Inside the smoky vision, Snape stood in front of a maternity ward, anxiously waiting in a sharp, custom-tailored suit.
“That’s…Professor Snape?”
Harry gaped, struggling to believe his eyes.
This version of Snape looked nothing like the dark wizard they knew. Instead, he resembled an ordinary Muggle, well-dressed and approachable, as if he belonged to a completely different life.
“Congratulations, sir! Both mother and daughter are safe and sound!”
A nurse exited the room, and before she’d even finished speaking, Snape dashed inside.
On the bed lay a red-haired woman, pale yet smiling blissfully. Next to her, a newborn baby, face scrunched in sleep, lay swaddled and secure.
When Harry saw the woman’s face, his thoughts blurred.
“She looks…a bit like my mother,” he thought. “Why would the professor be dreaming of something like this?”
Dumbledore, however, closed his eyes with a deep sigh.
“After all this time, Severus…still the same.”
The other professors exchanged glances, confirming they all saw the same vision.
“Is that…Lily Evans?” Professor Flitwick whispered to Professor McGonagall.
“Yes, it is.”
McGonagall’s eyes creased in a rare, fond smile. “So that’s it, Severus…you hid this well.”
In the vision, Snape approached the bed.
“You’ve done so well,” he murmured to the woman, his eyes brimming with tenderness.
“I’m fine.”
Lily shook her head, glancing over at the sleeping baby with a soft smile.
“She’s fast asleep.”
“Yes, she is.”
Snape looked at the child with a touch of hesitation, almost as if afraid his mere touch might wake her.
“Have you thought of a name?” Lily asked.
“Yes.”
Snape answered softly, “Her name will be…Harley.”
—
Harry sat before the smoke, feeling as though his very soul had been pulled out and left adrift.
He could barely process what he was seeing.
“Was that really my mother?”
A strange happiness swelled within him. So, I’m not the only one who dreams of her.
Even after all these years, someone else still remembered her.
An unexpected lump formed in Harry’s throat. In all those lonely nights, it turned out he wasn’t alone in his memories.
But a shadow of regret crept in as well.
“Only I remember Dad,” he thought wistfully. If only someone else had loved him, too.
—
The scene in the smoke shifted to another memory.
Snape and Lily had brought little Harley home.
In real life, Snape’s home on Spinner’s End sat beside a polluted river in a decrepit neighborhood of run-down houses, abandoned factories, and broken streetlights.
But in his dream, their home was a bright, spacious suburban house, warmly decorated—a real home.
They’d barely walked through the door when the doorbell rang.
Snape opened it to find a middle-aged couple standing outside—his parents.
They looked calm and happy.
“Severus, congratulations on becoming a father!”
His mother, Eileen Prince, hugged Snape tightly.
Meanwhile, his father, Tobias Snape, frowned slightly and asked, “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? There’s so much to handle now—did you really think the two of you could manage it all alone?”
Snape explained, “I didn’t want to trouble you.”
In reality, his childhood had been filled with his parents’ arguments. They’d been indifferent at best, sometimes even abusive. He’d learned early on to handle everything on his own.
That habit had seeped into his dream.
“What trouble?” Eileen protested. “Severus, you can rely on us more, you know!”
Old Tobias smiled at his son. “You don’t have to be so formal with us—you’ve always been our pride and joy.”
Snape stammered, “O-of course…”
He didn’t notice the tear streaks that had begun to trail down his face.
—
Time flowed quickly in the dream, and the vision shifted again. Little Harley was now eleven.
She’d enrolled at Hogwarts, where her father taught, and the Sorting Hat had just placed her in Gryffindor.
Snape watched her from the staff table, eyes gleaming with pride.
“Dad, are you sure the Hat didn’t make a mistake?”
After the ceremony, Harley ran up to him, concerned. “I should’ve been sorted into your House!”
“It doesn’t matter, Harley.”
Snape said with a gentle smile. “Gryffindor or Slytherin, you’re still a student of Hogwarts.”
During her school years, Harley would occasionally see a certain blond boy taunting other students from mixed bloodlines.
Snape always reminded Harley firmly, “There is no place for discrimination. Pureblood or not, it makes no difference.”
Harley nodded, promising to remember his words.
At Hogwarts, Severus Snape had become the most popular teacher, treating every student with patience and kindness.
In Gryffindor’s Potions class, the students sometimes struggled, especially Ron Weasley, who was prone to clumsiness.
Snape always encouraged him, “Believe in yourself, Ron. I’ve known since the day you arrived that you’re a gifted wizard—you just need a bit more confidence. Come on, I know you’ve got this!
“And besides, you’ve got that lovely red hair!”
Hermione Granger, who completed her work quickly and diligently, often drew snide remarks from Draco Malfoy.
Snape would defend her with a warm smile. “Who says Muggle-borns can’t rival wizard-borns? Hermione here has the second-best talent in Potions I’ve ever seen!
“Of course, the best belongs to my lovely wife.”
As for Neville Longbottom, he was Snape’s pride and joy.
“I’ve never believed in ‘dull students,’” he’d tell everyone. “Take Neville, for instance—people think he’s slow, but I see remarkable talent!
“Incidentally, he shares a birthday with my Harley!”
Outside of classes, students loved gathering around Snape.
“Professor! Professor!” they’d tease. “It’s been five whole minutes since you last told us about how you and your wife defeated Voldemort!”
“Oh, alright.”
Snape’s smile was full of warmth. “Since you’re so eager to hear it, I’ll tell the story again!
“It all started when Lily and I first met…”
—
Outside the vision, everyone watched, transfixed.
Even Bruce, on the other end of the two-way mirror, was speechless.
“Is…is this really Snape?” he wondered. “Or is this how he actually sees himself?”
“What’s so strange about that?”
Kathoom replied, “Some spend their lives healing from childhood, while others use their childhood to heal their whole lives. In his dream, Snape’s past was different, so he turned out different too.”
Perhaps this was the life Snape had always wanted.
“Still, I’m a bit let down.”
The owl tilted his head. “I thought we’d see something more dramatic—but all we found was an ordinary man.”
The other professors whispered to one another as well.
Among them, Professor Gale seemed the most affected. He left the room, muttering about needing some time to himself.
McGonagall sighed deeply, “If not for this attack, we’d never have seen this side of Snape.
“In his dreams, he’s always had a warm heart.”
Dumbledore finally spoke.
“You’re mistaken, Minerva,” he said softly, eyes fixed on the dream. “Severus Snape has always had a warm heart.”
Seeing this version of Snape, even as onlookers, one couldn’t help but hope his happiness would last forever.
But alas, this vision was at an end.
Dumbledore sighed, remembering their goal for this séance.
To wake Snape and find out who had attacked him.
Dumbledore lifted his quill and wrote in the diary—
“Wake up, Severus.”
Boom—
The vision trembled, and Snape’s gaze grew clouded.
As confusion turned to clarity, he saw himself surrounded by students in the dream.
“Professor, why did you stop talking?” someone asked.
“I…”
Snape’s memories began to resurface. The beautiful life he’d imagined clashed with reality.
He staggered, clutching his chest, afraid to speak.
Was this a dream?
Of course, it was. He didn’t deserve this.
Such happiness was beyond even his dreams.
Dumbledore wrote again: “Wake up, Severus.”
Boom—
The vision shuddered once more as cracks spidered through the dream.
In the hospital bed, Snape’s eyelids began to twitch, showing faint signs of consciousness.
Just a bit more.
Dumbledore readied his quill for a final message.
But then, the dream, which had been unraveling, suddenly stabilized.
In the vision, Snape, as if making a monumental decision, took out his wand.
He pointed it at his own temple, pulling out a thin silver thread.
Dumbledore’s eyes flew open in shock. “No, Severus…”
“Go to hell, Dumbledore!”
Snape shouted. “This is my reality. Yours is the dream!”
And just like that, the vision snapped off, leaving the room in darkness.
Snape had chosen to stay in his dream.
Waking was too painful.
“Severus, how could you be so foolish…”
Dumbledore whispered.
Then, words began to appear in the diary.
“Do you truly believe that?”
The handwriting was elegant—nothing like Voldemort’s.
It looked distinctly feminine.
Dumbledore barely had time to respond before more words flooded the page.
“Then let’s see how clever you really are.
“Or rather, let’s see just how clever you all are!”
Something’s wrong.
Dumbledore’s instincts flared. He shoved the diary away, raising his wand.
But he was too late.
A burst of silver light exploded from the diary.
Accompanied by a sharp, eagle-like screech, everyone in Hogwarts felt a strange pang in their hearts.
When the light faded, Dumbledore glanced around, checking on the other professors.
But when he turned, everything had changed.
He stood inside a familiar old house, its furnishings intimately recognizable.
Thud, thud, thud—
A girl ran in, her face alight with joy as she waved a letter.
“Brother, I’ve been accepted to Hogwarts!”
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