Disclaimer: All rights belong to JK Rowling.
The whispers hadn't died down. A week had passed since the infamous incident involving Severus Prince, Lily Evans, and the Marauders, and Hogwarts was still a breeding ground for speculation. Marcus Adams, a shadow of frustration clinging to him, found himself no closer to deciphering the truth behind the veiled incident. The school, usually a cacophony of youthful exuberance, now hummed with a relentless undercurrent of speculation, each rumor more outlandish than the last.
One version, probably the most convincing, described a scene where Severus found himself cornered by Potter's crew and was chased into the forbidden forest. According to this story, Lily Evans heroically stepped in, putting herself between the two sides in a desperate bid to stop things from getting worse.
"Can you believe it?" a Gryffindor girl whispered to her friend as they walked past Marcus in the corridor. "Lily actually stood up to Potter, yelled at him like he was a first-year! She called him a bully and said Severus hadn't done anything wrong."
On the flip side, there was a darker version of events, favored by some Slytherins, that painted Lily in a much less flattering light. This rumor claimed that Lily, with her so-called "mudblood magic," had cunningly trapped Severus. Blinded by his lust, Severus had unknowingly walked right into a setup orchestrated by her and Potter's gang, leading to a vicious ambush.
This narrative played into the prejudices festering within the Slytherin common room for the past week after the terror attack in London. Anything Muggle or Muggle-born was seen with distrust at best and outright hatred at worst.
It was all so tiresome.
Severus himself was an impenetrable fortress of silence. He deflected every inquiry with a curt, "It's nothing, Marcus," or a dismissive shrug. The lack of information was maddening, but it was Severus's behavior that truly worried Marcus.
He was on edge, constantly twitching, his usual pallor replaced with a sickly grey. Dark, heavy bags perpetually shadowed his eyes, a testament to sleepless nights filled with… what? Fear?
Marcus couldn't decipher the emotions swirling behind those guarded, obsidian eyes.
They had a free period after a very tense Muggle Studies, and Severus, after shuffling his feet and avoiding eye contact, had mumbled something about needing to return to the dorms for some rest. This had become a pattern. He'd retreat to the dorms, claiming exhaustion, yet he seemed to emerge looking even more drained than before.
Marcus suspected he wasn't actually sleeping at all.
Now, Marcus found himself in the library alongside Thomas, supposedly focused on the potions assignment given by Professor Slughorn. But in truth, he was just staring blankly at the parchment, his thoughts tangled up in the enigma of Severus's strange behavior. He picked up his quill, ready to jot down the next step in the potion-making process, yet his mind kept drifting back to the quiet Slytherin and the incident that had clearly rattled him.
Across the table, Thomas, his other closest friend, seemed remarkably unperturbed by the unfolding drama. He was engrossed in a rather weighty tome on advanced Transfiguration, occasionally making notes with meticulous precision.
Thomas, sensing Marcus's distraction, sighed audibly. With a flick of his wand, he cast a Muffliato, a spell of Severus's own creation, around their table.
"Hey, Marcus," Thomas said, glancing up with a worried look. "You seem…off. Is everything okay?"
"Okay? No, Thomas, nothing is okay," Marcus shot back, but then a wave of guilt washed over him. He softened his tone. "He's hiding something from us. From me. And it's clearly tearing him apart."
Frustrated, Marcus pressed on, "Seriously, how can you be so calm about this? Aren't you curious about what's bothering Severus? Don't you think we have a right to know?"
Thomas carefully set a bookmark in his Transfiguration book before meeting Marcus's gaze, his brow slightly knitted. "Sure, it frustrates me that Severus is keeping secrets. We're his friends, after all. But I trust him. If he's not sharing, there's probably a good reason for it."
"A good reason?" Marcus scoffed. "What possible reason could he have for keeping a secret from his oldest friends? We've been through everything together. Remember that time he almost blew up the Potions classroom trying to remaster a potion? We helped him clean up the mess!"
Thomas considered this for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. "Perhaps…perhaps he's under some kind of vow. Sworn to silence."
Marcus's eyebrows shot up. "An Unbreakable Vow? Surely not!"
Thomas shook his head. "No, no, that's far too extreme. Something less…permanent. More likely, he was simply instructed not to speak of it. Maybe by Slughorn."
Marcus considered this. "Slughorn? Why would Slughorn be involved?"
"I don't know," Thomas admitted, "but Slughorn does have a way of…collecting secrets. And he clearly favors Severus. Perhaps he witnessed something and asked Severus to keep it quiet."
"But still," Marcus argued, the frustration building again, "it feels wrong. Like we're being deliberately shut out. We should be helping him, not speculating from the sidelines."
Thomas leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Look at Severus, Marcus. He's stressed, exhausted, practically vibrating with anxiety. Bombarding him with questions now won't help. It'll probably make things worse. We need to give him space."
He paused, then added gently, "Sometimes, the best way to help a friend is to simply be there, without demanding explanations."
Marcus let out a sigh, feeling his anger start to fade a bit. Thomas had a valid point. He understood Severus well enough to know that if he pushed too hard, it would only make him retreat even more.
"Fine," Marcus said, a bit reluctantly. "I'll give him a few days. Let him have some space. Maybe after that… maybe then he'll be ready to open up."
Yet, as he said those words, a sense of unease crept in. What if "whatever happened" was too overwhelming, too risky, for Severus to face on his own? Marcus shook his head, forcing the thought out of his mind. He peered down at his blank piece of parchment and signed before forcing himself to begin the assignment.
Evan Rosier sank into the soft, emerald green sofa, feeling a dull ache in his hand after wrapping up his writing. He had just completed Slughorn's latest potions assignment, which was a real slog—mixing unicorn hair with pickled gnomes. Now, he had to put up with the endless chatter of Avery and Mulciber, who were, as always, grumbling about Muggle Studies.
"Honestly," Avery whined, his voice nasal and grating, "Why do we even need to learn about Muggles? They're utterly pathetic."
Mulciber, a hulking figure with a perpetual scowl etched onto his face, grunted in agreement. "My father says it's all Dumbledore's fault. Trying to 'integrate' us with Muggles. Disgusting."
Evan let out a quiet sigh. Their endless griping was wearing him down, but honestly, it was a welcome distraction from the turmoil swirling in his mind. The last week had been… unsettling, to say the least. The attack in London, where a wizard lost his life in the chaos of Muggle violence, lingered like a dark cloud. It had ignited a fierce passion among the more extreme pure-blood groups, and the Knights of Walpurgis—a name that sent shivers down spines—were starting to gain some serious momentum.
Rosier watched the shift unfold with a curious detachment. While he didn't mind the idea of pure-blood supremacy, he preferred a more nuanced strategy—one that leaned on influence and manipulation instead of sheer force. The blunt statements from Avery and Mulciber bored him; they lacked the sophistication he valued.
The vibe in the common room had definitely shifted. The few Muggle-born students who dared to call Slytherin their home now moved with an unmistakable sense of fear, their heads down and voices barely above a whisper. It felt like the natural order was being reestablished, with pure-bloods once again at the top of the hierarchy.
Rosier remembered a recent incident that illustrated this change. A third-year Muggle-born girl, still just a child, had the audacity to mutter an insult after Mulciber made a particularly harsh comment about her family. Without a second thought, Rosier had silenced her with a quick Horn Tongue Hex. She had run off, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he felt a flicker of satisfaction. After all, he thought, discipline was essential.
"Did you hear about Prince?" Mulciber asked, his tone dripping with disapproval. "The rumors?"
Rosier frowned, thinking about Severus Prince, the quiet and mysterious student who had been acting a bit off lately. He'd always been a bit of an oddball, but now his behavior was starting to feel downright unsettling. There were whispers going around about an attack in the Forbidden Forest, and it made the air feel heavy.
"He's always been a peculiar one," Rosier said quietly. "But something's definitely not right this time."
Suddenly, the hidden entrance to the common room, a seemingly blank stone wall, slid open with a low rumble. Evan glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he saw Jane Pace stride in, surrounded by her usual entourage of friends, including Richards and Blackwell, and a handful of other girls. They were laughing and chattering, Richards telling a story that seemed to amuse Pace.
Evan watched them, his expression carefully neutral. Pace was a conundrum. A Muggle-born, yes, but a particularly defiant and talented one. She was a star player on the Slytherin Quidditch team, a fact that seemed to grant her a degree of immunity from the usual harassment.
Avery, however, wasn't so restrained. He sneered openly at the sight of Pace, muttering loud enough for everyone to hear, "Look at her. The arrogant Mudblood thinks she's something just because she's on the Quidditch team."
Pace's laughter caught in her throat, and she quickly turned, her green eyes narrowing with a fierce glare. "Did you just say something, Avery?" she shot back, her voice cutting through the tension. "Is there something you want to say to my face?"
Avery, despite his earlier bravado, shrank back under her intense stare. He muttered something barely audible and sank deeper into his chair. But Mulciber, on the other hand, puffed out his chest, a predatory glint in his eyes as he stood tall over Pace.
"We said you're a Mudblood," Mulciber sneered, his voice laced with malice. "And Mudbloods like you have had way too much freedom for the last four years. But things are about to change, Pace. Just wait and see."
Jane laughed, a short, humorless sound. "You think you're intimidating me, Mulciber? I'm not one of those scared first and second years you and your cronies like to bully."
Blackwell placed a hand on Pace's shoulder, her expression anxious. "Jane, it's not worth it. Just ignore them."
But Pace shook off her friend's restraining hand. She stepped closer to Mulciber, her eyes blazing. "I know it was you," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "You're the ones who put Lauren O'Reilly in the hospital wing. One of our own Slytherins and you hurt her."
Mulciber let out a laugh, sharp and mocking. "O'Reilly? She's just like those Muggles who attacked London. She got what was coming to her."
"You're such an idiot, Mulciber," Pace shot back, her voice getting louder. "Lauren has nothing to do with the fight between the IRA and the British government. She's just a kid!"
Feeling encouraged by Mulciber's presence, Avery finally spoke up. "Mudbloods can't be trusted," he squeaked, his voice high-pitched. "When it really matters, they'll always turn their backs on the wizarding world to save themselves."
Pace's face flushed red with fury. In a flash, her wand was in her hand, pointed directly at Mulciber. Evan Rosier's throat went dry. Avery and Mulciber, not to be outdone, drew their own wands. Pace's friends, Richards and Blackwell, followed suit, their faces grim. The other girls in their group, their eyes wide with fear, instinctively stepped back, creating a small circle of tension in the common room.
Rosier weighed his options. He could stand back and let the situation escalate, potentially resulting in disciplinary action from the professors. Or he could intervene, attempting to defuse the situation. He knew Mulciber and Avery were itching for a fight, eager to prove their dominance. Ultimately, he decided on the latter. Not out of any particular sympathy for Pace, but because he recognized the inherent stupidity of the situation.
"Avery, Mulciber, back off," he hissed, his voice low and filled with warning.
Both boys stared at him, surprise etched on their faces as they tried to figure out what he was up to. But Rosier held their gaze steady, the unspoken threat in his eyes clear as day.
"Magic is wasted on someone like Jane Pace," he muttered, his tone dripping with contempt. "Don't stoop to her level."
Avery and Mulciber, picking up on the change in the atmosphere, let out a snicker. Slowly, though with obvious reluctance, they lowered their wands, their eyes still locked on Jane, brimming with hostility.
Mulciber, never one to let an insult slide, couldn't help but throw in a parting jab. His eyes roamed over Jane's figure, a predatory gleam in his gaze. "She could've been a real good fuck," he sneered, "if it weren't for her dirty blood."
The words hung heavy in the air, thick with malice. Then, everything unfolded in a flash. In a split second too quick for Evan to fully grasp, Jane's fist connected with Mulciber's face. The bigger boy's nose made a sickening snapping noise as Pace's fist dug into it.
Evan's eyes widened. He saw blood trickling from the big boy's nose, down his face. Mulciber's eyes narrowed, a red haze of fury descending over him. He raised his wand, but Richards was faster. A muttered Flipendo, and Mulciber was sent flying backwards, crashing into a table with a resounding thud.
"Shit!" Evan muttered under his breath, feeling the tension rise. Things were getting out of hand fast. With a quick flick of his wand, he disarmed Richards using Expelliarmus.
Avery, spotting his chance, lunged at Pace. But Blackwell was on the ball. A perfectly aimed Stupefy struck Avery right in the chest, knocking him down to the ground.
Realizing it was now two against one, Evan couldn't help but mentally scold Mulciber and Avery for their foolishness. He raised his hands, palms facing out, signaling his surrender. "I'm not here to fight," he said quietly, hoping his words would help calm things down.
Jane glared at him, her chest heaving. Blackwell, her voice tight with suspicion, demanded, "Give Richards his wand back if you mean what you're saying."
Reluctantly, Evan handed over the wand. For a long moment, the girls seemed poised to attack, their wands still held at the ready. But just as quickly as the violence had erupted, it subsided. They lowered their wands, their faces etched with a mixture of anger and apprehension. Without another word, they turned and retreated towards the girl's dorms, the other girls who had watched on in shocked silence scurrying after them.
Evan let out a deep sigh, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He helped Avery to his feet, the smaller boy letting out a groan of pain. But when Evan reached out to assist Mulciber, he slapped his hand away. Mulciber stood up, his face twisted in barely contained anger. He marched over to one of the chairs and dropped into it with an exasperated thud. Rosier and Avery followed him a moment later, the air thick with unspoken accusations.
It was Mulciber who finally broke the silence, his voice dripping with disappointment. "Just look at this place," he said, his tone sharp. "Look at what Slytherin has turned into. My father always told me that Slytherin was the last stronghold of wizarding pride in this wretched school. But now… just look at it."
Avery nodded, his expression twisted in disgust. "The number of filthy half-bloods and mudbloods in Slytherin keeps increasing every year. It's absolutely disgraceful."
Mulciber slammed a fist into the table, causing Avery to jump. "I'll get that filthy mudblood bitch back for this disrespect," he vowed, his eyes burning with vengeance. "She'll pay."
Evan seized the opportunity to try and calm the situation. "This humiliation will pass," he said, his voice measured and deliberately soothing. "Things are changing. In a few years' time, the order of the wizarding world will be restored. We'll be living in a world ruled by pure-bloods. Just wait and see, this is just a temporary setback."
He understood that those words were just hollow reassurances, meant to soothe Mulciber's bruised ego. Yet, he also recognized that they were exactly what Mulciber craved to hear—words that echoed the deepest fears and hopes of countless pure-blood Slytherins. The serpent's grip was growing tighter, and Evan Rosier sensed that it wouldn't be long before it was poised to strike.
Severus lay stiff in his four-poster bed, the thin sheets coiling around his legs like eerie tendrils. What used to be a refuge in sleep had turned into a battlefield. For seven long days, he had been robbed of genuine rest, each night plunging him into a haunting nightmare. The image of snarling teeth, glistening fur, and the disturbingly familiar eyes of Remus Lupin, twisted and monstrous, replayed in his mind over and over. He'd wake up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding a frantic beat against his ribs, the ghostly scent of damp fur lingering in his nostrils.
His days were no better. A heavy expectation loomed in the air – an unspoken pressure to act as if nothing had happened. As if being hunted by a bloodthirsty werewolf was just another ordinary Tuesday. The worst part was the constant, subtle probing. He felt like a pariah, a spectacle, bombarded with thinly veiled questions about the "incident."
And then there was Dumbledore. That infuriatingly enigmatic wizard, with his twinkling eyes and infuriatingly calm demeanor. As if a perfectly calculated punishment would smooth everything over. Ten points deducted from Slytherin, ten from Gryffindor. A pathetic attempt at balanced justice. No detentions for Potter and his marauding band of miscreants.
Severus wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or if he should laugh at how ridiculous it all was. Ten points, that was what it all amounted to. He shook his head.
He'd deliberately avoided the Gryffindor lot, particularly Lupin. He made a point of choosing seats as far away as humanly possible in the few classes they shared. The first day after the… event… Lupin had looked dreadful, pale and drawn, his eyes haunted. But with each passing day, the color had returned to his cheeks, his posture straightened, and his usual easygoing demeanor gradually resurfaced. Severus suspected Potter and Black had gotten to him first, feeding him a sanitized, watered-down version of the truth.
No doubt casting Severus as the instigator, the one who'd gotten himself into trouble.
Unable to find any comfort in sleep, Severus begrudgingly sat up. The chilly morning air bit at his skin. He grabbed his old schoolbag and pulled out the finished potions assignment. Carefully, he went over his work, making sure every detail was just right, every ingredient measured accurately, and every reaction noted. He craved control, and perfecting his potions was one of the few things he felt he could still manage.
Satisfied, he replaced the assignment and retrieved his potions book. It was a tattered, beloved relic, inherited from his mother. The once-rigid spine was now fraying, threatening to unravel. It needed another repairing charm, a task he'd been putting off, loathing the reminder of its delicate, fragile state.
But the book's true value lay not in its physical integrity, but in its contents. The margins were filled with his own meticulous notes, corrections derived from countless late-night experiments. He'd documented alternative brewing methods, tweaked ingredients, and recorded the results of his tireless research.
Beyond the realm of potions, the book also contained a section dedicated to Severus's burgeoning interest in spell creation. It was a repository of ideas, half-formed concepts, and lists of ingredients for potential new potions.
In his third year, Severus was driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge and a simmering resentment towards his enemies. He had already conjured a handful of spells. His first creation, the toenail-growing hex, was a minor annoyance but a satisfying start to his journey into spellcraft. Not long after, he developed Langlock, a spell that glued the tongue to the roof of the mouth—perfect for silencing any unwanted chatter. Muffliato emerged out of necessity, a desperate effort to create a bubble of privacy for those quiet conversations with his friends.
Levicorpus and Liberacorpus were quite distinct from one another. They sprang from a place of anger, a deep-seated wish to humiliate those he saw as foes: Mulciber, Avery, and, naturally, Potter and Black. The beauty of these spells lay in their simplicity, yet their impact was nothing short of devastating.
Crafting each spell demanded hours of meticulous research, numerous failed trials, and an unwavering commitment to detail. But despite the challenges, he felt a genuine sense of pride in what he had achieved.
He gazed at the list, a new idea starting to form in his mind. Memories of last week flooded back, bringing with them the sheer terror he had felt. The raw, unfiltered fear that had gripped him and Lily as they were chased through the grounds, the menacing jaws of the werewolf closing in on them. He recalled how ineffective the spells he had cast at Lupin had been—just simple stunning spells that barely managed to slow him down.
He knew he had to figure out how to defend himself, to keep his friends safe, and to develop spells that were stronger and more effective against creatures like werewolves. He had to be prepared for whatever came next.
Not deadly enough to be considered Unforgivable, of course. He wasn't a murderer. But something that could bring down even a charging werewolf, something that could offer a real chance of survival.
Severus chuckled softly, a humorless sound that echoed in the silent dormitory. The image of a powerful, defensive spell, capable of incapacitating a werewolf, danced in his mind. The bell rang, its strident tone shattering his concentration.
He gathered his things, his thoughts already buzzing with what-ifs. Sure, he could have pretended to be sick, said he was still reeling from the… incident… But he knew he couldn't let himself get lost in that trauma. He had to stay active, to keep his mind off the overwhelming sense of helplessness that loomed over him.
First up, the lesson, then off to the library. He was determined to find a book on advanced spellcraft, particularly combat spells meant for tackling dark creatures. He craved knowledge, and he needed it fast.
As he headed to class, he navigated the throng of students heading in the opposite direction. His gaze caught on a familiar shock of red, and his heart lurched. Lily Evans was among the crowd, flanked by Mary and Marlene. She looked as exhausted as he felt, her eyes barely open, dark shadows underlining them.
A powerful urge surged through him, a desperate need to reach out, to offer comfort, to simply acknowledge the shared trauma. But he hesitated, the memory of their last, strained conversation still fresh in his mind. He watched her friends gently guide her forward, their faces etched with concern. He saw her disappear into the crowd, and a profound sense of loneliness settled over him.
They hadn't really talked about what had happened. He wanted to, more than anything, but he felt stuck in a whirlwind of uncertainty. How do you even bring up the topic of nearly being killed by a werewolf? What words could capture the sheer terror, the feeling of helplessness, and that nagging fear that just wouldn't go away?
With a deep breath, he allowed himself to be swept away by the tide of students. Next time, he vowed, he would find the right words, the right way to connect with her again. After all she was the only one he could speak to about this.
A/N: A Week jump from the incident. Classic Severus going quite, though you can't blame him when he's been told to keep quiet. Luckily he has a fellow student who been traumatized in this version of the werewolf incident.
I wanted to go over some of the other stuff going on outside of the werewolf incident. The Slytherins are becoming a snake eating its own tail more and more. It's always struck me as weird that Dumbledore and other professors let a whole house be indoctrinated by blood purity zealots. But that Hogwarts for you.
Next chapter will probably be with Lily and her struggles. After all she shares a common room with the werewolf that almost killed her. Also some Remus.
Hope you enjoyed and thank you all for all the great comments, keep them flowing in.
Till next time.
INK.