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Severus sat at the edge of his four-poster bed, the Ravenclaw dormitory cloaked in early morning stillness. The journal from the abandoned classroom lay open in his lap, its cryptic entries about Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets burning in his mind. Last night's discovery had shifted his priorities—answers about the Chamber could lead to Voldemort's earliest Horcruxes, but the timeline's fragility demanded caution. Evan Rosier's presence with Malfoy yesterday had been a stark reminder: the seeds of darkness were already sprouting among his peers.
[TEMPORAL STABILITY: 73%]
[OBJECTIVE: INVESTIGATE JOURNAL CONTENT]
[RECOMMENDATION: CROSS-REFERENCE HISTORICAL RECORDS]
The System's text glowed faintly, urging action. Severus closed the journal, slipping it into his trunk beneath a layer of clothes. He couldn't risk studying it openly—not with Elara's sharp eyes and the ever-present threat of curious dormmates. Today, he'd visit the library to search for clues about the journal's author, perhaps starting with Hogwarts' trophy room records from 1942.
He dressed quickly, the ache from his recent Phantom Step practice a dull hum in his muscles. The Revelio Echo spell had left a sharper mark—a faint headache that lingered like a warning. He'd pushed too hard last night, tracing the journal's intent to reveal that fleeting image of a sandy-haired boy. Restraint was critical now; he couldn't afford to fracture his magic—or himself.
At breakfast, Severus joined Lily and Elara at the Ravenclaw table, where the mood was subdued. A light rain pattered against the enchanted ceiling, casting a grey pall over the Great Hall. Lily poked at her porridge, her usual brightness dimmed.
"Rough night?" Severus asked, sliding a cup of tea toward her—milk first, one sugar.
She sighed. "Couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about home. Petunia wrote yesterday—says Mum and Dad are fine, but she's… prickly. Thinks I'm abandoning them for 'fancy magic school.'"
Severus suppressed a wince. Petunia's resentment was a familiar thread from his first life, one that had widened the gap between the sisters. "She'll come around," he lied, knowing she likely wouldn't. "Give her time."
Lily nodded, unconvinced, and sipped her tea. "Thanks, Sev. What about you? You've been quiet."
"Adjusting," he said, deflecting with a half-smile. "Hogwarts is… intense."
Elara, flipping through a runes text, glanced up. "Intense is one word. Overwhelming's another, if you're not used to the castle's rhythms. You're handling it better than most first-years."
Her tone was neutral, but Severus caught the probing edge. Elara missed nothing—yesterday's encounter with Malfoy and Rosier had surely piqued her curiosity further. He'd need to deflect her soon, or risk her digging too close to his secrets.
The owl post arrived, a flurry of wings breaking the hall's quiet. A school owl dropped a letter in Severus's lap, the handwriting unmistakably Eileen's. His pulse quickened—he hadn't expected a reply so soon.
"From your mum?" Lily asked, brightening.
"Yeah," Severus murmured, tucking the letter into his robes. "I'll read it later."
[COMMUNICATION RECEIVED: EILEEN SNAPE]
[RECOMMENDATION: ANALYZE IN PRIVATE]
Between classes, Severus slipped into an alcove near the Charms corridor, casting a quick Muffliato to ensure privacy. He broke the letter's seal, scanning Eileen's spidery script:
Severus,
Ravenclaw suits you—your mind was always sharper than ambition alone could contain. I'm unsurprised the hat saw it. Hogwarts will test you, but you're ready.
The grimoire was a calculated gift. I sensed a change in you after Tobias's death—not just grief, but something deeper, as if you carried a weight beyond your years. Our family's knowledge is yours to wield, but guard it closely; others will covet what we've preserved.
As for Regulus Black, I know little. The Blacks keep their own counsel, but Walburga's letters mention only Sirius at Hogwarts now. Regulus should be preparing for next year, not there already. If you've heard otherwise, trust your instincts—something's amiss.
Be vigilant, my son. Write soon.
—Mother
Severus folded the letter, heart pounding. Eileen's words confirmed two things: she'd noticed his altered nature, attributing it vaguely to Tobias's death, and Regulus wasn't at Hogwarts—yet Snape's mind had leapt to him yesterday, a slip born of fractured memories. The System's flicker during the Rosier encounter suggested it was correcting his perception, but why? Was his foreknowledge bleeding into the present, distorting his actions?
[TIMELINE INCONSISTENCY: MINOR]
[SUBJECT: REGULUS BLACK, FUTURE CONTACT]
[RECOMMENDATION: CLARIFY MEMORY BOUNDARIES]
He burned the letter with a whispered Incendio, scattering the ashes with a flick of his wand. Eileen's caution about the grimoire echoed his own—its secrets, like the Phantom Step and Revelio Echo, were powerful but dangerous. Her mention of "others" coveting it stirred unease. Had she meant the Ministry, or something closer, like Malfoy's veiled interest in the Prince bloodline?
The day's classes—Transfiguration and Potions—passed in a blur of calculated mediocrity. Severus earned points for Ravenclaw with a passable matchstick-to-needle transformation, but in Potions, he let Lily outshine him, her Cure for Boils potion earning Slughorn's effusive praise. Watching her beam under the attention, Severus felt a pang of pride mixed with fear. Her talent drew eyes—Slughorn's, Malfoy's, even James Potter's, who lingered too long at her table.
"Miss Evans, a natural!" Slughorn boomed, inspecting her cauldron. "Ten points to Gryffindor, and an invitation to my next gathering!"
Lily flushed, glancing at Severus. He nodded encouragingly, though his mind churned. The Slug Club would expose her to pureblood politics—people like Malfoy, who'd see her as a curiosity or a threat. Protecting her meant navigating those circles himself, without falling into old traps.
Rosier, paired with another Slytherin, watched Severus from across the dungeon. His smirk held none of Regulus's quiet intensity from Snape's memories—just raw arrogance, a boy already imagining himself above others. Severus ignored him, focusing on his potion's slow simmer. Rosier was a problem for another day.
After dinner, Severus headed to the library, claiming a need to research Charms theory. Lily stayed behind to finish a letter to her parents, while Elara joined him, her own stack of books suggesting a genuine study session. They settled at a table near the History section, Madam Pince's glare ensuring silence.
Severus pulled a dusty volume of Hogwarts records—Trophy Inscriptions, 1930–1950—and began scanning for 1942. The journal's author might have left a mark—a Quidditch award, a prefect badge, anything to pin down their identity. Elara, engrossed in runic translations, didn't notice his focus, but her presence kept him alert. She'd spot any odd behavior in an instant.
The records listed familiar names—Tom Riddle as a fifth-year prefect, Rubeus Hagrid as a third-year—but no sandy-haired boys stood out. A "Cillian Prewett" caught his eye, awarded for "Outstanding Charms Innovation" in 1942, but the description didn't confirm hair color or House. Still, Prewett was a lead—possibly a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, given the family's later affiliations.
[RESEARCH PROGRESS: PARTIAL]
[POTENTIAL IDENTITY: CILLIAN PREWETT]
[RECOMMENDATION: PURSUE FURTHER]
"Find what you're looking for?" Elara's voice broke his focus. She hadn't looked up, but her tone held a familiar edge.
"Just background for a project," Severus lied smoothly. "Family history."
"Mm." She turned a page. "The Princes do seem… historically dense. Like there's more to them than most realize."
Severus met her gaze, holding it. "Most families have shadows. Doesn't mean they're worth chasing."
Her lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Depends on who's doing the chasing."
He let the silence settle, returning to his book. Elara was fishing, but she hadn't hooked anything yet. Keeping her close was strategic—she'd either become an ally or force his hand.
That night, in the same third-floor classroom, Severus dared another Revelio Echo, targeting the journal again. He focused on the author's fear of Riddle, hoping for a clearer image. The hum returned, threads coalescing into the same boy—sandy hair, frantic eyes—now whispering to a girl with thick glasses in a corridor. "Myrtle, you can't tell him," he hissed. The girl nodded, terrified, before the vision collapsed.
Pain spiked through Severus's skull, worse than before. He dropped to one knee, gasping, the journal slipping to the floor.
[SPELL FEEDBACK: SEVERE]
[WARNING: IMMEDIATE CESSATION REQUIRED]
[PHYSICAL INTEGRITY: COMPROMISED]
He steadied himself, retrieving the journal with trembling hands. The girl was Myrtle Warren, confirming the entry's timeline. The boy—possibly Cillian Prewett—had trusted her, a mistake that likely cost her life. Severus's own recklessness mirrored that error; another casting might break something he couldn't repair.
He hid the journal in his robes, extinguished his wand, and slipped back to the tower. The eagle's riddle—"What speaks without a mouth and hears without ears?"—he answered with "An echo," fitting too well. Inside, the common room was empty, Elara mercifully absent.
In bed, Severus lay awake, the headache fading but leaving a hollow unease. The journal, Eileen's letter, Rosier's smirk—all pointed to a timeline slipping further from his grasp. Regulus's absence was a small relief, but Snape's own memories felt less reliable, as if the System was rewriting them to fit this reality.
[DAILY EVALUATION: CAUTIOUS PROGRESS]
[MISSION STATUS: INCREASINGLY VOLATILE]
[NEW OBJECTIVE: CONFIRM PREWETT IDENTITY]
[PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: PROTECT LILY EVANS]
He closed his eyes, picturing Lily's smile to anchor himself. Tomorrow, he'd dig deeper—library records, Myrtle's bathroom if he dared, anything to name the boy who'd feared Riddle. The Chamber loomed closer, its secrets tied to his mission's heart: stopping Voldemort before he rose.
"I'm coming for you," Severus whispered, to Riddle, to the past, to the future he'd rewrite. The shadows around his bed seemed to listen, waiting for his next move.