When the Circle Burns

Weeks passed.

Autumn began to take its toll on the castle, crisping the edges of the Forbidden Forest in burnt orange and rust. Winds howled more often through the high corridors, and the sky seemed permanently overcast.

And still, Snape had no answers.

He had not cornered Elara again.

Not because he had lost interest—if anything, his curiosity had only sharpened—but because every attempt to force an interaction felt clumsy now, seen through. She had caught on. And the last time she'd looked at him with that unreadable, glacial gaze, he felt something shift.

He was being studied in return.

So, he adjusted his approach.

He became quieter around her, if that were even possible. But there was a new quality to it—a weight. He stopped looking at her so directly in the staff room. Instead, his gaze would catch on her only in glances. Calculated. Fleeting. And she noticed.

Because the one thing more dangerous than pursuit... was withdrawal.

A new letter sat on the edge of the fireplace in Malfoy Manor.

Lucius picked it up with a sigh and unfolded it lazily.

Lucius,
I'm asking you again, not as a favor, but as a necessity. You know I won't stop until I understand who she is.
There must be something else. Something she said. Somewhere she was seen. Even a name she once used.
Anything, Lucius. Anything at all.
—S

Lucius stared at the ink a moment longer than necessary. Then he folded it and burned it in the fire.

"I warned you," he murmured into the flames. "But you always did have a death wish, Severus."

She felt it first at breakfast.

Snape entered the Great Hall as he always did—silent, gliding like a shadow—but this time, he passed behind her chair instead of sitting directly down. She felt the weight of his presence at her back like static, as if he were closer than he truly was.

He didn't say a word.

And yet... she shivered.

The subtle change in proximity, the slow orbit instead of a direct collision—it threw her off.

For someone like Elara, control was everything. And Snape, frustrating, sharp-eyed, ruthless in his observation—he had shifted the entire playing field again.

She kept her gaze on her plate, but her posture changed. Her fingers tightened slightly on her teacup.

Had he changed tactics?

Was this... calculated retreat?

She would not admit it, even to herself, but something about it unnerved her.

The first real encounter came nearly a month after their last meaningful exchange.

It was late evening. The halls were slick with candlelight and mist from the outer walls, a fog rolling in that made the air inside the castle feel thick and muffled.

Elara was walking alone after returning books to the restricted section. Her cloak was dusted with cobwebs, her thoughts tangled in silence, when she turned the corner—

And stopped.

Snape was there.

Not walking.

Not passing.

Leaning against the corridor wall, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

Waiting.

He didn't speak right away. He simply inclined his head as though acknowledging something not quite visible. She met his gaze, chin tilted slightly—guarded, unreadable.