That night in the research room still lingered in the corner of her mind. How Snape had opened a drawer and pulled out a bundle of old papers. How he'd been searching for a page with the word Obscurus written on it. Aurelia hadn't seen it directly. But when she'd left the research room at that moment, she'd caught a glimpse through the gap in the door—the disorder of the bookshelves told her he was investigating something. (That person is sensing something about me.) She understood it without moving her emotions. October arrived, and Hogwarts' air grew noticeably colder. The clouds reflected on the Great Hall's ceiling thickened, and even in daylight the stone corridors were chilly. Even wrapped in a Slytherin robe, the dungeons felt cold from the feet up. --- When she entered the Potions classroom, large cauldrons were already set up at each station. Today's practical was the preparation of naturally black nightshade—Nightshade Origin. Highly toxic, a mistake in handling meant toxins would seep through the skin. At Durmstrang, third-years had worked with it. At Hogwarts, this year was apparently the first. Snape wrote the procedure on the blackboard in silence. "The nightshade stem is cut with a ceramic blade. Bare hands are forbidden. The cut surface must be immediately submerged in distilled water. That is all. Begin." The practical began. Aurelia picked up the ceramic blade and quietly cut two centimeters from the base of the nightshade stem. She quickly submerged the cut surface in distilled water. The order of removing leaves, pre-drying treatment, heat adjustment—all procedures that had soaked into her body at Durmstrang. Her hands moved naturally. With her emotions held in check, this kind of work was calming. In the seat next to her, a freckled male student—she could see a Gryffindor emblem—grabbed the nightshade with his bare hands. (Ah, that's bad.) The next instant. *Poof.* Green smoke erupted from the cauldron. It billowed with enough force to reach the ceiling, engulfing half the classroom. Students immediately pushed back their chairs to create distance. The male student stood frozen, turning green. Snape slowly turned around. He looked at the male student for about five seconds, then wrote "-5" on the blackboard. "Gryffindor loses five points. Explain your reason for handling nightshade with bare hands." "...I... I have none." "Correct. If you have no reason, don't do it again." He stated it flatly and continued his explanation. The male student was still green, silently pleading with his friend for help. The friend was pressing his mouth shut, desperately holding back laughter. Aurelia felt her mouth twitch slightly—she suppressed it. The practical continued. Other students' cauldrons turned strange colors one after another. Orange, purple, murky gray. Snape moved from one to the next, offering brief observations before moving on. He stopped in front of Aurelia's cauldron. Five seconds of silence followed. The classroom's murmur naturally died down. Students who noticed Snape peering into the cauldron fell quiet in response. The completed nightshade extract was a transparent deep green. The correct color. Any impurities would cloud it. Excessive heat would darken it. For this color to appear, every step had to be precise. "[cold] Precise." With just that, he moved to the next station. The classroom stirred. Whispers could be heard. "Did Snape just praise her...?" "That transfer student is creepy. The professor has his eye on her." "Does she have to stand out in grades too?" Aurelia kept facing forward and lowered the heat under her cauldron. (I know. I don't want to stand out.) She'd simply done it correctly. --- Changes began the next day. After each class, Snape started speaking to her briefly. "How did you judge the viscosity of today's extract?" "[gentle] If we lower the heat by three degrees, the intermolecular bonds stabilize. The viscosity can be adjusted, sir." That was the beginning. The next day he asked: "How would you theoretically explain the reaction when nightshade and dragon's bile are mixed?" "[serious] Dragon's bile is alkaline. Nightshade toxin is weakly acidic, so mixing them causes a neutralization reaction. However, nightshade's active component—the molecule with sedative properties—isn't affected by the neutralization. That's why it functions as a sleeping draught, sir." Snape said nothing while she answered. When she finished, he gave a short nod and left. By the third day, the conversation had expanded beyond potion theory. Standing outside the research room door, they discussed the nature of magic itself. Was magic the power of will, or the control of natural phenomena? Snape said: "Those who think it's will cannot handle potions. Only those who understand the natural phenomenon aspect can achieve precision." Aurelia countered: "But without will, it won't activate, will it?" Snape paused slightly. "[serious] Don't confuse the trigger for activation with the matter of precision. The trigger can be pulled by will, but the precision of the shot is determined by understanding of nature." (... That's a good way to put it.) Aurelia thought so internally. She couldn't counter it. That was rare. As the conversation grew longer, Slytherin students passing through the corridor began giving them suspicious looks. Upper-year students glanced at them both, exchanged whispered words, and passed by. Aurelia noticed, but felt nothing in particular. There was only one thing that bothered her. While talking, the Obscurus grew quiet. At Durmstrang, every time she spoke with someone, her chest trembled faintly. She was afraid of their gaze, afraid of their tone of voice, and the black power would react to just that. When she talked with Snape, it was different. That—frightened her. --- At dusk, she went to the herb garden. She needed to collect moonlight grass for the next day's practical. Hogwarts' herb garden was an outdoor section along the castle's east wing, with various magical plants arranged in neat rows. By late autumn, moonlight grass released its strongest scent in the evening. It was the optimal time for collection. The sky was beginning to turn orange from the west. Scottish autumn dusk was brief. The colors changed quickly, and the air cooled rapidly. Her breath came out in thin white wisps. Aurelia knelt along the row of moonlight grass. Using a ceramic blade, she carefully cut the stems. Moonlight grass was a plant with white small flowers strung along thin stems, cold to the touch. She arranged the collected bundles in a bamboo basket. Quiet work. Then she heard footsteps. She didn't need to turn around to know. She'd grown accustomed to the sound of those shoe soles in the corridors. Snape stood beside her. Without a word, without explanation, he simply stood there looking at the row of moonlight grass. After a moment, he knelt and began collecting. For a while, they picked moonlight grass side by side. "[gentle] Autumn moonlight grass has thinner sedative components than summer grass, sir. As temperature drops, the production amount decreases." "[serious] I'm aware. That's why we extend the drying process by ten hours. That concentrates the components." "You don't use heat treatment?" "Above sixty degrees it decomposes. Drying alone is the correct method." The conversation was about plants. But his tone was slightly different from in class. In class there was always a certain pressure. Now it was, just slightly, absent. Aurelia continued collecting while glancing sideways at Snape's hands. He wasn't wearing black gloves. His fingertips were trembling faintly—barely perceptibly. Was it always like that? She hadn't noticed. "[gentle] Night comes so early now, doesn't it?" "[serious] It's October. Naturally." "Durmstrang was further north. I'm accustomed to darkness coming early." Snape didn't answer. But as he placed the collected moonlight grass in the bamboo basket, after a pause, he said: "[cold] It's dark enough here too." It was a short statement. But the way he said it—sounded like he was speaking about loneliness. Not about moonlight grass, but something else entirely. Aurelia didn't answer. She felt there was no need to. Somehow, the silence between them—wasn't awkward. There was quietness between them, and strangely, it felt comfortable. (... What is this?) She was thinking that when it happened. Snape reached out to hand her a bundle. Aurelia opened her hand to receive it. Their fingertips came within a centimeter of each other. Snape pulled back first. The bundle was placed in the basket. In that instant— Something pulsed deep in her chest. Strongly, once. Aurelia clamped down on her emotions. Hard, with all her strength. But it was too late. The air in the herb garden changed. Her breath came out whiter than before. Noticeably, visibly whiter. The soil at her feet grew cold as if touched by frost. If there were a thermometer, it would have dropped two degrees. Snape glanced around. The edges of the herb leaves were faintly rimmed with frost. "[gentle] ...It's gotten cold, hasn't it?" She said it quietly, her gaze on the bamboo basket. Snape said nothing. But he looked at her fingertips for just a moment. White, cold, more translucent than usual. He didn't ask. He didn't say anything. He simply stood up and said only, "The collection is sufficient," before leaving the herb garden. Aurelia remained alone. Holding the bundle of moonlight grass, she watched the sky change from orange to deep blue. She was afraid. Just fingertips coming close. They hadn't even touched. And the Obscurus had moved. (If I can't stop this emotion, what will happen?) --- In the research room late at night, Snape sat in a chair. On the desk lay a paper knife shaped like a stag's antler. His hand reached for it unconsciously. He gripped the handle. The scene in the herb garden repeated in his mind. The moment their fingertips nearly touched. The moment the air grew cold. The sound of that transfer student's voice when she lowered her gaze and said "It's gotten cold, hasn't it?" That quiet voice hiding the tremor of emotion. His hand gripping the paper knife tensed slightly. And then—a different face appeared in his mind. Red hair. Green eyes. A face that suited smiling. Snape closed his eyes. He placed the paper knife firmly on the desk. *Clack*, a hard sound. (It's not an emotional matter. It's an academic matter.) He told himself this. That temperature change matched Obscurus symptoms. It was a medical matter. Understanding precisely what that transfer student was carrying was his duty as a teacher. Nothing more, nothing less. He began writing the continuation of the inquiry letter to the Durmstrang headmaster. As his pen moved, the stag's antler paper knife kept entering his peripheral vision. His writing hand stopped. The cold air from the herb garden seemed to linger in his nostrils. --- The Slytherin common room, even after lights out, flickered with greenish light. Light filtering up from the lake's depths. Fish shadows slowly crossed the walls. Aurelia sat on her bed with a diary open on her lap. She tried to write about today's events. The herb garden, the moonlight grass, the distance their fingertips had nearly crossed. Her pen stopped. (I'm afraid of giving this emotion a name.) But if she didn't write it, it would keep swelling in her mind. If it swelled, she wouldn't be able to contain it. Aurelia wrote briefly. —I'm afraid. I'm afraid I won't be able to stop this emotion. She wrote only that, then closed the diary. She placed it by her pillow. She lay on her back and looked at the ceiling. The stone ceiling flickered with the lake's light. She remembered when someone at Durmstrang had said, "Your magic is weird, isn't it?" At that time, just that one sentence had broken her. The li