There were whispers in the walls of Hogwarts again.
Low and slithering, like snakes mouthing secrets through the pipes. No one noticed them at first—not the Prefects, not the Professors. But Severus heard them. Of course he did.
He'd been hearing things ever since Lucius.
Ever since Lillian had turned him in.
Ever since Voldemort had walked—not risen, but walked—into the Forbidden Forest with a wand already ready.
There were no dreams anymore.
Only instructions.
The Dungeons
Snape moved in silence through the Slytherin corridors, his cloak trailing like smoke. There were bruises hidden beneath the high collar of his robes—not from battles. Not from duels.
They were Lucius's reminders.
Trophies of domination. Of powerplay. Of betrayal dressed in silk.
And Lillian… Lillian, the wide-eyed, soft-voiced boy who used to sit beside him in Potions, had testified. Coldly. Clearly.
As if he were reading from a scroll.
"Yes. I saw Severus hand the vial to Lucius. It wasn't an accident."
He hadn't handed anything to Lucius.
But Lillian had said it anyway.
And now the Aurors were circling.
Dumbledore had looked him in the eye the next morning at breakfast.
There was lemon in the old man's tea and suspicion in his smile.
"A heavy darkness grows around you, Severus," he said softly.
"I didn't put it there," Severus replied.
Dumbledore's eyes glinted. "No. But you attract it. Like a lightning rod."
The Great Hall was quiet that day.
Even Sirius hadn't looked at him. Not after what James told him.
"Snape's been talking to Him, Black," James had hissed. "The Dark Lord. You want your family targeted next?"
Everyone was drawing lines in the stone floor now.
Meanwhile...
In the Restricted Section, Lillian brewed.
Hands steady. Eyes dead.
This wasn't a love potion.
It wasn't a healing draught.
It was something much older.
Something forbidden even in Knockturn Alley.
Blackroot venom, infused with dragon bile. Laced with the blood of betrayal.
The potion shimmered a deep, unforgiving green.
He didn't speak as he poured it into a ring.
A ring Severus once gave him, during quieter days.
He sealed it shut.
And smiled.
Lucius Strikes
Three nights later, Severus returned to his dormitory and found his bed slashed to ribbons.
His trunk upended.
The words "FILTH" and "TRAITOR" scorched across the canopy in ash-black cursefire.
He didn't ask who did it.
He already knew.
And Lucius?
Lucius was waiting in the Astronomy Tower, wand twirling casually, pale face lit by moonlight.
"Feeling exposed?" he said lazily.
"I should hex you off this tower," Severus muttered.
Lucius stepped closer. "You wouldn't. You're not me."
"Thank Merlin."
Lucius grinned—cold and empty. "And yet, somehow, they all believe you were the villain."
He turned and walked away.
Severus stood there for hours.
The Spark
That same night, a fire broke out in the Greenhouses.
It wasn't an accident.
The Mandrakes had been uprooted. The Boomslang skin reserve stolen.
Someone left a note, scrawled in dripping ink:
"For every truth buried, another will burn."
McGonagall found Severus walking back from the scene.
Soaked. Silent.
She said nothing.
But the next morning, there was a parchment slipped under his bed.
"Tower. Midnight. Come alone."
Signed: L.
The Meeting
The clock struck twelve.
Severus climbed the stairs alone.
No wand.
No plan.
Only anger and exhaustion in equal measure.
He opened the tower door—
And found Lillian waiting. Candle in hand. Ring on finger.
Behind him, the door sealed with a locking charm.
"This doesn't have to go how you think it will," Lillian said.
"Then tell me how it will," Severus replied.
Lillian didn't blink.
He raised the hand with the cursed ring.
"We rewrite it."
And the candlelight flickered, casting shadows that danced like puppets on the stone.