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𝚇𝚇𝚇𝚅 >> 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁'𝚂 𝙳𝚄𝙿𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴

< 3 MONTHS, 6 DAYS >

Flitwick's office is bright and clean. His books are more systematic than usual, each title standing upright and in a most accurately alphabetized order. Severus, upon stepping in and getting an assiduous look at them, can only imagine that Filius is a nervous cleaner, taking on these tasks when he is out of sorts. Snape himself is on the opposite side of this spectrum; in this time of stress, he hasn't touched the mess in his office for weeks on end.

Filius is atypically quiet, looking thoughtfully out the window as Snape approaches with his borrowed books, setting them next to him on a desk. The room smells of paper and sand.

"They have been advantageous to read," Severus informs him quietly. "I am... indebted."

"Ah, yes!" Flitwick responds, turning to face him and pausing to bring his thoughts back to reality. "Did you ever... find what you were looking for?"

Severus stares out the large glass panels into the sky. "In a sense."

Filius nods, but scarcely hears him. Severus doesn't mind. In times such as these, he would rather not confer at all.

He turns and leaves Flitwick there, relishing in the placidity of the Ravenclaw wing as he prepares to leave it, noting how ambient and excrescent his mere footfalls are in the wide, open reticence of the halls.

This wing is far more comfortable than his own has ever been, and he begrudges it in a way. He remembers Albus once telling him that he always considered him more of a Ravenclaw as a student, and now he begins to understand why. There's a definitive easefulness in the stories held by this corridor, the bright, open air, the books and information, the tidy messiness of the study areas. He would thrive here, if only that were his destined path. But alas, such is not so, and he is where he is.

He takes a breath and decides to exit the wing before becoming too beguiled by it to absent himself. Stepping out of the room, he steps back into his reality. He accepts the current logistics of what is and what never was, leaving behind what could have been with a single repositioning transit of the mortal body. He accepts what has become of him, because there's nothing else to do. He can only be with his thoughts now. Or, in the least, he can wish for it.

These thoughts don't last long. He is unpleasantly interrupted from his internal lament, hearing muffled shouts from down the hall which become more ardent as he approaches. Weight rising within him, he anxiously advances toward the sound, passing through the Ravenclaw wing and stopping at the corner of the corridor before timorously getting a glance at what's beyond it and making sure he isn't seen. The stone wall is cold as he flattens his back against it.

"Stand back!" a voice calls; it's one he recognizes as a student of his own. "Cease, or else I promise most sincerely that I will not hesitate to kill you."

He wonders briefly if it is just a bout of play, of pretending, like two students are having a round of some game. But why here? And why would such anger befall a voice typically so kind?

"Oh-ho, but you wouldn't kill me, Biobi," comes the reply, the voice strikingly similar. "Murder is not in your blood. You're intelligent. The only thrill you'll get yourself into is that of an academic adventure."

This changes nothing. The first voice is firm.

"Put down your wand."

Snape peeks out from behind the corner. His hands grip the stone wall in attempt to control his pulse.

In the hall before him, a fight is beginning to brew. A spell is cast and dodged, and then it begins.

But it isn't the duel that shocks Severus; this barely leaves a mark on him at all. What truly weakens him is that those partaking happen to be his student, Winchester Biobi, against what appears to be himself: another Biobi, portraying and betraying the other perfectly, both of them twisting their spells with rage.