The dungeon corridors were quiet.
Too quiet.
Keith felt it before he heard it.
"Runcandel."
He stopped.
Severus Snape stepped out of the shadows, cloak billowing like a restrained storm. His expression was carefully neutral—but his eyes were sharp, dissecting.
"Walk with me."
Keith nodded easily.
Snape's Question
They stopped near an unused classroom warded against eavesdropping.
"That spell," Snape said slowly.
"The chains. Ice. Portal manifestation."
He paused.
"That was not standard magic."
Keith smiled faintly.
"No, sir."
Snape folded his arms.
"Explain."
Keith scratched his cheek.
"I combined binding runes with spatial anchoring, then layered cryo-mana compression. Took… a lot of trial and error."
Snape stared.
"…You invented it."
"Yes."
Silence.
Then—
"Do not lie to me, boy."
Keith met his gaze calmly.
"I'm not."
For a moment, Snape felt something unfamiliar.
Respect.
An Offer
Snape exhaled slowly.
"You realize," he said, "that such a spell would take years for most wizards."
Keith tilted his head.
"…Do you want to learn it?"
Snape froze.
"…What?"
Keith shrugged.
"I can give it to you. The structure, not just the incantation."
Snape's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
He did not answer.
Keith stepped closer and held out a thin strip of shimmering rune-light—compressed knowledge.
"You're going to be my father-in-law someday," Keith said simply.
"And Helena loves me."
He smiled, gentle and sincere.
"So consider this extra protection."
The corridor felt warmer.
Snape stared at the offering like it might explode.
Slowly—very slowly—he reached out and accepted it.
"…Thank you," he said quietly.
It was the first time Keith had ever heard those words from him.
Lockhart's Latest Disaster
Meanwhile.
In the Great Hall.
"I clearly taught him that technique," Lockhart announced loudly to a group of wide-eyed first years.
"Advanced ice-binding—one of my specialties."
Snape walked in just in time to hear it.
He stopped.
Turned.
And spoke.
"Really."
Lockhart beamed.
"Yes! Quite intuitive, really—"
Snape raised his wand.
The temperature dropped ten degrees.
"Then explain," Snape said silkily, "why the spell you're describing does not exist in any known magical framework—and why the only person capable of casting it in this castle is twelve years old."
Lockhart blinked.
"…Ah."
Snape leaned closer.
"Attempt to claim credit again," he murmured, "and I will personally demonstrate how ice chains work on vocal cords."
Lockhart fainted.
Again.
The students applauded.
Elsewhere
Helena felt… lighter.
She didn't know why.
But somewhere deep down, she smiled.
Keith Argus Runcandel had just earned Severus Snape's trust.
And that, many would argue, was harder than defeating a basilisk.