It began with a bottle of firewhisky, two empty glasses, and the unspoken rule that Christmas was meant to be tolerated, not celebrated.
Severus Snape didn't smile when I entered the dungeon that night—he never did—but he did nod. A rare welcome. He had the fireplace roaring, an old armchair dragged across the stone floor to face another that had clearly never seen much use.
"Didn't think you'd show," he said without looking up.
"And miss your brooding monologue about humanity's failure? Never."
He snorted—close to a laugh. That was progress.
We drank. Silently at first. Then less so. The firewhisky warmed everything but the soul, which—ironically—was the one thing most in need of it.
"How many students do you think will send you holiday greetings this year?" I asked, lifting my glass.
"None," he said dryly. "That's how I know I'm doing my job. How about you?"
"Got an early gift from some one." As I lifted my arm to show the Bracelet.
"Ah," Snape said knowingly. "Greengrass."
"Don't start."
"She's charming. Intelligent. Possibly deadly. You're doomed."
"We're friends."
"And you believe it will stay that way?"
I didn't answer. Just stared into my glass.
"You could do worse," he said. "Trust me. I've done worse."
"Speaking from experience. So their is someone"
Snape's expression softened slightly. "Her name is Diana a muggle book shop owner in London. She calls me 'Mr. Moody.' Thinks I'm a retired librarian with a tragic past."
"Is she wrong?"
"Uncomfortably close."
We laughed again. This time longer.
"So? What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Probably nothing."
"That's stupid."
"That's safe."
"And sad."
"And real."
"You ever need help, you let me know," I said. "I'm good at intimidating people with my brooding aura."
"You're five feet of mystery in a trench coat, Jon. No one's scared of that."
"I'm taller than that."
"Not in soul."
We clinked glasses.
We drank more. The second glass came easier than the first. The third wasn't even discussed.
"You know," I said, half-squinting at the flickering firelight, "Hogwarts is the only place I've ever been where the silence creeps louder than a sniper alley."
Snape glanced sideways. "Charming comparison."
"Tell me I'm wrong."
"No, you're not. The silence here is... weighted. Like something always watching."
"The portraits, you mean?"
"The ghosts. The regrets. Take your pick."
I grinned. "Sounds like you're getting sentimental."
"Sounds like you're getting drunk."
"Fair."
We laughed—lopsided and rare. The firewhisky hit slower now, but deeper. It curled into the places you didn't want warmed.
"You ever read Gryffindor essays after midnight?" Snape asked, pouring us both another.
"I try to avoid voluntary exposure to suffering."
"They're war crimes."
I nearly choked. "You're not serious."
"They defy grammar, logic, and basic humanity. They make me miss the Cruciatus Curse."
"You ever save one just to laugh at it later?"
He gave me a look. "You think I don't have a drawer?"
I stared. "You have a drawer."
"Categorized. Dated. Annotated."
I fell off my chair laughing. "You're a menace."
"I'm a historian of idiocy."
We lost track of how many drinks we poured. The night turned blurry around the edges. The kind of blurry that made you honest.
"You know what I hate?" I said, slumping slightly.
"Just one thing?"
"Very funny. I hate the noise of pretending. Every day. Smile here. Nod there. Don't react when someone stares too long or asks too much. It's exhausting."
He didn't speak right away. Then he said, "Noise is armor."
"What does that mean?"
"Noise distracts others. Keeps them from seeing where you bleed."
We sat with that.
Then I said, "But you like the quiet."
He looked surprised. Then thoughtful. "I do."
"Me too. Not just silence. Stillness. The kind where your thoughts stop screaming."
"Rare."
"Yeah. You get that stillness here?"
"Only now. Only tonight."
I smiled a little. "Guess that makes two of us."
He lifted his glass. "To quiet nights."
I raised mine. "And the madmen who find peace in them."
We clinked glasses again. Firelight danced between us.
And for once in our lives—
The world shut up.
Then he said her name. Quietly. Almost reverently.
"Lily."
He said it like a prayer and a curse in one.
"I loved her. No... I worshipped her. And I ruined it. I chose power. Rage. That mask of cruelty I wear? I built it to protect myself from how much I hated the boy who let her down."
He paused, staring into the flames. His voice was rougher now.
"The last time she hugged me, she smelled like lilacs. It's been twenty years, and I still remember. I still smell it when I walk past the greenhouse sometimes."
"You never told her the truth?"
"I told her everything. Just not when it mattered. Not when it could've changed anything."
I didn't speak.
"She was fire, Jon. Kind, impossible fire. And I let her burn away."
He stared at the flames as if they held her image.
"I think she visits sometimes. Not as a ghost, but... in the way I hesitate before I hex a student. In the way I leave a peppermint on the staff table because she liked them."
"You still miss her."
"I miss the man she thought I could be."
He leaned back slowly, finishing another drink.
"I thought being a Death Eater would give me power. Control. Respect. All it gave me was scars and silence. And when I finally saw it—really saw what we were doing—it was too late."
"So you switched sides."
"And sold my soul to Dumbledore instead."
"He trusts you."
"He uses me."
"Those aren't always different things."
"Do you think redemption's real, Jon?" His voice cracked at the edge.
I looked at him. "Only if someone remembers your good sides."
He was quiet.
"Do you think she would've forgiven me?"
"I think she'd have understood you. And maybe... that's even more powerful."
He shut his eyes briefly.
"I don't know how to be anything else anymore. The spy. The villain. The mask. Sometimes I think the man I used to be died with her."
"Maybe he did. But maybe that death wasn't the end. Maybe it was the beginning."
We sat in silence for a long time. No more jokes. No more sarcasm. Just firelight and old ghosts.
He raised his glass again. "To the people we let down."
I raised mine. "And the ones who never stopped haunting us. And To the women who don't ran away from monsters like us."
We drank.
The fire burned lower.
And for a moment, it wasn't teacher and student. Not assassin and spy. Just two men, trying not to be alone anymore.
Then he turned to me. "What about you, Jon? You've got those eyes. The kind that don't belong on a kid."
I took a long sip, then sighed. "I was 9 when I stopped being a child. I realized that I have a very particular set of skills. Skills to end human life in the most efficient way."
He leaned back slightly. "That's when it started."
"My first real job came at 1989 November 11. A politician. Eastern Europe. Smiled for cameras, shook hands with kings—and trafficked girls across borders like they were livestock. He had influence, power, protection from all sides. But he made one mistake: He pissed off a syndicate with deeper pockets."
Snape was quiet.
"I studied him for two weeks. Learned his routines, security, blind spots. He liked to drink in his penthouse office—alone—after conferences. I got in through the air vent, laced his bourbon with a neurotoxin, and was gone before the ice even melted."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Efficient."
"Necessary. He wasn't just evil—he was untouchable. The kind of man who would die comfortable in his sleep unless someone like me put him down."
"And the money?"
"It felt like dirt. Like something you scrape off your boots. But it paid for clean IDs, safe houses, tech. Tools to disappear."
He poured me another glass. "You've done more."
"Too many. Most were modern hits—corporate scum, arms dealers, child traffickers, war profiteers. I've only taken five magical contracts."
"Magical ones harder?"
"No. Just louder. Wizards leave too many traces. Muggle targets are easier to vanish."
I stared into the fire.
"You ever think about quitting?" he asked after a pause.
"I already did."
"And how?"
"When you enter the world of crime you must have a backup plan long prepared if you want a way out of the dark world one one day. I entered the world with the plan to quit, no one knows my name, my face, my location, even my voice for them I am a shadow. That's how I quit. Left no traces behind. Vanished like a shadow."
"And now you are here for peace or perhaps for a purpose."
I looked at the fire. "I don't know. But I want to find out."
He nodded. "Purpose is a funny thing."
"When you grow up without love, purpose becomes currency."
He gave me a long, knowing look. "And what are you buying with yours?"
"Forgiveness. Maybe. From myself. Or... from the people I couldn't save."
We sat in silence again.
"To the ones we couldn't save," I whispered.
He raised his glass. "And the ones who tried to save us."
We both drank to ghosts.
And that's when I said it.
Casual. Like I wasn't offering something sacred.
"I, uh... rented a couple cars. They're waiting in Hogsmeade. Thought maybe you'd like to take one for a spin."
Snape tilted his head. Narrowed his eyes like he was sniffing out a trap.
"Cars," he repeated.
"Yeah. Fast ones. Glamoured. Snow-proofed. Jaguar and Aston Martin."
He blinked. Then leaned back in his chair with an expression of wicked nostalgia.
"You know," he said, "last time I was professionally behind the wheel was in 1987 if I exclude the last run we have to escape the crime scene. Birmingham. Rainstorm. Police operatives on my tail. Seven of them in pursuit."
I blinked. "Seven?"
He smirked. "I lost five in the alleyways. Two followed me onto the motorway. I clipped a barricade, launched the car over the toll gate, landed without a scratch, and vanished into the tunnel system."
"You're joking."
"Jon," he said flatly, "I am never joking about vehicular dominance."
I raised my glass. "To outrunning the Police and looking sexy while doing it."
He clinked his glass against mine. "To the purity of horsepower and poor decision-making."
We drank.
"So," I said, leaning forward slightly, "you in?"
He gave me the kind of look professors reserve for students suggesting something academically suicidal.
Then he smirked.
"Tonight, we ride. And if we pass the castle gates without getting hexed, we're stealing the Headmaster's boots."
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled the firewhisky.
"Deal. But I'm not climbing that tower again."
"You climbed the Astronomy Tower?"
"Long story. Involved a dare, and a very beautiful ice princess."
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're going to be the death of me."
"That's rich coming from the man who owns a drawer of traumatizing essays."
We grinned at each other—really grinned. The kind of smile that was earned, not given.
Two killers, two outcasts.
Two men finally ready to chase something other than ghosts.