Snape's Patronus Charm was, at this moment, both more powerful and more fragile than ever before.
Its power lay in how vividly real it seemed. The silver doe descended from the heavens, wreathed in shimmering mist, prancing joyfully around him.
It was alive in a way it had never been before.
Yet, this striking realism made Snape feel an unsettling sense of unreality. He gazed mournfully at the Patronus, acutely aware of the emptiness at its core.
Or, to put it more plainly, the emptiness at his core.
In this moment, he felt closer to Lily than ever, as if the environment itself was pulling him toward her. But his rational mind screamed that it was all an illusion. The names in those books—stacked in endless rows—kept reminding him: She's dead! She's dead! She's dead!
It was like the Cruciatus Curse.
A pain that tore through his heart.
From within, he was caught in an unprecedented storm of doubt. That doubt had been sparked by Lockhart's words: "Severus, have you ever considered that you could keep walking the path of magic and take him down yourself?"
And earlier still, those haunting questions: "If I don't die, will Harry really kill Voldemort?" "Can we truly rely on fate to ensure Harry Potter defeats Voldemort?" "Severus, do you really believe in fate?"
He didn't know!
He didn't know!
Please, don't ask him questions like that!
He had betrayed the idol he'd once worshipped as a boy, aligning himself with the world's greatest wizard, hoping Dumbledore could destroy that idol. But to his despair, he found Dumbledore's heart was as dead as his own.
So he pinned his hopes on Professor Trelawney's prophecy, praying Harry Potter could fulfill it and kill Voldemort. But then he learned the bitter truth: the prophecy had only come true because Lily had sacrificed her life. And now, the Harry Potter he'd placed his hopes in seemed so foolish, not even a shadow of James Potter.
This wasn't prejudice—Harry truly didn't measure up to James. At least, not from what Snape could see.
Why did he relentlessly humiliate Harry Potter? He'd always thought it was pure dislike, hatred for a boy who looked so much like James Potter.
But in the end, he realized it wasn't that simple. He hated Harry because of his own cowardice. He was too afraid to face Voldemort himself, so he placed his hopes in a child—a child who was proving to be a crushing disappointment.
Harry showed none of Lily's talent for potions, none of her brilliance. Instead, he was increasingly like that fool, Potter, with his Quidditch skills. What good was that?
And now, Lockhart—this man who seemed to see straight into people's souls and wasn't afraid to say it—had turned to him and said, "What about you, Severus? Haven't you ever thought you could rely on yourself? You were never less talented than Dumbledore or Voldemort in your youth. You have that potential."
And so, he wavered.
But it was only a waver.
Because he was afraid.
Afraid that if he boarded the train to the future, the shadow of the girl waiting on the platform would stop waiting for him. Afraid that if he traveled too far, saw too much, her memory would blur and fade.
It was a hopeless dilemma.
To protect the only beauty left in his life, he dared not move forward.
But if he didn't move forward, he might never gain the strength to avenge Lily, betraying that very beauty.
What was the point of living like this?
He looked at the doe Patronus—Lily's embodiment—with such sorrow, feeling as helpless as a child. "What should I do?" he whispered.
Should he bravely say goodbye and step onto the path to gain the magical power to avenge her? But he knew the power to fight dark magic came from beauty. Did that mean he had to seek beauty beyond Lily?
He couldn't do it!
How could he betray her like that?
In despair, he stared at the Patronus, unable to understand why it couldn't grow stronger, why it couldn't become the force he needed to fight the Dark Lord. It was the only beauty in his life, after all.
Or… was that beauty truly so fragile, so powerless?
He wanted to retreat.
He'd retreated too many times in his life, lacking courage when it mattered most. He hated himself for it.
And yet, he still wanted to retreat.
But fate, as it so often does, was cruel.
The journey had already begun. The train had arrived at the station, and he stood at the edge of the door, hesitating, unsure whether to jump back to the platform. He knew that if he left, things would change. It might mean farewell.
He didn't want to say farewell.
Lockhart had given him a hint, hadn't he? Refuse the call to adventure, and he could leave this world behind. It would be simple—he could feel how easily he could slip away from this false reality.
But he couldn't!
The children were still here. Harry was still here.
Was he supposed to rely on Lockhart—this increasingly erratic man—to protect them? He hadn't come because Dumbledore forced him. No, he'd followed without hesitation, despite a rare holiday after a grueling six months, because he genuinely cared about those children.
And so, to his despair, he realized he was slipping into the context of Lockhart's ridiculous fairy-tale narrative.
This moment—wasn't it exactly like "not trusting Harry, not trusting the prophecy, and finding the courage to face the Dark Lord himself"?
He closed his eyes in despair.
He could almost hear the whistle on the platform, the clattering of the train as it began to move, pulling him along.
He didn't want to board, but he stood at the edge of the train's door, unable to bring himself to jump back to the platform.
He still lacked that courage, dragged helplessly forward by fate.
Damn Gilderoy Lockhart!
Damn this fairy-tale adventure!
Snape sighed and opened his eyes. The world around him began to feel more real. The fans who'd chased him from the bookstore were shouting wildly, thrilled by the powerful Patronus he'd conjured.
This was the scene he'd dreamed of as a child, moving from the not-so-terrible Spinner's End to the not-so-terrible Hogwarts. His life had transformed when he touched magic. He was so gifted—in charms, in potions, in dark magic. He was a prodigy.
And so, he'd cautiously allowed himself to feel pride.
Geniuses should be proud.
But that pride had been shattered the moment he was hung upside down in midair, in front of all his classmates, in front of Lily, his trousers pulled down.
He knew.
Lockhart had said it: the journey of a fairy-tale adventure always leads you to your own magical path.
Reclaiming that pride was the key to rebuilding his path to greater magical power.
Even if everything around him was an illusion, Severus's Potions Lessons was real. The wisdom in that book was real. And with Lockhart's knack for turning books into bestsellers, scenes like this signing might one day be real too.
That was the wonder of a fairy-tale adventure.
It seemed fake, but it was so very real.
Snape looked almost pleadingly at the doe Patronus, which gently nuzzled his head. "Don't leave me, okay?" he said.
The doe didn't answer, only looked up at him.
"Stay by my side. Witness this with me."
He exhaled deeply, finally turning to face the "fans," to face his own pride. With the doe at his side, he walked toward the bookstore.
He couldn't muster Lockhart's effortless, crowd-pleasing "perfect smile," but he was sincere.
Because the doe would always be there.
Because Lily was watching.
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