The moment the office door closed, Severus knew.

He had spent years surviving lies, half-truths, and the particular expression people wore when Albus Dumbledore had convinced them to do something profoundly dangerous.

His assistant stood in front of his desk, clutching a sealed parchment.

"You said yes."

It was not a question.

She hesitated.

"Professor—"

"You said yes."

The dungeon seemed colder.

A green flame hissed beneath a nearby cauldron, throwing restless shadows across the stone walls.

"It was the Headmaster's request."

"That is not an explanation."

His voice was quiet.

Which was far worse.

She looked away first.

"The Ministry already suspects me."

"Of course they do."

"My mother was a Death Eater."

"And half the wizarding world possesses the intelligence of an overripe turnip."

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

She took a breath.

"Some people think I'm his daughter."

The silence that followed was so complete it almost became absurd.

Then Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"An impressive theory, considering the Dark Lord has all the paternal warmth of a plague."

Despite herself, she nearly laughed.

The expression vanished from his face immediately.

"You find this amusing?"

"No, sir."

"Good."

Another silence.

Outside, rain struck the dungeon windows.

Inside, Severus stared at her with the exhausted frustration of a man watching someone walk willingly toward a cliff.

"Do you understand what spies become when they make mistakes?"

His voice was softer now.

Dangerously soft.

She swallowed.

"Yes."

"No."

He rose from his chair.

His black robes swept across the floor like storm clouds.

"You understand the concept. You do not understand the reality."

For the first time, genuine anger flashed in his eyes.

Not anger at her.

At the situation.

At Dumbledore.

At fate itself.

"You should have refused."

"I wanted to help."

"You wanted to prove something."

The words struck home.

Neither spoke.

Finally, Snape looked away.

"When this inevitably becomes a catastrophe, kindly remember that I advised against it."

The assistant managed a faint smile.

"Are you worried about me, Professor?"

His expression became instantly unreadable.

"No."

A pause.

"Your paperwork would become intolerable."

Yet for some reason, that answer was far less convincing than he intended.