POV: Severus Snape

I watched as Harriet Potter left my office, her silhouette vanishing into the shadows of the dim corridor. The moment the door closed behind her, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The flickering firelight cast elongated shadows around the room, but even that couldn't distract me from the unsettling sensation still buzzing in my chest.

It had been there from the moment she entered the room, eyes wide with urgency and exhaustion. There was something about the way she looked at me-determined, yet vulnerable-that had stirred something unwelcome deep within. A feeling I'd worked very hard to bury.

Get a hold of yourself, Severus. I clenched my jaw, running a hand over my face. This was Potter-no, Harriet. She was no longer the reckless child who had blundered her way through school, but a woman. A woman who had seen and endured far too much for her age, and who now stood before me as a colleague, an ally, perhaps even...

I pushed the thought away, irritated with myself. Whatever remnants of fondness I might have felt for her mother had no place here. Harriet was a student-turned-professor, someone I had once protected out of obligation, out of guilt, out of a debt that could never be repaid. And yet, the way her voice softened when she spoke to me, the brief brush of her fingers against mine-it unsettled me in a way that no curse or hex ever had.

"Fool," I muttered under my breath. The war was over, but the scars remained, etched deep into both of our souls. I had no time for misplaced feelings or complications. Not when there were rumors of Dark activity within the school, whispers that threatened to disturb the fragile peace we had fought so hard to build.

I stood, my robes swirling around me as I paced the length of the room. The information she had shared with me was troubling, to say the least. The idea of Voldemort's ideology taking root again among the younger generation was more than just a distant fear-it was a very real, very dangerous possibility. Hogwarts had always been a breeding ground for influence, and if there were students conspiring within its walls, we had to act.

But how? And more importantly, who could be trusted? The Headmistress, certainly, but even she couldn't see everything that happened within the castle. No, we needed to approach this delicately, with the kind of precision I had honed over years of double-crossing the Dark Lord himself.

And then there was Potter. She was a wildcard, unpredictable and passionate. Yet, I couldn't deny that she had matured. Her teaching had earned her the respect of students who were notoriously difficult to impress, and her dedication to keeping them safe reminded me, grudgingly, of Dumbledore himself. It was infuriating, really, how she managed to embody both the best and worst of Gryffindor: brave, reckless, determined, foolishly hopeful.

And yet... I stopped pacing, my gaze drifting to the door she had exited through. The way she had looked at me, the flicker of something warm and unguarded in her eyes... it had been a long time since anyone had looked at me like that. Most people still regarded me as a figure of suspicion, someone to be feared or tolerated but never trusted. Harriet, however, seemed to see past that. And that, perhaps, was the most dangerous thing of all.

My hand tightened into a fist. This wasn't the time to be distracted by sentiment. If I had learned anything from my years of spying and subterfuge, it was that attachments made you weak. Vulnerable. And I could not afford to be vulnerable-not now, not ever.

Yet, even as I told myself this, a part of me couldn't help but remember the way her voice had trembled, not with fear but with sincerity, when she had asked for my help. The warmth of her touch, however brief, lingered in my mind like an echo of something I had once yearned for and lost.

"Enough," I whispered harshly, trying to dispel the unwanted thoughts. I turned to the cabinet where I kept my most sensitive potions ingredients, pulling out a small, intricate vial. If we were to uncover the truth about these whispers of conspiracy, I needed to be prepared. And that meant working late into the night, doing what I did best: weaving through the shadows, gathering information, and protecting the school-even from within.

But as I set the vial on my desk, the firelight catching in its glassy depths, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I had let Harriet Potter slip past my defenses. Somehow, without even trying, she had found a way into the carefully guarded fortress of my heart, and that realization was as terrifying as any Dark spell.

With a sigh, I sank back into my chair, the weight of my past pressing down on me. Whatever lay ahead, I knew one thing for certain: facing this new threat would require both of us, working together, no matter how complicated-or dangerous-that partnership might become.