Alastair's POV
After promising the twins I'd show them the passages later, I was finally allowed to leave the Ravenclaw table and return to Slytherin.
The shift was immediate.
Where the Ravenclaw table felt open—voices overlapping, laughter rising and falling without restraint—the Slytherin table was quieter, more contained. Conversations were murmured. Eyes watched more than mouths spoke. Even celebration, here, was measured.
I had barely settled into my seat beside Adrian when a prefect approached, posture formal, expression neutral. He handed each of us a folded parchment before moving on without a word.
Schedules.
I unfolded mine and scanned it quickly, committing the layout to memory more out of habit than necessity.
MondayPotions — Slytherin & Ravenclaw9:00 AM – 10:30 AM
Transfiguration — Slytherin & Gryffindor11:00 AM – 12:30 PM
History of Magic — Slytherin & Hufflepuff2:00 PM – 3:30 PM
TuesdayCharms — Slytherin & Ravenclaw9:00 AM – 10:30 AM
Herbology — Slytherin & Hufflepuff11:00 AM – 12:30 PM
Flying Lessons — Slytherin & Gryffindor2:00 PM – 3:30 PM
WednesdayDefense Against the Dark Arts — Slytherin & Gryffindor9:00 AM – 10:30 AM
Potions — Slytherin & Ravenclaw11:00 AM – 12:30 PM
Astronomy — Slytherin & Hufflepuff11:00 PM – 12:30 AM
ThursdayCharms — Slytherin & Ravenclaw9:00 AM – 10:30 AM
History of Magic — Slytherin & Hufflepuff11:00 AM – 12:30 PM
Study / Free Period — Slytherin Only2:00 PM – 3:30 PM
FridayTransfiguration — Slytherin & Gryffindor9:00 AM – 10:30 AM
Defense Against the Dark Arts — Slytherin & Gryffindor11:00 AM – 12:30 PM
Herbology — Slytherin & Hufflepuff2:00 PM – 3:30 PM
Saturday.
That single word echoed louder than any class name.
Two days without lessons.
The realization spread through the Slytherin first years in waves. Shoulders loosened. Faces brightened. Quiet conversations sparked—plans to explore hidden corridors, investigate rumored shortcuts, test spells they'd only read about.
Excitement.
Undisciplined excitement.
I stood.
The movement alone was enough.
"First years, listen up."
Every Slytherin first year went silent. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Even those who hadn't been listening before straightened instinctively.
"I know you're excited to explore the castle," I said evenly, letting my gaze sweep across them, "but don't forget what we discussed yesterday."
No raised voice. No theatrics.
"You're free to explore until lunch."
A ripple of relief passed through them.
Then I continued.
"After lunch, all of you will report to practice with me. Today we'll be working through Charms from the first-year syllabus."
I paused deliberately.
"If even one out of eight is missing," I said calmly, "everyone receives punishment."
The silence deepened.
Warrington was very intentionally not included in the count.
"I'll speak with Professor Snape and secure a classroom," I added. "I'll inform you of the location during lunch."
There were no objections.
No murmurs of complaint.
Good.
I left the Slytherin table and crossed the Great Hall once more. The space felt different now—less charged, more settled. Breakfast was winding down, and students were already filtering out in small groups.
Blake noticed me before I reached the Ravenclaw table.
"What are you planning today?" I asked.
"Nothing much," she replied easily. "Library first. Then maybe exploring the castle. Spell practice in the afternoon."
Predictable.
Efficient.
"Come with me for a bit," I said. "You can join them afterward."
She didn't hesitate.
"Sure," Blake said, standing smoothly. "Guys, I'll meet you at the library."
Tulip gave her a thumbs-up. Badeea nodded absently, already half-lost in thought.
We left the Great Hall together, the noise fading behind us as the stone corridors swallowed sound.
Our footsteps echoed softly as we descended toward the dungeons. The air grew cooler, heavier with the faint scent of damp stone and brewing ingredients that never quite left this part of the castle.
"Where are we going?" Blake asked.
"To meet Uncle Snape."
She merely nodded, accepting it without question.
"How are they treating you?" I asked after a moment. "Any trouble because of the Black name?"
"Not yet," she replied. "Mostly curiosity. Some caution. Nothing open."
That aligned with what I'd expected.
We stopped in front of the Potions classroom.
The heavy door loomed before us, dark wood reinforced with iron bands, faint magical residue clinging to its surface like an ever-present warning.
I reached for the handle.
And paused.
I raised my hand and knocked.
Once.
The sound echoed softly through the stone corridor.
There was a pause—long enough that Blake shifted her weight slightly—before a familiar, sharp voice answered from inside.
"Come in."
I pushed the door open.
The Potions classroom was exactly as I remembered it from memory and expectation combined—dimly lit, air thick with layered scents of crushed roots, metallic reagents, and simmering magic. Cauldrons bubbled at different stages along the benches, their contents glowing faintly in hues that suggested experimentation rather than lesson plans.
Severus Snape stood near the central table, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back loosely, eyes fixed on a potion that was doing something decidedly unnatural.
He turned at the sound of the door.
And froze.
For a heartbeat, his face was unguarded—shock plain and unfiltered.
"What are you doing here, Al—" he began, then caught himself sharply."…Mr. Salvius–P. And Ms. Black."
The cold mask snapped back into place with practiced ease, voice flattening, eyes narrowing.
I didn't miss the fraction of a second it took him to recover.
"Uncle Snape," I said calmly, closing the door behind us. "You don't have to keep putting on this façade. Not in front of us."
Blake stayed silent, watching intently.
Snape stiffened.
"Uncle…?" he repeated, suspicion bleeding through the shock.
His eyes sharpened—and I felt it.
The subtle pressure against my mind.
Legilimency.
I didn't even flinch.
"Uncle Snape," I continued evenly, "don't bother. I'm a natural Occlumens. Like you. Even the old man failed."
I met his gaze directly.
"If you have questions, ask me."
The mental pressure vanished instantly.
Snape inhaled sharply, his magic recoiling as it met something solid, layered, and utterly closed to intrusion.
"…Who told you to call me that?" he asked, voice low, tight.
"My mother, Evelyn." I replied without hesitation. "Weren't you supposed to be my godfather?"
That did it.
For the first time since we'd entered, his composure cracked—not completely, but enough.
He stared at me as if trying to reconcile the boy standing before him with the past clawing its way back into his present.
His breath hitched.
"Is she alive?"
The question was fragile.
I shook my head.
"No. She died giving birth to me. The day after the rest of my family was killed."
I reached up and unclasped the locket, letting it rest against my palm.
"But she left me her memories."
Snape's shoulders sagged, just slightly.
"She was always… tenacious," he murmured. "I hoped she'd survived. That she'd gone into hiding."
"I know," I said. "Thank you—for trying to save her. And for saving me."
His head snapped up.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been living with the Blacks for the past month and a half," I said, nodding briefly toward Blake. "Lord Black gave me access to everything—newspapers, witness testimonies, in-person reports from that day."
Snape's jaw tightened.
"There were two additional deaths in London," I continued. "Just a few blocks away from the orphanage I was left at. The injuries matched two of the bodies found near my father and grandparents."
I paused deliberately.
"Cuts. Thousands of them. Precise. Clean."
I met his eyes.
"Does that remind you of any spell?"
Silence.
Then—
Snape's breath shattered.
The cold façade collapsed entirely, leaving only a man who had lost too much and carried it for far too long.
"I tried to track her," he whispered, voice breaking. "I stayed behind—handled those two followers myself. I thought… I thought if I ended them quickly, I could reach her in time."
His eyes glistened.
"But I lost her trail. If only I had known you were that close. So close…"
I stepped forward.
"No need to torture yourself, Uncle Snape," I said gently. "What's done is done. The past can't be changed."
I placed a hand over my chest.
"Stay in the present. Live for the future. My mother would want that. My father too."
I hesitated, then added softly—
"And even Aunt Lily would say the same."
That was the final blow.
Snape broke.
Completely.
Years of restraint, guilt, grief, and rage came crashing down all at once. He turned away, hands gripping the edge of the table as his shoulders shook. Silent at first—then raw, unrestrained sobs filled the room.
I didn't hesitate.
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.
He didn't resist.
For more than ten minutes, he cried—harder than I had ever imagined possible for the man the world knew as Severus Snape.
Blake moved closer, eyes soft, and reached out—
Snape lifted one hand instinctively, blocking her even in that moment.
Blake froze, surprise flickering across her face. She withdrew her hand slowly, confusion giving way to quiet restraint. Whatever she had expected, this wasn't it—but she didn't press.
She simply stepped back and stood beside us, silent.
Snape didn't look at her.
Couldn't.
Even as the storm inside him continued to rage, some lines remained uncrossable. Some ghosts did not loosen their grip, no matter how much time had passed.
When the sobs finally subsided, the room felt different.
Not healed.
But lighter.
As if something long sealed had finally cracked open enough to let air in.
Snape wiped his face roughly with his sleeve, breathing steadying, shoulders slowly squaring. The familiar cold composure returned—not the mask he showed the world, but something firmer beneath it.
Something real.
At last, he looked at me.
Not as a student.
Not as an heir.
But as Family.
And this time, when our eyes met—
He gave a single, silent nod.