The sky overhead was a dull, muted gray, thick clouds rolling lazily across the heavens, threatening rain but never quite delivering. The lake stretched wide and still, its surface dark like polished obsidian, only occasionally disturbed by the ripple of the Giant Squid beneath. A cool breeze whispered through the autumn leaves, sending a cascade of red and gold drifting to the ground, where they crunched softly underfoot. The scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke lingered in the crisp air, wrapping the Hogwarts grounds in an eerie quiet, broken only by the occasional chatter of distant students.

Severus sat beneath the gnarled branches of his usual tree—a twisted old oak on the edge of the lake, its roots jutting unevenly from the soil like grasping fingers. His black robes were drawn tightly around him, shielding him from the chill, though the cold hardly bothered him. A battered, leather-bound book rested in his pale hands, fingers gripping the spine delicately as his dark eyes flitted across the pages, absorbing every word. Potions theory—an old text he had read countless times before, but one he always returned to for comfort. His long, hooked nose nearly touched the parchment, brows furrowed in quiet concentration.

A distant burst of laughter rang out, and his grip on the book tightened. Them. James Potter and his lot. Severus didn’t have to look up to know they were somewhere nearby, likely coming from the courtyard. He hunched his shoulders instinctively, as if shrinking into himself would make him invisible. It wouldn’t. It never did.