December 19th 1971
The cold made Severus pull his robes tighter. His shoulders hunched against the chill that seemed to seep right through the stone walls. This high up in the castle, the warmth from the lower floors never quite reached, and the December night made it worse. The warming charm he'd cast—one David had taught them that worked better than the regular kind—still couldn't keep all the cold out.
It was Sunday, just a few days before Christmas holidays. Next week most of the school would empty out, everyone going home for three weeks.
Severus had never stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas before. This was only his first year. But thinking about going back to Spinner's End for three whole weeks made his stomach twist uncomfortably. Three weeks of Mum's defeated silences and tiptoeing around Dad's moods. Three weeks of hiding his textbooks and pretending magic didn't exist just to keep the peace.
He'd been thinking about asking to stay at school. They had to let some students stay, right? But then Lily invited him to Wales with her family and suddenly everything was better.
Her family was visiting relatives—her aunt and uncle and their kids. Her mum's sister. They didn't know about magic, which made Severus nervous—what if he accidentally did something?—but Lily said they were nice and there'd be a proper Christmas and it would be brilliant.
He couldn't say no to her. He never could.
Severus looked over at Lily walking beside him. Her breath misted in the cold air. She'd pulled her robes tight too, her red hair tucked inside her collar for warmth. Her cheeks were pink from the cold but she was smiling.
She smiled a lot these days.
Ever since joining The Circle, everything had changed. Not bad changed—though Severus had been scared at first. When Lily first told him about the secret meetings, when she came back with that bright look in her eyes talking about fairness and a fourth-year named David Price, Severus had been properly terrified.
Some older student bringing her to secret meetings? Filling her head with ideas, taking up all her time, making her eyes light up when she talked about him? Severus knew what pure-bloods could be like. He'd seen it in Slytherin common room. Been on the receiving end of it himself—eleven years old and already learning his place as a half-blood with a Muggle father.
He'd worried David Price was like that. Another pure-blood using Lily for something. Playing with her.
But David wasn't like that at all.
David was Muggleborn. Which still surprised Severus sometimes, even after weeks of meetings. Because David didn't act like a Muggleborn—didn't have that uncertain way of moving like you weren't sure you belonged. He walked through Hogwarts like he owned it. Talked with confidence Severus had only heard from pure-bloods. Made professors actually listen to him.
He was hard to describe.
Severus had tried to figure it out once, lying in bed while his roommates snored. David was like a force. Like wind—you couldn't see it or hold it, but you felt it everywhere. Felt it changing things just by being there.
When David talked, people listened. When he taught them spells, they learned. When he said something was wrong, you found yourself agreeing even if you'd never thought about it before.
And Lily—
Lily had changed in ways that were both amazing and a little scary.
She'd always been brilliant. Always the smartest in their year, always first to get spells right, always asking questions that made professors pause. But now there was something more. She stood taller. Spoke with more confidence. Actually argued when she thought something wasn't fair instead of just accepting it quietly.
She was becoming something remarkable.
Severus loved seeing it, even if part of him—the small, mean part that sounded like his father—worried she was getting too good for him. That she'd realize he was just Severus. Poor Severus Snape from Spinner's End who wasn't special like her.
But she'd invited him to Christmas. That had to mean something.
"You're being quiet," Lily said, bumping her shoulder against his. "You're not still worried about the Potions essay, are you? Yours was perfect."
Severus shook his head. "Already handed it in."
"Show-off." She grinned at him, and warmth bloomed in his chest despite the cold. "So what are you thinking about?"
He hesitated. "Christmas. Wales. Your family."
"You don't need to be nervous, Sev. They're really nice. My aunt makes the best roast potatoes, and my cousins are only a bit annoying." She linked her arm through his, easy and warm. "It'll be fun. Way better than staying here by yourself or going back to... you know."
She didn't say "your house" or "your father" but Severus heard it anyway. She always understood without him having to explain.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Better than that."
They turned a corner, heading toward the main staircase. The corridor was dim, the torches burning low as evening turned to proper night. Most students were already in their common rooms or at dinner. The castle felt empty. Quiet.
"Did you see David's face when Marcus finally got that shield charm working?" Lily asked, her voice bright. "He looked so pleased. Like—"
"Well, well. What do we have here?"
The voice cut through the quiet, cold and mean.
Severus felt Lily's arm go stiff in his. Felt his own stomach drop.
Three figures stepped out from a side corridor ahead, blocking their path. Even in the dim light, Severus recognized them immediately. Older students. All Slytherins. All pure-bloods.
Edmund Mulciber stood in the center—sixth year, tall and broad, dark hair slicked back the way pure-blood heirs wore it. On his left was Thaddeus Nott, thin and mean-looking with eyes like a snake. On his right, Caractacus Avery, built big and looking twice as nasty.
Severus had seen them in the common room. Had learned to stay out of their way, keep his head down, not draw their attention.
But he'd drawn it anyway.
"Snape," Mulciber said, and his voice was full of contempt. Like Severus was something disgusting stuck to his shoe. "And the little Mudblood. How... fitting."
Severus felt Lily flinch beside him at the word. Felt her arm slip away as she straightened up, her hand moving toward her wand. His own hand was already reaching for his, fingers wrapping tight around the wood.
His heart was hammering hard. His mouth felt dry.
This was bad.
Three of them. Two of him and Lily. All of them older, bigger, probably better at spells.
This was very, very bad.
Severus wanted to step back. Every instinct screamed at him to turn and run, to get away before this got worse, before wands started firing and he got hurt. His legs felt shaky. His mouth was dry.
But that would mean leaving Lily on her own.
He wouldn't do that. Couldn't do that.
The Circle had been teaching him how to defend himself. No offense spells yet—David said they weren't ready, that defense came first, that you had to know how to protect before you learned to attack. But the Clipeo spell had been drilled into him over and over. How to cast it fast. How to angle it. How to take a spell on your shield, let it break, then recast in quick succession while your opponent was recovering.
He knew Lily could do it too. She was better at it than him, actually. Her shields lasted longer, shone brighter, held steadier. During practice sessions, David always used her as the example—"Watch how Lily angles her shield, see how she maintains the flow of magic"—and Severus tried not to feel jealous because she deserved the praise. She worked hard. She was brilliant.
And right now, she was all that stood between them and three angry pure-bloods who wanted to hurt them.
They just needed to survive long enough for someone to notice. For a prefect on rounds, or a professor coming back from dinner, or even another student who might run for help. The castle was huge but it wasn't empty. Someone had to come past eventually.
They just had to last that long.
Six wands in a dim corridor. Three pointed at him and Lily, held steady by boys with years more practice, years more power. Three held by first-years barely three months into learning magic, hands shaking despite trying to stay calm.
The odds were terrible.
But Severus tightened his grip on his wand anyway, feeling the wood press into his palm. Beside him, he could sense Lily doing the same. They'd come too far to back down now. The Circle had taught them they didn't have to accept being treated as less. That they had worth. That they could fight back.
Even when they were scared.
"Aww," Mulciber said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy that made Severus's stomach twist with humiliation and anger. The older boy tilted his head, examining them like they were insects pinned to a board. Interesting maybe, but ultimately disposable. "The little Mudblood and half-blood think they can do something? What, maybe a Lumos? A Wingardium Leviosa?"
He laughed, and Nott and Avery laughed with him. The sound echoed off the stone walls, bouncing back from all directions, making it seem like there were more of them. Like the whole castle was laughing at two first-years who'd forgotten their place.
"Please," Mulciber continued, spreading his arms like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You two have taken up space meant for real witches and wizards. Pure witches and wizards. People who actually belong here."
Severus gripped his wand tighter, his palm slick with sweat against the wood. His heart hammered so hard he could hear it in his ears, could feel it pulsing in his throat. Fear tasted like metal on his tongue.
Beside him, he could hear Lily's breathing—fast and shallow but controlled, the way David had taught them. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Don't let panic take over. Stay focused. Stay ready.
She was scared too. He could hear it in the slight hitch of her breath, could see it in the way she'd gone very still, like a rabbit freezing when a fox came near.
But she wasn't backing down. Her wand stayed level. Her chin stayed up. Her green eyes were fixed on Mulciber with a defiance that made something fierce and proud bloom in Severus's chest despite his terror.
That was Lily. That was his Lily—his best friend who'd chosen him over everyone else, who'd stood beside him even when it meant joining a group full of Muggleborns, who'd invited him to spend Christmas with her family because she knew Spinner's End was awful.
She wasn't running.
So neither would he.
"Let's see what we can do about that, aye, boys?" Mulciber raised his wand, and his smile transformed from mocking to something crueler. Something that said he was going to enjoy this. That putting first-years in their place was going to be the highlight of his evening. "Show these blood traitors what happens when they forget where they belong."
His wand slashed forward in a sharp, practiced movement.
"Flipendo!"
The Knockback Jinx erupted from Mulciber's wand in a flash of blue light, bright in the dim corridor. It streaked toward Lily's chest like a striking snake—fast and focused, meant to send her flying backward into the stone wall hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs and the wand from her hand.
"Clipeo!"
Lily's voice rang out clear and strong, no tremor in it despite her fear. Her wand moved in the precise circular motion David had drilled into them—over and over in practice sessions until it was muscle memory, until they could do it half-asleep.
The golden shield materialized instantly, the disc spinning into existence barely a foot in front of her. Translucent and shimmering, catching the torchlight and refracting it into rainbow patterns across the stone walls. Beautiful, in a way. Like stained glass.
The Knockback Jinx hit it dead center with a sound like breaking ice—sharp and crystalline and violent. The impact sent visible ripples across the shield's surface, cracks spider-webbing out from the point of contact. The shield held for a heartbeat, the golden light flaring brighter as Lily poured more magic into it.
Two heartbeats.
Then it shattered into a thousand glittering sparks that dissipated into nothing, the remnants of the jinx's energy washing harmlessly past Lily's shoulders and into the wall behind her.
But Lily was already moving, already ducking left as the residual magical energy faded, putting more distance between herself and Mulciber. Her shield hadn't held, but it had done its job. She was unharmed.
Mulciber's eyes widened, his smug confidence faltering for just a moment. His wand lowered slightly in surprise.
"What the—what spell was that?" His voice had lost some of its mocking edge, replaced by genuine confusion. "That wasn't Protego."
"Tarantallegra!" Nott didn't give them time to answer, his wand already flicking toward Severus in a sharp jabbing motion. The Dancing Feet Spell shot out in a streak of yellow light, aimed low at Severus's legs.
Severus's wand was already moving, his body reacting before his mind fully caught up. Hours of practice with David, of having spells thrown at him again and again until his responses became automatic.
"Clipeo!"
His shield snapped up, smaller than Lily's, not quite as bright, spinning a bit unevenly because he still hadn't perfected the wand movement. But it was there, materialized between him and the curse in the split second before impact.
The Dancing Feet Spell hit his shield and the golden disc cracked immediately—nowhere near as strong as Lily's, not able to hold even for a full heartbeat. But it was enough. The spell deflected at an angle, its energy dispersed, shooting past Severus and hitting the stone wall behind him instead. A faint scorch mark appeared where it struck, the magical energy fading harmlessly into the ancient stone.
Severus's arm was shaking from the effort, from the magical drain of forming the shield and the adrenaline flooding his system. But he'd done it. He'd blocked a sixth-year's spell.
"They've got some kind of shield charm," Avery muttered, his heavy brows drawing together in a frown. He shifted his weight, his wand coming up in a more aggressive stance. "Not Protego though. Different shape. Circular instead of a barrier. Where'd they learn that?"
"Who cares?" Mulciber snarled, his momentary surprise hardening into anger. They'd made him look foolish. Made him hesitate. That was clearly unacceptable. His wand slashed through the air in a vicious horizontal cut. "Rictusempra!"
The Tickling Charm shot toward Lily from her right side, trying to catch her off-guard while she was still recovering from the first shield. The spell was a streak of silver-white light, moving fast, and if it hit it would leave her helpless with uncontrollable laughter, unable to defend herself, unable to do anything but collapse and laugh until she couldn't breathe.
Lily spun, her school robes flaring around her, her red hair whipping across her face. Her wand was already moving, the circular motion automatic now, ingrained through countless repetitions.
"Clipeo!"
Her second shield formed, golden light blooming in the air. The Tickling Charm hit it with another crack of shattering ice, and this shield lasted even less time than the first—she was tiring already, Severus could see it in the way her shoulders sagged slightly, in the way the shield's light was dimmer.
But it shattered the spell. Bought her another few seconds.
Bought them both another few seconds.
Severus's mind was racing. They couldn't just defend forever. The older boys had more magic—years and years more practice, deeper reserves, better control. They could keep casting all evening if they wanted. Eventually Severus and Lily would run out of magic. Would be too tired to form the shields fast enough. Would make a mistake.
And then they'd be helpless.
Wait.
They needed to fight back. Actually do something, not just block and dodge and hope someone came to save them. But they only knew first-year spells. Basic charms, simple transfigurations, the handful of jinxes Professor Flitwick had taught them. Baby magic compared to what sixth-years could do.
What could they possibly do with first-year spells against opponents like this?
Severus's eyes darted around the corridor, looking for anything that might help. Stone walls. Flickering torches in their iron brackets. An old tapestry on the far wall. The wooden door to an unused classroom, locked and dark.
The torches. The brackets.
An idea sparked—something David had said during practice. Magic isn't just about knowing powerful spells. It's about being clever with the spells you have. A first-year spell used creatively can be more effective than a fifth-year spell used stupidly.
"Lily!" Severus called out, his voice cracking slightly but carrying clearly. "Severing Charm—the bracket!"
For a heartbeat he thought she hadn't heard him, thought she was too focused on defending. Then her head snapped toward him and their eyes met. Green to black. And understanding flashed across her face like lightning.
Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with fierce determination. Her jaw set. Her wand came up.
She understood. She knew exactly what he meant.
Because they'd talked about this, late at night in the library, whispering about what they'd learned in The Circle. About thinking tactically. About using their environment. About fighting smart when you couldn't fight strong.
"Diffindo!" Lily's wand slashed through the air in a sharp diagonal line, her voice ringing with sudden confidence.
The Severing Charm—one of the first spells they'd learned this year, simple and precise—shot from her wand in a thin line of white light. It struck the iron torch bracket mounted on the wall with a sound like a knife through leather.
The bracket was old, probably centuries old, held in place by a single thick bolt driven deep into the stone. The Severing Charm cut through the bolt like it was butter.
The heavy iron bracket—easily two feet long, solid enough to hold a burning torch steady—fell free from the wall.
The Severing Charm cut the metal clean through with a sound like a knife through bone—sharp and final. The iron bolt that had held the bracket to the wall for probably a hundred years parted like thread, and the heavy bracket—solid wrought iron, black with age and soot, weighing at least five pounds—began to fall.
Severus's wand was already moving before his mind fully caught up. Pure instinct. Pure practice. The swish-and-flick motion Professor Flitwick had made them repeat until their arms ached, until they could do it in their sleep.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The Levitation Charm caught the bracket mid-fall, stopping its downward drop with a slight jerk. Severus felt the weight of it through his wand—heavier than a feather, heavier than the practice objects they'd used in class, but manageable. His wand arm shook slightly with the effort of controlling it, of keeping it stable in the air.
Then he pushed with his magic, channeling his intent through the wand, through the spell, into the object itself.
The bracket shot through the air like a thrown stone, sailing directly at Nott with all the force Severus could muster behind it. It whistled as it flew, the sound high and sharp in the confined corridor.
Nott's eyes went wide, his face draining of color as he saw the two pounds of iron hurtling toward his head. He tried to dodge, tried to throw himself sideways, but he was a duelist—trained to defend against spells, not physical objects. His reflexes weren't built for this.
He wasn't fast enough.
The bracket caught him on the shoulder with a heavy, meaty thunk that made Severus wince despite himself. The sound was awful—solid iron meeting flesh and bone with enough force to bruise, maybe crack something.
"Ow! Shit!" Nott's curse exploded from him as he stumbled backward, his free hand flying to his shoulder, clutching at the injured spot. His face twisted in pain, his wand arm dropping as his whole body curled protectively around the hurt. "You little—you fucking—"
But his wand was down. He was out of the fight, at least for the moment.
One down. Two to go.
Severus felt a fierce, hot surge of satisfaction in his chest. They'd hurt one of them. Actually hurt a sixth-year. Proven they weren't helpless, weren't just targets to be hexed for sport.
"Clever little shits," Mulciber growled, and the mocking superiority was gone from his voice now, burned away by genuine anger. His face was flushed, a vein standing out at his temple. His knuckles were white where he gripped his wand.
They'd embarrassed him. Made him look weak in front of his friends. Made a first-year Mudblood and a half-blood traitor look competent against sixth-years.
That was clearly unforgivable.
His wand slashed through the air in a vicious cutting motion, and when he spoke the incantation, there was real venom in it.
"Incendio!"
Fire burst from his wand in a roaring gout of orange and yellow flame, the heat of it immediate and intense even from several feet away. It wasn't a careful, controlled flame like the ones used to light cauldrons in Potions class. This was angry fire, hungry fire, spreading fast across the stone floor in a semi-circle aimed directly at Lily's feet.
She yelped—a high, frightened sound that made Severus's heart clench—and jumped backward, her shoes scraping against stone as she tried to put distance between herself and the advancing flames. But the fire spread faster than she could retreat, licking across the ancient floor, following the grooves and cracks between stones, cutting off her escape route back down the corridor.
The heat shimmered in the air. The smoke was already starting to sting Severus's eyes, making them water.
What could stop fire? They hadn't learned water-making yet—that was second year, Aguamenti, Professor Flitwick had mentioned it but said they'd learn it next term. They didn't know freezing charms. Didn't know anything that could actually stop flames from spreading.
Severus's mind raced desperately. Think. Think. David always said there was a solution, you just had to see it. Use what you have. Use your environment.
His eyes darted around the corridor, cataloguing everything he could see through the thickening smoke.
Stone walls—no help. The locked classroom door—too far away. Another torch—that would just make it worse. The fallen bracket—useless against fire.
There. On the wall to his left, barely visible through the haze. An old tapestry hanging from an iron rod, depicting some medieval battle scene that had faded to near-illegibility over the centuries. The fabric was thick, heavy, moth-eaten at the edges but still substantial. Big enough to—
"Diffindo!" Severus slashed his wand at the tapestry's hanging cord, putting all his focus into the cutting motion. The Severing Charm shot out in a line of white light and struck the thick rope that held the tapestry to the wall.
The rope parted with a snap and the tapestry fell in a heavy heap to the floor, raising a small cloud of dust and the musty smell of old fabric. It had to weigh twenty pounds at least, all that ancient wool and backing.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Severus's wand was already moving again, the swish-and-flick pattern becoming automatic now, his magic responding even as his arm trembled with exhaustion.
The tapestry rose from the floor, awkward and unwieldy, not designed to be levitated like this. But Severus gritted his teeth and pulled it through the air, guiding it over the spreading flames, then dropped it with a heavy whump directly onto the fire.
The flames hissed and spat underneath the heavy fabric, smoke billowing up in thick grey-black clouds that filled the corridor and made Severus's throat burn. But the fire was smothered, starved of air beneath the tapestry's weight. Within seconds the hungry orange glow was gone, leaving only smoke and the acrid smell of burned wool.
Lily burst through the smoke cloud before it fully cleared, her wand already tracking toward Avery, her green eyes sharp despite the tears from the smoke. She'd seen her opening.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
The Leg-Locker Curse shot from her wand in a flash of purple light, cutting through the dissipating smoke like an arrow. It caught Avery in the shins just as he was advancing, his attention split between the smoke and keeping his wand trained on them.
His legs snapped together with an audible click, muscles locking, knees slamming into each other. His eyes went wide with shock and he toppled forward, off-balance, arms windmilling as he tried to catch himself.
He barely managed it, his hands hitting the stone floor hard, his wand clattering across the stones. He cursed—a long string of profanity that would've gotten him detention if a professor heard it—and struggled to free his legs, his face pressed against the cold floor.
Two down.
But Severus couldn't feel triumph this time. Because he was tired. Bone-deep, magic-drained tired in a way he'd never experienced before. Every spell had pulled from his magical core, from whatever reservoir of power lived inside him that made him a wizard instead of a Muggle. And he could feel that reservoir running dry.
His wand arm felt like lead. His muscles were shaking. There was a slight ringing in his ears that he recognized from the one time he'd over-practiced in The Circle's room and David had made him sit down and eat chocolate.
Magical exhaustion. The dangerous kind.
Beside him, Lily was in the same state. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, her face flushed bright red with effort and heat from the fire. Her hair had come partially loose and stuck to her sweaty forehead and neck. Her wand hand trembled visibly.
They'd fought well. Better than first-years had any right to. But they were running out of magic, running out of stamina, running out of time.
And Mulciber was still standing.
Worse, Nott had recovered from the bracket strike. He was upright again, his left hand still pressed to his injured shoulder but his wand up and steady in his right. His face was twisted with pain and rage.
Avery was struggling to his feet too, his legs still locked but his wand recovered, using the wall for support as he tried to aim despite his awkward position.
All three older boys were advancing now, spread out across the width of the corridor so Severus and Lily couldn't focus on just one. Their wands were raised. Their faces were cold masks of anger—no more laughing, no more mockery, no more casual cruelty.
Just the hard, flat determination to hurt the two first-years who'd dared to fight back. Who'd dared to make them look foolish. Who'd forgotten their place so thoroughly that they needed to be reminded with pain.
This was the dangerous part. The part where pure-blood boys with wounded pride stopped playing and started really trying to do damage.
Severus felt Lily shift closer to him, her shoulder brushing his, the two of them instinctively pressing together like they could protect each other through proximity alone.
His throat was tight. His heart was hammering so hard it hurt. His wand was slick with sweat in his trembling hand.
They'd done everything they could. Fought as hard as they knew how. Used every trick David had taught them and a few he probably hadn't thought they'd need yet.
But it wasn't going to be enough.
They couldn't do this much longer. Another spell, maybe two, and they'd be completely defenseless. Out of magic. Out of options.
Out of time.
Mulciber seemed to sense it too. The way predators sensed weakness in prey. His eyes narrowed, assessing them—taking in Lily's trembling wand arm, Severus's clumsy grip on his wand. Two first-years at the absolute end of their reserves, held upright only by adrenaline and desperation.
Easy prey now.
His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. Something colder. More final.
"You think you're so clever?" Mulciber's voice dropped to something low and dangerous, all the mocking superiority burned away, leaving only hard, cold intent. "Let me show you what real magic looks like."
His wand rose in a sharp, decisive movement—the kind of movement that spoke of years of private tutoring, of dueling club, of casual confidence in his own power. The kind of movement that said he'd done this before and knew exactly what would happen next.
Severus felt his stomach drop. Felt the last bits of hope start to crumble.
This was it. This was—
"Confringo!"
The Blasting Curse.
Severus's entire world narrowed to that single word, to the red-orange light erupting from Mulciber's wand. His blood turned to ice. His breath caught in his throat, trapped there, unable to escape.
That wasn't a school spell. That wasn't something you used in practice, in lessons, in anything except actual war. That was the kind of curse that shattered stone, that exploded wood, that turned flesh and bone into red mist and scattered pieces.
That could kill someone.
That could kill Lily.
The curse streaked toward them like a falling star, trailing sparks, the air around it shimmering with destructive heat. Severus could feel the magical pressure of it even from feet away, could smell something acrid and wrong, like burning copper.
"Reducto!" Avery's voice joined in, vicious with satisfaction. His Reductor Curse shot upward toward the ceiling directly above where Severus and Lily stood, aimed to bring the ancient stone crashing down on their heads. Yellow light carved through the air, hungry to destroy.
"Deprimo!" Nott's hex came from the left, a sickly purple-black beam that pulsed with crushing force. The kind of spell that compressed, that squeezed, that turned bone to powder.
Three spells.
Three dangerous, potentially lethal spells.
Coming from three different directions, timed perfectly so there was no escape, no angle that wasn't covered, no possibility of dodging them all.
Severus's body moved before his mind caught up. Pure instinct. Pure terror. He grabbed Lily's arm with his free hand, his fingers digging into her robes, and tried to pull her down, tried to get them both to the floor where maybe—maybe—the curses would pass overhead.
But he knew it wouldn't work. Knew they were too slow, too exhausted, too late.
The spells were already there, already close enough that Severus could see the individual sparks crackling in their cores, could feel the heat from the Blasting Curse starting to singe his eyebrows.
This was how it ended.
Two first-years who'd forgotten their place, who'd dared to fight back, who'd thought they could—
The spells stopped.
Just... stopped.
Frozen in mid-air, suspended three feet from impact like insects caught in amber. The Blasting Curse hung there like an angry red star, still spinning slowly, still radiating heat and destruction, but going nowhere. The Reductor Curse hovered above them, crackling with yellow energy that sputtered and sparked but didn't advance. The crushing hex pulsed with that sickly purple-black light, pushing against the air itself but held perfectly, impossibly still.
All three of them suspended.
Held by nothing visible. No golden shield. No barrier of light. Just empty air that had somehow become solid, become impassable, become a wall between the curses and their targets.
Severus stared, his mind refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. That was impossible. You couldn't just stop spells in mid-air. You blocked them with shields, or you dodged them, or you countered them with other spells, but you didn't just... freeze them.
That wasn't magic.
That was something else entirely.
The temperature in the corridor dropped so suddenly that Severus gasped, his breath misting white in front of his face. It had been cold before—December evening cold, stone corridor cold. But this was different. This was the deep cold of winter nights, of frozen lakes, of the moment before frostbite set in.
This was the cold of something wrong.
The torches lining the corridor flickered wildly, their flames bending sideways as if pushed by an invisible hand. But there was no wind. Just pressure. Just the sense of something approaching, something that made the very air itself recoil.
Footsteps echoed in the sudden silence.
Slow. Measured. Each one deliberate and unhurried, the sound of boots on stone carrying with unnatural clarity. Not the frantic running of someone rushing to help, but the steady pace of someone who knew they had all the time in the world. Of someone who knew the fight was already over.
David Price stepped into view from around the corner behind the three older boys.
He looked different.
Not in any obvious way—he was still wearing his school robes, still had his dark hair neat. Still looked like a fourth-year student, fourteen years old.
But something fundamental had changed.
His face was perfectly calm. No anger twisted his features, no rage colored his cheeks. His expression was smooth as a frozen lake, and just as cold. Just as dangerous. His grey eyes—normally warm when he looked at Circle members, sharp but kind when he taught—were winter stone. Hard and merciless and cold.
His wand was held loosely at his side, the blackthorn wood dark against his robes. But the air around him felt wrong in a way Severus couldn't describe. Like the pressure before a thunderstorm, like standing too close to something wild and barely contained.
Power radiated from him in waves that Severus could almost see, could definitely feel pressing against his skin, making the hair on his arms stand up.
This was David Price.
But also... not.
This was something colder. Something that had shed all pretense of being a student, a mentor, a teacher. Something that had stripped away every layer and left only the hard, dangerous core underneath.
"Gentlemen," David said quietly.
His voice was soft—barely above a conversational tone, not raised or shouting. But it carried with perfect clarity in the frozen corridor, cutting through the silence like a blade. There was no emotion in it. No anger, no heat, no passion.
Just cold, terrible certainty.
"I believe you were attempting to harm my students."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with the same tone someone might use to comment on the weather.
Mulciber had gone pale, all the blood draining from his face until his skin looked grey. But he hadn't run yet. He was sixth year, almost graduated. He'd been in dueling club since second year. He knew advanced magic.
But this—
Catching three curses mid-air. With no visible shield. No barrier. Just... stopping them through nothing but will and power.
That was beyond anything Severus had seen. Beyond what students should be able to do.
"Price," Mulciber managed, and Severus could hear the effort it took to keep his voice steady. "This is house business. Snape needs to learn his place, and the Mudb—"
"Finish that word," David interrupted, his voice still terribly calm, "and you'll regret it."
The suspended curses flickered slightly, as if responding to some shift in his mood. The temperature dropped another degree.
"Or what?" Mulciber raised his wand slightly, though his hand wasn't quite steady. The tip trembled, just barely. "That's some advanced wandwork, I'll give you that. Impressive for a fourth-year." He was trying to sound dismissive. "Read it in a dueling book, did you? But you're still just a fourth-year Mud—"
David's wand moved.
It wasn't a flick or a slash. Just a small, precise rotation of his wrist. Barely any movement at all.
The three suspended spells compressed.
Severus watched in horrified fascination as the curses—each one crackling with destructive energy—were crushed down by invisible force. Like giant hands squeezing them, compacting them, forcing all that dangerous magic into smaller and smaller spaces. The air around them rippled and bent.
Within seconds, they'd been reduced to marble-sized spheres of concentrated energy. Three tiny, brilliant points of light—red, yellow, purple-black—spinning slowly in the air.
Then, with a flick of David's wand, they shot sideways.
All three spheres streaked toward the stone wall like bullets and exploded on impact with enough force to make the entire corridor shake. The sound was deafening—three simultaneous detonations that echoed and re-echoed off the ancient stones.
Chunks of rock blasted outward in a shower of debris. Dust billowed into the air. Severus threw up his arm to protect his face, felt small pieces of stone bounce off his robes, heard Lily make a startled sound beside him.
When the dust began to clear, there were three crater-sized holes in the wall. Deep gouges in stone that had stood for a thousand years. The edges were scorched black, still smoking, the smell of burned rock acrid in the air.
Mulciber, Nott, and Avery had thrown up their arms against the debris, stumbling backward, their faces pale with shock and fear. They stared at the destroyed wall, at the evidence of what those curses would have done if they'd hit their targets.
What David had stopped with apparently no effort at all.
"Since you seem so fond of that particular slur," David said, and his voice had dropped even lower, gone even colder, "let me show you what it really means."
His wand began to move in the air, tracing a pattern unlike anything Severus had ever seen. It wasn't the simple flicks of first-year charms or even the more complex movements from upper-year spells.
This was something else entirely.
The pattern was intricate, precise, almost geometric. David's wand wove through the air like he was drawing invisible runes, like he was writing something in a language made of pure magic. His movements were unhurried but absolutely certain, each gesture flowing into the next with practiced ease.
This wasn't something he'd read in a book yesterday. This was something he'd created. Something he'd worked on, refined, perfected.
David's lips moved, forming words that Severus could barely hear but felt in his bones. The incantation didn't sound like Latin or even Old English. This sounded older. Harsher. Like rocks grinding together, like ice cracking.
"Cruor Limus."
The effect was immediate and horrifying.
Mulciber gasped and looked down at his hand. A thin cut had appeared across his palm—a precise line from the base of his thumb to the edge of his pinkie. Not deep, but enough to draw blood. Enough to well up crimson along the cut.
Beside him, Nott and Avery cried out as identical cuts opened across their palms. Three cuts. Three hands. All perfectly matched.
"What the—" Mulciber started, his voice rising with panic. "What did you—"
The blood moved.
It didn't drip. It crawled out of the cuts like something alive, like something with purpose. The crimson droplets defied gravity, writhing and coiling as they emerged from the wounds.
The droplets hung in the air for a moment, gleaming wetly in the torchlight. Then they began to expand.
They grew darker as they grew larger, the bright red shifting to something muddier, thicker. The blood was mixing with something—moisture from the air, dust from the destroyed wall, some element of magic Severus couldn't identify—transforming into something more solid.
Mud.
Thick, wet, glistening mud the color of old blood and dark earth.
The mud dropped to the floor at the three boys' feet with wet splat sounds. For a moment, nothing happened. Three puddles of dark mud sitting on the stones.
Then they began to grow.
They bubbled and roiled like springs, spreading across the floor in widening pools. The stone beneath them darkened as the mud flowed outward, forming three separate pools directly beneath each boy.
Mulciber tried to step back, but the mud surged up around his boot, thick tendrils wrapping around his ankle. He yanked his foot up but the mud clung, stretching but not breaking.
The pools began to rise.
Not spreading outward anymore, but building upward, taking shape. The mud formed appendages—thick, dripping arms that reached and grasped. Legs that pushed up from the floor. Torsos that broadened and solidified. Heads that emerged from the mass, featureless except for indentations where eyes might be.
Three golems.
Three figures made of dark, glistening mud, each one rising from the pool at the feet of the boy who'd shed the blood. Each one growing taller—four feet, five feet, six feet—until they loomed over their sources, massive and terrible.
"From your own blood," David said quietly, watching with cold satisfaction. "From the 'pure' blood you're so proud of."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Let's see how pure it really is, shall we?"
The golems surged forward.
Mulciber tried to run but the mud-creature grabbed his ankle. The grip was immediate and unyielding, fingers of mud sinking into his boot, hardening like a manacle.
He yelped and tried to kick free, but the golem's grip was like iron. It pulled.
Mulciber went down hard, his wand clattering across the stones. The golem dragged him backward, his robes scraping against the floor.
"Diffindo!" Mulciber grabbed his wand and slashed desperately at the creature's arm. The Severing Charm struck the mud directly.
And passed through harmlessly.
The mud rippled where the spell hit, then flowed back together. You couldn't cut liquid.
"Incendio!" Fire burst from his wand, washing over the golem in orange flame.
The mud hissed and steamed, moisture boiling off. The surface darkened and hardened where the flames touched. But underneath, there was more mud, always more. The golem shuddered but didn't release him.
Beside him, Nott and Avery were fighting their own golems with the same desperate futility. Spells flew—cutting charms that did nothing, blasting hexes that made the mud splash but reform, fire that hissed and failed.
Nothing worked.
The golems were relentless.
They dragged the three boys down. The mud flowed over them like a wave, thick and wet and suffocating. It poured over their legs first, hardening, locking their limbs. Then their torsos, their arms, pinning them.
Within seconds all three older boys were encased in hardening mud up to their necks. Only their heads remained free, three pale faces emerging from dark prisons.
They struggled, but the mud held them fast.
"Please—" Avery gasped. "Price, please, we didn't mean—"
The mud began to rise higher.
Slowly. Creeping up their necks millimeter by millimeter.
"You called her a Mudblood," David said, his tone conversational, almost pleasant, though his eyes remained that terrible cold grey. "So I thought it appropriate."
The mud crept higher. Over Mulciber's chin. Approaching his mouth.
"You wanted to put them in their place?" David continued, taking a single step closer. "You wanted to teach them that they're less than you?"
The mud climbed higher. Over the edge of Mulciber's lower lip.
"Price!" Mulciber's voice was high and thin with panic. "Stop! Please! We'll—we'll leave them alone! We won't—"
"You'll never touch them again," David corrected softly. "You'll never threaten them. Never hex them. Never so much as look at them wrong."
The mud continued its climb. It covered Mulciber's mouth completely, sealing his lips. His eyes went wide with terror, his nose flaring as he tried desperately to breathe through it alone.
"And," David added, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "you'll certainly never use that word in my hearing again."
The mud reached Mulciber's upper lip. Started creeping toward his nostrils.
Mulciber was making desperate sounds behind the mud—whimpering, keening sounds of pure panic. He tried to tilt his head back but the mud followed him.
Beside him, Nott and Avery were in the same state, making those same terrified sounds.
Severus watched, frozen.
Part of him knew he should feel sorry for them. Should feel horrified.
But mostly... he didn't.
Mostly he felt safe. Protected.
They'd tried to kill him and Lily. Had cast curses that could have blown them apart, crushed them, ended their lives. All because Lily was Muggleborn and Severus had chosen to stand with her.
Now they were getting what they'd tried to give.
The mud covered Mulciber's mouth completely. His eyes were enormous, wild with terror, his nose flaring as he tried to pull in air. The mud was only millimeters away now. One more second and it would seal them completely.
David watched for another moment, letting the fear sink deep.
Then his wand flicked sharply.
The mud stopped.
All three golems froze, the rising mud halting just below their noses. Close enough that they could feel it—wet and heavy and cold. Close enough to know it could go higher. But leaving them just barely able to breathe.
"Remember this feeling," David said quietly. "Remember what it's like to be helpless. To be at someone else's mercy. To know that your survival depends entirely on their goodwill."
He paused.
"That's what you tried to make Lily and Severus feel tonight. That's the lesson you wanted to teach them—that they're less than you. That they exist only because you permit it."
He took another step closer.
"But they're not less than you," David continued, and now there was heat underneath the cold—passion, conviction that burned like ice. "They're better than you. They have twice your courage, three times your intelligence, and infinitely more worth." His voice dropped. "They fought sixth-years with first-year spells and nearly won. What does that say about you?"
The mud pulsed slightly, rose another millimeter. All three boys made panicked sounds.
"And they're under my protection," David said, and this was a vow, a promise, a threat. "All of The Circle is. Every single member. Every Muggleborn, every half-blood, every person who's been told they're less because of blood they didn't choose."
Another pulse. Another millimeter.
"Touch them again, threaten them again, even think about them wrong again, and this—" he gestured at the golems, at the mud, at their terror, "—will seem like a pleasant memory."
The silence was absolute.
"Do we understand each other?"
Three frantic nods. Tiny movements. Eyes screaming what mouths couldn't: Yes, yes, please, we understand.
"Good."
David's wand moved in a sharp, dismissive gesture.
The mud golems collapsed instantly.
All three dissolved at once, splashing to the floor in waves that immediately began to evaporate. The mud turned to mist, the mist to nothing, vanishing as if it had never existed. Within seconds, there was no trace except dampness on the stones and three boys gasping for air, their faces wet with mud-water and tears and terror.
The cuts on their hands had sealed. No blood remained.
David stood over them, his expression unchanged. Still calm. Still cold.
"Go," he said quietly. "And be grateful I'm a merciful person."
Mulciber scrambled to his feet first. Nott and Avery followed, all three stumbling. They didn't run—running would be admitting they were fleeing. But they walked very, very quickly away. Not looking back. Not saying a word. Just moving down the corridor as fast as they could, disappearing around the corner.
Gone.
The silence they left was profound.
David stood there for a long moment, watching the empty corridor. His shoulders rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths.
Then, slowly—like ice melting—the terrible coldness began to fade from his expression. The hard lines softened. The winter-stone quality left his eyes, replaced by something more human.
When he turned to face them, he looked like himself again.
Mostly.
There was still something sharp in his eyes. Something harder than the patient mentor who taught them shield charms. Or maybe it had always been there, and Severus just hadn't seen it until now.
"Are you hurt?" David asked, and his voice was warm again. Concerned. "Either of you?"
Severus shook his head. His throat was too tight to speak. Beside him, Lily did the same, though one hand touched the boils on her face.
David's eyes went to the injury. "We'll get you to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will fix those right up." He looked between them. "You're sure nothing else? No other spells hit?"
"N-no," Lily managed. "Just the boils. We blocked everything else."
"Good." David let out a breath. "You did very well. Both of you."
"What..." Lily hesitated. "What was that spell? The mud thing?"
David was quiet for a moment.
"Something I created," he said finally, and Severus's breath caught. Created. David had invented that spell. "Blood magic, technically, though not the dark kind. It uses the target's blood to create a physical manifestation of the slur they weaponized."
He looked at them seriously.
"And it's something you two should never, ever attempt. Not for years. Maybe not ever." His voice was firm. "It requires control and power you don't have yet. More than that, it requires understanding the theory, the calculations, the risks. One mistake and you could hurt yourself or others. Understood?"
They both nodded quickly. Severus had no desire to try that spell. No desire to touch blood magic or anything that terrifying.
David's expression softened completely then. He smiled—just a little, just enough to remind them he was still the mentor who taught them patiently, who praised their progress.
"You did well tonight," he said, and the warmth in his voice made Severus's chest feel tight. "Both of you. Your Clipeo work was excellent. The bracket maneuver was creative. And Severus, that tapestry move? Quick thinking. Very impressive."
He paused.
"You stood your ground against three sixth-years who were actively trying to hurt you. You protected each other. You fought together, thought tactically, used what you'd learned." David's smile widened slightly. "That takes real courage. You should both be proud."
The warmth that bloomed in Severus's chest pushed back the fear, the exhaustion, the trembling. David was proud of them. They'd done well. They'd proven themselves.
They'd survived.
"But," David continued, his voice more serious, "you shouldn't have been put in that position. Three sixth-years cornering two first-years in an empty corridor, escalating to potentially lethal spells?" He shook his head. "That's assault. That's attempted murder if we're honest about what those curses could have done."
He looked at them steadily.
"I'll be speaking with Professor Slughorn and the Headmaster. Mulciber and his friends will face consequences—real ones, not just points deducted. What they did tonight was serious."
Severus felt something tight in his chest loosen. Consequences. They'd face consequences. They wouldn't just get away with it because they were pure-bloods, because their families had money.
David would make sure of it.
"For now," David said, his voice gentling, "let's get Lily to the hospital wing, and then you both need rest. It's been a difficult evening." His grey eyes were intense but kind. "But remember—you fought together. You protected each other. You stood firm when it mattered."
He reached out and put a hand on each of their shoulders.
"That's what The Circle is about. That's what we're building. People who stand together, who protect each other, who refuse to accept that anyone is less because of blood they didn't choose." His voice dropped, became more intimate. "You're not alone anymore. Not either of you. Never forget that."
Severus felt his eyes burn—relief and exhaustion and gratitude all tangled together. Lily sniffed beside him, her own eyes shiny.
They weren't alone.
They had David. They had The Circle. They had each other.
And anyone who threatened that—anyone who tried to hurt them, to put them in their place, to make them less—would face exactly what Mulciber, Nott, and Avery had faced tonight.
Cold, terrible, absolute consequences.
Severus found he was profoundly, deeply grateful for that.
He'd just seen what David Price could do when someone threatened his people.
He never, ever wanted to be on the receiving end of that power.
But he was so, so glad David was on their side.
o–o–o–o