Chapter Text
September 1, 1993.
The silence didn’t last.
By breakfast the next morning, it was as though Hogwarts had taken a breath after a long slumber—and then exhaled in a roar of chaos.
Trunks bumped against stone steps, owls shrieked from the rafters, and the air was thick with laughter, complaints, and shouted greetings. Students flooded the Entrance Hall in clusters, robes whipping behind them like cloaks of battle, voices overlapping in every corridor.
Estelle stood at the top of the marble staircase beside Minerva, who watched the chaos with her usual sharp expression and arms folded tightly across her chest. It was the kind of mess that meant the school was alive again.
“Ready for it?” Minerva asked, flicking a sharp glance sideways.
Estelle took a long breath and said, “No.”
Minerva gave a short snort that might’ve been a laugh. “Good. That means you’re sane.”
Below them, a pair of second-years began dueling with fizzing wands over a spilled potion kit. Filch was already yelling about it from the other side of the hall.
Estelle caught a glimpse of Remus across the crowd, his robes already rumpled, trying to separate a trio of overexcited Hufflepuffs from a first-year who looked like she was about to cry.
Somewhere, Peeves whooped and launched a water balloon over the banister.
Estelle barely ducked in time.
She turned to Minerva. “Tell me again why I agreed to this.”
“Because you love punishment.”
“I thought that was Severus’s department.”
At that moment, Severus strode past behind them, black robes billowing like stormclouds. He didn’t break stride, but said in a dry, low voice, “Remind me to deduct points from Slytherin for that insult.”
Estelle blinked. “You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me.”
Minerva sighed and muttered, “Merlin help me, we’re not even at the feast yet.”
By evening, the castle had been rebalanced—just barely. The students were shepherded into their places, the House tables gleamed with candles and silverware, and the ceiling of the Great Hall reflected a dusky purple sky bruised with clouds.
Estelle sat at the staff table, her posture collected, but a small knot of tension coiled beneath her ribs. She wore black robes embroidered subtly with dark green trim, her hair pulled into a long braid threaded with silver ribbon. Beside her, Remus was nervously straightening a pile of parchment. On her other side, Severus sipped water with a look of studied disinterest as students gawked at the staff.
Estelle leaned toward him. “They’re trying to figure out if we’re related or dating, I guarantee it.”
He didn’t look up. “Let’s give them a real mystery to obsess over.”
She blinked. “What does that mean?”
Severus didn’t answer.
The ancient Sorting Hat sat atop its three-legged stool at the front of the Hall, looking more ragged than ever.
Estelle watched from her place at the staff table, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes drifted over the rows of students—some jittery and flushed with nerves, others sprawled with lazy entitlement. First-years huddled by the doors like nervous ducklings, wide-eyed and whispering.
Then the Sorting Hat twitched.
It yawned, the rip of its seam splitting like a grin.
And then it began to sing.
“When Hogwarts rose from ancient stone
Four founders claimed their thrones,
With wit, with courage, heart and guile—
They made this school their home.
The brave were drawn to Godric’s call,
The just to Helga’s care,
To Rowena flew the sharpest minds,
And sly ones Salazar would dare.
But time has passed and tides have turned,
Old ways now feel the strain.
I warn you once, as I did before:
Division breeds disdain.
So choose your path with open eyes,
And mind your House’s name—
For unity may one day hinge
On how you play this game.
Four Houses, yes, but one great school—
That’s how you must remain.
Or else the spark that lights your wand
May flicker out in vain.”
The Sorting Hat fell silent.
There was a pause—heavier than usual—before the Hall burst into polite applause. A few older students glanced at one another. Some of the professors, Estelle noted, looked similarly uneasy.
“Another warning,” Remus muttered beside her.
“They always seem to come before trouble,” Estelle murmured in return.
Minerva rose to call the first name.
Estelle folded her arms loosely, watching the Sorting begin. One by one, the first-years approached the stool. Some rushed forward as though afraid the Hat might vanish; others had to be gently coaxed by Minerva, who wielded patience like a blade.
A girl with trembling hands was sorted into Ravenclaw after nearly five minutes of deliberation. A boy with bright red hair and a dirty smudge across his cheek practically bounced into Gryffindor before the hat had touched his head.
“Sylvia Greaves,” Minerva called next.
A tall, pale girl with wide grey eyes stepped forward. She looked like she was walking to a guillotine. Estelle watched her hesitate before sitting on the stool.
The Sorting Hat didn’t take long.
“Slytherin!”
There was polite clapping from the Slytherin table. Estelle’s eyes flicked to them.
The House she once called home.
They sat a little too upright. Their glances at the staff table were wary, flicking between her and Severus. She recognized that look. Slytherins watched everything—they didn’t cheer blindly like Gryffindors, didn’t bounce in delight like Hufflepuffs. They assessed.
When the final name was called—“Zacharias Twombly”—and the Sorting was done, Minerva lifted the stool and the Hat in one graceful motion. Dumbledore rose as she retook her seat.
Estelle sat straighter.
The Headmaster’s voice was clear and warm. He welcomed the returning students and offered a few words of caution—no magic in the corridors, the Forbidden Forest remains forbidden, Mr. Filch’s ever-growing list of banned items now numbered 437. As he spoke, Estelle let her gaze drift.
Estelle sat stiffly beside Remus. She sipped at her goblet of water, half-listening to the sea of student voices rising and falling in waves. Her heart, surprisingly, beat faster than it should. She hadn’t realized how strange it would feel to be on this side of the hall—to look out over so many new faces and know none of them knew her. And yet somewhere down there—
“He looks just like James,” Remus murmured.
Estelle blinked. “Hmm?”
Remus nodded his chin subtly toward the Gryffindor table. “Third from the left. Across from the twins with the red hair. The boy with the messy hair and round glasses.”
Estelle’s gaze followed. And there he was.
There—at the Gryffindor table, just beyond the sea of heads and flickering light—
Harry Potter.
Estelle’s heart ached.
He looked both lost and luminous.
She hadn’t truly let herself imagine what seeing him would feel like. Not until now.
The boy sat with wide eyes, drinking everything in—the floating candles, the talking ghosts, the nervous chatter of his peers. He leaned toward the redhead beside him—a Weasley, she assumed—his mouth tugging into an incredulous smile. His robes hung a little long, like they’d been handed down twice over, and his jet-black hair refused to stay combed, as though in some cosmic act of rebellion.
But it was the scar that arrested her breath.
A faint line, like a pale bolt of lightning, carved into the boy’s forehead. Half-hidden by his fringe, but unmistakable.
He turned his head to laugh at something, and for the briefest moment, Estelle swore she saw James.
Not just the resemblance—though it was there in the jawline, the smirk, the restless flick of his eyes—but the presence. That stubborn spark. That glint that had once filled the Gryffindor common room with too much noise and too much heart.
Her throat tightened.
“He’s been polite,” Remus said, voice low, as though sensing her storm. “Kind. Curious. He helped a nervous girl find a seat on the train. Asked a lot of questions, but never rudely.”
“You chaperoned the journey?” Estelle asked, still watching Harry.
“I did.” Remus nodded. “Dumbledore asked me this summer. Thought it might help some of the kids to have a familiar face escort them, since the Prophet’s been spreading panic.”
Estelle let out a soft breath. “You didn’t mention you’d seen him.”
“I didn’t know how to describe it,” Remus replied. “The way he looks at the world. Like it might vanish if he blinks. But not frightened—just… like someone who’s never been told he belongs anywhere.”
Estelle’s chest ached.
“He told me about the Dursleys,” Remus added. “Just a little. I don’t think he realizes how abnormal it is. Sleeping in a cupboard. Barely getting birthday cards. He said it like he was reciting facts from a textbook.”
Estelle turned her eyes away, pressing her lips together.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” she asked. “Not really.”
“No. Dumbledore says it’s not time.”
A pause.
“And Sirius?”
Remus shook his head faintly. “He doesn’t know about him either.”
Estelle nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to the Gryffindor table. Harry had turned now to listen to something the redhead was saying. His brow furrowed in concentration, lips quirking upward a second later in amusement.
He was so small.
Smaller than she expected. Thin. Pale.
And yet something burned behind his eyes.
Estelle folded her hands in her lap to stop them from trembling.
“I used to hold him,” she said softly, so softly she wasn’t sure Remus even heard. “When he was only hours old. Lily was still glowing. James kept tripping over the bassinet.”
Remus reached under the table and gently touched her hand.
“He’s here now,” he said. “He’s alive. And he’s going to be okay.”
She nodded once.
But she wasn’t sure she believed it.
Not entirely.
Not with the past clawing its way back through the shadows.
Not with her brother on the loose.
Still, she watched Harry for a long time, etching the lines of his face into her memory. Memorizing the way he moved, how he laughed, how he leaned forward when he was curious and scowled when he was confused.
If this was James’s son… if this was Lily’s boy…
Then he deserved to be seen.
Just then, Dumbledore stood.
The Headmaster’s robes were a deep midnight blue, adorned with tiny embroidered moons that shimmered faintly as he lifted his arms.
“Another year,” he said, voice ringing warmly through the hall. “Another chance for wonder. For learning. For growth. For far too many cauldron explosions and an unacceptable number of gillyweed thefts.”
Laughter rippled across the room.
Estelle smiled faintly, watching the man who had invited her back into this strange, beautiful world. For a brief moment, it felt okay again. Not simple—but okay.
Dumbledore’s tone shifted as he continued.
“This year, we are joined by not one, but two new professors—familiar faces to some, and fine ones at that. Professor Lupin, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”
Applause.
“—and Professor Black, our new Herbology instructor.”
A low buzz. More clapping. A few curious whispers. Estelle gave a polite nod.
“And for those of you in Slytherin House,” Dumbledore continued, “you will be glad to know that you are in excellent hands. This year, your House will be led not by one Head, but by two—Professor Snape and Professor Black.”
Estelle’s stomach dropped.
The buzz exploded. Slytherin students craned their necks to look at her and Severus. The other tables reacted with surprise, a few even with discomfort. The idea of two Slytherins—one infamous, one mysterious—at the helm was clearly already fodder for gossip.
Severus muttered, “He could’ve warned us before the announcement.”
Estelle’s fingers tightened around her goblet. “He wanted drama.”
“And he got it.”
The feast began in a flurry of clinking dishes and wide-eyed first-years trying not to embarrass themselves with floating treacle tarts. Estelle picked at her meal, half-listening to the conversations around her. It was too loud, too bright. Too full of people she hadn’t taught yet but would soon know intimately.
After dessert, as the students trickled out toward their dormitories, Dumbledore made his way to Estelle and Severus. His eyes twinkled with a kind of cosmic mischief.
“You’ll do marvelously,” he said.
Estelle opened her mouth to speak, but Severus got there first.
“Why now?”
Dumbledore tilted his head.
“Why us?” Estelle clarified. “Why both of us?”
Dumbledore smiled gently. “Because I think Slytherin House is ready for something different. And I think you two are the right kind of different.”
“That’s not an answer,” Severus said.
“It is, just not a satisfying one,” Dumbledore replied. “Still. I trust you both to find your footing. Slytherin needs leadership with vision—and conscience.”
He turned away before either of them could argue.
Estelle glanced sideways at Severus.
“Vision and conscience,” she murmured. “That’s going to look hilarious on the House bulletin board.”
“We should order matching badges,” he replied dryly.
She almost laughed.
Almost.
The feast eventually wound down, bellies full and voices hoarse from conversation. One by one, the students filed out of the Great Hall, shepherded toward their dormitories by their Prefects and House Heads.
Estelle stood near the doors with Severus, watching the younger Slytherins cluster together in uneasy excitement. The older students had already begun falling into their familiar rhythms, but the first-years huddled like deer caught in wandlight.
Severus gave a small nod. “Shall we?”
Estelle stepped forward, her voice smooth but firm. “Slytherins, this way. First-years, stay close to the front. The dungeons can be… confusing.”
A few of them looked up at her, eyes wide. The hallways beyond the Great Hall stretched out like dark veins into the heart of the castle, lit only by flickering torches. The further down they went, the cooler the air grew, until a damp chill settled over them like a second robe.
The procession moved in relative silence, aside from the occasional nervous whisper. Estelle noticed a small boy—skinny, with a dark mop of curls—glancing repeatedly behind him as if half-expecting something monstrous to creep from the shadows. She slowed just enough to walk beside him.
“What’s your name?” she asked gently.
“Cassian Avery,” he mumbled.
Estelle nodded. “Avery. You’ll be just fine, I promise. The dungeons look scary, but once you learn the path, you’ll find them comforting. It’s quiet down here. Peaceful.”
Cassian didn’t respond, but he stopped looking over his shoulder.
They arrived at the entrance to the common room: a stretch of blank stone wall beneath a carved lintel etched with the ancient crest of Salazar Slytherin—serpent coiled in a spiral of runes. The torches here burned green, casting long shadows across the students’ faces.
Severus turned to the group.
“This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room. It is not marked. It will not open without the password, which will be changed regularly and communicated to you through the Prefects. Tonight’s password is ‘Vipera Nocturna.’”
As he said the words, the stone wall melted away, revealing a long, low corridor that opened into a cavernous room beyond.
The first-years gasped as they stepped inside.
The Slytherin common room was unlike any other at Hogwarts. Grand, shadowy, and serene, it stretched out beneath the Black Lake like a submerged cathedral. The ceiling arched high above them, supported by emerald-flecked columns carved with ancient serpents. The walls were built of dark stone, and enchanted windows offered a dim, rippling view of the lake—shoals of silver fish darted past in nervous bursts of light.
Deep green velvet sofas curled around low tables of black marble. Silver lanterns floated in the air like hovering moons. There was no fireplace, only enchanted sconces and the gentle shifting glow of the lake beyond.
Estelle watched the students file in, their hushed awe a mirror of what she’d once felt standing in this very spot. The sense of grandeur. Of hidden knowledge. Of power that didn’t need to raise its voice to be heard.
Severus stood at the front, arms crossed.
“I am Professor Snape,” he said curtly. “Potions Master. And this—” he gestured to her without looking, “—is Professor Black. Herbology.”
A ripple of murmurs passed through the students.
“Yes, that Black,” Severus added flatly. “And if any of you are foolish enough to think this earns you favor or permission to misbehave, you’ll find yourselves sorely mistaken.”
Estelle stepped forward, her voice cool and even. “We are your Heads of House this year. We expect you to represent Slytherin with pride and self-control. That means discipline. Intelligence. Strategy. The House of ambition is not the House of recklessness.”
Severus picked up seamlessly. “Your common room is yours. Treat it with respect. Keep it clean. Keep it private.”
Estelle nodded. “We do not take kindly to visitors from other Houses, nor do we tolerate the sharing of passwords. If you wish to be trusted, be trustworthy.”
“Curfew is at ten. The dormitory wards activate then, and anyone caught wandering will answer to us.”
She let her gaze sweep the room. “Prefects, you know your duties. First-years, follow them now to your rooms. You’ll find your things already delivered.”
The group began to disperse. As the students drifted away, Estelle remained still, watching their backs, noting the pairings and groupings already beginning to form. It always started early—the shifting tides of House politics.
“Effective speech,” Severus said beside her.
“You didn’t even threaten to poison them. I’m impressed.”
“I save that for the second day. Builds suspense.”
She gave a faint laugh.
When the last student vanished up the staircases—boys to the left, girls to the right—Estelle turned slowly to take in the room again. The walls breathed with memory. Her own adolescence echoed here, ghost-like, in the distant creak of a leather chair or the soft glug of the underwater lamps.
“I haven’t been back here since graduation,” she murmured.
Severus watched her carefully.
“It’s changed little.”
“No,” she said, her voice softer. “But I have.”
They lingered another moment, then finally Severus inclined his head toward the door. “Shall I walk you back?”
Estelle blinked. “Oh—you don’t have to.”
“I know.”
She didn’t argue.
They moved through the torch-lit corridors side by side. The halls were quieter now, save for the occasional murmur of a portrait or the flutter of bats overhead. Estelle found herself aware of the space between them—not close enough to touch, not far enough to ignore.
It felt strange, being walked back like this. Gentle, almost domestic. Something Sirius might’ve done once. Something James would’ve teased her about. But Severus…?
He stopped just outside her quarters.
“Well,” she said awkwardly, brushing a hand over her sleeve. “Thanks for…”
“For not letting you get lost in your own dungeons?” he said with dry amusement.
She smiled faintly. “Something like that.”
A brief pause.
Then, unexpectedly, Severus said, “Good luck tomorrow.”
Estelle looked up, startled.
He didn’t elaborate. Just inclined his head.
She hesitated. “Thank you.”
He turned to go.
And for some reason, her voice caught him before he could disappear around the corner.
“Severus?”
He turned halfway, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m glad it’s you.”
His face didn’t change—but the air between them did. A shift. Subtle. Like something acknowledged, but not spoken aloud.
And then he was gone.
Estelle stood in the corridor for a long moment after, the words she hadn’t expected still ringing in her own ears.
Then she stepped inside, let the door close behind her, and pressed her hand against the wood.
The year had begun.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure whether that thought made her want to smile—or run.