Y/n's quill scratched across the page, the only sound left in a world of sleeping students and shadowed corners.

The notebook had been a lucky find. Abandoned in a corridor, worn leather, pages nearly full. Some forgotten soul's loss, their gain. There was a faint hum of magic to it—old, subtle—but nothing threatening.

The enchanted ink shimmered as the words bloomed from nothing.

Black script, sloppy. Stark. Not their own handwriting.

{y/n} why did you of all people have to find this book?

The words vanished as quickly as they came, replaced by another line.

Dropped for a moment, and found by you…as if you do not haunt me enough already.

In the darkness of the dungeons, a quill hovered over a matching notebook. The hand that held it trembled—not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.

Severus Snape watched the blank page like a man watching a flame, waiting for it to catch.