The sky hung low and grey, like soot smeared across glass. Autumn was creeping toward winter, and the halls of Hogwarts had grown chillier, despite the ever-burning torches. Severus Snape walked the length of the dungeon corridor with long, even strides, his robes whispering behind him. His fingers, half-tucked into his sleeves, itched for his wand, not out of threat — just habit.
Since the Chamber incident, students had quieted somewhat. But the silence was deceptive. Gossip still flitted behind closed doors. Eyes still followed Harry Potter like he bore a second lightning scar.
And Severus had been watching too.
He had lived through the rise of Voldemort once. And he had died at the end of that nightmare. Coming back with memories of betrayal and regret had shifted something deep inside him. Now, his steps were less driven by vengeance and more by a cold, meticulous purpose: prevent what must not happen again.
That, and…
His thoughts paused when he saw the pair walking just ahead.
Harry Potter, hands tucked in his sleeves, was walking beside Draco Malfoy — again. Close enough to be noticed. Far enough not to be questioned. And Draco, sharp-eyed as ever, was saying something low that made Harry smirk.
Snape narrowed his eyes.
Something was forming between those two. Something unspoken, perhaps not even conscious. He wasn't sure if it was a dangerous thing yet.
Or worse — a familiar thing.
He turned on his heel and stepped into his classroom. His eyes scanned the room quickly. Shelves lined with ingredients, jars clinking slightly in the draft. He flicked his wand and the fireplace roared to life. Warmth flooded in, but it did little to touch his bones.
The door creaked open not long after.
"Professor Snape," came Draco's voice, carefully neutral.
Snape glanced up. "Mr. Malfoy."
Harry followed behind, staying silent but alert.
"We were wondering," Draco began, glancing sideways at Harry, "if we could request a few additional hours in the potions lab. For... extra credit."
Snape raised a brow. "Extra credit?"
Harry shrugged, his expression half sheepish. "We missed a few classes during the whole... basilisk thing."
"Indeed," Snape said, voice dry as bone. "And it took near-death experiences for Mr. Potter to finally care about coursework."
Draco smirked. Harry looked away, embarrassed but not offended.
Snape waved them in. "Fine. But I will not hold your hand. The ingredients are clearly labeled. You will clean every flask you use. If I find as much as one scorched cauldron—"
"We'll fix it," Harry said quickly.
Snape gave a short nod, then returned to his own desk in the far corner. He kept his eyes on the parchments before him but listened carefully.
They worked surprisingly well together.
Draco corrected Harry once, and Harry didn't snap back. Instead, he stirred again and asked if it looked right. Draco muttered something Snape couldn't quite hear. It ended with Harry laughing under his breath.
It was… unsettling.
Not because it was dangerous, but because it wasn't.
Snape sat back in his chair, fingers steepled. The old world was gone. What rose from the ashes of the last war could not be the same.
He would make sure of it.
---
The next morning, Severus found himself summoned by Dumbledore.
The headmaster's office smelled of lemon drops and time. Albus was by the window, his half-moon spectacles perched low, peering out over the grounds.
"You've noticed them, haven't you?" Dumbledore asked softly.
Snape didn't need to ask who. "I'm observing."
Dumbledore turned, a knowing glint in his eye. "You're doing more than that. You're worrying."
"I worry when boys walk blindly toward fire," Snape said coldly. "And I've seen Harry Potter walk into too many."
Dumbledore didn't laugh. "And if he finds someone who can hold his hand as he walks through?"
Snape stiffened.
"Draco Malfoy is not the boy I'd have chosen," he said, "but I suppose neither was Potter."
Albus gave a soft sigh. "They're children, Severus. And you're not here to stop the wind. Only to teach them how to fly through it."
Snape said nothing. He stood still, feeling the weight of his robes, the pressure of years lived twice. He wasn't just a teacher anymore. He was a ghost, trying to right the sins of the living.
---
Down in the Slytherin common room, Draco sat on the sofa, flipping through a Potions text with his legs drawn up. Crabbe and Goyle had long since drifted off to bed. Pansy was arguing in the corner with Millicent. Blaise was watching him from across the room, sharp as ever.
"Potter again?" Blaise said lazily.
Draco didn't look up. "He's not as dumb as you all make him out to be."
Blaise quirked an eyebrow. "I didn't say he was dumb. Just—unexpected."
Draco shut the book. "So what?"
"So nothing." Blaise smiled. "Just don't fall too deep. He's Gryffindor. They burn fast."
Draco didn't reply.
But that night, when he dreamed, it wasn't fire he saw.
It was green — deep forest green — and the way Harry had looked at him when he got the stirring exactly right.
---
From the shadows of the corridor, Severus watched them again two days later.
Harry was helping Draco adjust his bag strap, something about a torn seam. Nothing romantic. Nothing suspicious.
But still, Snape's gaze lingered.
He'd seen how love turned people inside out. How it had torn Lily from him and left him a walking hollow.
He wouldn't interfere.
But he'd watch. Because sometimes, the wrong turn doesn't look wrong at all — until you've fallen halfway down the cliff.
And yet… sometimes, a boy who's always falling needs someone to catch him, even if neither knows it yet.
Snape's fingers twitched again, not for his wand — but for a cigarette he no longer smoked.