Something different I Severus/Lucius/Y/N

desparate

The first rays of morning light barely touched the corners of the darkened library, casting a faint, ghostly glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the gloom clung to the room like a suffocating blanket. The air was thick with the smell of old parchment, leather bindings, and ink—once comforting, but now it felt oppressive. The fireplace crackled faintly in the background, its warmth too far away to chase away the cold that had settled deep into my bones.

I hadn't slept all night. My eyes were red and swollen, my body aching from hours hunched over stacks of ancient, crumbling potion books that littered the long wooden table in front of me. My hair, once carefully styled, was now a tangled mess, falling haphazardly over my face. The weight of my exhaustion clung to me, but sleep seemed impossible. There was no room for rest. Not until I found a solution.

The candle next to me flickered weakly, its flame dancing in the silence. The worn cover of Advanced Potion-Making lay open before me, its pages filled with complex formulas and diagrams I had memorized years ago. Beside it, more obscure books lay sprawled across the table—Rogue Potions of the Dark Arts, The Forgotten Elixirs of the Middle Ages, and Potions to Reclaim the Lost Mind, all of them useless. I had read through each one at least twice, desperate for a way to undo what Severus had done. My fingers, stained with ink and trembling from exhaustion, flipped through Magica Anima: The Study of the Soul in Potions, but every word felt like lead in my mind.

Nothing. There was nothing in these texts to undo the memory-wiping potion that Severus had so callously administered to Lucius.

I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to force my thoughts into some kind of order, but it was futile. Lucius's face haunted me—his confusion, his blank, empty stare. The memory of our love, our moments together, stolen by a man who claimed to love me in return. A shudder ran through me. I wanted to scream, to cry, but I couldn't. All that was left was this cold, hollow desperation.

The door creaked open behind me, the sound soft but unmistakable in the quiet room. I didn't turn to look. I couldn't bring myself to face anyone, not like this. Not when I had failed to find a solution.

"Y/N," my father's voice called softly, but even that gentle tone carried a weight of worry that pierced the fragile barrier I had built around myself.

I didn't respond, my eyes still fixed on the endless pages of potions that had given me no answers.

He stepped closer, the soft rustle of his robes cutting through the stillness. "You've been in here all night."

"I know," I whispered, my voice cracking from disuse. My throat felt raw, my body heavy with exhaustion and hopelessness.

"I'm worried about you," he said, his voice now beside me as he approached the table. "You look... exhausted. You need to rest."

Rest. The word sounded so foreign, almost laughable. "I can't rest," I murmured, shaking my head. "Not until I find something. There has to be something."

I heard him sigh, and a chair creaked as he sat beside me. "You've been searching all night, haven't you?" His eyes scanned the array of open books scattered across the table. "Potions of the Lost Mind? The Elixirs of Olde? Y/N, these are—these are dangerous texts."

"I know," I replied flatly, my fingers tracing the edges of a page. "I don't care. I just... I need to find a way to undo it. I need to help Lucius."

"Lucius," he said quietly, his tone taking on a measured seriousness. "He'll maybe never be able to..."

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound humorless, hollow.

My father was silent for a moment. I could feel his eyes on me, the weight of his concern, but I couldn't look at him. I couldn't bear to see the disappointment or confusion on his face.