing over Harry in calming waves. The boy latched onto it, used it to ground him. Soon his gasps began to subside into more manageable whimpers. 

When Harry finally felt like he could breathe again, he raised his head. Snape was sitting on his knees in front of him, maintaining a distance where he wasn't crowding his student. His obsidian eyes were brimming with a mixture of concern and relief. 

Suddenly, a big, floppy tongue from a certain dog licked his cheek. A giggle escaped the Gryffindor, taking some of the weight on his shoulders with it. He stroked Fang’s head. 

“Hey, welcome back, kiddo,” Snape hummed. “Feeling a little better?” 

The boy gave a shaky nod and a sniffle. His professor flicked his wrist and a handkerchief appeared in his hand, which Harry received gratefully. 

“Panic attacks are no fun, but you did an amazing job getting through it,” the Potions Master spoke in a low, consoling tone. “Let me know if you need anything else from me, okay? We can head back when you feel up to it.” 

“I’m s-sorry,” the student croaked, his throat dry.

Snape looked at him with a softness the Boy-Who-Lived had never thought he would see from him. “Harry, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. None of this is your fault.”

“B-but I’m a burden.”

There was that pain again, flickering across his professor’s angled features. “You are not a burden,” he assured, firm but gentle. “You shouldn't be punished for just existing. No matter what you've been told before, please remember that.”

Still petting Fang, Harry let Snape’s words settle in his mind. He couldn't bring himself to believe them right now, but he would let them stay. Maybe one day he would see them as true.

The Potions Master appeared to consider something, gaze drifting to the Great Dane lying down beside his student, before he spoke again. “Is it okay if I ask you a question? I’ll just need a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ for it, but you don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. How’s that sound?” 

The young Gryffindor wavered for a few seconds, then nodded.

“Alright,” murmured Snape. Obsidian eyes met emerald ones again. “Harry… do you feel safe at home?” 

It hit harder than the boy had expected it would. His immediate instinct was to say everything was fine, because that's what he had been telling others for years. It’s what he had been telling himself for years. 

Deep down, Harry knew it was a lie. Things were not fine at all. He was tired of tiptoeing around his aunt and uncle, afraid of making any mistake that could set them off. He was tired of being bullied by Dudley and getting blamed for anything that went wrong. He was tired of being yelled at and called a freak and going hungry at night. He deserved better.

“No,” the messy-haired child spoke in almost a whisper, “I don't think I feel safe.” 

There was an ever so slight droop in Snape’s shoulders upon hearing the answer. Then a shaky exhale. “Thank you for telling me, Harry.” He smiled again, but there was a fire in his eyes. “We’re going to get you out of there.” It was a statement. One said in finality.

Harry let himself hope.

༻ ✦ ༺

Albus Dumbledore had lived a long time. He had collected countless experiences and accomplished many things. He was Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W., Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts. His name would go down in history as one of the greatest wizards to ever live. He was a leader, a planner and a symbol of hope.

For the first time in a while, Albus Dumbledore felt old.

Laid out across his desk, written in ink, was damning evidence of his failure. Before him stood three of his staff, facing him in defiance. A testimony to his blindness. 

The Headmaster pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his half moon glasses up his forehead. “You have to understand—the blood wards were the best form of protection for the boy.”

“I swear on the Founders, if ye mention those damn wards one more time, a’ll hex ye into the next generation,” growled McGonagall, her fury thickening her Scottish accent. “They did nothing to protect Potter from his own relatives!”

Pomfrey slapped her palm down on the medical report she had provided, her demeanor cold as ice in contrast to the Head of Gryffindor’s fire. “His health is at risk the longer he stays with that wretched family. There are no excuses, Albus.” 

“What would you have me do?” Dumbledore defended. “Send him to another family where the protection would be weaker? Keep him here at Hogwarts?”

“Anything would be better than where he is now, ye stubborn fool!” seethed McGonagall, throwing open her arms. 

The Headmaster’s attention swung to the calmest of the trio in an act of desperation. Snape just stared back at him, the disappointment and sadness written clear across his weary features. For some reason, that hurt the elder wizard the most.

“Is it true, Severus? Potter told you he felt unsafe under the Dursleys’ roof?” Dumbledore prodded.

Snape’s reply was clipped. “Yes. He’s being abused. He can't stay.” The Potions Master didn't break eye contact as he continued, “Regardless of whether you or the Ministry approves or not, we’re taking him out of that house.” 

“Do the right thing, Albus,” said Pomfrey simply and quietly.

Dumbledore bowed his head, running a tired hand down his face. He had known from the start that he stood no chance in the argument. His protests had been made so he could stay in denial of the truth a little longer. A selfish preservation of his own ego. He was supposed to be the wise leader. The one who put plans into motion, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. He had become arrogant. Complacent. His pride had blinded him to the suffering of the Wizarding World’s savior—a child. Something he hadn't predicted. He wasn't a seer after all. Just a foolish old man. 

When Dumbledore raised his head again, he wore a look of grim acceptance. “I will bring the case to the Ministry. While they are investigating, Mr. Potter will stay at Hogwarts under the protection of a professor.” He turned to his Potions Master. “Severus, I think you are the best fit for this role considering the trust you’ve built with the boy already. Your newfound ability to pass the Anti-Apparition wards will prove useful as well in case of an emergency.” 

Snape didn’t appear surprised to be nominated, but his posture still stiffened. His eyes briefly flicked to McGonagall, something unspoken passing between them, before he nodded. “I’ll do my best.” 

“I’m glad you've finally seen reason, Albus,” the Head of Gryffindor remarked, crossing her arms. “Twelve years too late, mind you, but it's better than continuing to ignore it.” Her words were harsh, but rung true, making them sting all the more. 

“What matters now is that we take the steps to fix it,” Pomfrey asserted.

There was a palpable exhaustion in the way Snape was carrying himself, but his aura blazed with determination nonetheless. “It’s what Harry deserves,” he said softly.

Despite his inner turmoil, Dumbledore couldn't help but feel a spark of pride for the three members of his staff in front of him. They were some of the few he trusted who weren’t afraid to question his decisions. It was something he only now was starting to realize he needed. 

Hogwarts is in good hands, the Headmaster thought to himself.

Chapter Text

I inserted the key into the doorknob and paused, my hand unwilling to move any further. The bag of groceries hanging off my arm suddenly felt ten pounds heavier than it did a second ago. 

There was a dread that had been building inside me ever since I left work. Now it was keeping me frozen on my own doorstep. Like a coward.

Inhale, exhale.

I forced a smile onto my face and turned the key. 

“I'm home,” I called out as I entered the house. 

My mother was sitting in her usual spot on the living room couch, jamming an unsteady finger against the screen of her tablet as she played one of her many app games. A rerun of an old sitcom played on the TV—laugh tracks long since becoming background noise to me. 

“Did you get my mints?” Mom demanded without so much as a greeting.

“Yeah, I did.” I slipped off my shoes and walked over to the couch, fishing the bag of candy out of my groceries. I opened the package for my mother before giving it to her. “I’m not sure it's good for you to eat so many of them in a sitting though,” I added cautiously.

I hadn't chosen my words carefully enough, because Mom snapped back, “You can't tell me what to do. Are you trying to take away another thing I enjoy?” 

The guilt tightened its grip on my heart. “N-no! No, I'm not. It’s fine.” I took a moment to steady myself. “I'm sorry for not letting you drive anymore, but it was just getting too… risky.” If she had gotten into an accident because I was too afraid to tell her to stop, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself. 

"Forget it. It doesn't bother me,” muttered Mom, even though it clearly was bothering her. She shoved two mints in her mouth and continued playing her app game with a scowl.

Inhale, exhale.

I moved to the kitchen, setting the bag of groceries on the counter beside the notepad that made its home there. I scanned what notes the homecare nurse had left behind in it. Apparently my mom’s mobility hadn’t been the best today. It explained her demeanor. The effectiveness of her medicine varied day to day.

I found where the nurse had written down the last time Mom had taken her pills and set a timer on my phone for the next dose. Seeing the time made me grimace as I realized I had forgotten to call my therapist's office to cancel my appointments. I felt bad for leaving them after so long, but I wouldn't be able to afford Mom’s nursing care otherwise. It was more important.

If that bastard hadn't wasted all their savings on his goddamn cars and booze… 

The flare of anger in my chest was brief, falling back into a dull emptiness. I decided to ignore it. Something my soon-to-be-ex therapist definitely wouldn't have approved of. 

“Why do you keep your hair long when you insist you're a boy?”

My hand once again found itself freezing in place, about to put a carton of milk in the fridge. From the thumping of her cane, I knew without turning around that Mom was standing in the archway of the kitchen. It seemed like she was in that mood again. 

“Why aren't you answering me? Are you trying to ignore me? Why is your hair long?” my mother asked, her voice rising in pitch with each rapid question. She almost sounded childish.

At some point, our roles had been flipped: me becoming the parent and her, the child. I wasn't sure how much I should blame her changes on the disease or how much was just… her. Not that it mattered when I didn't know how to handle either.

“I’m sorry,” I spoke quietly, still staring into the fridge, “I just couldn't think of what to say.” 

“That's always your excuse!” snapped Mom. “Excuse, excuse, excuse! Why do you do this to me?!” 

A laugh track drifted in from the living room as if to mock us. It was just all so overwhelming. I hated how the disease was pushing more and more of my happy memories of her away. I didn't want to let go of them, but they were getting harder to hold onto.

Putting the milk down on the shelf, I turned to face my mother, attempting to swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m trying my best to be a good son—”

“What I wanted was a daughter!” With that cutting exclamation, she tried stomping her foot, but lost her balance despite using the cane. I bolted forward on instinct to catch her before she fell. 

“See what you did?!” Mom lashed out as I tried to help her stand. “You're making my symptoms worse! Why are you doing this to me?!”

The crushing guilt was what finally made my vision blur with tears. I knew she would feel bad and apologize to me later, but the things she said still hurt. Especially when this cycle would just repeat again.

Sometimes I really wished I were a different person. Someone stronger. More capable.

Inhale, exhale.

༻✦༺

There was an enchanting tranquility to walking Hogwarts’s halls at night. The way moonlight trailed through the windows and gathered in silvery pools on the stone floor… the gentle flickering of torches along the walls… the faint, reassuring thrum of raw magic in the air. They were all things he hadn't truly appreciated until now.

Severus Snape rubbed his teary eyes and let himself breathe. That nightmare had kicked his metaphorical ass. If he was going to be honest with himself though, it had been a long time coming. He had been pushing certain memories to the back of his head for a while now. Compartmentalizing had never been easier thanks to Occlumency—for better or for worse. Sometimes though, things slipped through. 

The raven-haired man pulled his burgundy sweater a little tighter around his shoulders. He really didn't want to think about either of his mothers. Especially not the one from his previous reality. The wounds there still felt raw.

His final memory of her was of her face twisted into a snarl as she told him she never wanted to see him again, voice trembling in anger and betrayal. He had left the nursing home heartbroken, every step weighed by a crushing guilt. A failure of a son who couldn't even take care of his own mother. 

In hindsight now though, it had been the right choice to put her in a home considering he had died only a week later. It didn't ease the guilt any less, but at least she would be cared for. 

He just wished their last moments together hadn't been so bitter. 

A scratchy meow dragged Snape out of his melancholic reminiscing. He glanced down to see a familiar scruffy cat winding around his ankles. 

“Hi, Mrs. Norris,” said the Potions Master, relieved to have a distraction from his thoughts. Especially one so goshdarn adorable. He crouched and let the feline headbutt his hand before he stroked her back. Her dust-colored fur was nice and soft. Filch definitely spoiled the hell out of her. 

Speaking of the school’s caretaker, the man himself came into view from around a corner, holding a lantern. His long grey hair was unkempt in contrast to his cat’s and there was a visible limp in his step. He gave a surprised cough upon spotting Snape crouched down in the middle of the hallway. “G-good evening, Professor Snape.” 

“Evenin’, Argus,” the Slytherin greeted amicably, hoping his reddened eyes weren’t too noticeable in the lantern’s glow. “Didn’t I tell you last time to call me Severus? We have the same boss after all.” His tone was light and teasing.

Filch scratched the back of his balding head. “I’m afraid it's going to take this old brain of mine extra time to adjust to that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Snape counseled as he gave a purring Mrs. Norris some chin rubs. “You talk like you haven't been keeping this castle from falling apart for half a decade.” 

He got a crooked, bashful smile out of Filch for his compliment. It was a nice victory that made his shit night feel a little less shitty. 

To be honest, Snape felt bad for the grumpy caretaker. He had been trying to say hi and make conversation with the older man whenever he ran into him. It seemed like he got ignored or generally disrespected a lot, even though his role was just as important as everyone else’s. Okay, sure, Filch wasn't doing himself any favors with his cantankerous, pretty cruel attitude, but he hadn't always been like that if the info from Dumbledore was true. Filch was a Squib, which meant he was subjected to prejudice and mistreatment in the Wizarding World all his life. It didn't excuse being mean to kids, but Snape could understand how he had become that way. Awesome job, wizard society.

Mrs. Norris meowed at the Potions Master again, staring with her big golden eyes. 

Ah, right. He needed to stop zoning out.

“I don't think you're scheduled for patrol duty tonight, Profes—Severus,” Filch was saying. “On a nighttime stroll then?” 

“Yeah, was too restless to sleep,” replied Snape, giving the cat in front of him one last scratch behind the ears before planting his hands on his knees and pushing himself up. “Felt like taking a walk rather than downing a potion for it.” He was for sure drinking a Dreamless Sleep when he got back to his chambers though. Nip that shit in the bud.

“I see,” Filch grunted awkwardly. It was clear that he was struggling to find what else to say, not used to maintaining a casual conversation. Relatable. 

Snape knew just how to help with that though. “So how’s Mrs. Norris been?”

The old caretaker’s face immediately lit up at the question. “She’s been doing wonderful! Yesterday she brought me the biggest mouse—”

Filch rambled on about his cat as if he were a proud father talking about a child. Mrs. Norris strutted around them, her chest puffed out in pride. 

As Snape chatted with Filch, he noted how the older man was pausing to cough a little more than usual. It was most likely due to the weather becoming colder. He’d have to remember to give his older coworker some potions for that later. Maybe knit him a scarf too. The ratty nightgown he was wearing didn't seem like it was warm enough for the weather. 

It wasn't a secret that Filch’s health wasn't great—just looking at him proved it with his sallow cheeks and noticeable limp—yet he still worked just as hard. The old man was the sole caretaker of the entire castle while dealing with rheumatism and not having magic. It was kind of ridiculous that this huge responsibility was foisted onto one man. It would be a lot even for a wizard in their prime. In Snape’s opinion, it made so much more sense to have at least a second caretaker on staff to split the duties. Eventually he was going to have to bring the topic up with Filch and Dumbledore, but that was a battle for another day.

Some may say Snape was being a bit too much of a mother hen. He had a soft spot for the elderly, okay? Plus, fretting over others meant he wasn't thinking about his own issues. Compartmentalizing, baby. Cue wink and double finger guns.

For now, it was just nice to hear Filch gush on about his cat. 

༻✦༺

“Just a reminder that your paper on ‘what kind of potion you’d invent and why’ is due by the end of the week,” Snape announced to the class as he sat on the edge of his desk, “And I know some of you haven't started it yet. Not to kill your vibe, but work on it.” Even though he wasn’t looking at any student in particular, the sheepish glances weren't missed.

Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered, “What does ‘kill your vibe’ mean?” 

“Why do you always assume I know?” the other Gryffindor fired back.

The classroom was a bustle of activity as students began packing up and filing out. A few lingered behind to ask Snape questions about the lesson or their assignments. It was a routine everyone had settled into. 

What wasn’t part of the routine was Gilderoy Lockhart, who had once again decided to grace the Potions Master with his presence. He swaggered right up to the desk without any consideration for the students already there, golden locks fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. 

“My dear Severus, do I have an exciting proposition for you!” declared Lockhart, his grin blinding as always.

“That’s great,” Snape said in a flat tone that implied otherwise. “I’d love to hear it once I’m done helping these kids who were here before you.” Being a passive aggressive bitch felt pretty good sometimes. Especially when directed at the guy who had endangered students with his reckless actions and then ditched everybody in the aftermath. 

Lockhart started protesting, but Snape ignored him in favor of the Slytherin Second Year he had been talking to before the rude interruption. As he answered the questions, Potions Master could see the other teacher fuming in the corner of his eye. God forbid the world didn't revolve around him for ten minutes.

Once the last student in the queue had been helped, Snape finally turned his attention back to his coworker, smiling innocently. “What were you saying again, Professor Lockhart?” 

“I said I had a proposition for you,” snarled the celebrity before catching himself in order to switch the fake charm back on. “You see, my Duelling Club will be starting today, which is already quite popular! However, I am in need of a lovely assistant to properly demonstrate a duel.” Lockhart had sidled his way around the desk so he could loom over Snape in his chair. “You were the first candidate to come to mind, my dear!”

Oh, hey. That sounded familiar. 

Snape was hit with the memory of his movie counterpart striking a dramatic pose and enunciating every syllable in Expelliarmus before blasting Lockhart across the room. The scene had been quite cathartic. Something he would've loved to experience himself if it weren't for his current magic issues. He was gaining better control with practice, but he was still nervous about using spells on living beings, especially in a duelling sense. He had to make some excuse to get out of this if he didn't want to disembowel Lockhart by accident. 

“This is all kinda last minute and I have a lot to get done,” said Snape with his most convincing look of remorse, “Sorry, but I don't think I can help you.”

The celebrity wizard gave a loud and disappointed sigh. “If that's what you believe, I guess I will just have to use a student then. What a shame! I’d hate to humiliate a youngster in front of their peers, but for the sake of realism, I can't go easy on them.” 

Never mind. Snape was going to kick his ass. 

“What time,” the Head of Slytherin growled with narrowed eyes.  

༻✦༺

Harry hadn't planned on signing up for Lockhart’s stupid Duelling Club. He had no faith in getting taught anything valuable by the celebrity, but Hermione and Ron had insisted he join. His friends were holding onto the hope that something cool would come out of it. If anything, at least it would be a distraction from thinking about the Dursleys. 

In just one week, Harry would be stepping foot on Number Four, Privet Drive for the last time. One final confrontation and he’d never have to see the Dursleys again. All he had to do was grab his stuff and leave. He would even have Dumbledore and Snape there to protect him. 

Yet he was still afraid. 

“Gather ‘round! Gather ‘round!” boomed Lockhart’s voice. The man was doing what Harry had hoped: being very distracting. He was posing on top of the long, horizontal platform set up in the center of the duelling room. He had done his third outfit change of the day and was now sporting some black pants and a fancy vest with poofy white sleeves. Of course, he had a mantle cape on as well to finish the posh look. 

Harry reluctantly joined his fellow clubmates around the raised platform as Lockhart prattled on. “In light of the terrifying event that happened a few weeks ago, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club!” The celebrity moved with confident strides, expensive leather boots tapping against the wood. “My aim is to train you all to defend yourselves from danger as I myself have done on countless occasions (for full details, see my published works).” 

In a single practiced motion, Lockhart pulled off his cape with a flourish and tossed it into the crowd of students. It landed on Pavarti Patlil, who pulled it off her head and glanced around awkwardly, unsure of what to do with it. She tried pawning the responsibility off onto her sister, Padma, but failed. 

“That Lockhart sure is something, isn't he?” a Slytherin boy commented wryly to Harry. “So full of hot air, it's a miracle he doesn't go floating off.” 

The other student had neatly trimmed black locs, dark brown skin and sharp eyes. Harry recognized him since he was also a Second Year, but couldn't remember his name. 

With very convenient timing, the Slytherin held out a hand and said, “I’m Blaise Zabini by the way.” 

Harry accepted the handshake. “Nice to meet you, I’m—”

“Don't worry, Potter, I know who you are,” Blaise cut him off, “especially after you saved Malfoy’s arse back at the Quidditch pitch.” He nodded at the Boy-Who-Lived. “You have my respect for that.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, thanks.” He had thought everybody in the House of Snakes hated him, but maybe things weren’t as simple as they seemed. 

“If you don't like Lockhart, why’d you join this club? Did your friends force you in too?” Harry asked before things got awkward. 

“We didn't force you,” he heard Hermione mutter from somewhere behind him.

“I’m here because my mother wanted me to join a club,” Blaise replied with a half shrug. “Snape doesn't have one, so I figured I’d go with Lockhart’s since it’ll probably be easy.” 

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but found himself interrupted once again—this time by Lockhart who was finally moving on from listing his combat achievements.

“Now I'd like to introduce my lovely assistant… Professor Snape!” The celebrity wizard gestured towards the other end of the room, everybody's heads whipping in the same direction. Excited murmurs and whispers emanated from the students as Severus Snape weaved through the crowd and stepped up onto the platform. 

Harry wondered how he hadn’t noticed the Head of Slytherin’s arrival earlier, because he certainly stood out as much as Lockhart did, just in a more natural manner.

Snape had removed the robe layer of his Potions Master outfit, leaving on the black slacks and white button-up beneath. His raven hair was still in the ponytail it had been in since that morning. He was carrying himself in his usual relaxed way, hands shoved into his pants’ pockets.

“‘Sup, nerds,” said the professor, his nonchalant greeting earning some giggles from the crowd.

Harry could've sworn he saw Lockhart’s eye twitch for the briefest of seconds. Maybe this club session wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

✦

Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought, Snape snickered in his head as he observed Lockhart’s mask cracking once again. He was enjoying being the annoying half in their “relationship” for a change.

“Professor Snape has eagerly agreed to help me with a duelling demonstration!” Lockhart declared with an enthusiasm that seemed a bit more forced. “Now don't any of you youngsters worry, you’ll still have your Potions Master when I’m done with him.” He shot a roguish wink at his assistant. 

Oh, that was a good one. It really made Snape want to dropkick the man in his golden nuggets, but he would stay strong for the sake of the children. And by that he meant he didn’t want to get in trouble with their parents for teaching them crazy shit. 

“Inappropriate and unwanted advances aside,” the Slytherin drawled instead, “formal duels typically start with a bow between opponents.” He gave Lockhart a pointed look. “Although I’m fine with skipping that part if that's what you want.”

The other wizard’s irritation was getting more obvious as he ground out through clenched teeth, “No, no, I want this demonstration to be as accurate as possible.” He cleared his throat to reset himself, then made a large sweeping gesture with his arm to grab the audience’s attention. “Whoever disarms or knocks the other off their feet first, wins! Now let us begin!” 

The students buzzed with anticipation as Snape and Lockhart met each other in the middle of the platform. The two professors bowed, then walked ten paces back before turning to face their opponent. The golden-haired celebrity readied his wand. The Potions Master just stood there with his hands still in his pockets.

“On three,” instructed Lockhart, a smug smile spreading across his face. “One, two, thr—Flipendo!” He fired off his spell before properly completing the countdown. Figures.

Snape didn't even flinch as he flicked his wrist. “Protego.” He had to remind himself to actually say the spell out loud so the kids would know what he was using. A shimmering blue shield appeared in front of him, absorbing Lockhart’s spell like it was nothing. He immediately casted again before the other wizard could recover. “Ebublio.” 

With a startled yelp, Lockhart was encased in a giant bubble. The student audience erupted into laughter at the sight of their professor bouncing around inside a literal bubble as it floated towards the ceiling. 

“Release me at once!” the celebrity shouted angrily from within his translucent prison. 

“Okie,” chirped Snape, dispelling the bubble. 

Lockhart screamed as he fell from the ceiling, landing on the Cushioning Charm his opponent had placed beneath him. Snape’s goal was to embarrass the guy, not hurt him (for the most part). 

The students were still giggling as Lockhart scrambled to his feet, his visage flushed red. “Cheating! That's cheating!” he spluttered, pointing an accusatory finger. 

The Potions Master rolled his eyes. What was this: magic kindergarten? “I’m pretty sure I was following all the rules there,” he remarked in a dry tone. 

Lockhart dusted his vest off and stuck his nose in the air. “An honorable wizard duels with his wand.” 

Really? That was the excuse he was going with?

Snape regarded the other wizard with the energy of a man who was slightly more ready to escape this mortal coil. “You do know that mine exploded, right?” 

The resulting gasps from the audience reminded him that his wand’s destruction wasn't a common fact among the student body. Oops. It was hard to keep track of these things sometimes. 

Lockhart seemed just as surprised at the revelation. “It… exploded?”

“The Headmaster talked about it in a staff meeting and everything, dude.”

“Oh, uh, w-well it must have been a very brief discussion!” the celebrity huffed. He waved his hand dismissively. “Don't you have a replacement by now anyway?” 

That single question struck Snape with a very fun and possibly evil idea. 

“I do have a replacement,” he said, keeping his expression neutral, “but it's a little unconventional.” 

“Good! Then use it so we can have a proper duel instead of whatever sham that was before!” goaded Lockhart, readying his wand again. 

Without breaking eye contact with the other man, Snape summoned the shrunken axe he had hidden in his boot, undoing the charm and letting it grow back to its original size. Its sharp blade sunk into the wood of the platform with a loud thunk. 

✦

Harry and the rest of the room stared in open-mouthed silence. The boy wizard wondered if he was hallucinating or if he had really just witnessed his Potions professor whip out an honest-to-Merlin axe like it was no big deal. 

Lockhart had paled a considerable amount, wide eyes flicking from the axe, to Snape, then back to the axe. 

The Head of Slytherin yanked his wand replacement out of the floor and gripped it in his hands with a grin that was borderline feral. “Ready? We’ll do it on three. One, two—” 

“A-actually it might be best if we move on!” blurted Lockhart with a nervous chuckle. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is!” The flustered man skittered backwards away from Snape, not paying attention to where he was going. His foot met empty air and he flailed as he proceeded to fall over the edge of the platform, landing on his buttocks.

The students burst into uproarious laughter again at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. There was some applause mixed in as well. Snape did a little curtsy for added comedic effect. His opponent’s face was beet red from both outrage and sheer embarrassment.

“Lockhart is not living this one down, that's for sure,” said Blaise, smirking. 

Ron nudged his bespectacled friend in the side. “Bet you don't regret joining this club now, eh?” 

Harry had to agree as he watched Snape shrink his axe down and casually stick it back in his boot. Needless to say, the boy was feeling a little less worried about the Dursleys. 

༻✦༺

Severus Snape. Snape this, Snape that. Snape was all anybody in this damn school ever talked about. So what if he discovered the Chamber of Secrets and slayed the Basilisk? So what if he saved a few students, one of which was Harry Potter himself? 

Gilderoy Lockhart’s jaw clenched so hard, it felt like his pearly white teeth would crack under the pressure.

Something about this feels wrong, doesn't it? Those should have been your accomplishments.  

When Dumbledore had first approached him with the offer of taking over the D.A.D.A. position at Hogwarts, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to spread his fame further. A child’s mind was so much easier to mold than an adult’s, magically or otherwise. The job had even coincided with the release of his biography! It couldn't have been more ideal.

He had never expected Severus goddamn Snape of all people to waltz in and ruin everything. The wizard was nothing like the dour, sneering boy Lockhart remembered as a student. Still a little quiet, yes, but now he smiled and took care of his hair and wore those blasted Muggle “jeans” that hugged his legs in all the right places… 

With a frustrated hiss, Lockhart kicked over the rusted rake he had been glaring at for the past five minutes. Curse that Snape! He had the gall to not only steal a man’s glory, but also to humiliate and reject him as well. Him! Gilderoy Lockhart, the most desirable and eligible bachelor in Wizarding Britain (according to the Daily Prophet, issue #90885)!

He wouldn't have that title for long if this farce continued. The perfect image he had cultivated for so many years was falling apart before his eyes. No amount of memory manipulation or obliviating was going to save him this time. The students he had already “adjusted” weren't enough. He would have to somehow cast memory charms on the entire school. It was impossible. 

The celebrity still had some cards up his sleeve though. If he played them right, he would be able to regain his beloved fame and more. He just needed a few things to pull it off. Things that your average wizard would find difficult to acquire. Luckily Lockhart was anything but average.

Being famous had brought him two very important perks that always proved useful in a crisis: connections and wealth. It was the former that got him into contact with certain unsavory individuals in the black market. It was the latter that allowed him to pay these individuals to procure and deliver these… difficult items. 

That was why Lockhart was standing in this forgotten barn just off the edge of Hogwarts’s grounds in the middle of the night. 

The golden-haired wizard checked his pocket watch for the tenth time since he arrived. They were bloody late! It was making him nervous. What if it was all a trap? He had made sure to hide his identity throughout the whole process, even wearing an elaborate mask to this rendezvous, but perhaps he hadn't done enough. If he was caught, he could kiss his whole magnificent career goodbye—

There were four knocks at the barn doors. They had arrived. 

Apprehensively, Lockhart peeked outside through one of the many holes pockmarking the old building. He could see a horse-pulled wagon carrying a large square object covered in a sheet along with two cloaked figures standing in front of it. Both men based on their builds. They were wearing masks as well: the simple theater ones that hid their entire faces. 

The taller of the two figures looked directly at the hole Lockhart was peeking out of, causing the celebrity to jump. “Apologies for the lateness,” the masked wizard spoke in a cold, refined baritone, “we had to take a less traveled route. Now if you would let us in?”

“Y-yes, yes, right away!” stuttered Lockhart. He used magic to pull open the barn’s doors, letting the two men and their wagon inside. Trying not to show his nerves, the celebrity eyed the sheet-covered object that had been brought in. “Is this… the item?” 

The taller cloaked wizard gave a nod to his silent companion and they both pulled out their wands to levitate the large object off the wagon and onto the ground. The sheet was banished to reveal a large metal cage containing the slumbering form of a beast as big as the horse that had transported it. A fearsome sight built with the head of a human, the body of a lion and the tail of a scorpion. 

“Your manticore as requested,” said the tall wizard. 

“Very good,” Lockhart murmured, pulse racing as he gazed upon the monster. “And the poisons?”

The quieter of the cloaked pair approached with a wooden box and opened it to show the two bottles inside. 

“Starting tomorrow, mix one of these into the beast’s meal in the evening,” instructed the tall wizard. “It will be sufficiently weakened for your needs after the doses are properly given. The day after the last dose is when you must do what you plan with the beast. Any longer and the poisons will lose their effect.” 

Lockhart reached for the box with eager hands, but had it yanked away before he could touch it. The tall wizard clicked his tongue. “Payment first.”

Too wary of the men to voice his indignation, the celebrity produced a bag of galleons from his pocket. “Are you sure these poisons will work?” he questioned as he traded the money for the box.

“As long as you follow the instructions and only enact your plan the day after the last dose,” the tall masked figure emphasized sternly. 

“Of course.” Lockhart couldn't help but let his lips curl upwards in a devious manner. This was it. In three days, a manticore would be unleashed onto the school. However, before it could kill anyone, Gilderoy Lockhart would swoop in and save the day by single-handedly slaying the beast. His heroic actions would be the talk of the Wizarding World for years to come!

It's what you deserve.

“It appears the transaction is completed,” said the tall cloaked wizard, signaling for his companion to retrieve the horse and wagon. “We will take our leave.” As he followed the wagon out the barn doors, the man looked back over his shoulder at the celebrity. The motion revealed a few strands of long platinum blond hair from beneath his hood. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Lockhart.” His face wasn't visible, but the smugness was clear in his tone.

Lockhart was left behind in the barn with an ice cold pit in his stomach.

Chapter Text

“Now, Severus, you know you can't go around threatening your fellow professors with an axe,” chided Dumbledore.

Snape let out an annoyed groan. “You’ve told me this three times already—I get it. Jeez, wasn't like I was actually going to hit the guy.” He pouted, then mumbled under his breath, “He started it anyway.”

Harry stifled a laugh as he followed the two older wizards out of the castle. It was like listening to a kid argue with their parent. For a moment, the young Gryffindor could forget where they were heading.

“Consider this your punishment,” Dumbledore said playfully to the Potions Master. “Professor Lockhart seemed insistent that you receive one.”

Snape rolled his eyes like a rebellious teenager. “Lockhart can go screw himself.”

The lighthearted banter helped ease Harry’s anxiety a bit as they walked down the path. He could tell Snape and Dumbledore were doing it to help take his mind off things. It was indeed fun to see how they interacted with each other. 

Nothing lasts forever though. Soon enough, the trio were stepping through Hogwarts's main gates, officially leaving the school grounds. Harry’s pulse began to pick up again.

“We will be traveling by Portkey today, Harry, which I don't believe you've used before, is that correct?” queried Dumbledore as they came to a stop. 

The Gryffindor student nodded. He had heard McGonagall mention something about it while she had fussed over him that morning, but that was about it. 

“Well, as you may have already learned in your classes, a Portkey is a fairly common mode of transportation for wizards,” Dumbledore explained with his usual twinkling gaze. “It is an object that’s enchanted to bring whoever touches it to a predetermined destination. Any item can be turned into a Portkey, but it’s generally recommended to choose something mundane in order to avoid the attention of Muggles.” He retrieved a small object from his robes and showed it to Harry. “For example, here is our Portkey for our trip.”  

A ball of colorful striped socks rested in Dumbledore’s palm. Harry’s nose scrunched up on instinct despite there not being a smell. 

“I swear to god, Albus, those better be clean,” remarked Snape, making a similar face. 

The old wizard chuckled, “Of course! They're practically brand new!” 

All he got from his Potions Master was a heavy sigh. 

“If it works by holding it, how come you're not being transported anywhere right now?” Harry inquired, wanting to both change the subject and sate his genuine curiosity. 

“A good question! I’ve enchanted this particular Portkey to activate when touched by the right amount of people,” said Dumbledore, tossing the ball of socks up and down. “I should also mention that they can work within Hogwarts with some restrictions. However, Professor Flitwick is adjusting the wards today and I didn't wish to disturb his work.”

“You should also mention that using that thing makes you want to barf,” Snape deadpanned as he shoved the suitcase he was carrying under his arm in order to sift around inside his messenger bag. He pulled out three vials filled with a pink liquid and handed one to each of his companions. “Here, some Anti-Nausea Potions. Finally got them to taste like ginger ale. You're welcome, Albus.” 

Dumbledore popped open the vial, gave it a swirl and sniff, then an experimental sip. He nodded in approval and drank the rest without hesitation. “You know me so well, my dear boy.” 

“Everything is such a process with you,” grumbled Snape. 

Harry snorted before downing his own potion. It really did taste like ginger ale. Wicked. Hopefully it would help with his already churning stomach. 

He had never felt so anxious in his life.

As if sensing the boy’s nerves, Snape turned to him, his expression softening. “Are you ready, kiddo?” 

He wasn't, but he had to do this. He needed to do this.

“I’m ready.”

༻✦༺

It was a rather quiet Sunday afternoon on Privet Drive. Not many cars were in their driveways and only a few people were working on their boring, unnaturally tidy lawns. The gray clouds in the sky promised a future with rain in it. 

The monotony was broken by the sudden appearance of three figures in the middle of the street. 

Snape yanked his hand away from the ball of rainbow socks as fast as he could while still being casual about it. The professor checked to see how Harry was faring. He seemed disoriented, but wasn't puking his guts out, which was good. The poor kid had enough on his plate today.

“The first time traveling via Portkey is always a doozy,” said Snape sympathetically. “You holding up?”

Harry took a moment to reorient himself. “I-I think so.” 

“Great, now let’s get out of the street before we get run over by a semi truck or something.” Snape had no idea why Dumbledore hadn't just set the destination to the sidewalk. These gatdang wizards drove him insane sometimes.

As they walked, Harry looked around in confusion at the Muggles who didn't seem to acknowledge their unique trio at all—even Dumbledore in his vibrant purple robes. “Are we invisible?” he asked.

“Pretty much. Concealment and Repelling Charms mixed together can do wonders,” answered Snape as a woman with a Golden Retriever walked past them without so much as a glance. 

Dumbledore slowed his strides to keep pace with Harry. “Madam Amelia Bones will be waiting for us,” he informed the boy, “She is the current Head of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a very capable witch whom I trust. She wished to personally handle your case.”

“Oh… that's nice.” Harry didn't appear eased by the news, twisting the fabric of his red jumper in his hands. 

Snape masked his own concerned frown. He had argued against Dumbledore’s plan to bring the kid for this confrontation at first. They already had his testimony—they didn't need to subject him to more potential trauma. However, when the Potions Master had asked Harry what he wanted to do, the boy had expressed his desire to come along. If he felt like he needed this for closure, Snape knew he had no right to deny him that. He would support Harry as best he could regardless of what he chose. 

The Dursley’s two story house looked just like all the other suburban homes on the street. The only reason Snape could distinguish it was because of the obvious witch standing in the driveway. She was dressed in finely pressed dark blue robes and wore a monocle, which was very much not a Muggle outfit. Snape wondered if he should've gone with his Potions Master getup for the intimidation factor instead of his trench coat and trousers combo.

“Good afternoon, Madam Bones,” greeted Dumbledore amicably. 

The gray-haired witch gave him a cordial nod. “Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore.” She addressed Harry next, smiling down at him. “It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Potter, although I wish it were under better circumstances.” She regarded Snape last, brow furrowing as it took a second for her to recognize him. Once she did, her face became stony. “Snape,” she said curtly, scanning him with a critical eye, “It seems your freedom has been treating you well.”

The Slytherin professor tried not to wince too hard at the jab. Hah, hah. Ouch. Way to hit a guy straight in his guilt complex. He understood Bones’s hostility though. To her, he was just an ex-Death Eater—one of the biggest risks to Harry here. It wasn't like she knew him on a personal level. If he were in her shoes, he’d probably act no different.  

Snape gave the Ministry witch his most disarming and I’m-not-evil-please-don’t-kill-me smile. “Thank you for helping with this, Madam Bones.” 

The stern woman seemed a little thrown off by his reaction, having expected something more on the frigid side, but before she could make a comment, Dumbledore stepped in: “I assume everything is prepared?” 

Snape appreciated the save as Bones’s attention was drawn away from him. “Yes, the paperwork is ready and we have more than enough evidence,” she said to the Headmaster. “I promise you that the Dursleys will sign over custody of Mr. Potter by the end of this.” There was an underlying threat to her words. 

Harry chewed on his cheek nervously. His Potions teacher crouched in front of him. 

“Hey, you don't have to worry about any of that stuff, kiddo,” Snape reassured. “You don't even need to talk to them if you don't want to. All you have to focus on is grabbing your things and sticking them in this bad boy.” He patted the enchanted suitcase he was carrying, then continued, “If you get too uncomfortable and need to step outside at any point, just let me know. Sounds good?” 

Harry nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting up ever so slightly. 

Bones observed the professor and student pair with an inscrutable expression. 

With the Headmaster of Hogwarts and Head of  the D.M.L.E. in the lead, the group approached the house. After three firm raps and a minute of waiting, the front door swung open to reveal Vernon Dursley in all his mustached glory. “We don't want anything you're selling, you—” 

The large man’s angry exclamation died in his throat as he processed the wizards standing before him. He immediately attempted to shut the door, but a quick spell from Dumbledore froze it in place. 

“Hello, Mr. Dursley, it's been a while,” said the Headmaster with his signature benign smile. “May we come in for a chat?” He didn’t even give Vernon the chance to respond before he was strolling into the house, the rest of the group filing in behind him. 

“This—this is ridiculous!” spluttered the Dursley patriarch, having been backed into their pink and beige living room from their equally pink and beige hallway. “Y-you lot can't just barge in here!” 

Petunia sprang off the couch with Dudley in her arms and pushed themselves against the far wall, eyes wide as dinner plates. “What is the meaning of this?!” she screeched, her long limbs wrapped around her son in a protective vice grip. 

“We are here to correct a grave injustice. One that should have been dealt with years ago,” said Dumbledore. Whatever pretense of amity had vanished, leaving behind the coldness of a man who had seen and done far too much. “I am very disappointed in your family.”

“This is about that damn boy isn't it?” Vernon hissed, not noticing Harry hiding behind Snape. “We went out of our way to put a roof over his head and this is the sort of thanks we get?!” 

“What you've been doing is neglect,” Bones accused, standing tall and imposing with her hands clasped behind her. “We know how you’ve been ‘raising’ him, Muggles.”

Petunia caught sight of Harry, her visage twisting into something monstrous. “What lies did you tell them, you ungrateful brat?!” she shrilled, pointing at him viciously.

Harry flinched, shrinking into himself. Snape moved to block the child from his aunt’s view, hitting her with a fierce glare. “Screw off, Tuney,” he growled. 

Recognition sparked in Petunia’s gaze, her jaw dropping open in shock. “Snape?”

The Potions Master ignored her and turned his attention to Harry. “Don't listen to her. We know you're telling the truth,” he spoke in a gentler tone. “How about we start gathering your stuff?” 

“O-okay,” agreed the young Gryffindor, trying to focus on his professor rather than his aunt. “Um… most of my things are in my room, I think.” 

As Snape followed Harry back out into the hallway, he heard Vernon begin protesting behind them. He was promptly shut down by Bones, who boomed, “ENOUGH! You will sit and behave yourself before I hex your mouth away!” 

“We have much to discuss,” said Dumbledore, his voice calmer, but just as formidable. 

Snape was glad to leave the Dursleys to the older wizards. Right now, his priority was being there for Harry. 

The duo ascended the stairs, each footfall emitting a loud creak. The Slytherin’s heart wrenched as he thought about the years the boy had spent in that miserable cupboard beneath these steps. Shoved away and forgotten. 

A memory of his own father throwing him into a musty closet and slamming the door shut flashed across Snape’s mind. He wasn't sure which reality’s father it was. Not that it mattered.

The framed photos hanging on the walls of the Dursley’s home told a damning tale through what was missing. Specifically who was missing. Harry wasn't featured in any of the family’s pictures, where they posed with exaggerated smiles and expensive clothes. A visiting stranger would assume this was a three person household. 

God… how had nobody questioned why Harry’s acceptance letters were addressed to “The Cupboard Under the Stairs?” 

The Boy-Who-Lived’s room was the smallest in the house. One of Dudley’s spares. Snape knew the only reason Vernon had let his nephew have a room was because he was afraid Hogwarts would catch onto their neglect. And they had. Just far too late. 

Hovering outside the doorway, the professor could see an old bed sitting in the corner, taking up a majority of the space despite being child-sized. There was a wardrobe and desk as well, both worn from use. Everything in the room seemed to be secondhand—either falling apart or broken. A sharp contrast to the rest of the Dursley’s prim and proper house. 

Snape didn't miss the fact that there were bars covering the only window in the room and a cat flap installed in the door. This wasn't a kid’s bedroom. It was a cell. 

He had never felt so angry in his life.

“You can come in if you want,” Harry mumbled awkwardly, unable to meet his professor's gaze. He seemed embarrassed at the state of his living space despite it not being his fault.

The Potions Master swallowed the lump in his throat and fought back his surge of mana before he entered the room. He set the enchanted suitcase on the bed as Harry rummaged through his wardrobe. Every piece of clothing that was pulled out was ratty and oversized, all obviously hand-me-downs from Dudley. Snape made a mental note to take the kid shopping soon. 

Harry started folding his clothes to put in the suitcase, but was stopped by his professor, who sat cross-legged on the floor beside him and suggested, “Why don't you sort what you want to keep and I’ll handle the packing?” 

The pair of wizards fell into a rhythm, Harry organizing his notably few belongings into two different piles while Snape folded things as needed and floated them into the suitcase on the bed. It was nice and quiet in the room, the Potions Master having casted a charm to muffle the loud arguing coming from downstairs.

Snape could tell Harry wanted to say something based on the glances he kept shooting at him. After a few minutes, the boy finally worked up the courage. “So do you and Aunt Petunia know each other?”  

“Unfortunately, yeah,” replied Snape, scratching the side of his neck. “I lived down the street from your mother and her as a kid.” 

Harry stared at him. “You… knew my mum?” 

And it begins.

“I did. She was my best friend.” The raven-haired man tilted his head with a nostalgic smile. “Would you like me to tell you about her?” 

“If that's okay?” 

“Of course it is.” 

So Snape delved into the memories he had been trying to push away since he awoke in this world. Memories of a girl with red hair, green eyes, and a smile as bright as the sun. He told Harry about how her favorite subject was Charms, how she was bright and silly, how she always did her best to stand up for what was right. 

He recalled the first time they met in that park on that beautiful, warm afternoon, lying under the shade of a tree as he made leaves float around them, his new friend watching in wonder. He reminisced on when they would do their summer homework together in her family’s backyard, eating the PBJ sandwiches her mom had made. He remembered braiding flowers into her hair in the dressing room, telling her how proud he was of her, and how she had scolded him afterwards through happy tears for making her cry on her wedding day—

Snape froze, the words dying on his lips. Wait, no. That wasn't right. He hadn't been at Lily’s wedding. That was a memory from his previous life. How could he have mixed them up? She had been one of his best friends in that reality. Even though her name had been taken from him, he still remembered what she looked like…

A woman with red hair, green eyes, and a smile as bright as the sun. 

“Professor Snape? Are you alright?” 

The Potions Master was flung back to the present, his heartbeat rattling inside his head. Harry was peering at him in nervous concern. 

“Ah, sorry, kiddo, got lost in thought there,” Snape apologized. 

He was just overreacting. Lily and his old friend shared a lot of similarities, but they were still two different people from two very different worlds. Some of his memories between those worlds were probably mixing together too. Although he hated that he couldn't trust his own mind anymore, that explanation made the most sense. It had to.

“Thank you. For telling me about my mum,” said Harry shyly. He placed an owl plush—worn from love and time—into the “keep” pile. “Do you… do you think she would've liked me?”

Whatever clamoring thoughts Snape was having went silent as he felt a piece of himself break. Fuck being a protagonist for some overrated fantasy book series. Right here and right now, Harry was real. His pain was real. He was an innocent boy who had lost his parents before he even got to know them. A child who had spent twelve years of his life being abused by his only relatives. He hadn't asked for any of this.

It really wasn't fair. 

Despite the anger and sorrow threatening to claw his chest open, the Potions Master placed a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. The younger wizard tensed at first, but then leaned into the touch. 

“Harry, she loved you from the start,” Snape answered in almost a whisper, voice cracking slightly. 

They worked in a companionable silence after that, sorting and packing as they both processed their emotions. It didn't take long to finish the task. Harry didn't have much to begin with. Soon enough, the suitcase was closed and they were walking back downstairs. 

“You two are right on time!” said Dumbledore in a jovial manner. “We are just about done here.”

Before the old wizard, sitting on the couch against their will, were the Dursleys. Vernon appeared ready to boil over, gripping the armrest so hard his knuckles had turned white. Meanwhile, Petunia just looked pale, her shoulders tense as she continued to hold onto a frightened Dudley. 

Bones was rolling up a scroll, scowling down at the family. “Be thankful we aren’t throwing you lot into Azkaban for what you've done.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong!” seethed Vernon. 

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “If that is what you still believe, then that is most unfortunate. Let me help you see the error of your ways.” From the sleeve of his robe, he retrieved his wand. “Vernon and Petunia Dursley, for the next twelve years, your dreams will be where you experience every moment of pain and suffering Harry has endured under your roof,” declared the Headmaster. “‘An eye for an eye,’ so to speak.” He pointed his wand at the two adults of the family, who recoiled against the couch. “Know that the only reason your son is being spared from punishment is because Harry was kind enough to request it. Know that despite your best efforts, you did not break him.” 

Vernon and Petunia yelped in fear as a red light shot from the old wizard’s wand and enveloped them. His job done, Dumbledore left the cowering Dursleys to join his companions gathered in the hallway. “I believe it is time we left. Unless there’s anything you wish to say to them, Harry?” 

The Boy-Who-Lived took in the sight of the family who had ripped his childhood away from him. His answer was resolute.

“No.”

With that, Harry Potter turned around and walked out the front door, leaving the Dursleys for good. Dumbledore and Bones followed suit, the former pausing in the doorway to glance back at Snape who was still in the hall. “Are you coming, Severus?” 

“I’ll catch up,” said the Slytherin. There was something he needed to do. 

“This is your fault, Snape,” Petunia hissed at the raven-haired wizard as he entered the living room. “If you had never met Lily and shown her your horrible magic—”

“Is that how you sleep at night? Blaming everybody but yourself for your bullshit?” Snape interjected, glaring Petunia down. “Harry is only a child. He has nothing to do with whatever petty grudge you have against Lily or me.” The tumultuous storm of anger, sadness and guilt that had been building inside him was reaching a breaking point. “Making him sleep in a cupboard, depriving him of meals, treating him like a slave—did it ever occur to you for a fucking second that what you were doing was wrong?” He could feel the familiar burn of tears welling in his eyes. “You made him feel worthless. Unloved. All for something completely out of his control!” 

There was the sound of every window in the house shattering as the Potions Master’s magic surged forth in a wave. Snape grimaced, taking a breath to quell the mana roaring through his veins before speaking again, his voice quieter, smaller: “How could you let yourself be blind for so long?”

He wasn't sure if he was talking to Petunia or to himself at that point. 

Leaving the woman cowering, Snape’s focus switched to the twelve-year-old boy trembling like a leaf in her arms. He felt another stab of guilt. Dudley was still learning—still figuring out who he was. He just had terrible examples to follow. 

“Kid, please grow up to be a better person than your parents,” the professor spoke a little gentler, “And I'm sorry for scaring you. Do me a favor and go chill in the kitchen for a bit, ‘kay?” 

Harry’s cousin almost tripped over himself in his mad scramble out of the room. Petunia chased after him, calling his name. 

Snape and Vernon were left behind. 

“We should have never taken in that freak of a child,” spat the Dursley patriarch, shoving himself off the couch. “He’s bad luck. Cursed!” 

“No, you're just an abusive piece of shit who refuses to take responsibility for his actions,” Snape retorted as he rolled up his sleeves.

The larger man stomped forwards, his fury so great that he apparently forgot the wizard in front of him had just broken his house’s windows without moving. “You know nothing! That boy is a monster! You all are!” he raged, spittle flying. 

“The only monster here is you,” Snape stated simply.

Then he punched Vernon Dursley right in his stupid goddamn face.

When the Potions Master exited the house a minute later, he found the rest of his group waiting in the driveway. 

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow at Snape as he rejoined them. “Finished with your business, I presume?” 

The professor shook out the stinging feeling in his knuckles, pretending it didn't hurt as much as it did. “Yup. We’re good.” 

“You're lucky I hadn't removed the privacy wards yet, otherwise the whole neighborhood would've heard glass breaking,” chastised Bones, although there wasn't as much bite as before. “I hope you didn't leave anything that will cause me trouble later, Snape.” 

The Slytherin shrugged. “Just one arsehole with a black eye and a substantial repair bill,” was his casual answer.

Leaning towards Bones, Dumbledore whispered, “Be glad he didn't use the axe.” 

“The what,” said the witch.

Harry didn't hold back his laugh this time.

༻✦༺

Draco let out a happy sigh as he settled against the headboard of his bed, bag of butterbeer jelly beans in hand. Before him lay an impressive spread of sweets sent to him by his mother. This particular evening, the Slytherin boys’ dormitory was empty and he had managed to ditch his overly loyal lackeys. Now he could finally indulge himself in peace.

Just as the blond wizard was about to toss the first jelly bean into his mouth, his family’s house elf popped into existence amongst his candy pile. Draco yelped in a way that was very much appropriate and not unbecoming, his precious jelly bean flying off into lands unknown, never to be seen again. 

“A-apologies for frightening the Young Master,” squeaked Dobby, “but Master Malfoy wished for me to bring you this.” Bowing, he presented a sealed envelope. 

Draco snatched the letter up and was about to start berating the elf, but stopped when he got a good look at him. Dobby appeared even more depressed than he usually was, his bat-like ears drooping so low they almost touched the bed. With the rags he wore as clothes, the creature was quite the pathetic sight. 

His godfather’s words from a few weeks ago flashed across Draco’s mind: “What matters is that you're trying.”

The Malfoy heir swallowed his pride and then awkwardly asked, “Are you doing alright, Dobby? You seem… uh… sad.” 

Two big, round eyes stared back at him. “The Y-Young Master is asking how Dobby is doing?” stuttered the house elf in amazement.

Draco was already starting to regret his decision. “Yes?” 

Those big, round eyes filled with tears as Dobby clasped his hands together and exclaimed, “Oh, the Young Master is so kind! Kind indeed! The Young Master’s kindness knows no bounds!” 

“Can you stop blubbering all over my sweets and tell me what's wrong with you?” snapped the Slytherin boy, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Thank Merlin none of his Housemates were here. 

The elf froze as it dawned on him that he had to actually answer the question. He shrank into himself again, his nervous gaze darting down to his feet. “D-Dobby is not sure how much he is allowed to say. Master Malfoy will be upset if Dobby accidentally reveals too much.” He whimpered and smacked himself in the head. “Dobby will punish himself for disappointing the Young Master!” 

Draco used to think this behavior from his family’s house elf was funny, but now it just made him feel… weird. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, but he knew he didn't like it. 

“Stop it, that's enough!” ordered the boy, grabbing Dobby’s arm before he could go for another strike. “Whatever my father told you not to say shouldn't apply to me, because I'm your Master too. So spit it out!” He paused, then muttered, “Please.” 

The elf seemed to have an internal argument with himself, quivering like the anxious being that he was, before he whimpered, “There are things Master Malfoy also doesn't want Young Master to know, but Dobby will try his best.” Draco released him, which allowed him to wring his little hands together as he began to carefully explain. “Dobby is sad because Master Malfoy has been telling him to do things he doesn't want to do. B-but Dobby has no choice but to obey!” 

There was that weird feeling again. Draco frowned, sitting back against his headboard. “And you can't tell me what these ‘things’ are?” 

The magical creature’s face scrunched up in concentration through his sniffles. “Dobby thinks he can at least say this—Quidditch.” 

It took Draco a few seconds to get it, but when he did, his eyes widened almost as large as the house elf’s. “The rogue Bludger? That was you?” he gasped. 

“D-Dobby had no choice!” cried the elf. He prostrated himself before the Malfoy heir. “He begs for the Young Master’s forgiveness!” 

Draco’s mind was spinning. Yes, Dobby had controlled the Bludger and endangered him and the others at the Quidditch field, but had it really been under the orders of his father? The man had been legitimately worried when he heard about his son’s near death encounter with that falling tower. Draco had actually never seen that much open concern from him before. If the boy was going to believe the house elf, then it meant he would have to accept that his father had almost gotten him killed. 

Dobby couldn't be lying though. He physically couldn't. Not to a Malfoy. 

“It’s… it's okay, Dobby,” Draco finally spoke through his daze, “I forgive you.” As the elf began blubbering his appreciation, the blond boy shook his head. “That's enough. Go do… whatever it was you were doing before you came here. I need time to think.” 

After one more tearful “thank you,” the house elf vanished into thin air. 

Draco looked down at the letter he had been holding the entire time. The one from his father. He slowly opened it and read its contents:

Do not leave your common room tomorrow.

The letter disintegrated itself the moment he finished the sentence.

༻✦༺

Colin Creevy was only eleven, but he already knew what he wanted to be when he grew up… a photographer! To be more specific, he wanted to be a newspaper photographer—diving into the field and getting those front page shots. He’d had a camera in hand since he was six and that hadn't changed when he learned he was a wizard a year ago. If anything, it just increased his passion, because now he could take actual moving photos. Magic made everything so much more exciting.

Right now, Colin’s goal was to impress Hogwarts’s Student Newspaper Club with a juicy scoop. Something so good, they would have no choice but to let him in (even though First Years technically weren't allowed to join clubs yet). 

“I’m not sure we should be doing this, Colin,” whispered Ginny Weasley as the two of them hid behind a stone wall.

Colin shot the redhead an enthusiastic grin. “Aw, don't be like that. There’s a huge story here—I can just tell!” 

When the boy had spotted Gilderoy Lockhart sneaking out of the castle with a mysterious sack, it had caught his interest. The celebrity wizard was certainly not the type to be quiet and avoid attention, so of course Colin had to investigate. Ginny had been dragged along on the basis of being his friend and also being the unfortunate soul who happened to be next to him at the time. She was used to getting swept up in her fellow Gryffindor’s “investigations.”

“I don't know… I have a bad feeling about this,” murmured Ginny nervously, peeking over the wall at Lockhart a few yards away. He was walking down an unkept path towards a dilapidated barn. “I-I think that sack he’s holding has blood on it?” 

“Really? It does?” Colin gasped as he pulled up his camera to snap a photo. Ginny flinched at the shutter sound, but luckily Lockhart was too far to hear it.

“He just went into that barn,” said the mousy-haired boy excitedly. “Come on, let's follow him!” 

✦

A fierce snarl and the screech of claws scraping against metal bars caused Lockhart to jump back, almost dropping the sack of raw meat he was carrying. 

“Miserable beast,” sneered the celebrity with the tiniest of trembles in his voice. He didn't dare kick the cage. The last time he had done that, the manticore had flown into a rage, bashing itself repeatedly against its prison. It was an event he’d rather not repeat in fear of the cage’s integrity.

Trying to maintain as much distance as possible, Lockhart tossed the poison-soaked meat through the bars. The beast pounced on it and devoured it in a single gulp. It let out another growl and continued pacing in restless circles, a mixture of blood and foam dripping down its chin. 

The poisons the masked wizards had provided were supposed to weaken the manticore, but Lockhart was beginning to have doubts on their legitimacy. The monster only seemed to get angrier after it had received the first dose of poison in its meal. It reacted with an intense ferocity to the smallest of provocations. Lockhart had heard manticores were intelligent creatures, but the thing currently growling and snarling in the cage could only be described as feral.

It's probably because the poisons haven't fully set in yet, the celebrity wizard reassured himself. That tall gentleman was very adamant about waiting until tomorrow to enact my brilliant plan.

Yes, that was it. The final dose had just been given. Now all Lockhart needed to do was wear his best robes tomorrow morning, spritz on some of that cologne he saved for special occasions, and become the savior of Hogwarts!

It’s what you were destined for, after all.

There was a flash of light and the click of a camera’s shutter—something Lockhart would have normally found welcome if not for his current situation. He swung around to see a pair of First Years hiding behind the barn doors, a girl and a boy, the latter holding up a camera. They looked petrified, their faces pale.

Lockhart ground his teeth. He couldn't afford to have this plan fail because of some blasted children! If he caught them first though…

The two students were snapped out of their paralyzed state as their professor pulled his wand from his sleeve.

“Run!” cried the girl, grabbing the boy's arm and pulling him with her. 

“Stop right there!” Lockhart yelled as he dashed out of the barn after them. 

Aggravated by the sight of potential prey escaping, the manticore roared and slammed itself against the cage door with a loud crash. Then it did it again. And again. And again. 

It didn't take much more for the lock to break. 

✦

Ginny felt like her lungs were going to explode as she and Colin bolted for the castle, Lockhart on their tail. The fear she had experienced during her Sorting had been nothing compared to this. She tried screaming for help, but couldn't get any words out through her panting. Colin wasn't doing much better.

A spell struck the dirt near the children’s feet and they sprinted harder, spurred on by adrenaline and terror. They made it to one of the castle's courtyards, diving into the cloister and desperately running towards the only person they could see.

Filch had never looked so startled as two crying students practically crashed into him. 

“Pl-please, Mr. Filch, you have to h-help us!” begged Ginny. 

“What the bloody hell is going on here?!” exclaimed the old man, unsure of what to do with the children clutching onto his coat. 

“It’s L-Lockhart!” Colin sobbed, pointing behind himself, “He’s—” 

“Petrificus Totalus!”

The spell hit the Gryffindor boy before he could finish his sentence, causing his body to go rigid like a statue and fall over into the caretaker’s arms. 

Ginny gasped and Filch stared in shock at the disheveled celebrity aiming his wand at them. “Professor Lockhart, what is the meaning of this?!” he shouted, half in disbelief and half in outrage. 

“Thank goodness it's just the Squib,” scoffed the golden-haired wizard. “This will be easy to handle!” 

Filch shoved Ginny behind himself just as Lockhart fired another Full Body-Bind Curse. The girl cried out as the caretaker’s paralyzed form toppled over in front of her. Through her whimpers, she tried grabbing both Filch and Colin’s arms to pull them away from the crazed celebrity, but only managed to move them an inch. 

“Now, now, don't you worry, child,” said Lockhart in a sickly sweet voice as he approached, “None of you will remember any of this when I’m through!” 

That’s when a furious ball of yowling fur launched itself at his face. 

The man flailed as Mrs. Norris clawed and bit him with the rage of a thousand burning suns. Cursing loudly, he grabbed the cat and threw her off him. She landed on her paws and hissed at him. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the feline’s pupils dilated in fear. She dashed back to her incapacitated owner, ears flattened against her skull. 

Taking the cat’s behavior as a victory, Lockhart grinned, making him appear rather unhinged when combined with his frazzled locks and the scratches on his face. 

That grin was wiped away in an instant by a rumbling growl. The celebrity slowly turned around to see the hulking form of a manticore stalking into the covered walkway.

The moment Lockhart’s eyes met the wild ones of the beast, he scrambled towards Ginny and the paralyzed wizards. He threw himself behind them, putting his victims between him and the monster. “No, no, no! It’s not supposed to happen like this!” he sputtered, legs shaking so much that they gave out beneath him. “How did it escape?!” 

Ginny was frozen in place on the floor by sheer terror as she stared at the beast. It began to prowl forward, its blood-stained mouth leaking pinkish foam and scorpion tail flicking erratically behind it. Ginny could feel a cry building inside her throat that she tried her best to fight back, but it was all too much.

She screamed. The manticore lunged.

༻✦༺

Why am I doing this? Draco asked himself as he traversed the stairs and halls to the Lions’ section of the castle, ignoring the strange glances he got from the few students he passed. Should I be doing this?

He wasn't sure what the answer to either question was. All he was sure of was that his father’s letter had left an uneasy pit in his stomach that wasn't going away. The letter carried something bad with it—something he needed to tell the person he trusted most in this school. 

He just had to bloody find him first.

The first place the boy had gone to in his search for Snape was his office. However, instead of the Potions Master, he had found Trixie the house elf there instead. She had calmly paused her cleaning to inform the Malfoy heir that his godfather had just arrived back from an errand and was escorting Harry Potter to his dormitories. Because of course Potter had to be involved somehow. Draco was never going to be able to keep avoiding him at this rate. Stupid Potter and stupid life debt…

Although, if his suspicions were correct, whatever his father was planning most likely involved the Boy-Who-Lived as well. And Draco was about to sabotage those plans.

He really hoped his father wouldn't hear of this.

Reaching the Gryffindor corridor, Draco spotted Snape and Potter in conversation with one another beneath the Fat Lady’s portrait. They were both dressed in Muggle clothes with Potter holding a suitcase. It did look like they had just gotten back from somewhere like Trixie had said.

The young Slytherin felt his worries lessen a bit when Snape noticed him and smiled. “Oh, hey, Draco, fancy seeing you ‘round these parts.” 

Potter, on the other hand, did a double take, which was excessive in the Malfoy’s opinion.

Draco considered requesting a more private audience with the professor, but decided against it in the end. If this was indeed about Potter, he would prefer to have his life debt paid as soon as possible so he could get back to insulting the Gryffindor without feeling weird. The pit in his stomach would be gone and everything would go back to normal.

With that reassurance, Draco opened his mouth.

The only thing that came out was an “Uh.” 

Snape’s smile faltered a bit. “You alright, kiddo?”

The blond boy stood there uncomfortably, a sudden onslaught of anxiety rendering him unable to speak. What if his father did find out? He would be furious that his son had helped the enemy. And his mother… she wouldn't be able to defend him this time. Would he get disowned? Was the risk really worth it? 

Draco’s eyes flicked to Potter before he could catch himself. His mind immediately pictured the way the other boy had reached for him without hesitation as he fell from his broom. 

“I think my father is planning something tomorrow!” the Malfoy blurted out. 

Snape’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“H-he sent me a letter,” stuttered Draco, trying to ignore Potter gaping like a fish at him, “He told me to stay in my common room tomorrow. I don't have the letter because it destroyed itself right after, but I swear I’m not lying.” 

“No, I believe you, Draco. Thank you for telling me.” His godfather’s baritone was grave, but there was pride in it too. “I know it must’ve been hard for—” Suddenly, Snape stopped, his whole body tensing. His eyes widened. 

“Stay here,” he ordered the two students. Then with a whoosh of air, he was gone.

Draco and Potter stood there in silence for a moment, processing the empty spot the Potions Master had just been in. 

“I thought it wasn't possible to apparate inside Hogwarts?” said the Gryffindor.

“It is,” replied the Slytherin.

The two boys traded looks with each other before they both sprinted off down the corridor. 

༻✦༺

Snape appeared right between the charging manticore and its prey, casting a Protego. The beast slammed into the magic shield and bounced off it with an enraged howl. 

When the castle had alerted Snape to the danger, there hadn't been exact details. He had just felt an imminent sense of peril and a powerful pull to apparate somewhere. He hadn't expected anything like this. 

“How the shit is there manticore here?!” the Potions Master yelled at nobody in particular as he summoned his axe to his hand. He was mostly complaining to whatever sick, twisted god was out there, but the manticore responded to him anyway with a stab from its scorpion tail. 

The attack sent cracks through the wizard’s shield and pain up his arm. The beast was nowhere near as large as the Basilisk had been, but it was just as strong. Fantastic. 

Snape glanced over his shoulder to assess the status of the group behind him. Four humans and a cat. Ginny Weasley and Mrs. Norris were huddled over the petrified forms of Colin Creevy and Filch on the ground. The latter two had clearly both been hit by a Full Body-Bind Curse, which was not part of a manticore’s skill set. 

The Head of Slytherin leveled a glare onto the wizard he was sure was responsible for attacking a student and staff member of Hogwarts. Keeping intense eye contact, he made a cutting motion with his axe near his throat. Lockhart gulped. 

Another painful jolt to his arm reminded Snape that there was a bigger problem to deal with right now. The manticore was relentless in its assault on his shield, slashing and slamming against it. A defensive strategy wasn't going to work here. He needed to get this monster away from the others and fast.

Snape wasn’t an expert on manticores—they weren't exactly common in Scotland—but he did know that if anyone got stung by that tail, they were dead. He also knew the creature was resistant to charms, so he wouldn't be able to turn it into a duck or blast it with an immobilizing spell and be done with it. God forbid there be an easy solution for once in this damn world. 

However, just because the manticore was invulnerable to charms didn't mean magic was totally useless against it. 

Snape let his shield collapse on the next strike and swung his axe into the wall beside him. On impact, a sheet of ice shot forth along the stones before exploding from the wall in the form of a giant frozen pillar. It slammed into the beast’s side, throwing it out of the cloister and into the courtyard. 

Yes, a manticore was immune to charms, but the same didn't apply to anything physical. 

Taking advantage of the valuable seconds he had bought, Snape summoned his Patronus for the first time since his existential crisis. Instead of the silvery doe he expected, a formless mass of light appeared. It seemed to be warring with itself, unable to settle on a shape. 

He could question why his Patronus was a weird blob later—right now he just needed it to hold together long enough to send a distress signal to Dumbledore. 

“Manticore, east courtyard, two injured,” was the succinct message his Patronus flew off with. He realized too late that he should’ve added one more to the injured count because he was definitely beating some celebrity ass after this. For security’s sake, the Potions Master conjured ropes to bind Lockhart before he took off after the manticore.

The monster was already on its paws and snarling as Snape joined it in the courtyard. It wasn't even bothering to shake off the ice and dirt clinging to its fur. There was something deeply disturbing about the sight of a human’s face twitching and foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal. The moment it spotted the wizard, it rushed at him, its sole focus on killing. 

Snape struck the ground with his axe, spawning another pillar of ice, then dove to the side as the monster crashed through it, frozen chunks raining down. The attack didn't disorient nearly as long as he had wanted, because the beast was leaping on him before he had a chance to get up. 

Sharp claws punctured the wizard’s hastily casted shield, sinking a couple inches into his shoulders until he apparated to escape. He reappeared a few yards away, managing to roll to his feet. The wounds hurt like a bitch and made it harder to wield his axe, but at least none of them had been from the manticore’s stinger.

Snape knew retreating wasn't an option. He had to distract the beast to keep it from going after the others again. He either had to survive long enough for help to arrive or somehow defeat the feral manticore himself. Both options were daunting, but he preferred the second one. The less people involved, the less chances of them getting hurt. 

The Potions Master gripped his axe tighter, his labored breaths visible in the air he had chilled with his ice spells. If he ended up having to slay the beast to protect the school, then he would, but for now his goal was to incapacitate. He really didn't want to add another rare, magical creature to his kill count—especially when it didn't seem to be in its right mind. Also he had pretty much established in his Deep Lore™ that he loved animals, even if they had a scary human face and was trying to eat him.

The manticore’s scary human face whipped towards him and roared. Snape casted a Deprimo, shattering the cobblestone around him in a ten foot radius. He immediately followed up by sending the chunks of stone hurtling at his charging opponent. They pelted the beast, slowing its approach. There was a crunch as one of the larger pieces slammed into the beast’s tail, causing it to snap backwards. The wizard flinched at the damage while the manticore only seemed to get more pissed off by it based on its snarls.

Snape apparated again to dodge the resulting lunge, stumbling as he landed on the other side of the courtyard. His headache from all the mana usage was reaching that level where it was getting hard to think. He needed to finish this now before he passed out. 

A loud creak caused the Potions Master to look up. He cursed and jumped back to avoid the Whomping Willow’s branches smashing down on the spot he had just been in. It had totally escaped his mind that this particular courtyard was where the tree lived. 

Wait a minute. He could use this.

The noise had alerted the manticore to the raven-haired wizard’s location. It tore across the courtyard towards him as fast as its injuries allowed it. 

Facing the beast, Snape waited for the right moment, then took a step back into the Whomping Willow’s aggro zone. He heard the creaking of the tree winding up behind him while his opponent rushed him from the front. Right when the manticore leapt at him, the Potions Master fired a Duro charm at the Willow and apparated. 

The monster was bashed headfirst into the ground by branches that had turned into stone. The Hardening charm worked its way through the rest of the Whomping Willow, freezing it in position and trapping its victim beneath it.

Snape held his breath. Neither tree nor manticore moved other than a single twitching paw. The professor slumped in both relief and exhaustion, leaning on his axe like a cane. He’d done it. Bonus score for not passing out dramatically this time either.

“Flipendo!” 

The spell punched Snape in the back and sent him flying. His body hit the broken cobblestone hard, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. He groaned in pain, tasting blood and dirt. 

Through the stars dancing across his vision, the Potions Master saw Gilderoy goddamn Lockhart approaching him, wand smoking from the spell he had casted. The celebrity’s perfect face was marred with scratches and bite marks and his golden locks were in disarray. His usual blinding grin had warped into something darker. More maniacal. Snape had no idea how the mess of a man before him had escaped his bindings. 

“I can still fix this!” Lockhart exclaimed, his eye twitching. “My plan will still work! I just have to fix your memories too!” 

The Potions Master’s heart dropped. “I… I swear to fucking god, you absolute bitch,” he growled, struggling to push himself up despite his body screaming in protest, “if you did something to the others…” He was shoved down by a well-polished boot on the back of his neck.

“No need for such language, my dear, you will be the first I fix!” said the celebrity with a laugh. “Don’t worry, those pesky meddlers shall get their turn once I’m finished with you.” He pointed his wand at the Slytherin’s head. Snape gathered what little energy he had left into one last spell.

Before either wizard could do anything, another voice rang out from behind them. 

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Harry. 

Lockhart yelped as the charm tore the wand from his hand and flung him head-over-heels into the dirt. With an outraged cry, he scrambled to his feet. “No, I can't fail here! This is what I deserve! I have to be the h—” The unhinged wizard’s rant was cut off by a rock striking him straight in the forehead, knocking him out instantly. 

Draco wiped the grime off his hands, glaring at the fallen celebrity. “This is what you deserve alright,” he sneered.

“Nice throw, Malfoy,” complimented Harry. 

Draco’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up, Potter.” 

“You kids are adorable,” commented Snape from his spot on the ground.    

His two students rushed to his side, their eyes wide with worry as they both cried, “Professor Snape, are you okay?!” 

“I’m good,” the Potions Master replied, rolling over onto his back with a wince and giving a weak thumbs up. “Jus’ need to lie here for a bit.” It wasn't a lie. He literally had zero strength to move. “Love how you nerds didn't listen to me about staying put, by the way. Fuck the system, am I right?” He paused, then added, “Don't repeat that.” 

“Stop talking, you're bleeding!” stressed Harry, his bottom lip quivering. Draco whimpered beside him. 

Attempting to comfort them, Snape said, “It looks worse than it actually is, I promise.” His students’ frowns only deepened at his words. Great, he was probably adding to their trauma

A shadow fell over him as Dumbledore came into view, placing his hands on Harry and Draco’s shoulders. “Do not worry about your professor, children. He will be fine under Madam Pomfrey’s care,” the Headmaster assured them. “You both did a very courageous thing today and will be rewarded for such, but for now I must ask you to go with a teacher to your dorms until this is all sorted.”

The boys seemed hesitant to leave Snape, which was honestly touching. They relented after hearing McGonagall call for them. With a final worried glance to the Potions Master, they stood and trudged towards the covered walkway where teachers were herding back students drawn by the commotion.

“How are the others?” Snape asked the second Draco and Harry were out of earshot.

“Other than Argus and Mr. Creevy needing to recover from Full Body-Bind Curses, they are fine,” answered Dumbledore, crouching down beside the professor with the tired, concerned air of a parent with an accident prone child. “The only one seriously injured is you.” 

Snape let go of the breath he had been holding. “Good.”

The Headmaster sighed as he began running healing magic over the younger wizard’s wounds. “Oh, Severus. What am I going to do with you?”

“Give me a raise preferably,” quipped the Slytherin. His smirk transformed into a grimace as he felt his flesh start to knit together. “Or some painkillers.” 

The old wizard shook his head, both exasperated and thankful for Snape’s ability to maintain his sense of humor during dire situations. Pulling his eyes away from his patient for a moment, the Headmaster took in the rest of the courtyard-turned-battlefield: the scattered chunks of stone and ice, the manticore pinned under the Whomping Willow, the unconscious celebrity sprawled on the ground… it was a mess. 

What Snape didn't know was that when Dumbledore had hired Lockhart, he had been aware of the man’s sordid past of manipulating memories and stealing the credit of others more accomplished. His intention had been to bring the golden-haired wizard into Hogwarts to observe him. To catch him in the act. Part of the reason why the Headmaster had revealed Snape’s Basilisk-slaying feat to the school all those weeks ago was to bait a reaction out of Lockhart through jealousy. His plan had succeeded.

He just hadn't expected Lockhart to go this far.

Dumbledore brought his attention back to his Potions Master lying on the broken cobblestone, shirt and coat soaked in blood. His Potions Master who was clearly in pain, but gave him a lopsided grin regardless and said, “So Lockhart’s getting fired, right?”   

Chapter Text

Gilderoy Lockhart was gatdang freakin’ fired. The most fired anybody has ever been fired. He was so fired that if he were to be un-fired, the entire world would promptly implode on itself.

With the testimonies of Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevy and some damning photos, the Ministry Aurors sent to secure the scene discovered Lockhart’s involvement in unleashing the dangerous beast upon Hogwarts. It didn't take long for him to spill the details on his reckless (and stupid) plan. Along with the fact that he had assaulted two students and two of his colleagues, the celebrity wizard was sent straight to Azkaban, babbling about how it's “not supposed to be like this” the entire way. 

The manticore was taken to a magical creature sanctuary on one of Scotland’s more remote, offshore islands. It was found that the poison used had been making it more rabid rather than weakening it like Lockhart had claimed. Much to Snape’s relief, the beast was predicted to fully heal from the poison and most of its injuries. Its tail was a lost cause, but it was something it could live without in captivity. 

Ginny and Colin were fine physically, but were still traumatized by the event. They were sent home to their respective families for a week to help them recover. Snape made sure to pack them plenty of Calming Draughts and Dreamless Sleep potions. Later on, both he and Filch received very sweet “thank you” letters from the children for protecting them. Filch would never admit that he kept those letters in a special drawer in his office to look back on whenever he was feeling down.

There was a general understanding amongst everyone that the whole incident could have ended much, much worse. It was a miracle that it had happened during a time where most students were having supper in the Great Hall. It was a miracle that Hogwarts itself was able to alert Snape to the danger at just the right moment. He knew it was a screwed up mindset to have, but he was grateful that he had taken the brunt of the damage instead of any innocent bystanders. 

Well, almost all bystanders. 

Snape scratched one of the new scars on his collarbone as he anxiously waited for Sprout to finish examining the Whomping Willow. It had certainly seen better days. What was once a proud tree that was always full of life now lay arched over, its bark turned to cold stone. A section of its branches had been carved out in order to remove the manticore. It was a decision made after the Aurors realized none of them could dispel the Hardening charm. With the original caster in the hospital wing guarded by an irate and stubborn Mediwitch at the time, there had been no choice. 

“It’s dead, isn't it? This ancient, beloved tree is dead and I killed it,” lamented Snape. Yeah, it was a safety hazard, but it was a safety hazard that had helped save the school. His sentimental ass had pack-bonded with it. 

Sprout concluded her inspection and turned to regard her fellow professor in amusement. “The Willow isn't ancient, dear. It was planted only twenty years ago. And it will be fine! This isn’t the first time it has lost branches and Merlin knows it won't be the last. They’ll grow back in a few months.”

“Oh, good. I was worried,” said the Potions Master. It took him a second to recall his current age in this life before he said, “Jesus Christ. I’m older than the ancient, beloved tree.” 

With an airy laugh, Sprout slid her wand back into the pocket of her garden apron. “How do you think that makes me feel, Mr. Zero-Gray-Hairs?” She adjusted her straw hat and pointed at her head of curly silver locks.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure I’ll be fully gray by the end of this semester with how it's been going,” joked Snape. 

That remark caused Sprout’s sunniness to dull a bit as she took a proper look at the Slytherin. He was smiling, which wasn’t unusual for him anymore, but there were dark circles under his eyes and a lack of fluidity to his movements. The exhaustion was obvious. 

“Severus, dear,” said Sprout carefully, “Have you been doing alright?” 

Snape stiffened, his posture straightening. “I’m fine.” The lie left his mouth with practiced ease, a skill developed across two lives. “Just been busy. You know how it is.” Being a cause of concern for other people was a great way to get his ever-present guilt flowing in the morning. 

He jerked a thumb at the Whomping Willow: a cool and convenient topic to redirect to. “Are you ready for me to dispel the charm?”

“... Yes, you can go ahead.” Sprout wasn't thrilled about her younger colleague’s avoidance tactics, but after a decade of working together, she knew to expect them from him. Even though he had undergone a dramatic transformation within recent months, there were some aspects about him that remained the same. Like his aversion to asking for help when he needed it.

Snape touched the Willow’s trunk as Sprout retreated a safe distance away. He could sense the mana thrumming beneath the surface of its cold bark. It was indeed still alive. And also apparently pissed off. He would have to move pretty quick in a second. 

“I’m sorry I used you like a Whack-A-Mole hammer and turned you into stone without asking first,” Snape said, voice low so the witch a few yards behind him wouldn't hear him talking to a tree. “I’d let you take a free swing at me, but I’m already on thin ice with Poppy. Hope you understand.” He gave the trunk a pat, then undid the Hardening charm.

The Whomping Willow sprang back up, using the momentum to try and hit the wizard responsible for its misfortune, but he had long since bolted. It shook what branches it had left in frustration before settling into place to mope. 

“Good as new and definitely not holding a grudge,” chirped the Potions Master, coming to a stop beside Sprout. 

The Head of Hufflepuff reached out to fix his crooked shirt collar, pursing her lips when she spotted the scar on his shoulder blade. “Are you sure you're alright? You’ve been doing a lot when you should be focusing on recovering.” 

“I’m fiiiiine, Pomona,” Snape groaned. “I wasn't injured that bad compared to the Basilisk fight. Didn't even break a bone or pass out this time! You should be proud of me.”

“You could have died, Severus.”

“But I didn't, did I?” He had found that the thought of Death wasn't so scary anymore once you’ve already experienced it.

Sprout did not appear amused, planting her hands on her hips. “Severus.”

Okay, so maybe he was a little stressed. It had only been a few days since the manticore incident and the Slytherin hadn't had a break from the shenanigans since his single night stay in the hospital wing. On top of his normal Potions Master/teaching duties, he had been running around doing things like helping Flitwick strengthen the castle’s wards, checking in with Harry and Draco, and getting pestered by the Ministry. That last one was annoying as hell. There had been multiple times where Aurors had dragged him into interviews that felt more like interrogations until Madam Bones had stepped in. 

Other than Kingsley Shieldrake, Bones was the only Auror who he felt he could trust with sensitive information. And by “sensitive,” he meant Lucius Malfoy, who he was sure orchestrated this whole Lockhart/manticore mess based on what Draco told him. Bones had taken the professor’s warning seriously, but with what scant evidence they had, there wasn't much that could be done other than staying vigilant. It wasn't surprising to hear. The bastard had his privileged fingers in too much of the Ministry’s business. Too many high-ranking officials in his deep pockets. Goddamn rich people. 

So yeah, Snape was a little stressed. 

Sprout, kind and understanding as always, gently grabbed his hands and looked him in the eyes. “Severus, you've been wonderful and everyone can see how hard you've been working. We are all proud of you… but you need to take care of yourself too, dear.” 

Oh, no, not the eye contact while saying something genuine and heartfelt! wailed Snape’s brain. That’s one of our many weaknesses! 

“I’m sorry, Pomona. For worrying you,” Snape said softly, unable to meet the witch’s gaze. “I’ll try to get some rest when I can.” 

Another lie. He felt like a piece of shit. 

“How touching,” drawled Lucius Malfoy as he stepped out of the shadows of the cloister like a creep. He approached the two professors, cane tapping against the cobblestone. “It's good to see the faculty of this school getting along even after such an egregious breach in security.” 

“Your face is egregious” is what Snape wanted to say, but bit his tongue. He hadn’t seen the haughty pure-blood since their confrontation in Flourish and Blotts, which he had been hoping to keep that way for as long as possible. 

“Ah, Sir Malfoy! I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” Sprout spoke with a strained smile. 

The aristocrat sneered down at the witch. “As a Hogwarts Governor, it is my duty to assure you are all addressing the negligence brought to light by this incident. Negligence that once again endangered my son.”

Sprout didn't take the bait and instead murmured, “Yes, Draco, that poor child. I’m so glad he was uninjured.” She shook her head sadly. “Although it is a shame about your house elf. I never knew they could be so loyal to go that far to protect their masters…”

“They are easy enough to replace,” Malfoy stated coldly. “At least the creature was finally useful in the end.” 

Snape didn’t think he’d want to punch another person so soon after Vernon Dursley, yet here Malfoy was, acting very punchable. The only reason he wasn't employing his fist was because the guy could use it to persuade the other school governors to fire him. They already weren't on good terms after the Flourish and Blotts thing. 

That didn't mean the Potions Master would grovel to this prick though. 

“I can't imagine what you're going through, knowing one of the bastards responsible for endangering Draco is still out there,” he said, giving Malfoy his most convincing sympathetic frown. “I can't imagine what kind of pathetic piece of shit would want to hurt a school full of innocent children like that.” 

He could see the jaw of the taller wizard tighten a fraction, which urged him to continue.

“Hey, it's okay, I’m sure Lockhart’s accomplice will be caught soon,” spoke Snape in a lighter tone. “From what I’ve heard, they weren't completely thorough in covering their tracks.” He scoffed, “Typical loser villain behavior.” 

Malfoy’s face was impassive, but he was clenching his cane so hard that his knuckles had turned white. “I don't need your ‘consolations,’ Snape,” he growled. “What you and I need to have is a private discussion. Now.” 

The professor shoved his hands into his pants’ pockets so he wouldn't start fidgeting with them. “Yeah. We do,” he responded evenly. 

Showing Malfoy any sort of weakness was out of the question. He’d attack the moment he smelled the blood in the water, no matter how minuscule the drop. 

Sprout shot her coworker a concerned glance, sensing the tension between the two wizards.

“Severus is still recovering from the injuries he sustained protecting the school and is quite tired,” she said, making sure to emphasize the reason, “Perhaps this conversation could wait…?” 

Before the aristocrat could snap at the Head of Hufflepuff, Snape stepped in with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be alright, Pomona. You've got your next class to worry about.” 

He left the anxious witch behind and followed Malfoy into the cloister even though his own brain warned him not to. The moment they were alone, the taller man immediately rounded on him. The professor felt some of the air escape his lungs as he was pinned against the wall by an arm across his throat.

“What are you playing at, Snape?” fumed Malfoy. 

“I dunno—just needed some joy and whimsy in my life,” the Potions Master quipped, falling back to his preferred defense mechanism: awkward, misplaced humor. It usually threw people off enough to de-escalate situations. Usually. 

Perhaps it had been a bad call, because the wizard invading his personal bubble only grew angrier, pressing an elbow harder into his shoulder. “Your actions these past months, the way you've been behaving… one can't help but think you have forgotten where your loyalties lie,” hissed Malfoy. 

“You used that line already, bud,” Snape said as the urge to deck the guy rose once again. He chose to channel the energy into shoving the douchebag off of him instead. “And you're the one to talk about ‘loyalties.’ What about loyalty to your family, huh?”

Whatever nerves he had been experiencing were overpowered by frustration at his old friend’s blindness. Because they’d been friends at some point, hadn't they? It definitely wasn't the healthiest relationship considering Snape sort of hated him now, but there had been something. Enough to learn things about each other. Like how he knew that deep down, Lucius Malfoy did care about his family. It didn't justify his actions—in fact, they made them worse—but it was something to appeal to.

“Do you really believe it’s in your wife and son's best interest to lick the boots of some insane, racist, genocidal man-child?” challenged the Potions Master. “Who, if I may add, got his arse beat by a literal baby? Voldemort is a goddamn joke.” 

Malfoy reeled back as if Snape had gone through with punching him, his expression unable to settle on either shock or fury. “H-how dare you speak the Dark Lord’s name amongst such insults!”

“All I’ve said is the truth,” countered Snape, reigning in his volume to avoid attracting attention from any students. “Voldemort or Tom or whatever-the-hell edgy moniker he wants to use doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself. You're on the losing side, Lucius.”

The wizard in front of him snarled and began to raise his cane, threatening to unsheathe the wand hidden inside. “I should end you right here and now for this, traitor.” 

Snape didn't flinch. “Need I remind you that I defeated both a basilisk and a manticore?” Internally he was sweating, not wanting a fight to start in the middle of the school.  

Malfoy hesitated at the other Slytherin’s bluff, using those few seconds to run through his options. With a venomous glare, he lowered his cane and backed down. “This isn't over, Snape,” he warned. 

The Potions Master let out a heavy sigh. “I know.” As Malfoy turned on his heel to leave, Snape added, “You may not consider me his godfather anymore, but I still care about Draco. I’ll do my best to keep him safe.” 

"Even if it's from you” were the unspoken words.

The pure-blood’s steps faltered, yet he refused to spare even a single glance back. “Stay away from my family,” was the last thing he growled before disappearing around the corner in a storm of platinum blond hair and dark robes. 

“Dick,” muttered Snape.

༻✦༺

The tale of the Malfoy family’s house elf was both a heroic and tragic one. In order to protect his young master from the jaws of a manticore, the elf had selflessly thrown himself at the beast to distract it. The young master was given enough time to escape, but the elf had not been so lucky. He died a hero—his last act a courageous one.  

“That is quite a story,” said Trixie, trying to sound interested.

“Indeed, indeed! It is wonderful!” gushed Dobby, who was very much alive and not eaten by a manticore. “It was so kind of Master Snape to give this lowly house elf such a tale.” Tears welled in the creature’s large eyes. “A-and it was so k-kind of Young Master Draco to gift me th-this sock!” He gripped the long green sock he was using as a scarf and sniffled loudly.

Trixie regarded the younger house elf with a wry look. “Yes. Sir Dobby has mentioned that many times.”

Despite her own waning patience, she could understand Dobby’s excitement. He was finally freed from the household that had abused him for years. Not only that, but the Malfoy patriarch had been fooled into thinking the elf was dead. Dobby could go wherever and do whatever he wanted. Although in the end he had chosen to stay at Hogwarts. 

It wasn't a terrible thing of course. Here house elves were paid wages and provided with safe lodgings among other benefits. There was a contract, but it had been recently redone to make it less one-sided. Now it was just a typical work contract that any staff member of Hogwarts should have. That was how Professor Snape had explained it at least. 

Trixie was very much grateful for everything the wizard had done for her and the rest of the castle’s house elves, but sometimes she wondered how he kept managing to convince Headmaster Dumbledore to make these changes. The elf suspected that if the Headmaster had a weakness, it would probably be his Potions Master.

With some reluctance, Trixie dragged herself out of her musings. She had a job to do and that was to finish this tour before she considered using her newfound ability to quit.

Her trainee had been prattling on unimpeded until Trixie interrupted him in a dry tone, “This is all quite lovely, but Trixie would like to keep showing Sir Dobby around the castle if he doesn't mind…?”

After an excessive apology from the younger of the pair, the tour was continued. Dobby already had a basic familiarity with the school’s layout, which helped make Trixie’s life a bit easier, but there was still plenty to show. Hogwarts had its fair share of hidden passageways and rooms—some of which would move or outright disappear depending on how devious the old castle felt that day. It seemed Hogwarts had been more active in general lately. Trixie made sure to mention that fact to Dobby so he could stay on his toes. She knew from experience that the castle was a bit of a prankster—especially with the greenhorns. 

The sound of a whip crack heralded the arrival of the two elves at the last location on their agenda. 

“Finally, we have the seventh floor,” explained Trixie as they walked, not having to worry about being bowled over by any distracted students since it was past curfew. “It contains Master Flitwick and Mistress Trelawney’s offices as well as the entrances to the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Towers.” She pointed down a hall they were passing. “This is Mistress Sprigg’s corridor where her portrait is located. You may hear it is also called ‘the Fat Lady’s corridor’ because not many know Mistress Sprigg’s real name. She likes to have her frame dusted at least once a day, preferably in the morning.”

Dobby nodded eagerly, doing his best to be a good listener. He was just as excited as he was at the beginning of the tour a couple hours ago. His colleague couldn't help but be impressed at the dedication. 

“... And here is what's known as the Seventh-Floor corridor, where—” Trixie stopped both her exposition and her steps in their tracks upon turning into said corridor. She stared for a moment, blinked, and then sighed, “Professor Snape, what are you doing?” 

The Potions Master startled from where he was lying on the floor (not facedown this time, thank Merlin) and scrambled to his feet. 

“Haha, heyyy, guys,” he said, leaning against a nearby suit of armor in as nonchalant a way as he could. “Don't mind me. Just chilling. Vibing. Unbothered and in my lane.” His casual facade was quickly shattered by the armor tipping over, forcing him to catch it before it hit the ground. If a word were to be picked to describe the maneuver, “graceful” would not be one of them.

Rewarding the shenanigans with a round of applause, Dobby exclaimed, “What amazing reflexes! This must be a benefit of ‘vibing!’” 

Trixie wondered what the house elf job market looked like these days. 

“Why does it feel like Professor Snape is planning to pull a foolish stunt again?” she said sternly, crossing her arms.

Dobby gasped, horrified at the older elf’s brusqueness towards the wizard. He shrunk in on himself, expecting some sort of beratement, but none came. Instead, the Slytherin rubbed his neck sheepishly. “It’s not bad, I promise. Just trying to figure something out.” 

“And Professor Snape had to lie on the dirty floor for that?”

“In my defense, I didn't think anybody would be here this time of night.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes and tapped her foot, which was enough to make the wizard cave in on the spot.

“Okay, okay! I'm trying to get into the Room of Requirement,” he confessed, “Not to fight another monster in there or anything… there’s just an item I need to find.” Running a tired hand through his hair, he frowned at the empty section of the wall he was next to. “I know the room is supposed to be right here and I thought I knew how to make it show up, but apparently not.”

“Ah, yes, the Come and Go Room,” said Trixie with a sage nod. “Trixie can assure that lying on the floor is not how it is summoned.”

Pink bloomed across Professor Snape’s cheeks as he stammered, “I-I was seeing if I could ask Hogwarts for any more hints. I figured lying on the floor would… uh… strengthen the connection.” His blush darkened. “Please stop looking at me like that.”

Trixie stopped funneling her disenchantment into her stare to spare the Potions Master from further embarrassment. “Professor Snape only needs to walk three times past this spot while thinking about what he wants, then the Come and Go Room will appear,” she informed. 

“Dammit, I forgot the walking part,” the Slytherin groaned towards the ceiling. Before he started following the house elf’s instructions, he gave her one of those “thumbs-up” gestures she now associated him with. “Thanks, Trixie. You're so smart and cool.” 

The sweater-clad elf couldn't help but smile a little at that. This was the most ridiculous wizard she had ever met and she wouldn't change it for the world.

As Professor Snape began his pacing in front of the wall, Dobby turned to his senior, appearing flummoxed by the whole situation. “Is th-this how Madam Trixie normally interacts with Master Snape? She won't be punished, will she?” he asked in a nervous whisper.  

“Of course not. Professor Snape is too nice for that,” said the other house elf matter-of-factly, “And he prefers not to be addressed as ‘Master.’”

“I’ll get you to call me Severus someday, just you wait,” vowed the wizard in an ominous voice. At the same time, he completed his third lap of walking. 

The door to the Room of Requirement filled the empty space on the wall as if it had always been there. It looked like any other wooden door in Hogwarts—made of oak with a dark finish—but upon closer inspection, runes could be seen carved into the frame. 

Professor Snape seemed relieved that his bout of impromptu exercise had done the trick. He strode up to the door, then glanced back to smile and wave at the two elves. “Thanks again for the tip! I’ll see you guys later.” 

Oh, no, he wasn't getting away that easily.

With a pitter-patter of small feet, Trixie joined the wizard’s side. “We can assist Professor Snape in searching for his item, isn't that right, Sir Dobby?”

“Y-yes!” squeaked her trainee, following her lead, “Dobby is good at finding things!” 

The Potions Master’s smile began leaning more towards a grimace. “I really appreciate the offer, but I can do this myself.”

“The search will go much faster with three sets of eyes and Professor Snape said himself that what he’s doing isn't dangerous,” countered Trixie, standing her ground. 

“I said it wasn't bad. Doesn't mean it might not be dangerous,” was the muttered response. 

The elf clutched the hem of her periwinkle sweater. “Does Headmaster Dumbledore know about what you're doing?” She hated to pull this card on the wizard after how kind he had been, but she didn't want to stand by and watch him throw himself into danger in front of her. Not again.

Nevertheless, it still hurt to see the betrayal that flickered across the Slytherin’s angled features. He looked away, his furrowed brow indicating he was deep in thought. Then he let out a heavy exhale. “... Alright. You guys can come with me.” 

✦

The Room of Requirement had taken on the form of a large storage space. Scratch that—the place could only be described as a warehouse. It was like stepping into an Ikea store. A really disorganized Ikea that was filled with random crap and zero delicious Swedish meatballs. An absolute tragedy. 

Books, furniture and other items left behind and forgotten over the course of decades occupied almost every inch of the room. Many were stacked into haphazard piles, some towering so high that they almost reached the vaulted ceilings. 

As Snape stared up at an especially impressive mountain of OSHA violations, a part of him was glad to have help. However, his anxiety was quick to shove that feeling aside. He wasn't here for any old item. He was here to find a horcrux. And now he had dragged two innocent souls into the mess.

His only consolation was that Voldemort apparently hadn't bothered to put any curses on this particular horcrux. He wouldn't have recalled that detail at all if it weren't for a friend from his previous life going on a ten minute drunken rant about how stupid of a villain the Shit Lord was; like how he couldn't pry his head out of his ass long enough to actually be smart about what he made into horcruxes and where he hid them. Snape remembered just nodding along as his friend rambled on the couch. 

“I would've found that stuff so easily, man! I’d be sniffing them out like… like Scooby-Doo!”  

“You definitely act enough like a dog.”

“Thank you!”

The Potions Master shoved the memory aside before he could lose himself in it. He needed to stay alert on the off chance Voldemort had rigged the horcrux with traps—especially now that he had two companions to protect. 

It was becoming a familiar motion to summon the axe to his hand, which was not something he had foreseen in his future, but life is weird like that. Dobby seemed disturbed by the sight of the weapon, but kept his mouth shut. 

“So here’s the deal: my goal is to find and destroy Ravenclaw’s diadem,” Snape explained, letting his axe hang at his side in hopes of it being less intimidating. “It’s cursed, so touching it is a no-go. If you come across it, just leave it there and grab me. I believe it should be silver with a blue gem in the center.”

“Trixie has seen the diadem in portraits of Mistress Ravenclaw before. That description is correct,” the older of the house elf pair concurred, appearing unbothered by the professor’s desire to destroy a priceless relic.

Snape gave an appreciative hum. “Okay, good. In that case, let me try something before we start.” He raised his arm and visualized the diadem in his mind. “Accio.” 

A minute passed with no horcrux in sight. Unfortunately, it seemed like Voldemort hadn't been cocky enough to skip on the anti-summoning ward. 

The Potions Master clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Dang, it would've been funny if that worked.” He shifted the axe onto his shoulder and wearily gazed upon the mountains of random objects, “I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

“Don't worry, Professor Snape. Together we will find the diadem in no time!” Dobby chirped. 

The trio split up to begin their search, but not before Snape had casted protective charms on the elves. He had also conjured two orbs of light to hover a few yards above their heads so he could see where they were over the shelves and towering junk piles. Yes, it was kind of overkill, but it helped ease the Slytherin’s anxiety a little. 

While Trixie had been the one to offer her and Dobby’s help, Snape still felt like he had dragged them into this whole mess somehow. The task should've been his responsibility alone, but he had pushed it down his list of priorities due to it not being an “active” threat. It had been a shortsighted decision on his part. Anything could become a danger if left to fester long enough, no matter how harmless it seemed at first. Lockhart was a perfect example of that.

Perhaps if he hadn't procrastinated so long on this, Trixie and Dobby wouldn't have ended up getting involved. 

Focus, goddammit, Snape mentally scolded himself. The best way you can keep them safe now is if you find the horcrux first, so lock the fuck in!

The sheer amount of stuff in the room was daunting, but the Potions Master had his own strategy to deal with that problem: his patented Rancid Vibes Detector™. His body apparently had an allergy to horcruxes because his Dark Mark would start acting up and he’d feel gross in general whenever he was in proximity to one. At least, that was how he had reacted to Riddle’s diary. It was a factor he was banking on to quicken the diadem search, since he didn't have to dig through the junk piles as much. 

Snape had traveled a decent distance into the magical warehouse when the Dark Mark began to tingle. It took a bit of awkward stumbling around, but he eventually got a good latch on the feeling and followed it. The tingling became an itch, then a burn as he wound his way past stacks of dusty books and discarded knickknacks. Up ahead, he could see a light orb bobbing around, which made his chest tighten and his pace increase.

The Slytherin rounded a shelf and spotted Dobby in front of a large pile of items. He was attempting to pry a chest from the center of the mountain with his magic.

“Uh, Dobby—” Snape began, but before he could finish, the elf gave the chest one last sharp tug, causing it to shoot out of the pile and crash to the ground. The rest of the junk mountain came tumbling after it in a clamor of bangs and clatters. 

Dobby’s scream was cut off by Snape’s mana coiling around him and yanking him backwards, narrowly avoiding the crushing wave of miscellaneous objects. As the elf was set down, he began bombarding the Potions Master with gratitude. “Oh, thank you, thank you! Professor Snape has saved my life! Thank you! Dobby will never forget this!”

“You’re welcome. It’s fine if you forget about it actually,” replied the raven-haired wizard, becoming overwhelmed as Dobby clung to his leg like a koala bear.

Trixie apparated onto the scene, her posture tense. She took a second to assess the situation before her face transformed into a scowl. She stomped over to the other house elf and grabbed his ear. “Sir Dobby must remove himself from the Professor this instant! He is being ridiculous,” she scolded. 

The younger elf let out an apologetic squeak and untangled himself from Snape’s leg. 

“I’m just glad you're alright,” said the Potions Master distractedly, eyes darting across the new mess of items on the floor. His Rancid Vibes Detector™ was going off big time. The horcrux was here. 

“Hey, how ‘bout we call it for a night?” he suggested. “I’ll meet you two up front.” 

Trixie shot the wizard a suspicious look and her snout twitched as she prepared to speak, but was stopped by an excited exclamation from her fellow house elf. “Dobby thinks he found it!” 

Both Snape and Trixie turned to see Dobby amidst the collapsed pile of items, holding up a discolored silver tiara with a blue gem in the center.

“That… that's great,” said the Slytherin as a pit grew in his stomach, “but I need you to put it down, okay?” 

“Of course, Professor Snape!” The elf began to lower the diadem, but then went stock still. His face became a blank canvas.

Snape took a step forward. “Dobby…?” 

The feeling of wrongness crashed into him all at once. Pain lanced through his mind like lightning, driving him to his knees with a gasp. He heard Trixie collapse behind him and couldn't even look back to check on her. The only thing he could do was watch as Dobby straightened himself carefully, robotically, then raised Ravenclaw’s diadem and placed it on his own head. The elf blinked and his eyes were filled with a white expanse.

Hello again, Severus Snape.

A hundred different voices spilled forth from Dobby’s open and unmoving mouth. It was then that the missing memories from the Basilisk fight rushed back to Snape: the deep sense of dread, the suffocation, the Something that was there but wasn't. How could he have forgotten? 

A natural response. Your mind could not comprehend our existence, so it chose to erase it instead. This form should allow this visit to be less… forgettable.

Stars danced across his vision as he struggled to turn his pounding head to see Trixie. He needed to check if she was okay. 

The house elves are only unconscious. Yet another natural response. You are an unfortunate exception, Severus Snape. You are an anomaly that should not exist. 

A mind-reader. Cool. Well, he wasn't going to believe this eldritch god wannabe for shit until he confirmed the elves’ well-being himself. He could see that Dobby was still breathing despite being possessed, but Trixie… 

With every part of his body feeling as if it were being crushed by gravity, Snape finally got the house elf in his field of view. She was curled up on the ground as if she were just taking a nap, her chest rising and falling steadily. Thank god.

Your interference has begun to entangle the threads of this tapestry. Clumsy attempts to weave and unweave what shouldn't—

Okay, before you get into your pretentious spiel about how I'm fucking up the plot, can you tell me whether or not you're hurting Dobby right now? Because that’ll really determine how good of a listener I'm gonna be.

The Something didn't respond at first, Dobby’s expression remaining blank, but Snape did get another intense jolt of pain in his head. He must have struck some sort of nerve there. He would've been smug about it if he didn't feel like barfing right now.

This vessel will remain unharmed. He will be left with no memory of this event. He holds an important role. 

For Dobby’s sake, the Potions Master prayed those words were true. 

It is with kindness that we bring you this warning, Severus Snape. The more changes you make, the more this tapestry will seek to set its threads back on course…

The Something puppeted Dobby over to Trixie, where his hand was extended to thumb the sleeve of her sweater.

… and you may discover that some threads are not as needed as others.

The mana within the wizard suddenly spiked, exploding out of him in a shockwave that knocked Dobby over and sent the diadem skittering across the floor. 

Snape slowly stood, blood trickling from his nose and down his chin. He fought the lead in his legs as he dragged himself step by step—axe scraping the ground behind him—until he was looming over the horcrux. 

“Determining the worth of a life based on goddamn plot relevance?” Hogwarts’s Potions Master growled, eyes glowing silver, “That's the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” 

With that, he swung the axe down on Ravenclaw’s diadem, splitting it in two. There was no scream or swirling mass of dark magic. The horcrux simply disintegrated into dust, taking the suffocating heaviness and pain with it.

Well, most of the pain. Surprise, surprise, Snape still had a headache. Nobody could've seen that coming.

Deciding to stay predictable, he ignored his own issues and moved to help Trixie and Dobby instead. He had just started examining the house elves for any injuries when both of them began to stir. 

“Good morning,” yawned Dobby. 

The casualness of the greeting lifted a bit of weight off Snape’s chest. “Are you guys alright?” he questioned, trying not to sound too shaken.

Dobby gave a dazed nod while Trixie rubbed her face, her little snout scrunched. “Wh-what happened?” She blinked the blurriness out of her vision, the raven-haired man kneeling beside her coming into focus. She gasped, “Professor Snape, you have a nosebleed!” 

“Ah. Yeah. It’s all good.” He wiped the blood on his nose and chin with a sleeve, only managing to smear it. “The diadem caused some… minor trouble, but it's destroyed now, so mission accomplished.”

The elf had summoned a handkerchief and was dabbing it on the Slytherin’s face. “Professor Snape will make Trixie age twenty years if he keeps getting injured like this!” she tutted. 

“‘M sorry,” said Snape, lips curving up in relief. He was happy they were okay. And that they didn't remember. 

He hoped he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

༻✦༺

Harry watched the green hills of the Scottish Highlands roll past the window, resting his chin on his palm. The rumbling of the train was not helping him keep his eyes open. It hadn't been the smartest decision to stay up late last night playing Exploding Snap with Ron and the Twins—especially when he knew he’d be starting his day early today. 

In an attempt to stop himself from dozing off, the boy wizard switched to studying the reflections in the window pane. To be more specific, the reflection of his new guardian sitting across the table from him. 

Snape was flicking through the pages of a newspaper, taking an occasional sip from his cup of coffee. His hair was pulled back into a bun and he had donned a long brown woolen coat with a forest green turtleneck underneath. He had also put on some fingerless gloves to hide the scars on his hand. Alongside the rectangular frames perched on his nose, he gave definite “Muggle professor” vibes. 

The glasses were apparently the only thing Snape was using to disguise himself for their outing. It wasn't like he needed to do much anyway considering he was pretty much unrecognizable from what he was a few months ago. Harry’s disguise was where the Slytherin put in the effort: changing his hair to a lighter shade of brown and switching his green eyes out for black. Since Harry’s scar was resistant to spells, the professor had gone in with some concealer instead. When the boy had asked him why he had makeup, Snape simply chuckled and said, “How else am I supposed to hide these bags under my eyes?” 

The young Gryffindor could still tell the Potions Master was tired, even if he tried to mask it. It showed in different ways; like how the warm lilt to his baritone was more muted and how Harry could tell he had been reading the same passage in the Muggle paper for the past ten minutes. His mind was clearly on anything but the news.

“Professor Snape, where are we going again?” asked Harry. He already knew the answer—he just wanted to do the man a favor and distract him from whatever was bothering him. 

“Hm? Oh, we’re heading to Inverness,” Snape replied after taking an extra second to process the question. “We need to buy you clothes that actually fit you and update your glasses prescription.”

Harry picked at the spot on his secondhand jumper where the professor had repaired a hole in the fabric. “Couldn't we get all that stuff at Diagon Alley?” The question was genuine this time. He had been wondering why they were traveling to a Muggle city instead of the magical shopping district.

“We’ll drop by after Inverness for all the wizard stuff, but to tell you the truth, I think the wardrobe variety in the Alley is sorta lacking. And optometrists aren't exactly common there,” explained the Potions Master, putting his newspaper down on the table. “Muggle optometry is actually more advanced in terms of technology and research. That's the case with a lot of scientific fields. Y’know, if the Ministry would pull the stick out of their butts and make an effort to work with the rest of the world…” He trailed off as he realized he was rambling. “Sorry, I think about this kind of stuff a lot.”

“It’s okay. I’m not that bored,” said Harry. He took one long, loud slurp of his hot chocolate before replying in his most serious voice, “I’m very interested in how the Ministry got sticks in their butts.” 

Snape smirked, crossing his arms and leaning back against his booth seat. “Do you really want me to go into more detail about that?”

A rather unpleasant image formed in Harry’s mind and he made a gagging noise and stuck out his tongue. “Eww, no. On second thought, I’m good.”

The professor laughed, that familiar warmth returning. Harry couldn't resist joining in. It would be a lie to say he wasn't proud for being the reason the man was smiling.

With the ice broken, the rest of the train ride flew by as the two wizards sipped their drinks and chatted about idle things. Soon enough, they were stepping out onto the platform and into Inverness. 

It was a pretty, scenic city full of old historical buildings and a few castles, sitting right at the mouth of a large river. Harry learned from Snape that the river was connected to the famous Loch Ness. He found himself paying more attention to the waters as they walked in hopes of catching sight of something big swimming around.

They tackled the optometrist first, which was the most tedious part of the trip in Harry’s opinion. In order to update his prescription, he had to get a bunch of weird tests done with devices he couldn't recall the names of. His least favorite was the one that shot puffs of air into his eyes. The annoyance was worth it though, because he left with two brand new pairs of glasses that made the world look equally as brand new. Snape had even stuck Unbreakable Charms on them for him. 

“Don't take this as permission for you to go buckwild now,” the Potions Master joked. 

“You mean like you?” Harry quipped back. He had grown comfortable enough talking to the professor to start testing how far he could go with the banter.

“Hell no! I’m a terrible influence,” said Snape way too casually for somebody who was now his legal guardian.

The next place they headed to was High Street where there were plenty of different stores to peruse. Harry was overwhelmed by the choices quite frankly. He still wasn't used to the idea of shopping for himself, so Snape helped him sort through the riffraff and narrow things down to the necessities. The boy found himself gravitating towards the comfier options; clothes that didn't make him feel restrained or suffocated. All the purchases were discreetly shoved into his guardian’s enchanted satchel once they left the store.  

Harry never thought he’d enjoy shopping, but it was actually pretty nice. His disguise combined with Inverness being a primarily Muggle city meant he wasn't getting swarmed by people wanting to see the “Boy-Who-Lived.” Here, he was like everybody else—free to poke around shops, throw coins in the wishing fountain, and snack on some crispy fish n’ chips from a street vendor. 

His current company certainly improved the experience too. Snape had a type of unique, dry humor that Harry played off of well and he was just pleasant to be around in general. A reality that the young Gryffindor still couldn't believe sometimes. 

The Potions Master seemed to be very familiar with the Muggle world based on how he embraced it without hesitation. Maybe even with a hint of relief. He blended in seamlessly like he didn't have a drop of magic in him. It wasn't something Harry had come to expect from most wizards. Their worlds just felt so separate. He wondered if his professor was a Muggleborn like Hermione.

His suspicion increased when Snape spotted an arcade and lit up so bright he threatened to blind the people around him. 

“Kid, I’ve received a new mission from the heavens,” stated the raven-haired man, unable to pull his gaze away from the enticing neon signs. “We’re going to become gamers.” 

The way his guardian had said that was sort of embarrassing, but Harry was up for it. He could technically say he had been to an arcade before, but it had been for Dudley’s eighth birthday party. He had only been brought along because there were workers repainting the Dursley’s living room at the time and his uncle didn't want to explain to them why a child was left behind. Harry hadn't gotten to play any of the games—all he was allowed to do was sit quietly and watch his cousin run around the arcade with his friends.

As the wizard duo entered the small building, they were surrounded by neon lights and the beeps and boops of arcade cabinets. It was decently crowded with children and their parents, groups of teens, and the occasional lone adult. 

“God, I haven't been to one of these in forever,” said Snape, grinning ear to ear. He went over to the change machine in the entryway and exchanged a few bills for a good amount of coins. “I know I told you not to go buckwild earlier, but that doesn't apply here. Anything you wanna try first?” 

Harry took in the many flashing arcade cabinets, trying not to get intimidated by the fact he was actually allowed to choose. Not wanting to seem indecisive, he picked an unoccupied one at random and pointed at it. “How about that?” 

Snape gasped, “Holy shi—I mean crap—they have SD Gundam Neo Battling?!” He was at the cabinet in the blink of an eye, practically vibrating in excitement. “I've only ever played this on an emulator! This is supposed to be a Japan exclusive. It doesn't even have an official English translation! How the hell—I mean heck—did a cabinet end up here in Scotland of all places?”

Harry had no clue what the professor was rambling on about, but it was entertaining to witness him being an absolute nerd. He couldn't wait to tell his friends later. 

The game Harry had chosen was in Japanese, but Snape could apparently read it, translating the menu and instructions for him. It was a genre his guardian described as a “shoot ‘em up,” where the player had to pilot a robot man and blast robot enemies flying down at them from the top of the screen. It allowed for two players, so Snape was able to join in. 

“Professor, do you know a lot of Japanese?” queried Harry as they blasted through hordes of enemies together. 

“I know enough to read it, but speaking it still gives me trouble,” the Slytherin answered, maneuvering his robot with expert precision. “I’m part Japanese from my Mom’s side, but she didn't really speak the language in our house, so I didn't get much exposure.” 

“Was your mum a witch?”

“Yep, and Dad was a Muggle.”

Alright, so Snape was a half-blood. That explained the man’s familiarity with Muggle stuff. 

Harry knew he too had both Muggle and wizard blood in him, but sometimes he felt like he didn't fit into either world. On one side, he had been a freak shoved away into a cupboard under the stairs… and on the other, he was seen as a savior, thrust into a limelight he hadn't been prepared for. He was an outcast in both worlds, but in different ways. 

He wondered if Snape felt like that too sometimes.

Distracted by his thoughts, Harry accidentally flew his robot into a bullet and exploded. He groaned, “Aw, bollocks. Sorry.” 

“You're fine,” said the Potions Master. “We can always—holy crap, is that an original Super Mario Bros over there?!” 

For the next couple hours, the duo jumped around the arcade cabinets, trying out all sorts of games. It was a rollicking good time. Harry hadn't felt so light in a while. Even if it was for a brief moment, the boy could forget about being a savior or a freak. Here in this room of neon lights, playing games and trading wisecracks with his guardian, he could just be Harry. 

The Gryffindor did his best to hide his disappointment when Snape checked his watch and told him they should get going if they wanted to drop by Diagon Alley before its stores closed. A train ride and a Floo trip later, they were in the magical shopping district. 

There were only a few more things they needed to pick up, like an enchanted satchel of Harry’s own and potion ingredients for Snape. Once they were done, they went to grab supper at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry hadn't realized how knackered he was until he was sitting down with a mug of Butterbeer. It was the nice type of tired though. The satisfying kind. 

“Sorry for dragging you to so many places today, kiddo. Hope you're not too exhausted,” murmured Snape self-consciously.

Harry gave a sleepy smile. “No, I had fun.”

The sun was setting as the student and professor exited the pub. Harry pulled his new jacket tighter around himself to ward off the nighttime chill just beginning to set in. He gazed at the reds and oranges painting the sky until he was tapped on the shoulder. Snape handed him a familiar pink potion when he turned around. 

“We’ll be Portkey-ing back to Hogwarts, so drink up if you don't want to lose your dinner,” the Slytherin instructed, nonchalant as ever. 

Harry downed the Anti-Nausea potion while Snape produced the Portkey, an empty inkwell, from his bag. 

“Ready?” hummed the professor.

The boy nodded and reached out. Just before he touched the inkwell, he noticed Snape glance up at the dwindling crowd in the Alley and suddenly freeze, his eyes widening. Harry didn't get a chance to see what the man was looking at, because his fingertips were already brushing against the Portkey. His stomach jerked and the world blurred into a mash of shapes and colors before reforming into Hogwarts’s front gates. 

Snape looked a bit pale and Harry was pretty sure it wasn't because of the Portkey. 

“What’s wrong? Did you spot something weird?” he asked in concern. 

The Potions Master snapped out of his daze and quickly shook his head. “It’s… it’s nothing. Just thought I saw somebody I knew.” 

༻✦༺

A Sickle and ten Knuts. It was all he had after getting paid, but it should be enough to purchase a small meal at the Leaky Cauldron for the evening. After a week of stale bread, anything would be good.

Remus Lupin released a tired exhale through his nose and shut his money pouch. He stepped out of the alcove he had been hiding in and into Diagon Alley proper. Passing by the window of a closed shop, he paused to pat down his greying light brown hair and straighten his coat. The coat was shabby and clumsily patched in places, but it was the nicest piece of clothing he owned. 

The werewolf touched the old scars running across his cheeks and nose, grimacing. He wished he could do something about those blasted things, but his options were very limited. He hoped the coat and combed hair passed him off as presentable enough to not get kicked out of the pub on sight.

Speaking of the pub, it would be best to reach it before the sun fully set if he wanted to avoid the rowdier patrons.

Lupin turned to start walking again, then froze in place, his heart stopping.

Just a few yards in front of him stood a man and a boy. The boy’s back was to him, so he couldn't see his face, but the man… he was slender, dressed in a coat and turtleneck with dark slacks. He had raven black locks styled into a messy bun, silken strands falling into his face as he searched through his satchel. 

Lupin hadn’t recognized him at all at first until the raven-haired man had looked up, obsidian eyes locking with his. That was when the werewolf’s heart had stuttered to a halt in his chest. He knew those eyes, even when they were behind a pair of glasses. How could he forget them when the memory of those deep, dark pools gazing up at him in terror had haunted him for years? 

Now once again those eyes were on him, but there was no fear this time. Not even anger. Instead they just seemed shocked. Maybe a little conflicted. And underneath all that… something warm.

Lupin had never expected Severus Snape to look at him with anything but hate. 

Before he could gather the courage to speak, Snape vanished along with the boy. The werewolf was left in the Alley, surrounded by people, but very much alone. 

Chapter Text

“Hey,” I called over my shoulder to my friend, slowing my pace on the trail to allow him time to catch up, “Got a gift for you.” I held my fist out towards him and opened it to reveal a large striped beetle. 

The taller man yelped and jumped back, his amber eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, what the heck is that?!” 

“It’s a watermelon beetle,” I said with a mischievous grin, keeping the insect away from my curious dog who had come to investigate the disturbance. 

My friend pulled a face. “That looks nothing like a watermelon.” 

“How dare you—it totally does! Just look at the stripes!” I huffed in mock indignation, pointing at the bug. 

“Wow. You're right. So neat. Now put it back before it flies at me!”

I booed him lightheartedly and moved to set the cute beetle on a leaf where my dog couldn't reach it. “Y'know, for a park ranger, you have a real low tolerance for bugs.”

“Park ranger in training,” corrected my friend before letting out a groan, “and yes, I know. I'm working on it. I’m okay with the small ones now, but big ones?” He shuddered. “They still give me the heebie jeebies.” 

“‘Heebie jeebies.’ You and your old man lingo,” I teased as we continued our hike. “But hey, tolerating small bugs is a definite improvement. That's like 95% of them.” My attention turned to the nature around us on the rugged trail, breathing in the fresh air and letting myself relax. “I’ll admit I’m kinda jealous. I wish my job let me play in the woods with the bugs and mushrooms.” 

The future park ranger gave me a hopeful sidelong glance. “I can't promise it's all fun—you still have to deal with people and paperwork—but if you want to, um, join me…” His fingers combed back his light brown hair nervously. It was hard to tell whether the red on his face was from the heat or from embarrassment. 

For a moment, both my smile and my resolve wavered. I envisioned a world where I had made a different decision. Then I shoved the doubts down again. “Aw, thanks, but it's alright,” I said, slapping the cheer back on. “The nursing program’s going fine. I’ll be doing my externship soon. Mom’s happy about it.” God knows I disappointed her enough. 

My friend opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself, reconsidering his words. “... I’m glad to hear that,” he finally went with. 

Just when things were about to tip into awkwardness, my dog ran up to us with an entire goddamn tree branch in her mouth, tail wagging furiously. 

"Sorry, but I am not throwing that for you,” I told her. The Pittie-Lab mix responded to this slight by swinging herself around and smacking me right in the shin with her giant stick. I stumbled with a loud “ow” that was possibly more dramatic than it needed to be.

My hiking companion caught me before I could trip over a rock. “You okay?”

I rubbed my shin, wincing. “I’m fine. I’ve been sideswiped before. One of the fun parts to adopting a dog is learning all their weird quirks.” I pointed accusingly at the criminal in question. “Like beating their owners who love and feed them with sticks!” 

The canine had the decency to look ashamed for about five seconds before she went back to parading her tree branch around. I couldn't help but laugh. Five seconds was about how long I could stay mad at that girl. 

My friend chuckled as well, his voice rumbling in my ear, and I suddenly became very aware of how close we were. His hands were still on my arms. Steady. Gentle. 

“She’s quite the character, isn't she?” he commented. 

I let myself focus on the stupid mustache he had decided to grow to keep the blush from rising to my cheeks. “Sh-she keeps me on my toes.” 

“Maybe we should sit down for a bit,” suggested the guy I had known since high school (yes, he’s your friend—don't ruin this). His hands left my shoulders to dig into his pack. “I brought those granola bars you like!”

My brain had kickstarted back into gear once the other man had let go of me. “Yeah, a break sounds good.”

The heat must've been getting to me too.

༻✦༺

“What the actual fuck is happening?” Snape muttered to his disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark, exhausted eyes stared back at him. His hair was a tousled mess and the pink sweatshirt he liked to wear to bed hung crookedly off one shoulder. He looked like he had been tossing and turning all night. Which was accurate. 

It had been hard enough trying to fall asleep knowing that he had attracted the attention of an unfathomable eldritch asshole. Now there was this. 

Why did his old friend look like Remus Lupin?

Snape could have dismissed it as his mind mixing up the two sets of memories he had. That was the theory he had used to explain why he had confused Lily for his other close friend from his previous reality. But after seeing Lupin in the flesh yesterday… he wasn't so sure anymore. 

When his gaze first met the werewolf’s across the Alley, it was like getting struck by lightning. He had recognized him instantly—not as Remus Lupin, but as the kind, dorky man he had known in his last life. Somebody he had gone on hikes with, eaten fast food in parking lots with, laughed with, cried with. One of the people he missed so badly that if he thought about any of them for even a second, it became difficult to breathe. 

He couldn't even remember their names. 

The professor pressed his forehead against the mirror and squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling. He really didn't want to think about any of this. The fact he and his friends resembled people from this world left implications he didn't want to confront. Like how this whole situation may not have been a freak accident of the universe. That this was fate. He didn't want to consider that maybe he was always meant to end up here. Because if that were true, then why the hell had he tried so hard to exist in his last life?

Stop it. You're being selfish. It's not about you. It's about them.

Them. Harry. He had to focus on helping Harry. Focus on giving this story a happier ending, even if it meant pissing off a god to do it. That was his purpose: the thing that stopped him from breaking completely under the weight of what he had lost. What he had done. It gave him a reason to keep going. He couldn't fail everyone again.

Severus Snape groaned, lightly bonked his forehead against the mirror a few times, then opened his eyes to glare at himself.

“Christ, you're an absolute disaster,” he muttered. 

The professor was definitely not going back to bed after that round of inner drama, so instead he pulled on a sweater and made his way out of his quarters. Wandering the school was what he usually resorted to when sleep escaped him. The solitude brought by the night helped calm the chaotic noise in his mind. 

Although maybe “solitude” wasn't quite the right word. The mana pulsing around him like a heartbeat was proof that he was never truly alone inside these walls. Hogwarts’s presence, tender and comforting, was a constant to Snape at this point. The longer raw magic ran through his veins, the easier it was to hear the castle’s voice. It was something he realized had always been there. It was why it was so easy for most students to accept the school as a second home. They may not be able to hear it, but subconsciously they could sense it.

Hogwarts didn't speak in a traditional manner. It communicated more through feelings and changes in its mana. A lot of this Snape learned during sleepless nights when the halls were empty and quiet. He could really focus on the castle’s presence then. Sometimes he talked to it when nobody was around; told stories about his day or whatever else came to mind. Most of the time though, he just wandered Hogwarts in companionable silence. Either way seemed to make it happy. 

The Potions Master let his hand trace the stones of the castle as he passed them. “Hey, Hogs.” He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. “Eh, no. Maybe Warty? The Hogster? There aren't really good nickname options for you, huh.”

He was filled with a mirth that wasn't his own, bubbly and mischievous. 

“I’m sorry, but we are not going with The Hogster,” the wizard snorted. “That was a joke suggestion. 

“Aww,” said The Hogster.

Snape came to a stop in front of a large window, drinking in the view of the peaceful nighttime landscape past the frosty glass. In the distance, he could see the flickering orange lights of Hogsmeade village. He wondered if Lupin was there. If he was doing okay. The man had looked pretty haggard back at the Alley.

“No sleep?” 

Snape shook his head. “Brain’s being dumb again. Got too much on it.” 

“Talk?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure where I’d even begin.” 

What the hell could he say? He had so many thoughts, so many worries, so many fears. All beating at the walls of his mind. He hated the idea of trauma dumping on anybody, but he didn't want to make Hogwarts feel bad by outright rejecting the offer either. 

“I guess I’m worried. About a lot of things,” the professor finally admitted. “One of them is about this guy I, uh, used to know.” 

There was a surge of excitement from the castle. If it had eyebrows, it would be wiggling them. It took a second for Snape to realize why. When he did, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “Oh, my god, i-it's not like that! He’s just a friend.” His heart clenched. “I mean was. Was a friend. Sort of. It’s… really complicated.” That was the understatement of the year. 

The torches dimmed in a sheepish apology. 

“You're fine, H.W. None of it's your fault,” the Slytherin reassured. He slumped against one of the pillars framing the window and sighed. “It's not his fault either. I just need to pull my shit together so I can actually be useful.” 

He already felt like he hadn't been putting as much time and focus as he should've into helping Lupin. If this world was set on following canon events, then the werewolf was slated to be the next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that Dumbledore hired. A post that was cursed as shit.

The curse was a rumor to the general public, but the Head of Slytherin knew it as a fact. He had known about it even before his “existential crisis,” despite Dumbledore never outright confirming or denying it. Snape wasn't so sure about the specifics—just that it was Voldemort’s doing and that it was the reason why the school couldn't keep a teacher for the subject for very long. Something bad would always happen to them before the year was up. 

It would be a double-edged sword for Lupin. On one hand, the benefit of having free access to the Wolfsbane Potion and someone who could brew it would be huge for him. On the other hand, he was guaranteed to get screwed over in the end. It seemed Lupin had already been sent through the ringer. Placing him in a position that would give him hope, only to then strip it away, would just be cruel. Even if he was informed of everything and took the job anyway, it was still messed up. Snape knew very well that when a person is at their lowest, they're likely to grab onto whatever lifeline they can find. No matter how frayed the rope is.

Breaking Voldemort’s jinx was the obvious solution—the problem was that Snape had no idea how. He hadn't even started mulling it over until he saw Lupin in Diagon Alley a few days ago.

“I should have done something by now,” he chastised himself, dragging a frustrated hand down his face.

Hogwarts was a little confused, not having been privy to the professor’s inner ramblings. It sent a ripple of encouragement to him regardless. Snape gave a small, appreciative smile that didn't last nearly as long as he wanted it to. 

He shoved his hands in his sweater’s pockets, shoulders hunched. “I’ve at least been making some progress in improving the Wolfsbane Potion, but I could've gotten further if I’d dedicated more than just my spare time to it… but I had to focus on Harry, y’know?”

Snape knew he was starting to spiral again, yet he couldn't stop the words from spilling forth in an increasingly messy jumble. “I know it’s fucked for me to determine what's more important when it comes to other people’s lives, but he needed to get out of that house.” His chest grew tighter. “I’m the reason he ended up there in the first place.” His breaths became shorter. “Now Halloween is just around the corner and… god, am I going to be enough? Will I ever be enough after what I've done? I haven't even told him yet. About how it's all my fault. I-I’m such a bloody coward. He deserves so much better—”

Hogwarts embraced its young Potions Master in a soothing blanket of mana, halting his racing thoughts in their tracks. It grounded him; brought him back to the present. He stopped digging his fingernails into his palms. Let his lungs fill with air.

After he had recentered himself, Snape murmured, “Sorry, I didn't mean to break down on you. Tonight's been… rough.” He hated when someone else had to be burdened with his crap.  

Hogwarts sent a wave of sympathy, its magic a gentle caress. It told him that everything would be okay. That it was always there for him.

“You are enough,” it hummed.

He wished he could believe it.

༻✦༺

Harry walked the dark corridors of the school, draped in his Cloak of Invisibility. The only sounds were his careful footsteps and the swish of the cloak’s fabric against the floor. 

He had no particular destination in mind. He just needed to do something other than lay in bed wide awake, afraid of what he would see when he closed his eyes. Normally the Gryffindor would've just stayed in his House’s common room and sat in front of the fireplace until the warmth coaxed him to sleep, but this time he had felt the urge to get out. To move.

The nightmares had been bad tonight. They had been for the past week. It wasn't anything new to Harry. He had suffered nightmares for years. They were usually sporadic in occurrence, but once in a while he’d get bouts of them in a row like this. Although these recent ones had been a bit harder to handle with how vivid they were.

Sometimes it was Uncle Vernon shouting at him, arm raised mid-strike. Sometimes it was watching the skin melt off of Voldemort’s face under his fingers. Sometimes it was the screech of tires on an icy road, a thunderous crash, and screams.

Harry wasn't sure why the dreams were so bad lately. He had thought they would get better with the improvements to his life. He didn't have to go back to the Dursleys, he had friends and a new guardian who actually seemed to care about him, and Voldemort hadn’t made a peep this year. Why was he like this? 

Maybe it was because that day was coming up soon. The anniversary of his parents’ death.

Before learning he was a wizard, Harry hadn't been that affected whenever October 31st rolled around. Yes, he had felt sad during those times, but not as much as most people would expect. He hadn't really known his parents after all. His aunt and uncle had never bothered to acknowledge their existence other than lie about how they died. To Harry, his mum and dad were just concepts. Nice things to daydream about in the cupboard under the stairs. There weren't any memories for him to latch onto. 

That all changed when he arrived at Hogwarts. Now everybody seemed to have a story to tell about his parents. A memory to share. There were pictures of them too! He could see what they looked like when they were his age—something he hadn’t even considered before. With every story, every photograph, his mum and dad became more real… and so did the pain. 

It would be nice to find the Mirror of Erised again.

Another set of footsteps echoed down the corridor, making Harry’s heart jump. He quickly crouched against the wall and drew the Cloak of Invisibility tighter around his shoulders.

Some of his tension released as Snape came into view, but the boy still didn't reveal himself. He didn't want to get caught sneaking out past curfew again. His track record was bad enough as it is. 

“Hi, Harry,” greeted Snape casually as he passed by. 

“Hello,” the Gryffindor replied on instinct before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

The professor burst into laughter, turning around to look straight at his invisible student. “I can't believe you said hi back!” 

With the jig up, Harry let his head pop through the cloak. “How did you see me?!” he gasped. “Wasn't I hidden?” 

“Don't worry, your cloak still works,” replied Snape once his laughing fit was done. “Hogwarts told me you were there.” 

That answer only confused the boy more. “Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, the castle’s alive and it talks to me,” his guardian said, nonchalant as ever. Upon observing Harry’s flabbergasted expression, he added, “I promise you that I haven't gone insane.” There was a beat of silence. “Yet.”

Before Harry could begin to unpack that statement, Snape was crossing his arms and arching a brow. “So what's up? Why are you gallivanting around the school past curfew?”

The Gryffindor student suddenly became very self-conscious, biting his lip and glancing away from the professor. It wasn't like he was scared of Snape (he had witnessed the man completely nerd-out over video games for two hours straight). He was just embarrassed about the reason he was breaking the rules. “I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I… I couldn't fall asleep.”

Snape’s visage softened. “Bad dreams?” 

A small nod.

The older wizard seemed to think for a moment before he gestured for Harry to follow him. “C’mon—I have just the thing to help with that.” 

The Boy-Who-Lived had expected Snape to take him to his lab or potions storeroom. He was surprised when their destination ended up being the professor’s personal quarters in the faculty tower instead. 

Last year, Harry remembered joking with Ron about how Snape probably slept in a cave like a bat. If the Potions Master had stayed the way he was back then, maybe the cave theory would've stuck. It certainly wasn't the case now.

The door opened to a cozy living room and kitchen combo with mahogany floors and forest green walls. A brick fireplace along with a couple lamps lit the area in a soft orange glow. In front of the fireplace was a coffee table—knitting supplies and papers strewn across it—and a dark brown sofa and armchair with green scatter cushions. The kitchen took up one wall and contained the basics: a sink, stove, an icebox, and some cupboard and counter space. There was a hallway that led to a couple more rooms from what Harry could see.  

“If you could take off your shoes and leave them by the door, that'd be great, but you don't have to if you don't wanna,” said Snape as he removed his own. “Got an extra pair of house slippers you can use if you do.”

The Gryffindor followed the instructions and replaced his shoes with some fuzzy blue slippers. After being told to “have a seat wherever,” he chose the sofa. He folded the Cloak of Invisibility and placed it beside him, glad that it hadn't been confiscated. 

Meanwhile, Snape had headed for the kitchen. He flicked his wrist and a saucepan and two mixing bowls floated out of the cupboards along with a few different ingredients. Harry turned around to watch, propping his elbows on the sofa’s backrest. A small burlap sack caught his attention—mostly because it was unmarked.

“What’s in there?” asked the boy, pointing.

His guardian smirked, holding up the sack. “This? This is the Good Stuff.”

“It sounds illegal when you say it like that,” quipped the Gryffindor of the duo.

“I killed three men for this,” responded the Slytherin without batting an eye. The sack was opened to reveal it was full of white rice. Harry couldn't help but be a bit disappointed. 

“Okay, so when I said ‘men,’ what I meant was ‘paychecks.’ I killed three paychecks for this,” Snape corrected himself. 

Now Harry felt guilty for dismissing the rice so quickly as he watched a cup of it get measured into the mixing bowl. “Shouldn't you be saving it for special occasions?” 

“I’m being dramatic; the price wasn't that bad,” said the professor, taking the bowl to the sink. “This is exactly the kind of occasion I save it for anyway.” 

After the rice was washed, it was poured into the saucepan on the stove along with both coconut and cow’s milk. A dash of salt and a cinnamon stick went in as well. 

“What are you cooking?” Harry asked, finally giving into his curiosity. Whatever it was, it smelled good.

Snape had started whisking egg yolks, sugar, and vanilla in another bowl as his magic stirred the saucepan’s contents with a spoon. “This is coconut rice pudding,” he replied. “My mum used to make it for me when I was a kid.” 

The Boy-Who-Lived felt one of those pangs in his chest again. “She sounds nice.” 

His guardian's whisking faltered for a fraction of a second. “Yeah… she was.” There was a slight crack in his voice that he tried to cover by clearing his throat. “Can't go wrong with some good ol’ rice pudding. It's my go-to comfort food. Other than a tub of ice cream, of course.”

The egg mixture was added to the saucepan and Snape took over the stirring from his magic. “I know it's kind of obvious, but cooking is a lot like potion brewing. Chopping, measuring, mixing—all that jazz. You'd think I’d be fine with baking too, but nope. I’m atrocious at it.”

“You're still measuring and mixing things though. It doesn't seem that different,” said Harry.

“Look, I once melted two batches of chocolate chip cookies in a row before I realized wax paper is not the same as parchment paper. I was roasted in the group chat for months.”

The boy wizard had no clue what Snape meant by “group chat,” but the rest of the story was definitely enough to pull a laugh out of him. To think he used to be intimidated by this dork.

Soon the coconut rice pudding was being scooped into a mug. It was topped off with a pinch of cinnamon and served with a spoon and side of chamomile tea. Harry settled back on the sofa and dug into it eagerly, the smell alone making his stomach growl. The pudding melted on his tongue, warm and sweet, washing away the heaviness his nightmares had left.

“This is really good, Professor!” he exclaimed.

Snape shot him a finger gun. “Glad I still got it. And just call me Severus, kiddo.” 

Harry mouthed the name to himself between bites. It was definitely something he would have to get used to. 

Severus took a seat on the sofa with his own mug of the dessert. “So… bad dreams, huh?”

The question slowed the young Gryffindor’s pudding consumption, but wasn't enough to completely stop him. 

“It’s fine. I’m used to them,” was his automatic response. He had learned over the years that it was better to not complain, lest he be seen as a bothersome child.

“Being used to them doesn't mean you should suck it up and keep suffering. You're too young to be pulling all-nighters, kid,” Severus advised gently. “If you ever want to talk about your dreams or anything that's worrying you, I’m here, but it doesn't have to be me if you’re uncomfortable. Just don't let it bottle up inside.” He glanced away for a second, a shadow passing over his features. “It never ends well.”

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the man was speaking from experience, but chose not to comment on it. 

Talking to somebody about his problems was sort of a new concept for the young wizard. It hadn't exactly been encouraged by the Dursleys. He was still getting used to the idea that some adults were safe. Like the one currently sitting next to him. An adult who looked at him like he mattered.

Harry ate his last bite of rice pudding, savoring the sweetness for a few extra moments of peace. Then he swallowed and said, “I get nightmares in batches like this sometimes. I think it’s because Halloween is in a couple weeks and… my parents…” The pittance of confidence he’d been relying on petered out faster with his voice than he expected.  

Severus’s fingers curled a little tighter around his mug. “I’m sorry, Harry.” 

The boy cast his gaze downward, unable to bear the sorrow he could see on his professor’s face. “It-it’s stupid,” he mumbled, “I-I don't know why I miss them so much when I haven't even met them. Properly, I mean.” 

“You miss them because you love them.” Severus’s statement was soft, but he spoke as if it were some fundamental truth. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s just—it doesn't seem fair of me,” Harry quavered. “There are other children out there who l-lost their parents too, but when they were old enough to actually remember them… that must hurt so much worse.” 

He could hear the wizard beside him exhale shakily. A mug was set down on the coffee table and a scarred hand covered his own. “Your circumstances don't make your love or pain any less valid, Harry. You shouldn't feel guilty for something out of your control.” Severus gave the boy's hand a squeeze. “I’ll be real with you—you've been through way too much bullshit for a kid your age. And despite it, you’re still here worrying about others. It’s okay to put yourself first sometimes, y’know?”

Harry convinced himself to lift his head again. His guardian smiled at him, but the sadness was still there beneath it. 

“This is kind of a stereotypical thing to say at a time like this,” he began, eyes shimmering in the fireplace’s light, “but your mum and dad would be incredibly proud of you.” 

The sheer sincerity in Severus’s voice struck Harry right in the heart, causing his lower lip to tremble. It wasn't something he had expected to hear. It was almost too overwhelming. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

If he hadn't been so distracted by blinking back his tears, he would've caught the guilt that flashed over the Potions Master’s countenance. 

“You don't need to thank me,” the man said quietly. “It's the least I can do.” 

The Gryffindor took his cup of chamomile tea and began gulping it down to get rid of the lump in his throat. He usually didn't cry so easily, but he had already done it twice in front of Snape. At this rate, he was going to look like a crybaby. 

“Wow, epic chug on that leaf water, my dude,” commented the professor out of nowhere.

Harry snorted into his cup, sending tea up his nose and making him cough. Severus immediately moved to help him, giving him a few smacks on the back to clear his airway while apologizing, “Oh, jeez, I'm sorry! Are you alright?” 

“I-I’m good,” Harry reassured between a mix of coughs and giggles, waving his hand, “you just caught me off-guard.” 

“Yeah… I guess I've been doing that to people a lot lately.” 

“You think?” 

Both wizards laughed, the sound filling the room and lifting the heaviness in the air. The fireplace burned a little brighter. 

Once the chuckling had died down, Harry realized he had forgotten to ask a very important question: one that had been lurking in the back of his mind for the past five minutes.

“Can I have more rice pudding?” 

His guardian grinned. “Hell yeah, kid.” 

✦

Snape was in the middle of explaining the differences between a rib stitch and a stockinette stitch when he glanced over at Harry and paused. His charge had fallen asleep beside him, head lolling back against the couch.

At first, the professor was worried. He hadn't even provided the kid a potion to help with the dreams yet. What if he had another nightmare? Being startled awake on a constant basis wasn't doing any favors for his sleep cycle.

Snape’s concerns were eased a little upon observing the content expression on Harry’s face. His body was relaxed, chest rising and falling steadily. His empty mug, cleaned of pudding, threatened to tumble free from his grip.

With a fond smile, Snape put down his knitting needles and stood, being careful not to jostle the boy. He took the mug and set it in the kitchen sink with the other dirty dishes. He’d get to them in the morning. Instead, he retrieved an extra pillow and blanket from his closet and went back to the couch. He gently maneuvered Harry into a more comfortable sleeping position, setting the pillow under his head and tucking the blanket around him. The glasses were removed and placed on the coffee table.

As Snape gazed down at his charge’s peacefully slumbering form, his smile faded. 

You should have told him, the guilt hissed. Told him how it's your fault his parents are dead.

It… wasn't a good time. Right now the kid needed to rest, to be comforted—not to carry another burden on his shoulders. Not to have his trust betrayed again. 

Coward, said the guilt.

“I know,” whispered Snape.

✦

Harry awoke the next morning feeling lighter and more refreshed than he had in a while. His dreams had been nothing but pleasant; no screaming or Voldemort or car accidents. He yawned and stretched, his hands hitting an armrest instead of the headboard of his bed. That's when the memories of last night came rushing back.

The Gryffindor’s eyes shot open and he bolted up. Embarrassment flooded his system as he absorbed the sight of the living room that was very much not his dorm and realized that yes, he had passed out on his professor’s sofa. 

A snore drew Harry’s attention to the armchair nearby. There the Potions Master was, sprawled across the furniture in a rather ungraceful fashion, one long leg thrown over the backrest. He was definitely going to get some kind of neck pain. Had Snape—no, Severus—stayed with him all night?

Harry did a quick check for his glasses and spotted them on the coffee table on top of a piece of paper. When he slipped them on, his vision focused enough to see that the paper was a note addressed to him. 

“Hey, Harry!” the message started off with. “If you happen to wake up and I’m knocked the hell heck out, wake me up too. Especially if you had another nightmare. Don’t feel bad about it! It’s no trouble to me at all. I want to help you. I do hope you have a good night though.” A little doodle of a smiley face marked the end of the note. 

Warmth blossomed in Harry’s chest and his lips quirked upwards to match the doodle. He looked towards his guardian again. The raven-haired man let out another snore. 

Five more minutes wouldn't hurt.

༻✦༺

Ever since the school term started, Dumbledore had chosen to invite Snape to his office for tea once a week. It had been his method to monitor the transformed professor; to regain the unspoken advantage he felt like he had lost in their relationship. 

Of course, it was awkward in the beginning. Dumbledore hadn't been sure what to make of Snape’s dramatic personality change. It was like talking to a stranger at first. However, with every interaction, he began to recognize more and more familiar traits in the wizard: his dry wit, the way he smirked, how he instinctively sniffed his drink before taking his first sip (a habit that came from being a Potions Master). He was Severus Snape, but a version of him who had taken the chance and opened his heart back up to the world. Different, yet familiar.

As time went on, Dumbledore found himself looking forward to their one-on-on soirées. They became a pleasant reward at the end of a stressful week. Snape had always been a scintillating conversation partner, even before the change to his demeanor. There were brief moments where the Headmaster wondered if he was falling for some elaborate trap, but seeing Snape’s bright, dimpled smile washed away those thoughts. 

Perhaps he truly was growing weak in his old age. 

“No offense, Albus, but I’m kind of hating this Licorice Snap era of yours,” the Potions Master remarked as he eyed the bowl of candy on Dumbledore’s desk. He attempted to grab a piece and flinched back as it tried to bite his fingers. “I don't understand the wizarding world’s obsession with making food that hurts you.” 

“It’s to add a little bit of excitement to the day,” said Dumbledore, reaching into the bowl and plucking out two snarling licorices with expert precision. He handed Snape one and saved the other for himself. “Poppy also scolded me about eating too many sweets, so this is my strategy for slowing my intake.” 

Snape arched his brow. “That didn't look very slow to me, but go off, I guess.” He popped the candy into his mouth and grimaced as he chewed. “Bleh… every time I think I should give licorice a try again, I regret it.”  

“You will appreciate it when you get older, my dear boy.”

The Head of Slytherin stuck his tongue out at his employer before devouring a blueberry biscuit to get rid of the licorice flavor. 

The duo had established a rhythm to their conversations over their many soirées. They bantered with each other while discussing a whole range of topics: from the news, to work, to knitting patterns, to questionable candy. The only time Snape seemed to shut down was when Dumbledore asked him anything about the other life he had dreamed. The catalyst to his metamorphosis. His eyes would grow distant and his answers would either be vague or he’d avoid the question completely. The Headmaster learned early on to be careful with that particular subject despite his burning curiosity. He wouldn't learn more if he drove Snape away. He just had to play it safe and hope the professor would eventually open up to him about it on his own. 

Dumbledore fished another Licorice Snap from the bowl. “How is young Harry doing?”

“Poor kid was having nightmares,” replied Snape as he gave the phoenix perched on his chair a scratch under the chin. “He’s been coming by to crash on my couch for the past few nights, which surprisingly seems to be helping. He only had to take a Dreamless Sleep potion once.” Fawkes nuzzled his fingers. “I guess the switch in environment is what he needed? I told him he can use my bed while I take the couch, but he refuses. Typical stubborn Gryffindor.” His voice was full of affection as he spoke. 

“You two seem to be bonding quite well,” hummed Dumbledore, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And to think you used to be at such odds not so long ago.”

Snape’s dimples disappeared. “I was bitter. Angry. I let it blind me… but I don't want to be that kind of animal anymore.” 

The resolve Dumbledore could sense burning in the other wizard reminded him of a night years ago when a silvery blue doe bounded around his office. When loyalty was sworn and a promise was made. Different, yet familiar. 

The Headmaster wondered if this is what fatherly pride felt like as he poured them both another cup of tea. He knew Snape would become flustered if he put it into words, so he left it unspoken. 

“Do you think your Patronus has taken on that ‘form’ because of your transformation?” he queried instead

“You mean the amorphous blob that can't decide on what kind of animal it wants to be and is definitely a metaphor for my bullshit?” The younger wizard huffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Probably.” 

Ah, yes. There was some of that sarcasm Dumbledore had come to know so well. 

“You don't seem as concerned about it as I expected,” he couldn't help but press. The doe had been a symbol of the Potions Master’s love for Lily Potter. Something that had been one of the driving forces behind his life. It was hard to say whether his Patronus’s current formless state boded well or not. 

Snape shrugged. “To be honest, it's the least of my worries right now. I'd be freaking out more if it wasn’t functioning at all, but it still does the job.” He took a sip from his cup. “Speaking of jobs, how’s the search for a new D.A.D.A. teacher going?” 

It was clear that the Slytherin was trying to redirect the topic. He wasn't even attempting to hide it. Dumbledore would have kept prying if he didn't also wish to discuss the Defense Against the Dark Arts situation. 

“I believe I’ve found a good candidate for the position,” he started. “However, he comes with some caveats.” This would be a test of his Potions Master’s composure—to see how far his transformation went.

“That’s ominous as hell,” Snape deadpanned, already not looking thrilled. 

“It’s Remus Lupin.” 

The Headmaster searched Snape’s face for any sort of reaction. All he received was a slow blink. 

“Okay,” said the professor. 

Dumbledore’s brow wrinkled, his expectations once again defied. “You’re truly alright with this, Severus? I know you and Lupin don't have the most pleasant past.”  

“What happened at that shack wasn't his fault. I’m not going to hold it against him,” the raven-haired man stated with a dismissive wave. “If I was going to blame him for anything, it’d be for keeping crappy friends.” 

The casualness in which Snape brushed aside the event that had almost led to his death as a child was concerning, but Dumbledore knew he had no right to comment on it. He had come to regret the way he had handled that incident. Not providing Lupin proper resources… letting Potter and Black off with only a slap on the wrist despite almost killing a fellow student… completely neglecting Snape, a victim of bullying who had just experienced something traumatic… 

The Headmaster of Hogwarts had come to regret a lot of his choices as of late. 

“If you need me to brew the Wolfsbane potion for him, that won't be an issue either,” continued Snape. His finger tapped against his chin thoughtfully. “Might be able to make improvements to it too,” he half-mumbled to himself

Another surge of pride broke through Dumbledore’s inner lamentations. “That’s wonderful to hear, my dear boy.” He signaled for Fawkes to fly over to him so he could feed him a piece of biscuit. “Nothing is set in stone yet; I still haven't tracked Lupin down to offer him the position. I wanted to run the idea by you first to assure you were comfortable with it. Brewing the Wolfsbane potion on a regular basis will not be an easy task, especially with how busy you are.”

“Staying busy helps stave off my crippling anxiety,” said Snape in a cheery tone. “Anywho, whether Lupin accepts or not, we should probably do something about the curse on the job first.” 

Dumbledore paused, his tea halfway raised to his lips. “Curse? You know that's just a rumor, Severus.”

Silence. The Slytherin gave him his most dispassionate stare. After an awkward twenty seconds of this, Dumbledore sighed. “I’ve had Curse-Breakers look into it before. I’ve even investigated it myself. We’ve all come to the same conclusion: the jinx can only be lifted once the caster is dead.” 

“Let’s try again,” suggested Snape, leaning forward in his chair. “Get a good Curse-Breaker in here and give it another shot. I’ll help too. Curse-breaking isn't exactly my wheelhouse, but more eyes can't hurt.” His determination was clear. “Even if we can't totally dispel the jinx, there must be something we can do.” 

Dumbledore tilted his head. “You’ve never addressed this before. Do you care for Lupin that much?” 

Snape put his flushed face in his hands and muttered, “Jesus Christ, why is everybody attacking me like this,” before looking back up at the older wizard. “It’s not just about Lupin. It’s about the students too. Their education is getting screwed over because of that stupid jinx. Learning how to defend themselves is pretty friggin’ important right now with how shit is going.” The professor let the implication hang in the air for a moment, then concluded, “That's why I think we should try again.”

The Headmaster stroked his beard as he contemplated the suggestion. The D.A.D.A. position was getting harder and harder to fill as its cursed reputation spread. It would be nice not to worry about finding a new teacher for it every year and the students would certainly benefit from having a stable curriculum. If they were successful in removing the jinx, that is. 

“I have some connections at Gringotts whom I can contact,” Dumbledore finally said. “I shall see if they’re willing to send over a Curse-Breaker of theirs.” 

He had one in particular in mind. A goblin Curse-Breaker who had decades of experience. Last he heard, she was stationed in Egypt and had taken on a young protégé. 

As Snape beamed at him, Dumbledore allowed himself to feel a bit of optimism. Perhaps they would have better luck this time.

༻✦༺

“Oi, Lupin! I need this area tilled too!” 

“Yes, sir,” responded Lupin through gritted teeth. He rolled his shoulders, wincing as his aching muscles made their displeasure known. With a sigh, he plodded over to the plot of soil he had been directed to and began working. 

Satisfied that Lupin had followed his orders, the shift supervisor went back to slacking off on a log with the other tree farm laborers, chatting and having a smoke. Of the many, many jobs the werewolf had acquired over the years, these coworkers were some of the less ideal ones.

At least you’re getting paid soon, he thought, trying to look on the bright side. Normally a paycheck would be enough to lift his spirits, but even that was failing him today. 

He wasn't surprised. His depression tended to be at its worst in October. It was the month where he lost the people closest to him after all. 

He hoped Harry was doing alright. The child would be in his… Second Year? Yes, that's right. From what Lupin had heard, the boy was a lot like his father. A lot like James. Merlin, he was already twelve. So many birthdays missed.

Lupin wished he could be there for Harry, he truly did, but the shame and grief kept him from reaching out. He couldn't even bring himself to write a letter. He was pathetic. A coward. 

The hoe slammed into the earth, the tool almost snapping in half. The werewolf bit back the snarl that had built up in his throat. He hadn't realized how tightly he had been gripping the handle. It was getting too close to the full moon. He needed to calm down. Think of something else before he lost this job as well.

“Has everybody heard about that professor at Hogwarts?” 

Lupin’s ears perked up, focusing on the conversation his coworkers were having. 

“You mean the one that fought the manticore? Yeah, most of us have heard of him at this point with how he’s been all over the papers. Bloke’s name is Snape, I think.”

It took all of Lupin’s willpower to not have his jaw drop open. If he had wanted a distraction from the depressing thoughts, then he bloody got one. He hadn’t exactly kept up with the news as of late, being too preoccupied with just surviving day to day. Snape had done what now?

“He slayed a full grown basilisk that was under the school a little while ago too.” 

“Damn, what I would've given to watch a fight like that!”

“I wouldn't be that excited about it if I were a parent. Two monster attacks in such a short amount of time makes me question whether Hogwarts is really safe or not.” 

“Well, if all the professors are like that Snape fellow, then there's not much to worry about, innit?”

It was impossible. The Potions Master he knew wouldn't do something so dangerous, so risky, so Gryffindor. That man was a Slytherin through and through, for better and for worse.

Lupin would have left it there if it weren't for that single moment in Diagon Alley. Where his gaze had locked with obsidian eyes through a dwindling crowd of people. Eyes he’d thought he had finally gotten out of his head.

It had been the briefest of glimpses, but it was all Lupin needed to tell that something had changed in Severus Snape. 

That evening, after the werewolf had trudged back to the shack he called home, he brought in the issues of the Daily Prophet that had been piling up by his door. He unrolled an older one and was hit with the front page headline of “The Chamber of Secrets Discovered by Hogwarts Professor!”

He opened another. “How Did Severus Snape Slay the Serpent of Slytherin? Expert Magizoologist Tells All.”

“Hero Professor Protects Hogwarts From Manticore! Gilderoy Lockhart Found Guilty!”

The more Lupin read, the more he felt his reality unraveling. How had he not heard about any of this? Had he been that lost in the depressing monotony of his life these past few months?

His attention was dragged away from the newspapers by a sudden knock at his door. He stood up from the table to answer it, but then hesitated. This shack was on the edge of the woods, far from the other houses in this village. Nobody needed to come around this area other than himself. The only visitors he ever received were the occasional owl. 

A bit more cautious now, Lupin double-checked that his wand was in his pocket before he approached the door. He opened it just a crack and peeked through. His precautions flew out the window when he realized who his visitor was. 

“Hello, Remus,” said Albus Dumbledore brightly, “I have a proposition for you.”