The very first morning of the new term brought a wave of excitement to the sixth-year students. A large notice had been posted on the common room board the night before, announcing upcoming Apparition lessons.
Snape and Abraxas had barely stepped into the common room when a clamor of voices greeted them.
"Whoa!" someone shouted from the crowd.
They pushed through the crush of bodies toward the notice board, where a growing queue of students were taking turns to sign their names.
"Don't be daft," one student laughed, nudging his overexcited friend. "You can't Apparate in the castle. Everyone knows that."
"Obviously. Anyone who's read Hogwarts: A History would know," another student chimed smugly.
"Yes, well, unless you're a troll, I doubt you'd be surprised by that," someone muttered.
The students were buzzing with anticipation, discussing every detail they'd ever heard about Apparition.
Eventually, Snape and Abraxas managed to wriggle free of the throng and made their way out of the dungeons, heading to breakfast before lessons began.
"Severus has Apparated before," Abraxas boasted to Pandora outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Someone Side-Alonged him last year, remember?"
"I didn't know that," Pandora replied, clearly delighted. "Seems like you know him better than I do."
"I've had a few Side-Along experiences," Snape admitted, his expression tightening. "Trust me—it's not pleasant. You're plunged into darkness, like you're being squeezed on all sides by invisible fists. It's as if iron bands are crushing your ribs, you can't breathe…"
He mimed the pressure with his hands, his eyes distant.
"Feels like your eyeballs are being forced back into your skull, your eardrums pushed deep into your head… and then finally, it's like being shoved through a rubber tube far too narrow for you. Only after that can you breathe again."
More sixth-years gathered, overhearing the conversation, their curiosity piqued. Mary began bombarding Snape with questions, and when he glanced up, he spotted Lily in the crowd.
She stood quietly, listening, her vivid red hair unmistakable. He hadn't spoken to her since the end of fifth year, outside the Gryffindor Tower. An entire term had passed.
He wasn't avoiding her. But something about the girl in his memory no longer quite matched the real Lily. The one in his thoughts seemed like a phantom, a shadow. Not quite the same person.
As if someone had once said: No one can compare to the you in my memory—not even you, now.
Perhaps he needed a chance to know her again.
Despite Snape's vivid description, the students' interest in Apparition only grew. It wasn't until Professor Grapplestone loudly cleared her throat several times that they reluctantly shuffled to their seats.
"Quiet! Quiet!" Professor Grapplestone's voice cut through the noise like a hex. Her stern gaze swept the room.
"Do you want to be the kind of witch or wizard who cowers in fear when a Dementor comes near? Who trembles at the thought of the Kiss?"
She spun and jabbed a finger at an illustration pinned to the blackboard.
The image showed a wizard crumpled in a corner, eyes blank, soul clearly gone.
"Dementors are among the foulest beings in existence," she continued in a grim tone, lifting another image—this time of a shadowy figure swathed in a cloak, the decay of its slimy, mottled limbs barely visible beneath.
"They hide beneath their hoods, haunt the darkest, foulest places. They feed on rot and despair, draining peace, hope, and happiness from the air around them.
"Even Muggles can sense them, though they cannot see them. A Dementor's presence leeches every joyful thought, every happy memory you possess.
"If it can, it will continue to suck until you become like it—soulless, empty, evil. The Dementor's Kiss leaves behind only your worst memories. Nothing more than an empty shell."
"Professor," a trembling student asked, "aren't they the guards of Azkaban?"
"Yes," Grapplestone answered, frowning. "The prison built on a barren island, surrounded by endless sea. Azkaban doesn't need walls. The prisoners are trapped in their own minds, unable to recall joy, much less attempt escape.
"For centuries, the Ministry has used Dementors as Azkaban's sentinels, believing it the most efficient solution."
She shook her head, sighing.
"Bit of advice—don't break the law. You don't want to end up there."
She continued. "Over two hundred years ago, Minister Eldritch Diggory visited Azkaban. What he found was appalling. The environment was so dire that people perished of despair. Those who survived often lost their minds.
"The place has become a paradise—for Dementors."
"These creatures really exist?" Peter Pettigrew squeaked, his small eyes gleaming with dread. "If they do… who controls them?"
"I'm afraid they exist beyond doubt, Peter," Grapplestone said coldly. "And no one truly controls them.
"Dumbledore and I agree—they have never been loyal to anyone. They serve only those who offer the most victims.
"If anyone could command them, it would not be the Ministry. It would be… the Dark Lord."
A collective intake of breath swept the room. It felt as though a Dementor itself were nearby, invisible but radiating its glacial malice.
Peter looked ready to collapse, gnawing his nails with feverish anxiety.
"What can we do to stop them?" Lily's voice rang out, steady and defiant. "If they can't be destroyed, how do we fight back? That is the point of this lesson, isn't it?"
Grapplestone gave her a rare nod of approval and stepped down from the dais to walk among the desks.
"No known spell can kill a Dementor. What we can do is drive them off—temporarily.
"The Patronus Charm is our best weapon. It summons a guardian—a protector that stands between you and the Dementor."
She raised her voice. "A Patronus is a positive force. It is the embodiment of what Dementors feed upon—hope, joy, the desire to live.
"But a Patronus is not a person. It cannot feel despair. That is why the Dementors cannot touch it."
Her tone grew firm.
"Casting a Patronus requires tremendous skill. Many accomplished witches and wizards never manage it.
"Most of you won't succeed. And summoning one in class is one thing—summoning one with a Dementor bearing down on you is another entirely."
But rather than discourage the students, her warning only seemed to steel their resolve. None of them believed they would fail.
"What does a Patronus look like?" Abraxas asked.
"It varies," Grapplestone replied. "Usually it takes the form of an animal—one deeply connected to your inner self."
"Can two people have the same one?"
"Quiet!" Grapplestone clapped her hands, restoring order. "Every Patronus is unique. I've never seen two exactly alike.
"To conjure one, you must focus on a single, powerful happy memory. The incantation is: Expecto Patronum.
"Let that memory fill you. Then—cast."
The students erupted in a flurry of attempts. "Expecto Patronum!" rang out again and again, but most wands did nothing at all.
Some managed to produce faint silver mist, curling like early morning fog, vanishing as quickly as it came.
Snape stood, digging deep into his mind.
He knew not to rely on old memories. The ones from that other life—though long—were heavy with fatigue and disappointment. Every goal promised relief, yet led to another burden.
He recalled moments of joy—but doubted they were strong enough.
Instead, he turned to this world. This body.
Expecto Patronum, he whispered silently.
He thought of worn Gobstones… a rough-hewn leather wallet…
Then—something flared at the tip of his wand. A pale silvery gas billowed into the air.
"Blimey, mate!" Abraxas gaped. "You actually managed it!"
Snape shrugged. "That won't hold back a Dementor. Just mist."
"You don't really think we'll ever need to fight one, do you?" Abraxas scoffed. "They've been locked up in Azkaban for centuries."
"Practice anyway," Snape said quietly. "Who knows what's coming."
He returned to the task, memory after memory, whispering the incantation over and over.
Near the end of the lesson, something stronger emerged. A slender silver figure erupted from his wand, its shape more distinct now—twisting through the air like a ribbon.
It wasn't quite what he expected. Not a four-legged creature. Not even close.
"What is that?" Abraxas laughed. "Is it my long-bodied Puffcurl?"
Snape rolled his eyes and ignored him.
Looking around, he saw other students making progress. Pandora's Patronus was small, with long ears, bouncing about the air.
James and Sirius had also produced swirling silver smoke, nearly forming beast shapes. James was showing off, wand held high.
Sirius had already stowed his wand, leaning back with a look of bored arrogance.
Peter watched them, awestruck, mouth agape. Every time James's wand sparked, Peter clapped with giddy devotion.
Lupin stood nearby, brows furrowed, wand hanging uselessly at his side.
And then—Snape saw Lily.
Her wand didn't release fog or mist, but a radiant silver creature with wings.
He squinted, trying to make out what it was. A bird, perhaps?
But one thing was certain—it was not a doe.