Snape nodded and brushed past her. But just as he approached the fireplace, Narcissa's voice rang out once more:
"As a friend, let me offer you a small piece of advice, Severus."
She leaned her gracefully curved figure against the mantelpiece, appraising Snape from head to toe before shaking her head with gentle disapproval.
"If you're truly serious about this, you should at least take proper care of yourself—clean and well-groomed, maintain your physique, and perhaps improve your wardrobe. These are my most basic expectations for Lucius."
Snape offered no response. He simply tossed a handful of Floo powder into the grate and vanished into the emerald flames.
Before long, the Malfoys' ostentatious golden eagle delivered welcome news—Lucius had essentially resolved the Wizarding Weekly situation. In considerably better spirits, Snape headed toward the staff lounge, only to encounter Professor Flitwick along the way.
"Severus, good morning!" The diminutive Flitwick greeted him with characteristic warmth.
"Morning," Snape replied curtly, hoping to avoid prolonged conversation. His instincts warned him that Flitwick was about to broach that very subject. Unfortunately, his fears proved justified.
"Severus, I saw that dreadful report in The Wizarding Weekly—" Flitwick beamed at him reassuringly.
"You mustn't let it trouble you. Rita Skeeter has always been notorious for distorting facts and malicious character assassination. We've all watched Orli grow up here; everyone has complete faith in you. Ravenclaw has a saying: 'A clear conscience fears no false accusations.' Don't worry yourself, Severus."
Snape felt his expression grow rigid. He knew he should offer some reassuring platitude—something like, "Naturally, there's nothing improper between Waters and myself." But the words wouldn't come.
Flitwick meant well, speaking with genuine collegial concern. Yet that phrase—"a clear conscience"—struck his heart like a hammer blow.
Another matter demanded his attention. While Potions Today hadn't revoked the honors they'd bestowed upon Orli Waters, they had decided to dispatch a three-person evaluation committee to Hogwarts for an in-person assessment. He needed to inform her of this development and, if necessary, provide advance guidance. But how could he approach her now?
These past days had brought a daily deluge of owls circling her—Howlers, hexed letters, vicious insults, gossip, and whispered speculation. Such relentless harassment would shatter any ordinary girl's spirit. If he attempted contact now, it would only worsen her predicament. The tracking thread he'd placed on her hadn't completely faded; he could sense that every evening, at precisely the same time, she and Potter would slip away together to some secluded corner by the Black Lake.
Seeking mutual comfort in their darkest hour? Was it true that adversity bred deeper emotional bonds?
Snape refused to envision those possible scenes: Potter consoling her, embracing her, tenderly wiping away her tears, perhaps even...
If she and Potter truly became a couple, the entire world would celebrate their union—everyone except him, Severus Snape.
What he'd never anticipated was that even under such crushing circumstances, she would still take the initiative to visit his office. She hadn't retreated to weep in solitude; instead, she'd collaborated with Potter to ensnare Rita Skeeter!
And then she'd spoken those words that nearly demolished his final psychological defenses.
She'd said, "If I must choose between Harry and you, I will always choose you."
That night, sleep eluded him entirely. His obsidian eyes stared fixedly at the bed canopy above while her declaration echoed endlessly through his mind.
Orli Waters.
Every time he retreated a single step, she advanced two—sometimes more.
He truly was no saint.
He couldn't guarantee he'd always possess the strength to push her away.
Stop moving forward, Orli Waters.
Behind him lay nothing but an endless abyss.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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