Harry Potter stood quietly to one side, curiosity burning in his chest, though he didn't dare voice it. The Boy Who Lived had grown wary over the years, and Erwin unnerved him in a way few things did.
It wasn't just respect or gratitude—though he felt both in spades. Erwin had pulled him from the brink more times than he could count, shaping him into the wizard he was today. Harry admired the older boy's effortless command, envied it even, and dreamed of stepping into that same role. But beneath it all lurked fear. No longer the wide-eyed newcomer to the wizarding world, Harry knew too much now. He'd heard the whispers: the Yaxley family, an ancient pure-blood line, erased overnight. Draco's tales of the Cavendish clan's influence, echoed in Muggle-world rumors, only deepened the chill. How could he not be afraid?
After what felt like an eternity—but was only forty minutes—Erwin glanced at his watch. Lily's soul could linger for just an hour. Whatever heartfelt reunion unfolded inside the Headmaster's office, it was time to cut it short. Harry still needed handling, and Severus's loose tongue might spark another needless rift with Harry. Better to head it off.
Erwin rapped lightly on the office door. "Godfather, I've brought Harry."
The door swung open moments later. Erwin turned to Harry. "Go on in. The person you've been waiting to see is waiting."
Harry stepped inside, questions swirling unspoken. Erwin stayed put, unwilling to intrude on a mother and son's tearful embrace. Or perhaps it was simpler: he didn't want to confront his own buried envy.
He turned to leave, but Snape emerged just then, his expression unusually serene.
"Godfather?" Erwin asked doubtfully. "Why are you out here?"
Snape shrugged. "Let them have their time."
Erwin studied him closely. The perpetual shadow that clung to Snape like a second skin had lifted, revealing a man almost... at peace. Could Lily's presence truly banish years of gloom so easily? The bond of childhood sweethearts, finally confronted after all this time.
Snape paused, then met Erwin's gaze. "Erwin, thank you."
Erwin blinked, stunned. Snape—thanking him? It felt as foreign as the man himself.
Snape pressed on, voice steady. "You've granted my deepest wish."
Erwin waved it off. "It's nothing, Godfather. Really."
To his greater shock, Snape smiled—a rare, genuine curve of the lips. He drifted to the corridor's edge, where sunlight poured through the arched windows, gilding his black robes in warm hues.
Erwin watched, a quiet smile tugging at his own mouth. Seeing his godfather bathed in light made every risk, even brushing against Death itself, worth it.
"How long does she have?" Snape asked softly.
"An hour total," Erwin replied. "About ten minutes left. You'd best tell them and say your goodbyes."
Snape nodded with a sigh. "An hour is more than I deserved. This chance to make amends—it's a gift I never expected. You're right; I need to do this properly."
He turned back to the office, the door clicking shut behind him.
Erwin strolled toward the Slytherin common room, hands clasped behind his back. No Apparition this time; he savored the corridor's length, sunlight dappling the stones underfoot. He might never claim such warmth for himself, but guiding his godfather toward it was enough for now—a promise kept, a burden shared.
Lily's return was merely the beginning. In five years, when she walked truly among the living, Snape could finally emerge from the shadows for good.
At the corridor's end, Erwin glanced back at the distant office door. "Just wait, Godfather," he murmured. "Give me five years. I'll make it so you stand in the sunlight forever. But sorting out how to court a woman with a grown son? That's on you. At least don't bottle it up like you did at school—your odds are better than you think."
The next stretch lay in shadow, sunlight blocked by the castle's bulk. Erwin scowled and snapped his fingers, vanishing back to his dormitory in a swirl of Apparition. He'd endured enough darkness; no need to let it seep into his skin again, even if it was all illusion.
In the dormitory, Rowena Ravenclaw hovered mid-air, reclining on nothing as if on an invisible chaise. She thumbed through a dusty tome pilfered from who-knew-where, bookshelves looming like silent sentinels.
Spotting Erwin, she waved, words on her lips—until her eyes sharpened. She dropped the book with a thud and glided over, pressing a finger to his forehead. Starlight flickered at her touch.
Erwin held still. He trusted she meant no harm.
Moments later, she withdrew, brow furrowed in bewilderment. "You've encountered Death?"
Erwin started. "You know of Death?"
She nodded curtly. "Explain first—why do you carry Death's power?"
Erwin gave a concise account, glossing over the System's role. He'd stumbled upon Death's token by sheer luck, he said, granting him the ability to summon lost souls. Chance, after all, covered a multitude of secrets.
...
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