One evening, as Gilderoy followed Flitwick toward the seventh floor, he felt eyes on his back. The faint shuffle of footsteps confirmed it. Without breaking stride, he let his gaze flicker toward the shadows of the corridor.
Hooked nose. Black robes. Severus Snape. The man hiding in the shadows of the seventh floor corridor, as silent as smoke.
The Room of Requirement opened for Flitwick and him, but even as the door closed, Gilderoy smirked. Time to make new friends.
---
The next morning, Gilderoy spotted him across the Great Hall. Snape sat hunched at the corner of the staff table, pale fingers curling around a goblet, silently tearing at a piece of bread. I should greet him now.
Sliding onto the bench beside him, he said lightly, "You know, Severus, you're not half as stealthy as you think. If you'd wanted to know what I was up to with Flitwick, you could've asked me directly instead of skulking in shadows."
Snape froze, then turned slowly, dark eyes narrowing into slits.
Gilderoy waved him off with disarming cheer. "Relax. No need to spy. Flitwick's training me in duelling. That's all."
Snape's expression flickered, suspicion tempered with reluctant curiosity.
"Actually," Gilderoy continued, lowering his voice, "why don't we make it more interesting? Duel me. Both of us could use the practice."
The following evening, in an empty classroom.Snape stood across from him, robes still and wand steady, but Gilderoy could see it—the subtle stiffness in his stance, the way his fingers twitched with barely contained nerves.
"Ready?" Gilderoy asked lightly.
Snape gave a curt nod.
"Expelliarmus!"
Snape reacted a heartbeat too late. His Shield Charm rose—functional, but shaky around the edges. Gilderoy didn't press, giving him space to recover.
They circled, wands raised.
Snape struck first, a sharp, precise hex—but it lacked weight. Gilderoy parried with an ease that made Snape's eyes narrow.
"Again," Snape hissed.
He fired a string of curses, faster this time, his instincts kicking in. But Gilderoy moved like he was skating through the duel—fluid, quick, controlled. Every time Snape gained ground, Gilderoy gave just enough resistance to keep the fight going… but never enough to reveal the full extent of his power.
Snape noticed.His gaze hardened. "You're holding back."
"Maybe," Gilderoy said with a shrug. "Maybe you're just slow."
Snape lunged again, spells snapping like whips.
But a quick feint, a flash of Lumos Maxima, and—
"Stupefy."
Snape hit the ground, stunned.
Gilderoy revived him with a quiet, "Enervate."
Snape pushed himself up, breathing hard, pride bruised and eyes dark with the unspoken realization: Lockhart had controlled the duel from the first spell.
Before Snape could speak, Gilderoy raised his wand again—not threatening, but firm.
"Wait," Gilderoy said, keeping his wand trained on Snape. "Before we go further—answer me honestly. Swear it in the name of magic: you did not directly harm innocents as a Death Eater."
I know now—after long hours in the library, magical oaths were real. Not fanon. Not myth. Magic itself enforced them.
Snape's dark eyes narrowed with the sudden, out-of-the-blue questioning. He raised his wand, intending to fight through the interrogation, but Gilderoy's reflexes were lightning-fast. With a flick and a precise spell, he disarmed Snape again, sending the wand clattering across the floor.
Snape's jaw tightened, but after a tense moment, he met Gilderoy's gaze. "I am serving the Dark Lord," he admitted quietly, "and my contributions were… indirect. Potions, supplies… but I never struck directly. I swear it in the name of magic that I did not harm innocents directly. I am currently spying for Headmaster Dumbledore."
Wtf did he just say—spying for Dumbledore?
But Harry isn't even born yet!
It's 1979!
Then why? Why would Snape go to Dumbledore now—without a prophecy hanging over his head? Was it guilt? Fear? Or did something happen that I didn't know about?
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Was this because of ME? Because I transmigrated into Lockhart's body when I shouldn't have?
"I don't care which side you serve, Severus. Play both ends if you want—Dark or Light, that's your business. But if you ever harm innocents, I will come for you. No excuses. No second chances. Swear you understand me."
Then—slowly—Snape inclined his head. A trace of respect flickered across his expression, however faint. He could feel the danger in Lockhart, controlled yet lethal, and that was what made the warning real.
"Understood," he said quietly. Not fear. Not submission. Just acknowledgement—because Lockhart had given him a line even Dumbledore never drew so clearly.
Gilderoy finally lowered his wand, tension easing. "Good. Then… we're not enemies. Not today."
Snape rose, taking back his wand with care, still cautious but a faint glimmer of respect showing.
Gilderoy smirked. "You're a good duellist, Severus. I'm impressed."
Snape's eyes flickered, lips twitching almost like a smirk. "And you… Lockhart, are not entirely insufferable."
"Potions isn't for me," Gilderoy admitted cheerfully. "Too finicky. I'd rather blast things. But you? You've got the head for it."
Snape's lip curled. "Finicky, indeed… not everyone has the knack, dunderhead." Yet the insult carried no venom. After a pause, he added stiffly, "Yet… you're decent at duelling as well, Lockhart."
Ahhh, the classic Snape phrase 'dunderhead'. There we go. Friendship sealed with mutual respect.
Then, with mock solemnity: "Now, since we're friends, any chance I get discounts on your potions? Or better yet, free?"
Snape blinked, momentarily dumbfounded at the audacity. Just a moment ago, Lockhart was interrogating him at WANDPOINT.
Gilderoy clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Severus. I, Gilderoy, will support you in whatever you need. But you've got to keep duelling with me whenever we're both free. Deal?"
Against his better judgement, Snape reluctantly inclined his head in agreement.
And, their strange friendship formed. Whenever time permitted, they met in secret to duel, Lockhart showing him some techniques Flitwick taught him, Snape revealing some of the creative spells he'd invented himself. Slowly, respect replaced suspicion. Gilderoy's repertoire grew as he learned new spells from Snape.
I probably don't have to worry about Snape betraying me. He's too deep in his obsession with Lily Potter for that.
If anything, he seems to loathe Voldemort—not out of righteousness, but disgust. Disgust at the mass slaughter, at the orders to brew things even he can't fully stomach.
The hatred for Muggles is still there—etched into him by his father's abuse—but it doesn't seem to rule every decision anymore. Voldemort might have once fed on that bitterness, twisted it into loyalty. But now… maybe guilt is starting to outweigh it. Maybe Lily is the line he can't cross.
Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.
Time will tell.
Gilderoy let the thought settle. If anything could shift a man like Snape, it wouldn't be lectures or redemption speeches—it would be distance. Time away from Hogwarts. Real work. Real people. Seeing, slowly and on his own terms, that the world beyond the castle wasn't shaped like his father's shadow.
It wasn't a solution.
But it would be a start.
---
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