Lockhart had noticed something subtle.
The "Chosen One" title that Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix had been hyping up for over a decade had a clever perk.
It shone so brightly on someone like Harry Potter that, if you wanted to slip into the shadows unnoticed, you could. People only saw the hero in the spotlight.
Snape had taken full advantage of that.
The Ministry's massive campaign to capture Corban Yaxley had stirred up a storm, touching every corner of wizarding society. When Yaxley was finally caught, the Ministry's propaganda and the reporters' frenzy pushed Lockhart's fame to new, dizzying heights.
But check the headlines in The Daily Prophet or the Ministry's official statements: Our Hero: Professor Lockhart and His Students.
Not a single mention of Severus Snape.
That was deliberate. Snape had his own mission, and standing openly against Voldemort would ruin his chances of playing the spy. Fame like that would only get in the way.
He was still following his old plan: infiltrate the Death Eaters, gather intel on Voldemort, and pass it to Dumbledore, hoping the great wizard—or Harry, the "Chosen One" backed by the Order—could finish the job.
But Snape was starting to feel uneasy about it.
Deep down, a spark of hope had ignited. He was beginning to dream of defeating Voldemort himself. This plan, this hiding in the shadows, felt like running away—like clinging to the same cowardice that had defined his past.
Cowardice had cost him Lily. It had cost him his connection to magic. In the end, it had left him with nothing.
Unlike Lockhart, Snape was just a regular guy, craving the kind of "success" the world valued.
He wanted recognition, or he wouldn't have been swayed by Lockhart's talk of writing a book to cement his legacy and redeem his past.
He wanted a fulfilling life, or he wouldn't still be haunted by losing Lily.
He'd just been short on courage.
But now, he was starting to crave it, even if it was a bit late.
And yet, he'd changed. He genuinely believed it was only "a bit late." Before, he'd thought his life was over, that the days ahead held no meaning. But with Lockhart's arrival, he was starting to feel like his life might just be beginning.
He was only 32. He had a future, even one without Lily…
Lockhart was right.
No one could force him to do anything. He was done lying to himself, hiding behind cowardice. He was starting to yearn for a real future.
Even if that yearning stemmed from wanting the power to face Voldemort—to avenge Lily.
It was a dangerous spiral.
To let go of Lily and embrace the future would give him the strength to avenge her.
That was the logic, but there was a catch: if he truly let go of Lily and found new meaning in life, would he still be driven to avenge her?
That paradox was tearing him apart.
Three days after returning to Hogwarts, standing at the crossroads of his life, Snape finally stopped bottling it up. For the first time, he opened up, asking his friend Lockhart for advice.
Big mistake.
Lockhart wasn't exactly a life coach.
"Hahaha!" Lockhart laughed, sounding half-mad. "Life's just like that, mate. It's never clear-cut. It's all about that constant tug-of-war with yourself. That's what life is, got it?"
Helpful as a broken wand.
Snape got no answers.
So Lockhart tried an example—magic.
"Magic's chaotic by nature. Before little wizards come to Hogwarts and learn proper spellwork, their magic can do anything. Make things float, even lift themselves to the rooftops." (Harry Potter, case in point.)
"But once they get to school? They lose that raw ability. They learn the Levitation Charm, and suddenly some can't even get a feather to float."
"Why? Because we start shaping our magic with intent. It gives it direction, makes it specialized."
"And when that specialization goes too far? You get an Obscurus."
"See, it's a journey from chaos to focus, and from focus to extremes. But pure extremes turn wizards into monsters. That tug-of-war inside? That's what saves your soul."
Lockhart spread his hands. "That's life, mate."
"It's tough, but that's what makes it meaningful!"
Snape went quiet, sitting on the office windowsill, staring blankly outside.
Lockhart left him to it, diving into the final edits for Severus's Potion Class. Lately, he'd been pouring time into these manuscripts, along with another book, The Dark Lord Voldemort: A Pure-Blood Supremacist with a Muggle Dad? Thanks to his chats with Tom Riddle, he'd gathered enough material and ideas to nearly finish it.
"Oh, by the way," Lockhart said, waving his quill toward the simmering cauldron of seafood potion. "What's that stuff? You've been fussing over it for months. Looks like a good hook. Tell me about it—maybe we can toss it into the book?"
Snape glanced at the cauldron, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he said, "A Life Out of Control. That's its name."
"???" Lockhart blinked. "What's it do?"
"Regret Potion," Snape sneered. "Heard of it? Since forever, potion masters have dreamed of brewing it, but no one's ever pulled it off."
A Regret Potion?
Was that even real?
Lockhart set down his quill and wandered over to the cauldron, peering at the bubbling ingredients.
Truth be told, helping edit Severus's Potion Class had been a learning experience. Snape's book had given him a rock-solid foundation in potion-making.
One look at the potion told him it was insanely complex. The shifting colors, the intricate magical currents, the ever-changing shapes—it was like a high schooler staring at a calculus dissertation. Mind-boggling.
"What's it do?" he asked, curiosity piqued.
"I don't know. I might never brew it successfully," Snape said, exhaling deeply. "I don't even know what it's supposed to do."
He stood, walked to the cauldron, and stirred it gently with his wand, observing the changes. After a moment, he added a pinch of powder, watching the reaction before flicking his wand clean.
"This is my thirteenth attempt at a Regret Potion. Some failed outright, some worked but were useless. Even the 'successful' ones were failures."
"A Life Out of Control," he continued. "This potion's supposed to tap into the root of life, touch the realm of time, and undo everything."
Lockhart's eyes lit up. He grabbed parchment and a quill. "Yes! Perfect hook. It's an open-ended finale for Severus's Potion Class, elevating the whole book. Lay it out for me—explain it like you would in the book, at a level readers can follow."
Snape hesitated. "Put this in the book? Regret Potions are a scam. They're fake!"
"Who knows?" Lockhart countered. "Mate, I've always believed in teaching everything I know. Guess what? I get the best ideas from my students. Maybe you won't crack this, but what if a reader does?"
He'd never bought into the old notion that teaching everything starves the master. That only applied to masters who stopped growing. Teaching wasn't just passing on knowledge—it was two creative minds sparking off each other, building a ladder together.
Keep the apprentice's mindset, never stop moving forward, and every step the student takes fuels the teacher's growth.
"Fine," Snape relented.
He gestured for Lockhart to look at the cauldron, stirring the potion with his wand and explaining each change in detail.
Snape was, honestly, a solid professor.
His teaching style just suited those with a real knack for it. Lockhart, with his natural talent, could keep up.
Potions was a fascinating field.
It wasn't just herbs and magical creatures—Lockhart could hear hints of Transfiguration and Charms in Snape's explanations.
To go deeper, you needed a personal philosophy of magic.
That's why Snape was so good at refining potions.
"Following recipes and steps blindly doesn't cut it in advanced potion-making," Snape said, tying his explanation to Severus's Potion Class. He waved his wand. "The biggest difference between wizarding potions and Muggle pharmaceuticals is the wand."
"It's not just about channeling magic. It means we're part of the process, an essential ingredient in the potion's creation."
"Now you get it, right? Our mental state, our magical path—they're critical to the potion's outcome."
"Most potions taught to young wizards are carefully chosen to not require much of this, so students can grasp the basics. But too many wizards think that's all there is to potions."
Lockhart followed easily. It was the same principle as a wizard's magical path aligning with their magic.
Back to A Life Out of Control, Snape dove into his philosophy of controlling magic. Lockhart scribbled down the non-personal bits, his eyes gleaming.
An idea hit him. "Hey, what if you're brewing it wrong?"
"What?" Snape's eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed at being questioned in his own field.
"A Life Out of Control, but you're all about control?" Lockhart gestured animatedly. "I'm no potions expert, but I know magic. If I were crafting a spell called A Life Out of Control, I'd let it go wild."
Snape's brow furrowed. "That doesn't work in potions. Let a potion go out of control, and you're asking for disaster!"
Lockhart shrugged. "Chaos is where adventure lives. Let magic bloom, and the mystery unfolds."
They couldn't convince each other, but it wasn't about right or wrong—just different magical paths.
Snape craved control, fearing chaos. But life couldn't be controlled, and his had spiraled out of it.
Lockhart thrived on adventure, embracing chaos without fear, expecting magic to shine through. And, lucky for him, it usually did.
Maybe Lockhart was the one on the right path.
"I'll give it a shot," Snape said finally.
"???" Lockhart blinked, stunned. "You'll try it?"
"Yeah."
Snape stared into the bubbling cauldron, his gaze distant. "I can't see the future, but I'm starting to want one. Maybe it's time I took a risk, explored every possibility."
"I'll try it your way."
He couldn't recall when he'd become obsessed with Regret Potions—maybe over a decade ago. He'd brewed version after version, never succeeding.
By now, it was just habit. He'd long stopped believing he'd ever get it right.
So… why not try?
Whether it was potions, magic, or life, maybe it was time for a change.
He quickly gathered ingredients, directing Lockhart to help process them, explaining each technique. Soon, they'd whipped up a complex new potion.
"This potion's been stalled for months," Snape said. "I knew it was headed for failure. This new brew we're making? It's to break that deadlock."
He had Lockhart note the process. "This is my own invention—a potion to disrupt the balance in a brew, giving it new life."
They poured it into the seafood potion. The cauldron erupted into a frenzy, bubbling wildly with eerie, oily bubbles. A foul stench filled the air.
"Now…" Snape began.
He waved his wand, clearing the office, tucking important items into a warded cabinet. He grabbed a handful of potion powder, eyeing the cauldron.
Lockhart swallowed hard, gripping his wand, ready to shield them from an explosion or worse.
Boom!
The powder hit the potion, and the cauldron roared, trembling as if it held a dragon. Strange, mystical light shot upward, bathing the office in an ethereal glow.
A powerful force surged through the room, hurling desks and chairs against the walls. Lockhart and Snape were pinned to the corner.
A howling wind tore through the space like a banshee.
"I never imagined it'd react like this!" Snape shouted, his eyes alight with excitement, free of their usual gloom, brimming with pure joy.
Yes, joy.
Just like Lockhart's love for magic, Snape was utterly captivated by potions.
"You're a madman, Severus!" Lockhart yelled back, grinning. Finally, he'd gotten one over on him. Felt good.
Snape didn't care. He burst into a hearty laugh, a sound Lockhart had never heard from him.
He raised his wand high. "Gilderoy, you're right. Dark magic is extreme—too much, and wizards become monsters. Life needs that tug-of-war!"
Bracing against the wind and force, he stepped toward the cauldron. "A Life Out of Control—sometimes you have to let it go wild to find your place."
Lockhart, pressed against the wall, half-suffocating in the gale, laughed too. "Yes, exactly!"
"Living numbly is pointless! Dying numbly is pathetic! Life's meant to burst, to dazzle—that's the vibrant color of existence!"
"Even if it's fleeting, so what?"
He gripped his wand tightly, pushing forward against the force. "Wait for me, Severus! Let me see what's cooking in your seafood hot pot!"
"It's a potion, you idiot!"
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