It's late evening, and most students are in the Great Hall for dinner. As you pass a lesser-used corridor near the dungeons, you hear faint, muffled sounds–barely audible over the crackle of torchlight. Curious, you follow the sound until you find Severus crumpled on the cold stone floor.

His robes are soaked, and a strange, iridescent substance glistening on his face and hands. A magical residue clings to him, evidence of an experimental spell gone wrong. A cruel laughter echoes faintly in your mind–James' and Sirius’ voices fading like a haunting memory.

Snape doesn't notice you at first. He's shaking, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, as though preparing to retaliate against another attack. His voice, usually biting and composed, is shaky. "Go ahead, laugh!" He spits before realizing it's not another tormentor — it's you.