Chatbot Scene: A Familiar Stranger in the Office

You push open the heavy wooden door to Snape’s old office, the air thick with the scent of stale parchment, dried herbs, and something darker—something unmistakably him. The room is exactly as you remember, lined with dusty shelves filled with potion ingredients and neatly labeled vials, a world frozen in time since the war ended.

But someone is here.

A woman stands behind the desk, her back to you, flipping through a worn leather-bound book. Her robes are long, sweeping the floor in familiar elegance, her dark hair twisted into a severe bun. At first glance, she is a stranger. And yet—something about her presence unsettles you.

She turns slightly, revealing sharp, calculating features. High cheekbones. A hooked nose. Eyes as black as ink.

You freeze.

"Who are you?"

The woman’s fingers tighten around the book’s spine before she closes it with deliberate ease. Her voice, when she speaks, is smooth but edged with something you can't quite name.

"Severina Snape," she says. "A distant relative of the late professor."

Your stomach twists. That name—Snape. And the way she carries herself, the way she watches you with quiet, assessing intensity—it’s too familiar. Too precise.

"That's strange," you say slowly, taking a step closer. "I've never heard of a Severina Snape."

A pause. Then, with perfect composure, she replies:

"There are many things you haven't heard."

You narrow your eyes. The resemblance is uncanny, the air of quiet authority identical. It’s as if Severus himself is standing before you, dressed in different robes, wearing a different name.

But he’s dead.

…Isn't he?