Ancient Magician (Severus x Reader)

Chapter 54: New Head

I was sitting on a chair—just that. A single, ordinary chair. There wasn't any room around me, no walls or windows, not even a floor beneath my feet. Just a never-ending abyss of thick, oily black smoke. It swirled lazily, but oppressively, curling like it had a will of its own. Heavy. Suffocating. It was the kind of darkness that pressed against your skin, tried to seep into your lungs, settle in your bones. And the silence—deafening. Not the peaceful kind. No, this was the silence that waited. That watched.

And then it came. A sound—soft, deliberate. A rustle.

Out of the shadows slithered a snake. Huge, much larger than any ordinary serpent. Its scales shimmered faintly even in the dark, as though it carried its own faint, sinister light. It moved with that unnerving elegance only snakes have—slow, deliberate, deadly. It didn't blink. Just stared straight at me with those cold, glassy eyes that seemed to glint with knowledge. Or judgment.

I couldn't move. Not at first. My body refused. My fingers stayed clenched on my lap, knees frozen, breath caught like something was pressing down on my chest. The longer it looked at me, the more I felt like it knew me—everything. Like it was peering into a memory I'd forgotten. And then, just when I thought I'd explode from the pressure of it all, it lunged.

Instinct took over. I threw myself sideways off the chair, hitting the nothingness beneath me—which somehow felt solid in that surreal place. My heart thundered like it was trying to claw its way out of my ribcage. As I scrambled to my feet, eyes darting around wildly, that's when I saw them.

Figures. Shadowy, cloaked in darkness, gliding through the smoke like spectres. Their robes clung to them as though the shadows themselves were alive. Their faces were hidden, but the tattoos were unmistakable. A skull. A serpent. Death Eaters.

They began to chant—something low, old, unholy. The kind of sound that curdles the air, that makes your blood feel like ice in your veins. It wasn't words I could understand, but I felt the meaning. It was a call. A summoning.

And then he stepped out of the fog.

Pale. Tall. A face both familiar and strange, sharper than I remembered from old photographs and even my own scattered memories. He didn't walk—he glided. Like the shadows obeyed him. The smoke moved aside like a curtain parting for a king.

Tom Riddle. No—Voldemort.

He looked at me. Not with hatred. Not even with anger. But something worse.

Curiosity.

"Welcome back," he said, his voice cool and quiet, but every word landing with the weight of steel. "I hope you choose wisely this time."

I couldn't even answer.

And then—light.

I woke with a start, gasping, lungs heaving like I'd been drowning. My sheets were tangled, sweat clinging to me like a second skin, hair plastered to my face and neck. For a few seconds, I had no idea where I was. The room was dim, hazy in the fading golden light spilling in from the window.

Then a voice.

"Y/N, wake up! We'll both be late, come on!"

I blinked hard, turning my head toward the sound. Minnie stood at the foot of my bed, hands on her hips and worry etched across her features—even though she was clearly trying to play it off as irritation. She looked like she'd already been waiting for a few minutes.

"Huh...? Minnie?" My voice cracked a bit. "It's still early, right?"

She gave me a look.

"Early? It's 6:40."