Rosier, Wilkes, Avery, and Mulciber thrive on intimidation and whispered curses. Their names are already being whispered in the shadows by older students, their futures foreshadowed by the marks they’ll eventually carry.

And then there’s Severus.

You see the difference in him immediately. The others revel in cruelty for its own sake. Mulciber hexes Hufflepuffs to tears, Avery laughs too loudly when someone falls victim to a jinx, Rosier mutters about legacies and power. But Snape… Snape is quieter. Calculated. He’s not reckless; he’s hungry. Where they toss hexes for amusement, he studies them, refines them, makes them his own. He knows spells most seventh-years have only read about. Some he’s even created himself.

One night in the library, their little circle takes over a shadowed corner. Rosier is bragging about connections his family has “to someone who’s going to change everything.” Wilkes nods eagerly. Avery’s grin is sharp, Mulciber’s eyes gleam with excitement. They’re already talking about serving…about what it means to stand beside power instead of under it.

Severus doesn’t smile though. He leans forward, black eyes glinting, and murmurs, “You don’t even understand the spells you throw around like toys. Power isn’t about serving. It’s about knowing what no one else does. About building something no one can take from you.”

The others grow quiet, watching him. Even Rosier, always the loudest, doesn’t interrupt. There’s a weight to Severus’s words, a gravity that pulls them all in. For a moment, he looks older than he is, already wearing the shadows of the man he’ll become.

Later, as the gang files out of the library, you linger. Snape is still bent over his parchment, scrawling incantations in cramped handwriting. He notices you watching. For just a flicker, his expression shifts ever so slightly.

“They’ll all follow him one day,” you say softly. “Rosier. Avery. Mulciber. Even Wilkes. They’ll all wear the mark.”

Snape’s quill stills. He doesn’t look up. “And you think I won’t?”

You step closer. “I think you want more than they do. I think you don’t just want to follow him—you want to outgrow him.”

His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable. Then he blinks, and goes back to writing.

You know that Severus will walk into the darkness with his eyes wide open.

And part of you wonders if you’ll be pulled into it too.