After a thorough wash, Snape returned to the Slytherin dormitory.
Avery and Mulciber lay sprawled in their beds, limbs hanging out from beneath their covers, mouths slightly open, snoring in staggered rhythms.
"Idiots,"
he muttered under his breath, drawing his wand and flicking it toward his own four-poster bed.
"Muffliato."
Funny, he thought, how this spell—created to dull the noise of snoring—had once been the only way he could fall asleep in this den of breathing beasts.
Tossing his dirty clothes into the empty laundry basket, Snape collapsed onto his pillow.
"Ugh… I've got to attend the Walpurgis gathering at the Hog's Head tomorrow," he sighed after digging through his memories. "Isn't that basically the Death Eater junior league?"
He stared up at the barely visible silver-and-green bed hangings, his ears filled with a low, indiscernible hum.
He tried muttering "System" and "Old Man" alternately in Mandarin and English, hoping for some RPG-like guidance from the void. Nothing answered.
Eventually, Severus Snape—no, Zayn—slipped into an uneasy sleep.
He woke early the next morning.
After a moment's deliberation, he dragged a battered suitcase from under his bed.
There wasn't much inside—just a change of robes, a set of threadbare Muggle clothes, and a few old books his mother had passed down to him.
One of them, Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, was worn and grimy, its corners frayed from constant use.
Zayn pulled out a pair of ill-fitting jeans and wore them under his robes.
In his old life as Severus, he would never have touched such hideous Muggle garments at Hogwarts.
But now, with caution overriding pride, he figured they could at least provide some modesty if he ended up hexed and disrobed by the Marauders.
The rustle of his movement stirred the others.
Avery blinked awake, jaw dropping in confusion as he rubbed his eyes and looked Zayn up and down.
"Get dressed," Zayn said flatly. "Let's go to breakfast."
He could see the questions behind Avery's squint, but he wasn't interested in answering them.
On the way to the Great Hall, students stared. Some whispered. A few snickered.
He was very nearly tempted to blast them with a few well-aimed Avada Kedavras, just to make their noses bleed and shut them up.
Instead, beneath the concealment of his sleeve, he pointed his wand subtly in every direction and murmured:
"Silencio Maxima."
Tongues glued to palates. Whispers choked. Silence fell.
He finally had peace.
He sat and heaped pork chops, lamb ribs, and beef steaks onto his plate, biting into the meat while lost in thought:
"These house-elves really know their craft. I'll need to eat more—bulk up, toughen the body…
"But first… first I need to get off Tom's sinking ship. Whether spy or double agent, none of them ever ended well.
"And I'm not about to spend seven years babysitting some arrogant brat only to have him parade my secrets in front of the whole bloody school after I'm dead.
"Surely the Death Eater pre-recruit stage isn't sealed by the Unbreakable Vow, right? …Still, it's a risk."
He chewed slowly, eyes drifting up to the staff table.
For one second—just one—his gaze locked with a pair of piercing, cerulean eyes behind half-moon spectacles.
Zayn's heart leapt. A cold sweat prickled at his spine.
He dropped his head instantly, fixed his eyes on his plate, and began sawing at a steak he no longer tasted.
"Shit. I almost forgot that detail.
"Let's hope I already know Occlumency, though I'm not sure if last night compromised anything. Might need to test it soon…"
Outside, the castle grounds shimmered under the rising crimson sun.
A breeze swept through the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, scattering dark green flecks of light across the grass.
Argus Filch stood at the gates, holding a long list and scowling at every student that passed. No one slipped through unchecked.
The group stepped out through the winged boar-topped pillars and turned left, toward the road to Hogsmeade.
As they passed Zonko's Joke Shop, Mulciber veered off to buy dungbombs and trick candies.
Zayn, uninterested, chose to loiter in the shaded doorway, watching owls of all colors flutter in and out of the Post Office like a swarm of feathered ghosts.
"Look who it is,"
Mulciber called, swaggering out with a paper bag bulging against his chest, Avery right behind him.
Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald were strolling up the path, talking and laughing.
"Perfect. Let's try out our new toys,"
Mulciber grinned, already fishing a dungbomb from the bag.
Just as he lifted his arm to throw it, Zayn's wand was in his hand.
"Protego!"
An invisible shield erupted with explosive force. Mulciber and Avery went flying backward, flat on their backs, dungbombs and stink pellets rolling across the dirt.
Zayn stared at his hand. He hadn't even thought—it was instinct.
Well. What now?
"What the bloody hell are you doing?!"
Mulciber scrambled upright, dust-covered and furious, eyes blazing behind the shield.
"Severus, are you mental?!"
"Don't touch them," Zayn said.
"What? You're siding with those filthy little Mud—"
"Don't. Say. That. Word!"
Zayn shouted.
His wand arm rose again, every muscle coiled like a curse waiting to launch.
Avery and Mulciber drew their wands in response.
Two against one. But they hesitated.
"Don't forget who you are, Severus," Mulciber warned.
"I don't need you to remind me," Zayn snapped.
The sun was nearly overhead now. The heavy air clung to every inch of skin like a spell gone wrong.
Then a breeze stirred behind him—light, deliberate.
Mary stepped forward.
She came to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
He hadn't expected anyone to stand with him. Least of all Mary.
What a girl, he thought. After all the times his lot had hexed her with cruel little jinxes, she'd still passed on messages to Lily. And now—this.
Then Lily stepped up too. She stood beside Mary.
Zayn flinched, eyes avoiding her instinctively.
"Mulciber," he said coolly, "you really want to duel me?"
He wasn't ready to openly sever ties with them. Not yet. So he made a show of lowering his wand.
Mulciber glared but relented, dragging Avery down with him as they gathered their spilled tricks and stalked off.
"Thanks, Mary," Zayn said quietly. Unsure.
She nodded, then turned away.
Zayn remained rooted in place, watching until both girls were far down the path.
The Hog's Head. Go—or don't go.
That was the question.