The night was eerily dark. A no-moon night, the kind where the stars were hidden behind thick clouds, and the world felt still, suffocating even. Severus slipped the cloak over himself, feeling the weight of its fabric settle around him like a second skin. Moving with practiced stealth, he slithered through the corridors, silent as a shadow. He found Sirius waiting, just as planned, a glint of impatience in his eyes. With a nudge, Severus drew his attention and swiftly covered him with the cloak, merging them into one.
"Let's go," Severus murmured, his voice barely audible. "I see him on the map. He's heading to the 7th floor. Let's see where he goes. He vanishes around that barmy portrait. Come on."
The two of them moved quickly, their footsteps barely a whisper on the stone floor. They reached the 7th floor and scanned the corridor, each footfall calculated, each step deliberate. As they neared, Severus saw him—the figure they were trailing—slip into nothingness, disappearing before their eyes as if swallowed by the walls.
"Dang it!" Sirius muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.
They combed the hallway, their eyes sweeping every corner, searching for the telltale sign that might reveal the figure's path. But there was nothing—no trace, no hint, no magic to trace. Severus clenched his jaw, his usual stoic expression betraying none of the annoyance bubbling within. He refused to give into it.
They waited, telling themselves the rat would show up soon, that the game was only a matter of time. But the minutes stretched on, growing long and heavy, and still, nothing appeared. Severus's patience began to fray, but he kept his frustration in check, resisting the urge to act rashly. After what felt like an eternity, though it could have only been mere moments, they gave up, heading back to their dorms in silence. The map was still empty.
Frustrated but resolute, they both retreated to their beds, minds whirring with questions, bodies exhausted. But Severus, though lying still, wasn't at rest. He knew this wasn't over. Not yet. It was only just beginning.
Severus was far from sleeping. Every waking hour was consumed by his quest. Every movement, every thought was dedicated to pushing himself further. He had never been this close. The potions, the research, everything was aligning, falling into place. He could feel it.
He stood over the cauldron, his hands steady as he brewed the blood-red potion, every drop of liquid mixing with calculated precision. His heart beat in sync with the rhythm of the brew as the transformation neared. The incantation slipped from his lips, words sharp and deliberate, infused with intent. As the potion took hold, a wave of heat rushed through his body, and the pain of transformation followed. He gritted his teeth and let it happen. Every bone shifted, every muscle stretched, the familiar sensation of his body twisting, reshaping itself.
Then, there it was—a raven. Black as midnight, feathers blending perfectly with the darkness. It was exactly what he needed. He studied his new form, the sharp beak, the sleek wings, the eyes—clear and knowing. The body felt foreign, yet strangely natural, like a second skin waiting to be worn. After a moment's acclimatization, he shifted back, his human form reasserting itself with a feeling of comfort, of power.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, and with renewed purpose, he moved forward. He pulled his perfected Disillusionment Charm over himself, silent and invisible. A wave of Mufliato followed, silencing the area around him completely. He layered on scent-erasing charms, ensuring no trace of him remained. He double-checked the wards surrounding the castle—he was certain of one thing: Potter and Sirius were getting too close. That cloak, while powerful, was no match for the hours of work he'd put into his wards. They wouldn't catch him.
His thoughts sharp, he moved silently, his every step deliberate. Reaching a window, he gazed out over the grounds below. A raven, as though summoned by his will, appeared on the ledge, the dark wings flicking in the night air. With a quiet leap, the raven took flight, soaring into the void of the night. The sensation was strange at first—awkward, unfamiliar—but soon it became natural. The wind parted beneath him, the rhythm of flight syncing with his every movement. He soared, flying in wide, steady circles over the castle, the cool night air washing over him. For a moment, he let himself indulge in the sensation of freedom, the weightlessness that came with his new form.
After what felt like hours, though only a fraction of time had passed, he returned to the castle. With a graceful landing, the raven folded its wings, melding seamlessly back into the shadows. Another successful night. Another step forward.
He allowed himself only three hours of rest. It was all the time he could spare. Time was a luxury, and he had no time to waste. The world wasn't waiting for him, and every moment spent resting could mean another second lost that could make her sadder. He could not bear that thought.