There was something peculiar about the way Potter's eyes followed Malfoy lately.
Snape wasn't oblivious to it. He noticed patterns where others saw only teenage squabbles. Harry's gaze linger too long, too often. Sometimes, there was hostility in it—but other times, something quieter. Hesitation. Confusion. Snape had seen that kind of look before. In mirrors. In corridors. On faces that were unsure whether to loathe or understand.
And Draco, for all his usual arrogance, didn't seem unaffected. He was sharper with Harry than he was with anyone else. Almost… reactive.
Snape folded his arms as he surveyed his classroom during the third Potions lesson of the week. He'd purposefully paired Potter and Malfoy together again. It earned glares from both boys, but neither dared protest aloud—not this time.
They worked in taut silence. Stirring. Measuring. Avoiding each other's eyes, only to look when the other wasn't watching.
Hermione whispered instructions over Ron's shoulder, but her attention flicked toward Harry's desk more than once. Weasley, meanwhile, looked like he was either going to fall asleep or explode in irritation.
Snape took slow, deliberate steps past each table, letting his presence simmer like the potion fumes in the air.
When he stopped behind Harry and Draco, neither of them noticed at first. They were mid-dispute over the stirring direction.
"I said clockwise, Malfoy."
"It's counterclockwise for this step. Try reading the actual instructions, Potter. Or did that scar scramble your comprehension?"
Snape's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Fascinating. Such enthusiasm for teamwork. Perhaps you'd both like to lead the demonstration in tomorrow's class?"
Their heads snapped up simultaneously. Harry opened his mouth—likely to argue—but Snape raised a hand.
"Silence, Potter. Any more brilliance from either of you, and I'll pair you for the entire term."
He walked on, though not without noticing the flicker of panic in Draco's expression. And something else—something unreadable in Harry's.
Snape returned to his desk, steepling his fingers and watching them over the tops of his hands. He remembered how little he had understood Harry in the original timeline—how easily he had made assumptions based on James Potter's face and a pile of teenage grudges. It was… uncomfortable to acknowledge, even now.
But he was here to change things.
And change required understanding.
That night, Snape sat in his quarters, quill scratching over a small parchment log he'd begun keeping. Not about lesson plans—he had those memorized. No, this was something far more personal.
A log of divergence.
He recorded moments. Differences. Anything he had done that wasn't part of the original timeline. Harry's confused glances. Dumbledore's quiet scrutiny. The subtle shift in Draco's posture during Defense Against the Dark Arts.
He paused mid-sentence.
A knock at the door.
He didn't receive visitors.
Snape stood with cautious fluidity, wand at his side, and opened it a sliver.
Draco Malfoy stood there. Pale. Uncomfortable.
"Professor," he said quickly. "I—I'm sorry. I know it's late."
Snape blinked, then opened the door wider, gesturing him in.
"What is it, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco stepped inside, his eyes darting toward the shelves of books and the low-burning fire.
"I just… I wanted to ask you something." He hesitated. "About Potter."
Snape raised a brow, intrigued.
"What about him?"
Draco frowned. "You keep pairing us together. Is that your way of punishing me, or him?"
"Neither," Snape said smoothly. "You are both intelligent. It's logical."
Draco didn't seem convinced. "He's reckless. And annoying. But he—"
Snape said nothing. He watched. Waited.
Draco hesitated again, eyes shifting. "—he keeps looking at me. Like he knows something I don't. Or like I've done something wrong that I don't remember doing."
Snape studied him in silence.
"And have you?"
Draco blinked. "No! I mean—no, not… intentionally."
Interesting.
Snape didn't respond immediately. Instead, he walked over to his desk and poured a small glass of water, setting it down beside Draco.
"You're not the only one who notices," he said finally. "But perhaps, rather than overanalyze it, you should ask yourself why it matters."
Draco looked up, startled. "It doesn't—"
"Then you wouldn't be here."
Draco opened his mouth, then closed it.
Snape gave him a long, appraising look.
"Go back to your dormitory, Mr. Malfoy. Sleep."
Draco nodded, muttered something that sounded like "Thank you," and left.
When the door clicked shut behind him, Snape stared at it for a long moment.
He returned to his journal, dipped his quill again, and beneath the last entry, wrote:
> Malfoy visited. Asked about Potter. This never happened before.
Then, as if compelled by instinct, he added a line underneath in tighter script:
> They are changing each other.
And perhaps, if Snape guided things just right—he could change them too.