Blood magic is a truly extraordinary thing.
When Harry Potter was a boy, wizards would often make pilgrimages to Privet Drive to catch a glimpse of the "Boy Who Lived," eager to see the lightning-shaped scar that marked his heroic tale.
Harry's uncle, Vernon, was deeply rattled by these odd visitors. They came with bizarre pets, owls swooping through the sky, and some even hugged Harry, muttering strange words like "Muggle" that he couldn't understand.
Even more unsettling were the snippets of conversation Vernon overheard: "The Potters, yes, I heard…" "…their son, Harry…" It drove him up the wall. (Original text)
Yet, despite all this, Voldemort and his Death Eaters could never pinpoint where Harry and his relatives were hiding.
This protection would hold until Harry turned seventeen or until he no longer considered his aunt and uncle family.
"It's not as remarkable as it seems," Snape explained, detailing how the magic worked and mentioning similar spells.
"Safe houses that no one can find unless invited by the owner, wizarding territories warded with Muggle-Repelling Charms that Muggles can never enter without a wizard's guidance, the Fidelius Charm that keeps a house hidden unless the Secret-Keeper spills the truth…"
There were plenty of examples.
Spells like safe houses and the Fidelius Charm create a kind of "temporary social severance" tied to a physical space, with a fairy-tale-like charm: lock yourself in, and the world can't touch you.
Lockhart found this concept easy to grasp.
He had a dark magical creature as a pet—a "Sack Cloak." It worked on a similar principle. He was certain that as long as no one cast a Patronus Charm or other spells targeting the creature, hiding inside its red cloak would render him invisible, even to Voldemort or Dumbledore.
But dark magic creatures earned their name for a reason. Hiding in the Sack Cloak meant it would slowly erode your mind, trying to consume and digest you.
"Exactly," Snape nodded. "Magic like this always comes with a price."
"I heard Nicolas Flamel, terrified of death, often hid in safe houses. Over time, he developed a kind of aversion to prolonging his life, which led him to abandon the Philosopher's Stone and let his life end."
So, what was the price of blood magic?
Snape's answer was simple: "Loneliness."
His head bowed, his expression hidden, his voice hoarse. "We tell ourselves it's for their own good, using magic to keep them away from certain people. But in the end, we find they're pulling away from us, too."
"The human heart is so complex we can't measure it. We can't quantify how much we love someone or how much they love us."
"In The Captive Lover, the person who hated the witch most was the very lover whose soul she'd imprisoned."
He looked up, his eyes hollow as they met Lockhart's. "Cast blood magic, and you'll watch your family's love for you fade—replaced by resentment, hatred, or worse, complete indifference."
"Yes, indifference. In the end, the only thing we sever is our own connection to them. That's the cost of this dark magic."
"Lily was clever," he continued. "Her blood magic was set to last only until Harry came of age or until the bond with his relatives broke. That protected both Harry and the love between Lily and her family, amplifying the spell's power."
"She knew restraint."
Snape's lips tightened. "I couldn't do that. I didn't want my parents to face any harm, even if it meant they'd hate me, even if I had to bear the pain of loneliness…"
"Gilderoy, if I weren't traveling with you this Christmas to protect the kids, I'd be at Spinner's End, in my old home, enduring that lonely trial."
Talking about Lily, Harry, his parents, his pain…
Snape was rarely this open, his words tinged with both solitude and anguish.
Maybe…
Maybe he was starting to see Lockhart as a friend.
Maybe…
He was trying to step out from the shadow of his own "Sack Cloak."
The world wasn't just about romantic or familial love—there was friendship, too. For a lonely soul like Snape, friendship was the perfect balance: not so close it bared his heart and triggered his defenses, but not so distant it felt like cold calculation.
In some ways, Snape and Dumbledore were strikingly similar. Both bore the weight of estranged families and tortured love lives, finding solace in friendship.
Dumbledore had his confidante, Professor McGonagall. And now, at thirty-three, Snape seemed to have found his first true friend—not too late, after all.
The tea in their cups had somehow turned to rich, heady wine. On this quiet afternoon, with most Hogwarts students gone for the holidays, the sunlight was perfect, the breeze intoxicating.
When magic weaves into every facet of life, wizards on the true path of magic must face a harsh reality: their magic and their lives are in constant tension.
Or rather…
Magic's power blooms from the heart, a struggle between one's soul and actions.
Life's complexities often have clear answers, but people shy away from them because they're too hard to face.
Not everyone can bravely walk the right path—it's too cruel to themselves.
Being cruel to others is easy. Being cruel to yourself? That's hard.
"Dark magic is like that," Snape said calmly. "It grants us incredible power beyond our control, but it torments us in return. That's the price we pay."
He spoke of dark magic with a surprising peace. "I've never thought loving dark magic was wrong. To me, it's true wizarding magic. It gives me a… what do you call it?"
He paused, then used Lockhart's phrase. "Very magical, very wizardly experience."
"Did Lily really pull away from me because of my love for dark magic?" Snape hadn't drunk much, but his eyes were hazy, gazing out the window as if seeing something distant. "This world is so vile, always slapping labels on people. What's worse is, sometimes we have to play along."
"Studying dark magic makes you an evil dark wizard? Means you must support 'pure-blood supremacy'? Means you have to follow You-Know-Who?"
Snape let out a bitter laugh, mocking others—or perhaps himself. "It doesn't make sense, does it? But that's how it works. If you don't buy into 'pure-blood supremacy,' you're shut out from the advanced magical knowledge controlled by pure-blood families. You can't access the information you crave."
"You even have to act a little wicked, do some awful things, or they won't take you seriously."
"And yet, dark magic erodes our hearts, pushing us to do those very things."
"We find release in cruelty, pleasure, and pain. I was smart enough to realize I couldn't let myself sink into that malice—I had to fight it. But that only made the pain worse."
"I chose a brutally difficult path in magic…"
He turned to Lockhart, his face etched with bitterness. "But sometimes fate loves to mock us. I know, deep down, this is the path for me."
Lockhart sipped his wine, then asked, "Do you ever want to escape it? Even if it meant escaping through… death?"
Snape didn't answer.
He swayed, head bowed, as if completely drunk. After a long silence, he murmured, "I don't know. The path of magic is too hard. It tests my heart relentlessly. I can't be strong. I just… can't."
Hard?
Not really. Be strong, face the pain. Simple.
But simple truths are one thing—living them is another. When magic permeates every moment of life, how many can truly endure?
Dumbledore?
Even he couldn't. Talking about "death as a great adventure," he still gave in to exhaustion, fleeing a world of pain with grand words.
After his death, Grindelwald followed, dying without any desire to cling to life. Did Aberforth, who always claimed to hate his brother, truly rejoice at his passing?
"I can't do it either," Lockhart sighed, stroking the golden-furred monkey on his lap, admitting he'd be just as lost. "No wonder they say, 'Wise men don't fall in love.'"
"Wise men don't fall in love?" Snape muttered, then burst into laughter. "Wise men don't fall in love!"
Can't break free, can't escape, can't hold on, yet unwilling to let go.
For some, love is worse than a curse—they willingly drown in it.
Painful, but they'd rather endure the pain.
Lockhart said nothing. Snape didn't need judgment or advice. He just needed someone to listen, to hear the words he'd bottled up for countless days and nights.
As dusk settled, the two sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts.
Snape leaned against the windowsill, staring at the moonlight, his drunken eyes unfocused.
He saw things clearer than most. Lily didn't choose him, and no amount of abandoning his passion for magic or his ambitions would've changed that. Without James Potter, there'd have been someone else—but never him.
They weren't right for each other. He could feel she didn't love him that way.
Back at Hogwarts, as a professor watching young witches and wizards fall in and out of love, year after year, even the densest person would've understood after a decade.
His path was one of pain, inescapable. The only way forward was courage.
He'd nearly lost that spark, living like a walking corpse.
But Lockhart had told him he might have the power to take on Voldemort…
So, he'd muster that courage again, walking his path—Lily's despised dark magic path.
Using dark magic to avenge her…
A twisted thrill rose in his chest. Lily, watch me. I'll use dark magic to kill the Dark Lord. Just watch!
Even if fighting dark magic's corruption was excruciating.
Lockhart was lost in his own thoughts.
Dumbledore had said love makes life eternal, holding it together.
Snape said love shatters life, leaving it incomplete.
And then, a wild idea struck Lockhart: infuse that love into Tom Riddle's diary Horcrux!
Like the tale of "The Warlock's Hairy Heart" from The Tales of Beedle the Bard, where a wizard locked his heart in a box to shield it from emotion, only to find it growing fur inside.
Voldemort, you locked your childhood self, little Tom, in that diary. It's growing fur, too!
Heh, Lockhart couldn't wait to see what would happen.
Would it break through Voldemort's emotional walls?
Or shake his unshakable attachment to Hogwarts, his "home," and lift the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post?
He was eager to find out.