Mizumono

Snape was completely soaked, every drop that dripped from his drenched robes marking the stone floor like little daggers of frustration. The idea of taking a rooster to the Black Lake, as ridiculous as it had seemed to him from the start, had proved even more disastrous in practice. The rooster, as obstinate as it was unnecessary, had refused to cooperate, cackling indignantly as he futilely tried to guide it through the icy waters. Even his underwater breathing spells, cast with impeccable precision, were not enough to contain the bird's defiance.

And even worse than the avian fiasco had been his attempt to locate the entrance to the Secret Chamber — a mission that had resulted not in glorious revelations, but in three vexatious mistakes, each more embarrassing than the last. Finally, with an exasperated and resigned sigh, he released the unfortunate rooster, who shot off across the Hogwarts grounds as if mocking his defeat.

Severus was now crossing the damp corridors of the castle, his heavy boots echoing rhythmically against the stone floor. The cold, stagnant air seemed to stick to his skin, a tangible reminder of his failure and his implacable determination. Anyone else might consider it insane to face a basilisk alone, but Snape knew that the creature's fang was an incomparable weapon against horcruxes. He needed it, he needed to defeat the future.

His new wand, more malleable and receptive, channeled his magic with a precision that he was beginning to master, but there was still something restless inside him - an untamed beast, a pulse of raw arcane that threatened to overflow. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, letting the almost sepulchral silence of the castle envelop him. The drops of water slowly trickling down his face were a physical reminder of his vulnerability and the loneliness of his task.

Suddenly, a subtle chill ran through the air around him, as if the very environment was conspiring to alert him to a presence. His eyes immediately opened, alert, and he turned his head with an almost feline movement. There was something there, a tiny disturbance in the light, a fleeting reflection that danced across the stone floor. His hand reached out, fingers ready to grasp the invisible, when—

“Sev!”

Lily Evans' clear, vibrant voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade, freezing him in place. He turned quickly, the water dripping from his hair in long messy strands. His dark eyes met hers, so alive and full of concern that for an instant he almost forgot where he was.

Lily stopped in front of him, her brown eyes assessing his figure with a mixture of astonishment and dismay. His drenched clothes and the pallor that further marked his countenance made him a melancholy, almost ghostly sight.

"What happened to you, Sev?" she asked, curiosity attempting to soften the evident concern in her voice.

He hesitated for a brief moment before retreating behind the familiar mask of sarcasm. "I went to pay my respects to the giant squid."

Lily arched an eyebrow, her expression wavering between amusement and disbelief. Snape, on the other hand, turned away with a deliberate motion, silently indicating that he had no intention of prolonging the conversation.

"Did something happen, Lily?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral, though his eyes analyzed her with precision.

Lily crossed her arms, her gaze filled with a determination that Severus both recognized and feared in equal measure. Her voice, though as sweet as ever, carried a sharp edge — a mix of concern and frustration:

"I was worried about you, Sev. You didn’t show up for breakfast or lunch. You're missing classes and always look so tired..." The list of concerns seemed endless, and her voice grew firmer with each item. "I even asked Andromeda if something was going on in Slytherin, but she said you hardly ever go there. What’s going on, Sev?"

He remained silent, her words hanging in the air like a storm about to break. Severus wished he could answer honestly, to open up completely, but he knew it would be a mistake. The less Lily knew, the safer she would be. He couldn’t bear the thought of being the source of more pain or worry for her.

"You shouldn’t worry so much about me, Lily. I’m fine." His voice was controlled, carefully neutral, but his eyes betrayed a shadow of exhaustion.

"Fine?" Lily exploded, anger mingling with anguish. "You're completely drenched from head to toe and won’t tell me anything! You're pulling away from me, Sev. You're lying!"

Her shout echoed down the corridor, the intensity of her indignation making him flinch slightly. She looked like a wounded lioness, and the fury in her gaze was as sincere as the concern that fueled it. Severus let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before stepping closer to her, his hand hesitantly reaching out to rest on her shoulder.

"Lily," he said, his voice low and almost hoarse, yet carrying an odd sense of calm. "Things haven’t been easy for me lately. I feel... too sick to face classes. Too anxious to endure my housemates. And above all, the last thing I want is to see you worrying or suffering because of me."

"We’re best friends, Sev—" she began, but he interrupted her gently.

"I know," he murmured, barely audible. His eyes, as intense as ever, softened slightly as he offered a small, lopsided smile. "You’ll always be my best friend. My sister. My only family in this cruel world."

There was something terribly sad in the way he said those words, as if they carried an invisible weight, an inescapable truth. "I’ll be fine, Lily," he assured, though the certainty in his voice seemed as fragile as glass.

Lily hesitated, searching his eyes for something more, something he wasn’t saying. But in the end, she only nodded slightly, though the worry remained etched across her face.

"Alright..." Lily said softly, her voice carrying a tenderness that echoed a delicate yet distant warmth. "You know you can count on me for anything, don’t you? You always could."

"I know," he replied, lowering his gaze for a moment, as if trying to avoid the depth of what those words meant. "Thank you... once again."

She offered a small but genuine smile before giving a slight nod. "Alright… Good night, Sev. Please take care of yourself."

"Good night, Lily. Sleep well," he replied, and though his voice was calm, it held something more—some veiled longing, a farewell that spoke more than he would ever admit.

Severus remained where he was, watching as she walked away down the corridor. The torchlight flickered against her red hair, as vivid as she was, and for a moment, he stood motionless, as if time had frozen. There was something profoundly painful about seeing her like that—so full of life, so fierce in her concern for him. It was a cruel reminder of how much he feared for her, of how far he was willing to go to protect her, even if it meant losing himself completely.

The bitter taste in his mouth seemed to symbolize everything he could never say or have. He felt his fingers begin to tremble slightly, not just from the cold that permeated him to the bone, but from the awareness of his own fragility. His momentary reflex of observation was interrupted by an unsettling realization: his skin, now as pale as the early morning mist, was being taken over by hypothermia.

But there was no time for that. He couldn't afford such a luxury — not even the luxury of surrendering to exhaustion. Every second was precious, every step had to be taken towards the inevitable confrontation that awaited him. He took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts into order, and returned his eyes to the spot where he had previously noticed the unusual refraction. Now it seemed completely normal, harmless. But the strangeness remained, unsettling like a whisper in the back of his mind.

Running a hand over his cold, wet face, Severus tried to dispel the turbulent emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew he couldn't fall apart, not now, not when he had finally begun his quest to destroy Voldemort. No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice. He would not rest until the monster was defeated and those he loved were safe — even if it meant being consumed in the process.

A stabbing pain ravaged his mind, a visceral, almost palpable torment that evoked the cruel sting of Nagini's poison. The memory of this agony made him shudder, an involuntary tremor that seemed to run through every fiber of his being. Tears, hot and bitter, welled up in his eyes, streaming down his face as he desperately tried to erase the sensation with his trembling hands. Taking a deep breath, he forced his tired legs to obey, dragging himself towards the nearest room, where he finally allowed himself to collapse. He leaned against the cold wall, feeling the rough stones against his back, and let his body slide to the floor, surrendering to a necessary, albeit unwanted, rest.

—

When he woke up, reality seemed to have been replaced by an ethereal fantasy. Everything around him was enveloped by a soft, almost enchanting melody that floated through the air like the sound of a distant violin. The sunlight, filtered through a tall, ornate window, fell at perfect angles, bathing the room in a golden glow. The place was at once familiar and unfamiliar — a vast, splendidly decorated hall that he had never visited in his entire life at Hogwarts.

The walls were adorned with white and gold wallpaper, the patterns slightly worn, like a memory that had stood the test of time. In the corner, a small stage housed instruments that seemed alive, moving gently as they played an unheard but incredibly beautiful melody. The dance hall was spotless, as if it had just been prepared for a grand ball.

And in the center of that almost dreamlike place, the ghosts. Translucent and elegant figures, beautiful ladies wearing splendid dresses, with wide skirts that swirled in graceful movements. Their hair, arranged in elaborate hairstyles, seemed to sparkle in the golden light, while the gentlemen who accompanied them performed perfect steps, in a symphony of dance that defied the laws of time and gravity. Some danced in the air, their movements as light as the wind, while soft laughter and echoes of conversation intertwined with the music.

Severus stood up slowly, his still sore muscles protesting the movement, but his attention was completely captivated by the spectacle before him. He walked through the hall, each step filled with fascination, as if he feared that the scenery would dissipate if he dared to interrupt it. It was like stepping through the pages of a lost tale, a glimpse into a world that seemed to exist somewhere between dream and delirium.

The paintings on the walls, framed in aged gold, seemed to be alive too, the portraits dancing in sync with the ghosts in the hall. Some of the framed figures raised their goblets in greeting, while others joined in the dance, their painted bodies moving with almost supernatural grace.

The low but unmistakable sound of old wood creaking brought him out of his reverie. Severus looked up, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a pair of gray irises that, despite the distance, were terribly familiar. He turned instinctively towards the figure, watching it approach with steady, albeit cautious, steps. Black was there, the almost predatory presence of the Gryffindor crossing the hall like a blade cutting through the fog of the unreal. As he advanced, Sirius made his way through the dancing spectres, his face marked by an expression that Severus, at that moment, couldn't decipher.

When he finally stopped in front of him, Sirius stared at him with an intensity that bordered on confrontation. Severus, still motionless, remained in a state of mute hesitation, the words slowly forming in his mind before he found his voice.

"Black—"

"What the hell are you doing here?" The interruption was sharp, cutting through the air like a whip. Sirius’s scowl deepened, traces of irritation and something else—perhaps concern, perhaps disbelief—etched onto his face like a mask of barely contained emotions. "You scared Evans, you know that? And that idiot from Hufflepuff too! Even James, of all people, managed to feel a shred of sympathy for you, thanks to that redhead who, surprise, surprise, has actually convinced him you're not that awful. Can you believe that?!"

Severus blinked, confused, his mind processing the words at an oddly sluggish pace. "What?" he murmured, almost like an empty echo.

Sirius huffed, frustrated. "Don’t play dumb, Snape. You disappeared for two whole days! Evans was about to tell the Headmaster everything."

The mention of Dumbledore sent a cold jolt through Severus, making him shudder involuntarily. The idea of being under that man's scrutiny was something he avoided at all costs.

Sirius narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he studied Snape’s face. Then, something in the Slytherin’s expression — or perhaps the sheer lack of any immediate response — made him frown.

"You… didn’t know," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself.

Without ceremony, Sirius reached out and pressed his palm against Severus’s forehead. The touch was brief, almost abrupt, but enough for Black to recoil immediately, as if he had touched the embers of a fire.

"Shit," he muttered, eyes widening in a mix of surprise and concern. "You’re burning up, Snivellus…"

Severus's brow furrowed as he raised a hesitant hand to touch his own fevered skin. Black wasn't wrong.

"Tsk..."

A sigh escaped his lips, cut short by the unexpected weight that fell on his shoulders. Before he could even react, he felt the rough texture of the wool against his cold skin - Black had discarded his own cloak and placed it over him without ceremony. The gesture, irritating as it was, brought with it a flash of surprise. But any response was quickly silenced by Sirius' firm pressure, pushing him forward with unyielding determination.

"You don’t have to help me," Severus snarled, impatience lacing his voice, as if sheer stubbornness could somehow reject his own fragility.

"Shut up," Black muttered, his disdain carrying an edge of exhaustion. "You’re still more useful alive."

Snape’s scowl deepened at that damned justification, and he wavered slightly under the touch — but found enough strength to plant his feet and resist.

"Wait," he said, pulling away from the guiding hand. His eyes turned to the ethereal sight before him, locking onto the specters swirling through the hall. That ghostly ballet fascinated him in a way he couldn’t fully understand, yet somehow, it felt important. "I want to finish watching them."

Black hesitated, his gray eyes narrowing. "Watching them?" he repeated, as if Snape had just said something unbelievably stupid. "What the hell are you talking about? We’re alone here, snake."

Severus turned to him, disbelief flickering across his features. "Black, you can’t be serious. These ghosts—"

"You must be delirious," Sirius cut in, impatience creeping into his voice. "Just shut up."

And without further delay, Black resumed pushing him forward, his hand still firm against Snape’s back, guiding him through the cold, forgotten corridors of Hogwarts. The touch, once merely practical and impersonal, became something else— an anchor for a body that, little by little, seemed to grow weaker beneath his hands. Sirius couldn’t ignore it. Not now.

He allowed his steps to slow slightly, bringing their bodies a little closer as he guided him. Snape was feverish, his skin both cold and hot at the same time — like porcelain on the verge of cracking. And though he would never say it aloud, Black realized that, for now, he couldn’t let him go.

"Where are we going, Black?" Snape’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper, thick with exhaustion.

"The infirmary," Sirius answered without hesitation.

Snape faltered slightly, his shoulders tensing beneath the borrowed cloak. "I don’t want to go there," he murmured. "Take me to the Slytherin common room."

Black let out a short, almost impatient sigh. "You don’t have much of a choice here, Snivellus."

Severus shot him a sidelong glare but found no strength to argue further. His resistance wavered, like a thread about to snap.

Sirius noticed.

Frowning, he tightened his grip around the other man, holding him more firmly. Snape was proud, always wrapped in that aura of restrained poison and sharp thorns, but now, on the brink of collapse, his weakness was impossible to ignore.

"I’ve got you," Black murmured, his voice dipping into a tone that, had Severus been fully conscious, he might have found strange.

"I know," came the low, rasping reply.

"I won’t let you fall."

"I know…"

But before he could say anything else, Snape’s body lost its last bit of resistance. His weight fell against Sirius, knees giving out, head tilting slightly to the side.

Black cursed under his breath, catching him before he could collapse completely.

"Shit, Snivellus…"

The exasperation in his voice couldn’t quite mask the slight unease creeping in. For a moment — just a  moment — he tightened his arms around him, as if testing his own promise.

And then, with no other choice, he carried him through the silent corridor.