McGonagall didn't frame it as a request.
She stood at the head of her desk, spine straight, hands braced against the wood as if the castle itself were pressing back through her palms. The fire behind her snapped once, sharp and impatient. Morning light cut the office into clean angles. Nothing soft survived here.
"Elara. Severus." Her gaze moved between us without pause. "You will work together."
Not if. Not until further notice. A directive. Institutional. Final.
Snape stood to my left, a fraction behind the line of the desk. Black robes, collar high, posture immaculate. He looked carved out of shadow and discipline. His hands were folded behind his back. Still. Contained. He didn't look at me.
I kept my shoulders relaxed. My weight even on both feet. The words landed anyway, heavy in my chest.
McGonagall continued. "We have identified three zones showing instructional behaviour. Not residual. Not spontaneous. Directed. You will map them and neutralise what you can."
Cassian's name wasn't spoken, but his presence pressed in from the edges of the room. Ministry timelines. Ministry patience wearing thin.
"This is not optional," McGonagall said. "And it is not a test. Hogwarts does not have the luxury of pride."
Her eyes rested on me for half a second longer. Not warning. Recognition.
"Understood," I said.
Snape inclined his head once. "Yes."
No protest. No hesitation. He accepted the order the way he accepted most things: by absorbing it and giving nothing back.
We were dismissed with the same efficiency.
The corridor outside felt narrower than before. Stone close on either side. The castle's hum ran just under hearing, a thin vibration that set my teeth on edge. Snape fell into step beside me without comment.
Not close enough to touch. Close enough to register.
Our strides matched without effort. His longer. Mine quicker. We adjusted until neither had to think about it.
We didn't speak.
Footsteps echoed ahead of us, then faded. A group of students crossed an intersection and vanished down a stairwell, laughter trailing behind them like something breakable. The sound cut off abruptly, swallowed by stone.
I was aware of him in precise, unwanted detail.
The way his shoulders stayed squared even while walking. The controlled swing of his hands at his sides. The faint whisper of fabric when his robes shifted. The heat of him, subtle but undeniable, when the corridor narrowed and we had to pass closer.
My body remembered the brief, brutal efficiency of his grip the day before. My wrist still carried a phantom warmth. My chest tightened in response. I forced my breath slow.
Distance had never protected me from this.
We reached the first zone without announcement. An older corridor, sealed for decades after a partial collapse. The air changed as soon as we crossed the threshold. Heavier. Charged. Dust hung motionless, as if gravity had forgotten it.
"This one," I said.
Snape stopped immediately. No question. No correction.
The walls were etched with faint ward lines, almost erased by time. Someone had gone over them recently. Not repairing. Teaching. Reinforcing certain responses. Weakening others.
I crouched, coat brushing stone, and ran my fingers just above the floor. The magic there prickled against my skin, sharp and alert. It recognised attention and leaned toward it.
"Pressure-triggered," I said. "Social density. Conflict spikes."
Snape moved past me, wand already out. He traced a counter-line in the air, clean and precise. The corridor responded, a low groan running through the stone like a warning.
He didn't ask how I knew. He followed my rhythm. Adjusted to it.
Something in my chest loosened. Not relief. Awareness.
A tremor ran through the floor without warning. My balance slipped for a split second. The magic surged, faster than before, as if annoyed at being noticed.
"Hold," I said.
Snape's spell shifted immediately. No argument. No delay.
The corridor stabilised, but the backlash caught me anyway. A sharp pain flared behind my eyes. My vision narrowed. My knee buckled
Snape caught me.
Not gently. Not roughly. His hand closed around my upper arm, solid, immovable. He pulled me back against the wall, body angled between me and the corridor. His other hand braced against stone above my shoulder.
The contact was brief. It burned anyway.
My breath hitched. I hated that it did. I forced it steady.
"You're hurt," he said.
Not concern. Assessment.
"I'm functional," I replied.
He didn't release me immediately. His grip tightened once, then eased. He stepped back a fraction, restoring distance without apology.
The space he left felt colder.
We moved into a side chamber to let the magic settle. An old storage room, shelves stripped bare, stone walls sweating faint moisture. The door shut behind us with a dull finality.
Silence dropped heavy between us.
I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes for half a second. The pain receded to a dull pressure. Manageable.
Snape stood opposite me, arms crossed now, posture rigid. His gaze flicked once to my face, then away.
"You overextended," he said.
"You followed," I replied.
A pause. A thin one.
"That was intentional," he said.
I opened my eyes. "You trusted my read."
Another pause. Longer.
"I trusted the data," he said.
It was the closest he would come.
The castle shifted around us, a subtle roll through the stone. The silence thickened. It wasn't empty. It was listening.
"You never chose," I said.
The words were quiet. Not an accusation. A fact I'd been carrying too long.
Snape's jaw tightened. He didn't look at me.
"You left," he said.
"I was persuaded," I replied. "To believe distance was intelligence. That yielding was wisdom."
His breath changed. A fraction deeper.
"I was told you'd never choose me," I continued. "Not over a ghost. Not over guilt."
The stone hummed louder. A pressure built in the room, as if the walls were drawing closer.
Snape turned then. Slowly. His eyes were dark, unreadable.
"I did not choose," he said. "Because you removed the option."
The words landed clean and brutal.
No denial. No apology. Consequence.
The castle reacted immediately.
The air compressed. Shelves rattled. A crack split across the far wall, thin and fast.
I didn't step back.
For the first time, I stayed where it hurt.
Snape's gaze sharpened. "This is what it responds to."
"Yes," I said. "Silence. What we refuse to finish."
The crack widened, then stilled. The pressure eased slightly.
A soft chime echoed through the room. Not a bell. A ward resetting itself.
Snape exhaled once. Controlled. He lowered his wand.
A message flare burned briefly in the air between us. Ministry seal. Cassian's handwriting, neat and precise.
Containment approved. Separation recommended. For safety.
I stared at it. Felt the familiar pull. The old logic. Reasonable. Sensible. Safe.
My stomach dropped... not in doubt, but in recognition.
Snape watched me without comment. He didn't reach. He didn't speak.
The castle waited.
"No," I said.
The word was small. Absolute.
The flare flickered, then vanished.
Snape's eyes narrowed. "You refuse."
"I choose," I replied. "To stay. To finish this.
Without intermediaries."
A beat.
He adjusted his stance... not retreating, not advancing, simply re-aligning, as if recalculating the space with me still in it.
He nodded once.
No argument. No romance. Acceptance.
The castle exhaled, deep and steady.
For the first time, I stayed where it hurt... and didn't call it a mistake.