Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays remained in a perpetual state of excitement. Even the falling snow outside the windows could not dampen the young wizards' enthusiasm.
---
"Did you hear? The little town from last night was actually the Shrieking Shack just outside Hogsmeade..."
A secretive voice echoed through a first-floor corridor of the castle. The speaker was a red-haired Gryffindor. Despite his mysterious tone and demeanor, his volume had not been lowered in the slightest, almost as if he were afraid others would not be able to hear him.
Sure enough, his voice carried a strong contagious appeal, and a crowd quickly gathered around the red-haired boy.
"The Shrieking Shack? You mean that old haunted house?"
"How is that possible? I have been there before, and it was just a dilapidated ruin..."
Facing the varied murmurs of discussion, the red-haired boy was in no rush to argue. He simply listened with a calm expression. He knew he had to let the people around him satisfy their urge to talk, otherwise, it would be extremely difficult to expand on the topic later.
---
Coincidentally, this kind of discussion was not an isolated incident; it had become a veritable trend sweeping through the castle.
The corridors, the Great Hall, the common rooms... anywhere there were people, there was a chorus of chattering debates.
However, these discussions mostly remained at the level of curiosity and novelty. After all, the young wizards would never have guessed that everything they had seen and heard existed in a space between reality and illusion.
Yet, truth and falsehood never truly had a clear definition.
It was like a gust of wind. When the wind blew, the leaves danced; when the wind settled, all was quiet. Only those who had experienced the wind would understand that even though it had ceased, it had tangibly existed.
---
Beneath the Castle, Potions Office.
At the deepest end of the basement corridor lay the Potions office. The room, which used to be illuminated by only a single candelabra, had undergone a drastic transformation.
Three magical lamps, each a foot in size, were firmly affixed to the wall in an equilateral triangle formation. Bathed in their warm orange glow, the once slightly gloomy room now felt rather cozy.
Behind the large desk, Snape quietly flipped through a brand-new photo album.
Perhaps it was the lighting, but his appearance no longer carried the brooding gloom it once had. Not only was his face clearly visible, but the lines of his features had also softened considerably.
A long moment passed.
Snape closed the album in his hands. The cover featured a young, black-haired wizard riding a broomstick, waving his hands and cheering in jubilation.
Beneath the photograph, the date boldly read: 1991 Hogwarts House Cup.
The photo was fifteen years old, and the person in it was Harry, right after catching the Golden Snitch for the very first time.
Snape gazed at the album cover once more. This time, however, his eyes did not focus solely on those brilliant emerald-green eyes, but rather on the joyful boy riding the broom.
Gradually, a faint, almost imperceptible smile quietly crept onto the corners of his mouth.
---
When it came to Harry, Snape's feelings had always been incredibly complex.
On one hand, he despised the boy's resemblance to James Potter; on the other, he desperately wanted to protect Lily's eyes. This contradictory state had lasted for five whole years.
But upon learning the truth about Horcruxes, his once agonizing internal conflict unknowingly shifted.
Harry was a living Horcrux.
When he first heard this from Dumbledore's lips, Snape felt an overwhelming sense of unreality and profound absurdity. But after deductions and verifications, he was forced to accept the truth.
Perhaps from that very moment, everything changed. All his previous complex and contradictory emotions vanished entirely, leaving only a single, absolute goal behind.
He had to ensure Harry's survival.
To achieve this, he did not hesitate to study Horcruxes, nor did he shrink from creating one. He even resorted to self-mutilation, using himself as a test subject for potions in order to find a foolproof way to completely solve the problem.
Fortunately, all of that was now in the past.
At his desk, Snape opened a drawer and carefully placed the photo album inside. He then stood up and walked with a steady pace toward the nearby potion storage cabinet.
Soon, he retrieved a vial of ink-black potion from the depths of the cabinet. Uncapping it, he drank it down in one gulp without a moment's hesitation.
---
Outside Hogwarts castle, the snow continued to fall softly.
The snowy scenery unfolded before everyone's eyes like a beautifully crafted painting. The snowflakes that drifted onto the ancient stone walls of the castle seemed imbued with magical life, shimmering with a faint silvery light.
The surrounding forest was also blanketed in white, its branches laden with crystal-clear icicles, resembling a wondrous scene from a fairy tale. Occasionally, a gust of wind would blow through, causing the branches to sway gently and shed scattered snowflakes that danced like sprites in the sky.
Snape walked down the corridor.
His pace was slow, but every step seemed perfectly measured. Paired with his brand-new, unadorned black robes, his mere presence caused all the young wizards along his path to instinctively back away.
Snape turned a blind eye to the students' reactions. His destination was the Headmistress's office on the top floor of the castle.
---
"So, you are tendering your resignation now? In the middle of the Triwizard Tournament?"
Professor McGonagall was somewhat furious, but equally helpless.
After all, she was only the Headmistress, not a medieval feudal lord. The relationship between a professor and Hogwarts had always been a mutual choice, making Snape's request to leave perfectly reasonable.
Standing before her, Snape offered no elaborate explanation in the face of Professor McGonagall's questioning. Instead, he used a quiet silence to declare his firm stance.
Seemingly sensing that his mind was unequivocally made up, Professor McGonagall could only let out a soft sigh.
"What about Potions class? And what about the Head of Slytherin House?"
This time, Snape did not choose to remain silent. After a brief moment of thought, he spoke up.
"Damocles Belby, or Hermione Granger. Either of their abilities is more than sufficient to take on the role of Potions Professor. As for the Head of Slytherin House, Swinburne is a ready-made candidate."
Hearing Snape's recommendations, Professor McGonagall nodded slightly in subconscious agreement.
All three met the requirements and were wizards of genuine skill, but it was the first two that caused her difficulty.
After Damocles Belby was rescued from the werewolf den by the Ministry of Magic, he had appeared somewhat muddle-headed. The diagnosis from St Mungo's Hospital stated it was a lingering aftereffect of being under the Imperius Curse for an extended period, requiring rest and recuperation.
As for Hermione, convincing the youngest female Inquisitor of the Wizengamot to become a Hogwarts professor would be immensely difficult.
However, hiring professors was part of a Headmistress's duties. Professor McGonagall neither complained nor lamented. Instead, she looked at Snape with a deeply concerned gaze.
"If... I am just saying if you have encountered some sort of trouble..."
Before Professor McGonagall could finish, Snape interrupted her.
"I am perfectly fine. I just want to rest for a while."
A moment later.
Watching Snape's retreating back, Professor McGonagall opened her mouth soundlessly, but ultimately said nothing more. She had a vague inkling about certain matters.
---
Evening arrived.
The brightly lit Potions office welcomed another guest.
Looking at his former Head of House, Ino sighed deeply.
While it might be difficult for others to detect, he had known for a long time that there was a severe problem with Snape's soul. The fact that he had managed to hold on for an extra seven years was largely due to his unparalleled potion-making prowess.
Besides, it seemed everything came with a price.
The reason Harry had been able to use a gentle potion to purge the lingering fragment of Voldemort's soul was entirely because Snape had used himself as a test subject, enduring the grueling effects of countless modifications.
But in the adult world, every choice carried a cost. Compared to Snape's fate in the original story, the current outcome was perhaps much better.
Facing the somewhat fragmented Snape, Ino did not know what to say, for he was powerless to help.
It was like how some people would complain about imaginary illnesses in their youth, even parading their suffering around for everyone to see. Yet, after enduring the true weathering of life, they would realize that minor annoyances were not worth mentioning, while truly agonizing pain left one with nowhere to speak of it.
"Professor! If it is possible, I would like to do something..."
After careful consideration, Ino voiced his thoughts.
One option was to have the fragmented soul suspended in a perpetual summer dream. The other was to open another little shop within the town of the Shrieking Shack.
While he could not raise the dead, making up for lingering regrets was something he could easily accomplish.
---
At the same time.
Snape fell into silence after hearing these two options.
In the past, he would have chosen the former without a second thought. But somehow, whenever he tried to voice his decision, the photo album resting in his desk drawer would float into his mind.
In the face of Snape's silence, Ino patiently maintained his quiet demeanor.
The power of choice had once again been handed over to Snape. Only this time, no matter what choice he made, there would likely be no so-called tragedy.