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Chapter 66 - A Shadow in the Library

The library had always been a place of calm for Severus Snape. Even as a student, he found solace between the rows of parchment and spellbooks, among the scent of old pages and the quiet rustle of turning leaves. Now, decades older—or younger, depending on perspective—he found himself seeking refuge there again.

It was evening. Candlelight flickered against the high, arched windows as Snape stood by a table in the farthest corner, away from curious eyes. A copy of Advanced Potion-Making lay open before him, but he wasn't reading it. His fingers traced the margin of the page idly. His mind, as it often did now, wandered.

His second chance had not brought peace. It had brought complication. Uncertainty. Emotion.

He had watched Harry Potter closely these past weeks—too closely. The boy was still frustrating, still reckless… but different. Sharper. Less trusting. Snape knew why. That child carried the weight of a world he hadn't yet fought for. And for some reason, this time, Snape could not bring himself to mock or punish him the way he used to.

Footsteps broke the silence.

"Didn't expect to see you here," came a voice—quiet, smooth, and tinged with boredom. Draco Malfoy.

Snape didn't look up. "That's because you rarely expect the obvious, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco sauntered forward, peering at the open book. "Potions again. Don't you get tired of all that?"

"No," Snape said curtly. "But you appear to have an abundance of time to be bored."

Draco smirked, sliding into the seat across from him. "You've been watching Potter."

Snape's eyes flicked up sharply. "I watch all my students."

"Right." Draco leaned back, folding his arms. "But you don't look at the rest of us like you're... waiting for something to happen. Or maybe trying to stop it."

Snape's expression was unreadable. "Be careful where your curiosity leads you, Draco. You might not like the answers."

"I'm not stupid, Professor." His tone turned slightly defensive. "There's something going on. With Potter. With you. Even with Granger and Weasley—they're acting like they're walking on glass. And lately..." he hesitated, frowning, "...Potter's been talking to me. Like a normal person. That never happens."

That caught Snape's interest. "And how do you feel about that?"

"I don't know," Draco admitted after a beat. "He's still annoying. But he's... I don't know. He's different too."

Snape regarded the boy carefully. Perhaps, despite his father's influence, Draco could still become something more than what Lucius had molded him into.

"Watch yourself," Snape said finally, closing the book. "The world is not so simple as heroes and villains. Not this time."

As he stood to leave, the flickering torchlight threw a long shadow across the floor—and for the briefest moment, it looked like there were two of him. One walking forward. One still chained to the past.

---

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry sat alone by the fire. The others had gone up to bed, and only the low hiss of embers remained. He stared into the flames, brow furrowed.

Draco had talked to him again today.

It wasn't insulting. It wasn't cold. It was... awkward. But real.

Harry didn't know how to feel about that.

He thought of Snape—how the man watched him like a hawk, always tense, like he expected Harry to explode. But there was something else, too. A kind of... regret? Harry couldn't put a name to it. Only that it wasn't the same Snape from before.

"Why are you helping me?" he had asked once, after class.

Snape hadn't answered. Just looked at him like he wanted to say something that hurt. Or mattered. But he didn't.

Now, sitting there alone, Harry wondered if maybe... they were both pretending not to care as much as they did.

Tomorrow was another day. Another lesson. Another step closer to whatever truth Snape was hiding—and whatever future Harry couldn't yet see.

But for now, the fire crackled quietly in the hearth. The castle slept. And Severus Snape—haunted by choices and armed with memory—prepared himself to face the shadows once more.

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