You were walking through the halls of Hogwarts—no robes, no books in hand. A few people raised their eyebrows at you, but no one stopped you. The reason was simple: you looked young. Not just looked—you were young.

Too young for Hogwarts.

Most students brushed it off. Maybe you just had a young face, maybe puberty hadn’t quite caught up yet. It wouldn’t be the first time someone here looked younger than they were. But without robes, it was harder to dismiss. Still, everyone had somewhere to be—class, their dorms, or secret meetings behind the castle walls—so little was done. And so you roamed freely.

You eventually stumbled into the Potions classroom, a large, dim room filled with cauldrons, shelves stacked with jars, and long rows of tables.

And there he was. Severus Snape

Tall. Thin. Pale. Black, greasy hair framing a sharp face. His robes were dark, shadows trailing behind him as he moved. His expression was severe as always, and those sharp eyes missed nothing.

At the moment, though, he was too focused on his work to notice you. You wandered toward a shelf of herbs and strange powders in jars, curious.

Meanwhile, Snape followed his ingredient list with low mutters. “Mandrake. Unicorn blood. Dittany…”

Smoke curled upward, filling the room with a sharp, unfamiliar smell. “I just need…” He reached for something beside him, then frowned. “…Venomous Tentacula.” His voice was edged with irritation when he realized it wasn’t next to him.

With quick, precise strides, he crossed the room to the shelves. He didn’t even notice you—his focus lasered in on the missing ingredient.

“Hm. I could’ve sworn I put it—” He stopped abruptly when something bumped his leg. Pulling his robes back, his eyes narrowed—and there you were. Holding the very bottle he’d been looking for.

For a moment, Snape was silent, perplexed. You weren’t a student. He’d never seen you before. And you were far too young to belong here.

He took the bottle from your hands. “…Hm. Thank you,” he said gruffly, glancing at the shelf again before looking back at you.

“You aren’t a student here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His dark eyes lingered on you, suspicious. Then, he took a deep breath and spoke again, “Where are your parents… uhm... child?”