"—You're calling me a Mudblood? But you call anyone like me that, Severus. What makes me any different?"
Boy blinked hard—and there she was: a girl with dazzling green eyes, staring at him with unmistakable contempt before turning around and disappearing through a round entranceway.
A thick wooden panel slammed shut behind her, sealing the portrait hole.
The Fat Lady yawned noisily and waved a hand.
"All right, all right. Off to bed with you. Students shouldn't be wandering the corridors at this hour," she mumbled, half-asleep.
Wait... what just happened? Where am I?
A sudden jolt of blinding pain lanced through Boy's skull, splitting his mind wide open. He crumpled to the ground with a thud, bracing himself on trembling arms as his whole body convulsed.
A storm of chaotic memories surged through him—Spinner's End… Hogwarts… flying curses… Lily Evans…
His mind reeled with fragmented scenes, like a broken puzzle trying to piece itself together, familiar yet foreign, each image slicing into him like a dagger.
Time blurred. When the pain finally subsided, Boy weakly lifted his head—and realization dawned.
He had crossed over.
This was Gryffindor Tower.
The girl who had just left was Lily Evans.
And he… he was now Severus Snape.
As memories tangled and merged, Boy confirmed the unthinkable: just this afternoon, after the O.W.L. exams, he—no, Snape—had, in a fit of rage and shame, uttered that unforgivable word to Lily.
He'd been trying to explain himself just now. To undo the damage.
But clearly… he had failed.
And with that, just as it happened in the original timeline, Severus Snape and Lily Evans had gone their separate ways.
"Lily…" he whispered hoarsely. "How did it come to this…"
A storm of emotions clashed in his heart. Knowing what was to come only made the loss worse. Part of him wanted to storm into Gryffindor Tower, to beg for forgiveness, to make her understand.
But another voice inside warned him: that would only make it worse.
Even now, her radiant green eyes were fading in his mind. He couldn't quite tell what he felt anymore—
Was it love?
Was it longing?
He wasn't sure.
Memories of the past drifted close… then far again, like smoke in the wind.
Under the flickering torchlight along the stone corridor walls, Boy stumbled toward the marble staircase.
Not long ago, he'd been lounging happily at home, playing Hogwarts Legacy.
He'd just been hunting down spell targets across the map, blinking his dry eyes and reaching for eyedrops.
And now—now he was in Hogwarts. In the summer of 1976.
He instinctively skipped over the vanishing step and collapsed onto the cold stone stairs, trying to sort through the torrent of memories flooding his head.
"I haven't called home in over a week… the monthly report's not done… what now… what comes next…"
The silence pressed in around him like a weight.
"…But look on the bright side," he muttered at last.
He reached into his robes and pulled out a wand made of ebony and dragon heartstring. With a gentle flick, a small light sparked from the tip.
"Magic."
Staring into the soft glow, Severus Snape murmured, exhausted:
"Since I'm here already… from now on, I'll be the new 'Prince'."
"Nox."
The light extinguished.
He rolled up his left sleeve and checked his arm.
Thankfully, there was no Dark Mark—yet.
Snape descended deeper into the castle's underbelly, eventually reaching a damp, empty stone wall.
He paused, thinking. Then it came to him: this week's password was "Pureblood Forever."
"Pureblood forever," huh?
He scoffed.
Even Tom Riddle was a half-blood.
Rolling his eyes, Snape whispered the password. The stone wall shifted, revealing a hidden passage.
He walked down the spiral staircase, the walls draped in ancient tapestries.
The Slytherin common room was a long, low-ceilinged chamber deep underground. Rough stone lined the walls and ceiling. Greenish lanterns hung from chains, casting an eerie glow.
Even in summer, it was cold down here.
Ahead, a carved fireplace crackled with a warm fire. The red-orange glow mingled with the green light to cast the room in strange shadows.
A few Slytherins lounged in ornately carved armchairs. Among them, Boy spotted one of Snape's roommates—Patrick Abbot.
Patrick sat alone under a lamp, flipping through a thick leather-bound copy of Advanced Runes Translation.
He was one of the few Slytherins who had no patience for Mulciber and Avery's so-called jokes about Muggle-borns. In fact, he despised them.
And by extension, he had little warmth for Snape, either.
Coming from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Patrick's perspective was surprisingly rare.
Ignoring the curious glances, Snape made his way toward the boys' dormitory, veering into the adjoining bathroom.
Green-tinted light shimmered from silver fixtures.
Outside the window at the far end, lake water lapped gently against the stone. Huge shadows drifted past now and then—creatures swimming silently in the Black Lake.
Snape studied his reflection carefully.
"…Seriously? How is this supposed to be Black?" he muttered. "Why cast a Black actor to play me…"
"James may be a prat, but it's unfair to call him a racist…"
The boy in the mirror looked gaunt but solid enough.
His face was pale—like something that had grown in the dark.
His long black hair hung limp and oily. His hooked nose curved sharply downward.
Suddenly, the humiliation of the day came flooding back.
The beech tree.
The pointless torment.
"Snivellus."
Floating helplessly, cloak over his head, to the roar of laughter…
And the word—Mudblood.
The memory made his breath catch. His cheeks twitched. His eyes blazed.
For a moment, his reflection seemed to merge with the real him, inseparable.
Snape slowly raised his wand. With one hand, he pushed back his hair. With the other, he guided the tip of his wand along his scalp under the dim light.
Locks of hair drifted to the floor.
Black eyes stared into black eyes.
And Snape whispered darkly:
"James Potter… this isn't over."