Chapter Text
Dear reader
If it feels like a trap, you're already in one
38-year-old Severus Snape opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the familiar, royal-green canopy of his old Slytherin bed, hanging above him. For a brief moment, there was confusion—a fleeting sensation, like waking up inside a dream only to realize you had been dreaming of a dream. It was as if multiple realities overlapped, blending into a bouquet of thoughts he couldn’t quite place. For a split second, there were no worries, no fear, nor loathing.
An intense haze clouded his mind as his thoughts slowly began to piece together. After a few more moments, he finally sat up, letting the covers fall softly and silently into his lap. He glanced around while his three old classmates got ready for class.
He was dead. The boys were making so much noise.
Someone was talking to him. What was he doing? He was going to be late. No one was waiting for him. They called him “the little princess.” They told him he was going to miss breakfast.
He was dead moments ago. He was going to miss breakfast.
The boys they were also dead, all of them, all dead, Avery, Rosier and Mulciber, they were dead dead dead left the room. He was alone. Dead, mute, confused.
Was he dead late?
His feet finaly moved out of bed. The floor was cold he was bleeding out. He hadn’t put his shoes on. He stood up.
Somehow, he found himself in the bathroom, staring.
At himself.
A lean face, thin as a twig, so young.
He was a child. He was late for Charms. He was a dead man. He had just died woken up. He was at Hogwarts, as a student, as a teacher student. His face was smooth, no wrinkles. There were no furrowed lines between his eyebrows.
He needed to get out of there.