Chapter 3: Needles and Shadows

Azkaban loomed like a mountain of despair, its towers scraping the clouds, its walls etched with frost. Severus stood just outside the gate, helpless, as robed Dementors glided silently past him. His mother stood within, pale and furious, clutching her wand as though it might still protect her. A voice echoed through the fog, cruel and final.

"Illegal instruction of underage magic."

"You said you wouldn't tell!" she screamed at Severus. Her voice cracked like glass.

He woke with a jolt, tangled in his sheets and damp with sweat.

A sharp breeze was blowing through the dormitory. One of the tower windows had been opened, and against the silvery-blue of the pre-dawn sky, a dark shape scrambled into view.

"Bit tight this time," Sirius Black's voice grunted. He swung a leg over the sill.

"You're mad," came James Potter's whisper, tugging on a rope secured to Sirius's waist. "Completely mental."

"You’re the one who said there was a secret chimney on the Owlery roof. I wanted to see."

"You could’ve died," came Peter’s muffled voice from beneath his blankets.

Severus sat up, groggily wiping sweat from his brow. He watched as Sirius untied the rope and dropped it with a grin.

"Worth it. Whole sky’s full of owls."

James saw Severus watching and smirked. "Morning, Sev. Have any nightmares about hexing Slytherins again?"

Severus said nothing. The dream still clung to him like fog.

The first lesson of the day was Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall stood at the front, strict and regal, her wand balanced delicately between her fingers. “Today, you will begin the theory and fundamentals of changing one object into another. This is advanced magic, and not without risk. Concentration is essential.”

Severus sat beside Lily, his quill scratching notes faster than anyone else. The theory—he understood. But when it came time to practice, the stick before him remained stubbornly a stick.

James, two rows down, grinned triumphantly as his twig shimmered silver, morphing into a long, sharp needle.

“Brilliant, Potter!” McGonagall beamed.

Next to him, Sirius’s stick followed suit in a flash of light.

Wormtail's twig, however, turned limp and slightly gooey.

James let out a loud laugh. “Looks like Wormtail tried to turn his into troll snot.” He turned his grin to Severus. “Though Snape’s might just be a troll’s wand.”

Severus clenched his jaw. His stick wobbled. But it stayed wood.

Charms was held in a circular turret chamber with enchanted windows that changed with the weather.

Professor Flitwick stood on a pile of books to reach his lectern, voice high and chipper. “Today, we begin with the Levitation Charm—Wingardium Leviosa! A delicate motion, remember: swish and flick!”

Severus suppressed a sigh. He had mastered the charm three years ago. But under Flitwick’s gaze, he made his wand hesitate, fumbled the pronunciation.

Still, his feather drifted upward with a grace few others achieved.

Flitwick clapped for a struggling student in the back, but his glance at Severus lingered just a moment too long. He was safe he could pretend to learn the spell every time fail the first few times and then in the end produce a succesfull spell.

When the bell rang, the rest hurried off to the Great Hall. Severus turned left, toward the library.

He buried himself in Transfiguration texts until his hand ached. His Charms notes sprawled across the table, and Lily joined him briefly to compare answers.

When she left, Sirius lingered behind.

“You hexed Avery with secret dark curses,” Sirius said lowly. “But now you can’t float a feather?”

Severus didn’t answer.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You're hiding something.”

Thursday brought double Herbology with Hufflepuff in the greenhouses behind the castle.

The morning air was cool and smelled of wet soil and dragon dung fertilizer. Professor Sprout bustled among the students with muddy hands and a sunhat that looked like it had been eaten once.

“Today we’ll be handling Dittany sprouts and Gurdyroot,” she announced. “Careful—Dittany juice will burn your skin.”

Lily flinched at her gloves.

“Let me,” Severus said quietly, already pinching the stems with practiced fingers. The technique had been drilled into him by his grandmother, a hedge-witch and village healer.

Sprout approached and peered over his shoulder.

“My word,” she said, impressed. “You’ve done this before.”

“My gran grows them,” Severus mumbled.

Sprout smiled warmly. “Prince’s grandson, are you? A fine woman. She is one of the few that still practice the old ways. Nothing less from her grandson I see”

From across the bed, James whispered to Sirius, “Maybe that’s what he slipped into Avery’s tea—wrotten spinach.”

Sirius snorted. Even Lily bit back a smile.

Defence Against the Dark Arts followed. Their teacher, Professor Graymoor, was thin, nervous, and quite possibly more afraid of the subject than the students.

He read directly from a dusty textbook and flinched at every raised hand.

Remus Lupin, pale but sharp-eyed, answered every question with calm certainty.

“Correct,” Graymoor said with surprise when Remus explained the five classifications of curses. “Very thorough.”

Severus remained silent, taking meticulous notes.

Later, in the library again, he searched the shelves until his fingers closed on a thick leather volume titled Nocturnal Beasts and Their Habits.

He read the chapter on lycanthropy twice.

Friday’s final class was History of Magic.

Professor Binns, the ghost, floated into the room through the blackboard. He began his lecture without noticing half the class was still filing in.

James conjured a parchment that made farting noises every time Binns said the word “goblin.”

Sirius charmed the blackboard to write GOBLIN REBELLION (Starring Professor Windbag).

The class roared with laughter. Binns didn’t pause.

Lily shot Severus an amused glance. He passed her a copy of his neat, slanted notes.

“Thank Merlin you exist,” she whispered.

The weekend passed quietly. Severus barely left the library.

“Come on, Sev, dinner!” Lily begged Sunday evening, tugging at his sleeve. “You’ll starve.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re thin as a wand. Come on. Even ghosts eat more than you.”

She dragged him, reluctantly, to the Great Hall.

On Monday morning, Remus was missing.

“Hospital wing,” Peter whispered. “Caught a cold over the weekend.”

Their first Potions class was in the dungeons with Professor Slughorn, a round, jolly man who smelled of caramel and dragon liver.

“Today, we brew the Boil-Cure Potion!” he boomed. “Nettles, snake fangs, horned slugs, porcupine quills, and a dash of Flobberworm Mucus. Off you go!”

Severus worked silently, adjusting quantities with small tweaks. With Lily beside him, he tested an extra ingredient: a drop of aloe essence.

Their cauldron bubbled into a smooth, lavender-colored potion.

Slughorn bustled over.

“Excellent work, Miss Evans! One points to Gryffindor!”

He didn’t glance at Severus.

Lily looked sideways at him.

“I don’t mind,” Severus murmured. “You helped a lot.”

That night, in the common room, Severus curled into a high-backed chair by the fire, the book on nocturnal creatures open in his lap.

A line glowed in the firelight:

Werewolves most often turn under the full moon. Symptoms can include chronic fatigue, fever, and sensitivity to sound in the days prior.

He glanced toward the stairs and went to the bedroom. Lupin’s bed would be empty.