"You can't change the past—but you can choose who you become."
The world spun.
Colors twisted like smoke. Everything stretched and bent. Then—cold. Deep, aching cold, like he had fallen through ice.
He gasped.
Then came the voice.
"Did you just call me a Mudblood? Is that what you call people like me, Severus?"
He froze.
Pain bloomed behind his eyes. His head throbbed. His chest felt tight.
Then he saw her.
Lily Evans.
Standing just a few steps away. Her green eyes wide. Shocked. Hurt.
And worse—disgusted.
She looked at him like she didn't know him anymore. Then she turned and walked away.
The portrait door closed behind her with a quiet thud.
Above it, the Fat Lady yawned. "Off you go now. Shouldn't be out so late."
He stood there, frozen.
His body felt wrong. Cold. Like it didn't belong to him.
Where am I?
Pain slammed through his head like a hammer. He dropped to his knees, hands hitting cold stone. He couldn't breathe. The air was too heavy.
Then—memories.
Classrooms. Spells. Lily's laughter. James Potter's smirk. And Snape's voice—his own voice—spitting out that word.
Mudblood.
Everything came crashing in. Too fast. Too much.
He had gone back in time.
He was inside Severus Snape.
And this moment—right now—was when it all broke apart.
Lily Evans. His best friend. The girl Snape loved. The one he had just lost with one stupid, cruel word.
He pushed himself up, trembling.
Snape had been humiliated today. James had lifted him in front of the whole school, flipping him upside-down. Everyone laughed.
And Snape cracked.
One word. One mistake. And it ruined everything.
He looked at the empty hallway. "Lily…"
Only silence.
He remembered something.
One spring, Lily had found him crying behind the greenhouses. He'd tried to hide it. She didn't ask questions. She just sat beside him and held his hand.
No magic. No jokes. Just kindness.
Now, she couldn't even look at him.
He took a shaky breath and turned away.
The torches on the walls flickered. Shadows moved with every step. The castle felt too big. Too cold.
Just last night, he had been playing Hogwarts Legacy. Exploring these same halls in a video game. Laughing at Easter eggs. Loving every detail.
But this wasn't a game anymore.
This was real.
He was Severus Snape.
At the worst moment of his life.
Maybe this is why I'm here, he thought. Maybe this is my second chance.
He walked to the grand staircase and sat on a step. Leaned forward. Elbows on his knees.
What now?
He looked at the wand in his hand. Dark wood. Heavier than he remembered. It felt like it was breathing. Like it knew him.
He raised it.
"Lumos."
A pale white light glowed at the tip.
Real light.
Real magic.
He stared. "Magic," he whispered.
The glow faded.
He sat there for a while. Listening. Pipes clicked. Distant footsteps echoed above.
Then he rolled up his left sleeve.
His arm was clean.
No mark.
Not yet.
Good.
There was still time.
Time to fix what Snape had broken.
Time to become someone new.
He stood and walked toward the dungeons. The air got colder. The walls smelled of damp stone and lakewater.
He stopped in front of a blank wall.
"Always pure," he whispered.
The wall slid open.
The Slytherin common room welcomed him with its greenish glow. Lamps flickered above. Shadows moved across the ceiling like waves. Light from the Black Lake shimmered on the windows.
Even in summer, it felt like winter here.
A few students sat near the fireplace. Patrick Abbott, quiet as always, read a book. Snape's memories told him Patrick wasn't cruel. He never laughed when others did.
Snape walked past without a word and slipped into the boys' bathroom.
Empty.
The lamps buzzed softly. Water sloshed gently against the windows. The shadow of the giant squid drifted by—slow and dreamlike.
He stepped in front of the mirror.
Pale skin. Sharp cheekbones. Greasy hair. Tired, dark eyes.
Severus Snape.
"Still looks like a mess," he muttered.
But the eyes—something was different now.
He pulled out his wand and trimmed his hair. Just a little. Neater. Cleaner. More like… himself.
Black strands fell to the floor.
He looked again.
Still thin. Still pale.
But stronger. More awake.
The shame was still there. So was the pain.
But something new had joined them.
Purpose.
He walked out of the bathroom, back into the common room.
The fire burned low. Patrick turned a page without looking up.
Snape knelt by the fireplace. There, hidden in the shadows, was a book.
Hexcraft: Shadows of Power.
He opened it.
Cruel spells. Dark ideas. Notes written in his own messy handwriting. Angry words from a lonely boy.
This book once made him feel strong.
Now it made him feel sick.
He held it tight.
He could almost feel it whispering to him. Telling him he needed it.
"I don't," he said. "Not anymore."
He threw it into the fire.
Green flames roared up, like the book was fighting back.
Then—ash.
He watched it burn.
Then he whispered:
"I won't be a prisoner to hate. I won't be a sad story."
He stood up straighter.
"I'll be the one they never saw coming. The one they'll envy. The one they'll remember."