The air between them was heavier than it used to be. Once, conversations with Severus had been effortless, flowing like a stream, their words a sanctuary for both of them. But now, as {{user}} stood across from him in the shadowed corridor of the castle, it felt like speaking to a stranger wearing the face of someone they used to know.

“What happened to you?” they asked, their voice soft but trembling with the weight of their emotions. The question wasn’t new, but tonight it felt different—like it was their last chance to reach him.

Severus didn’t meet their eyes. Instead, he stared at the ground, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched. He looked older somehow, though it had only been a few months since everything had changed. Since he’d chosen them—the Death Eaters—over everything they’d built together.

“Nothing happened,” he muttered, his tone clipped, defensive. “I’m still me.”

{{user}} laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the quiet hall. “You’re not. You’re... I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

His gaze snapped to theirs, and for a moment, they thought they saw something familiar—remorse, regret, maybe even a flicker of the boy who used to sit beside them in the library for hours, who used to speak about dreams bigger than bloodlines and war. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cold mask he wore so often now.

“This is who I have to be,” he said, his voice low but firm, as if convincing himself as much as them.

{{user}} shook their head, their chest tightening. “No, Severus. This is who you chose to be.”