A Burning Pile

The bruises on Sirius’ throat were already forming. Dark, uneven marks, blooming beneath sweat-slick skin. His breaths came short and shallow, his body still locked in the memory of Severus’ hands around his windpipe, pressing, pressing—

He touched the bruises. Real.

James was saying something, voice tight with urgency, but Sirius couldn’t process it. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

Because Snape—no. Because that thing had been looking at him with his face, his body, but the moment Sirius had met those eyes—

Something else was looking back.

A thing with Severus’ shape, Severus’ mouth, Severus’ voice—but not Severus.

Sirius had seen it.

And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if magic could explain it.

The castle had been silent after James tackled Snape off him. The torches flickered in their brackets, casting long, jagged shadows against the stone. For a moment, it had felt like the walls were stretching, distorting—

But now it was just a hallway.

Just the four of them, alone.

Except Sirius wasn’t convinced they were alone at all.

James helped Sirius to his feet, gripping his arm with uncharacteristic force, as if he expected him to collapse. Maybe he did.

Maybe Sirius would.

His heartbeat hadn’t returned to normal. His body still felt stuck in that moment. Those hands. That grin.

“We have to talk to him,” James said.

Sirius’ head snapped toward him, disbelief boiling into rage. “Are you mad?” he rasped. His throat ached. Every word felt like dragging glass through flesh. “Talk to him? Talk to him?”

James’ jaw clenched. “I don’t—” He hesitated. Looked at Severus’ crumpled form on the floor. His hair had fallen into his face, half-shadowing it, but Sirius knew what lay beneath.

He didn’t want to see it again.

“I don’t think that was normal,” James finished, voice low.

Sirius let out something between a laugh and a scoff, though neither felt right. “No, really?” he spat. “He tried to kill me, James.” His own voice shook. He hated that it did.

James took a breath. “Something’s—” He swallowed. “Something’s wrong with him.”

Sirius looked back at Severus. He hadn’t moved. He was sitting against the far wall now, knees pulled up, fingers buried in his hair, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths.

His hands were still bloody.

It could’ve been from before. From the fight. From Sirius’ own face, maybe, or his split knuckles.

Or maybe it was from something else entirely.

Sirius didn’t want to know.

But what terrified him—what made his stomach lurch violently enough to be sick—was that he didn’t even think Snape had been there at all.

⸻

Severus couldn’t feel his fingers.

They were still curled into his scalp, pressing hard enough that his skull ached beneath the pressure, but his hands felt detached. Distant.

His whole body felt distant.

Like he wasn’t quite inside it.

Or like he wasn’t quite alone inside it.

The whisper hadn’t stopped.

“I am still here.”

His stomach churned. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to his knees.

He had lost control. That had happened before. He knew the feeling, the snap of something fraying inside him, the dizzying moment between thought and action, between what was real and what was—

But this was different.

This time, something had been looking back.

It was Remus who spoke first. Quiet, measured, but not gentle.

“What was that?”

Severus didn’t answer.

Didn’t lift his head.

Didn’t breathe, maybe.

Remus took a slow step forward, then another. “Snape.”

Nothing.

And then—

“Shut up,” Severus whispered.

His voice was wrong. Hoarse and shaking, barely above a breath, but it wasn’t just that.

Something else was wrong.

Sirius felt the air change. Like the walls had drawn closer. Like the castle itself was holding its breath.

James stiffened. He felt it too.

Severus still hadn’t moved. But his hands twitched.

And behind him, in the flickering light—

The shadows shifted.

The whispers had turned into voices. The voices had turned into screams. And now, Severus couldn’t tell which ones were real.

His hands trembled at his sides, but the grip on his wand was like iron. He could still feel Sirius’ blood under his nails. His vision blurred at the edges, flickering like candlelight in a storm, and the world felt tilted, wrong, like he was standing on the edge of something— something deep.

And it was hungry.

James Potter had made a mistake.

The second he stepped forward—cautious, but not cautious enough—Severus saw something shift behind his eyes. It wasn’t Potter standing there anymore. It was something else. Something twisted and wrong, wearing Potter’s skin.

Severus inhaled sharply, blinking against the wave of nausea.

No, no, no. Get out of my head.

But the thing—James—was still speaking.

“Snape, listen to me. You’re not well.” His voice was even. Too even. Like he was keeping something back, hiding a knife behind his teeth. “We just need to get you somewhere safe—”

Safe.

Safe.

Safe was a lie.

There was no safety. Not here. Not in this rotting, suffocating castle. Not when the shadows had begun whispering his name in the dead of night. Not when he could feel their fingers on his skin.

Severus’ lips curled back in a snarl.

“Liar.”

The word was venom, spat between clenched teeth, and James froze. He glanced at Sirius—who stood rigid at his side, still nursing the wound at his throat—but Severus didn’t care about Sirius anymore. He wanted blood.

James had always thought himself untouchable. Always the golden boy, always the hero. The castle bent to him, the walls whispered his name like a prayer, like he was something holy.

Severus was going to break him.

His grip tightened on his wand.

“You think I don’t see it?” he hissed, stepping forward. James stepped back. Good. “You think I don’t know what you really are?”

James didn’t answer. But his wand was still in his hand.

The light flickered. The shadows moved.

And then, Severus saw it.

A figure standing just behind James.

It was tall, wrong, its limbs bending at unnatural angles, its face split open with a smile too wide, too jagged. The thing lifted a hand, fingers stretching longer and longer and longer until they were brushing James’ hair, curling at the ends—

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Severus’ magic exploded.

James barely had time to raise his wand before the first curse hit. It sent him hurtling back into the stone wall, his breath ripping from his lungs. The impact rattled through his ribs, but he forced himself to stay standing.

“SEVERUS, STOP—”

Another spell. Faster this time.

James deflected it, barely. The wall behind him cracked where the curse struck, dust raining down in thick clouds. His eyes stung, but he kept them locked on Severus.

Something was wrong.

Severus’ breathing was sharp, ragged, like he had been running for hours. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing the irises whole. And his hands—his hands were shaking.

“Snape—” James tried again.

But then Severus laughed.

The sound made his stomach twist.

It was raw, broken—completely unhinged.

“You’re all the same,” Severus whispered, giggled, and James’ blood ran cold. His shoulders shook, fingers twitching like a marionette on tangled strings. “You all think you can fix me. You all think I’m just a little cracked, a little bent out of shape.”

The next spell shattered the floor between them.

“But I’m not broken, Potter.”

Severus raised his head, and for the first time, James wasn’t looking at a boy.

He was looking at something else.

“I’m as sane as they come.”

And then, Severus lunged.

James barely dodged the next curse. Barely. The heat of it singed his arm, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. This wasn’t like before—this wasn’t just anger.

Severus was hunting him.

James cast a shield, but it cracked on impact. He staggered back, his foot catching on uneven stone, and suddenly—

He wasn’t standing anymore.

The floor wasn’t beneath him.

Severus had thrown him.

And James only had a heartbeat to brace himself before his back slammed into the cold stone of the corridor. His vision flickered black at the edges, pain detonating through his ribs.

Too fast. This was happening too fast.

He rolled, just in time to avoid the next spell, but Severus was already there. He moved like a shadow unchained, too quick, too precise.

James barely got his wand up before Severus’ next strike landed.

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell knocked James’ wand from his grip. It skidded across the stone, clattering out of reach.

No—

Severus loomed over him, breath ragged, body trembling like he was fighting something unseen.

“Severus,” James panted, raising a hand. “Listen to me—”

But Severus’ eyes weren’t human anymore.

Something had taken root inside him, something black, something hungry.

And then, the shadows moved.

James watched as they curled around Severus’ shoulders like smoke, seeping into his skin, winding around his limbs. They whispered in his ear. And Severus—

Severus smiled.

James barely had time to breathe before Severus struck.

Pain—*white-hot, unbearable—*ripped through his side.

James gasped, choked, his vision blurring as he staggered. Blood spilled between his fingers as he pressed a hand to the wound, warmth soaking through his shirt, staining the stone beneath him.

Severus tilted his head, eyes glassy, distant.

“Bleed for me,” he murmured.

Then—

“ENOUGH!”

A third voice shook the air.

A blast of magic tore Severus from his feet. He hit the ground hard, body twisting on impact, the shadows recoiling like something had burned them.

James’ knees buckled. Someone caught him—Remus.

Remus’ voice was sharp with panic. “James, are you—”

“Fine,” James lied. His head swam, and he had to fight the urge to collapse.

But his gaze was still locked on Severus.

The other boy lay crumpled, chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. His fingers twitched—just slightly. The shadows around him whispered.

And James swore he saw Severus mouthing something.

A name.

Something old. Something forgotten.

And then, just before the darkness swallowed him whole—

Severus smiled.