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Severus woke to the faint chime of Ravenclaw's enchanted bells, his head still tender from last night's reckless Revelio Echo. The dormitory was a blur of blue shadows, his roommates stirring but not yet awake. He lay still, grounding himself in the present: April 14, 1972. Hogwarts. Ravenclaw. Lily alive, the Chamber a distant threat, and a journal in his trunk that whispered of Tom Riddle's past.
The System's text flickered, unprompted:
[TEMPORAL INTEGRITY: 71%]
[WARNING: ANOMALOUS MAGICAL SIGNATURE DETECTED]
[OBJECTIVE: INVESTIGATE SOURCE]
Severus frowned, sitting up. An "anomalous magical signature" was new—distinct from the journal or his own spellcasting. Was it tied to the Chamber, the grimoire, or something else entirely? The System offered no details, its silence more unsettling than its usual cryptic nudges.
He dressed swiftly, retrieving the journal and Eileen's letter from his trunk. The letter's warning—trust your instincts—something's amiss—echoed in his mind. If Regulus Black wasn't here, as she'd confirmed, then Snape's fleeting assumption yesterday had been a glitch, his fractured memories bleeding into reality. He couldn't afford such slips, not with Malfoy and Rosier circling like hawks.
Today, he'd pursue the journal's author—Cillian Prewett, if the trophy record was correct. The library's deeper archives might hold more, but he'd need to dodge Elara's scrutiny and Madam Pince's vigilance. And that "anomalous signature" demanded attention; ignoring it felt as reckless as overusing Revelio Echo.
Breakfast was a whirlwind of chatter, the Great Hall bright despite the rain still drumming outside. Severus joined Lily and Elara at the Gryffindor table, where Lily's mood had lifted, her smile easing the knot in his chest.
"Got a reply from Mum," she said, waving a letter. "She says Petunia's just jealous and I shouldn't worry. Easier said than done."
"You're here for a reason," Severus said, choosing his words carefully. "Petunia can't change that."
Lily nodded, but her eyes flickered with doubt. Elara, slicing her bacon with surgical precision, glanced between them.
"Family's a variable even Arithmancy can't solve," she remarked. "My mother sent a formula last week instead of a letter. Supposed to 'optimize my study schedule.'"
Severus raised an eyebrow. "Did it work?"
"It's mathematically sound," Elara admitted. "Emotionally useless."
Lily laughed, the sound cutting through Severus's tension. He let himself linger in it, a moment of normalcy before the day's weight descended. But across the hall, Evan Rosier's stare from the Slytherin table shattered the illusion. The boy's cold smirk held no warmth, only calculation—a promise of trouble Snape remembered too well from another life.
[CONTACT ANALYSIS: EVAN ROSIER]
[THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE]
[RECOMMENDATION: MINIMIZE ENGAGEMENT]
Their first class was Charms with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, Professor Flitwick bouncing with enthusiasm as he introduced the Levitation Charm. Severus paired with Lily, who mastered the wand movement—swish and flick—on her third try, sending a feather drifting upward.
"Brilliant, Miss Evans!" Flitwick squeaked, awarding Gryffindor five points. "Mr. Snape, let's see your attempt."
Severus cast deliberately off-rhythm, his feather wobbling before rising a foot. Flitwick corrected his wrist angle, unaware that Severus could've levitated the entire desk if he'd wanted. Moderation was a tightrope—too skilled, and he'd draw Flitwick's suspicion; too weak, and he'd lose Ravenclaw's respect.
Elara, paired with a Hufflepuff girl, sent her feather soaring to the ceiling, earning a nod from Flitwick and a curious glance from Lily. "She's intense," Lily whispered. "Think she ever relaxes?"
"Doubt it," Severus murmured, suppressing a smirk. Elara's focus was a mirror to his own, minus the weight of two lifetimes.
As class ended, Flitwick called Severus over again. "Your technique's improving, Mr. Snape, but I sense you're holding back. Ravenclaw thrives on boldness—don't shy from your potential."
"Yes, Professor," Severus replied, masking his unease. Flitwick's encouragement was genuine, but his scrutiny was a growing risk.
[ACADEMIC PROFILE: INCREASING VISIBILITY]
[ADJUSTMENT REQUIRED: BALANCED PERFORMANCE]
Between classes, Severus detoured to the trophy room, claiming a need to fetch a forgotten quill. The System's warning about an "anomalous signature" tugged at him—Hogwarts was a nexus of magic, but this felt specific, tied to his mission. The trophy room, with its layers of enchanted awards, might hold traces of whatever the System had detected.
The room glittered with silver and gold, plaques and cups gleaming under protective charms. Severus moved methodically, scanning names from the 1940s. Cillian Prewett's 1942 Charms award was there, a small silver medallion etched with a wand emitting sparks. He reached out, not touching but close, and felt a faint hum—not the trophy's charm, but something deeper, like a heartbeat in the air.
[ANOMALOUS SIGNATURE: CONFIRMED]
[SOURCE PROXIMITY: HIGH]
[RECOMMENDATION: TRACE IMMEDIATELY]
Before he could act, footsteps echoed behind him. Severus turned, expecting a prefect, but found James Potter and Sirius Black, their grins promising mischief.
"Lost, Snivellus?" Potter drawled, tossing a Galleon between his hands. "This isn't the dungeon."
Severus stiffened, the old nickname cutting deeper than he'd expected. "Just looking," he said evenly. "Not your business."
Sirius stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Funny place to 'look.' Planning something, Snape?"
[CONFRONTATION DETECTED]
[RECOMMENDATION: DE-ESCALATE]
Severus held their gazes, calculating. They were children, not yet the tormentors of his past, but their arrogance was already blooming. Fighting here would draw attention he couldn't afford.
"Not worth my time," he said, brushing past them. Potter's laugh followed, but they didn't pursue—a small victory, but enough.
The encounter left Severus rattled, his control fraying. He skipped lunch, slipping to the library's restricted archives with a forged note from Flitwick—child's play for someone who'd mastered Dumbledore's signature in another life. The air grew heavy as he descended, the scent of old parchment mingling with a faint metallic tang.
He scanned records from 1942, cross-referencing Prewett. A faded yearbook listed Cillian as a Ravenclaw fifth-year, described as "brilliant but reclusive." No photo, but a note mentioned his work on "resonance-based detection spells"—eerily close to Eileen's Revelio Echo. Had the Prince and Prewett families crossed paths, sharing forbidden knowledge?
A sudden chill brushed his neck, not from a draft but from magic—raw, pulsing, like the hum in the trophy room. He froze, wand half-drawn, as the shelves seemed to shimmer. For a heartbeat, a veil of starry light hung before him, rippling like water, whispering in a language he didn't know yet felt in his bones.
[ANOMALOUS SIGNATURE: PEAK INTENSITY]
[SOURCE: UNKNOWN MAGICAL VEIL]
[WARNING: INTERACTION RISKY]
Severus stepped back, heart racing. The veil vanished, leaving only dusty shelves, but its presence lingered—a tear in reality, tied to Hogwarts' ancient magic. Was this the System's "Creator," a Chamber byproduct, or something older? He memorized the sensation, vowing to return with the grimoire's guidance.
At dinner, Severus rejoined Lily and Elara, his silence masked by their debate over Levitation Charm theory. Lily's laughter soothed him, but Elara's glance held questions she didn't voice. Across the hall, Rosier whispered with another Slytherin—Mulciber, perhaps—both glancing his way. Malfoy's absence was no comfort; his influence lingered in their eyes.
"Sev, you're miles away again," Lily said, touching his arm.
He forced a smile. "Just tired. Long day."
Elara tilted her head. "Or a puzzle you haven't cracked yet."
He didn't reply, but her words stung. She saw too much, and sooner or later, he'd need to decide—ally or obstacle?
That night, Severus risked the third-floor classroom again, the grimoire open to the Revelio Echo page. He couldn't cast it—last night's pain was warning enough—but the resonance theory might explain the starry veil. Eileen's notes mentioned amplifying echoes across "barriers," potentially including time or space. Could the veil be a bridge to the journal's era, or to the System itself?
He turned to a new grimoire section: "Star-Touched Wards." The Prince family, it claimed, had once woven protective spells using celestial alignments, creating barriers that shifted with the night sky. The incantation—Astra Velum—required moonlight and a specific constellation in view.
Severus glanced at the window, where Orion gleamed faintly through clouds. On impulse, he raised his wand, whispering, "Astra Velum." A shimmer spread across the room, not a veil but a lattice of star-like motes, humming softly. It felt… alive, responding to his intent.
[NEW ABILITY DETECTED: ASTRA VELUM]
[STRATEGIC VALUE: DEFENSIVE]
[CAUTION: UNSTABLE IN CURRENT TIMELINE]
The lattice faded, leaving Severus exhilarated but drained. The grimoire's wards could shield his experiments—or hide evidence if the Chamber hunt turned dangerous. But the veil in the library suggested Hogwarts itself was reacting to his presence, as if the castle knew he didn't belong.
[DAILY EVALUATION: SIGNIFICANT DISCOVERY]
[MISSION STATUS: CRITICAL JUNCTURE]
[NEW OBJECTIVE: EXPLORE VEIL PHENOMENON]
[PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: PROTECT LILY EVANS]
Severus returned to the tower, answering the eagle's riddle—"What is always coming but never arrives?"—with "Tomorrow." In bed, he stared at the canopy, the veil's whispers echoing in his mind. Cillian Prewett, the Chamber, the System—all were threads in a tapestry he could barely see. But Lily's face anchored him, a reminder of why he fought.