The Price of Obsession

The next day, the seventh-year students entered the Potions classroom, expecting to see Professor Snape. Instead, they froze in place upon seeing Dante standing at the front of the room, his silver eyes sweeping over them with quiet authority.

"Professor Snape will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year," Dante said, his voice calm. "That means I will be your Potions professor."

The words sent a chill through the room. How could he stand there, speaking so casually, after what he had revealed? After declaring the end of everything they had ever known?

But the lesson went on. Dante continued the class with a neutral expression, unbothered by the weight of their stares. He taught methodically, efficiently—his instructions clear, his demeanor is the same as always.

And despite their unease, the students had to admit it—he was better than Snape. The class flowed smoothly, without insults or intimidation. The knowledge he shared was invaluable, deeper than anything they had ever learned before.

Still, they couldn't understand. How could he act as if nothing had happened? How could he stand there, teaching, after exposing himself to the world, the man who had shaped history itself—and now threatened to erase it?

Yet, there was one exception. Only one student continued acting normally around him.

Luna Lovegood.

When the other students asked why she was unfazed, she merely shrugged. "He's the same person. And he's still our professor."

Her simple words left them speechless. But outside the classroom, things were far from quiet.

Every day, Dante received letters. Piles of them. Some begged him to stop. Others hurled insults, calling him a monster, a madman, a dark lord. A few came from the Ministry, desperately asking to negotiate the given time. Some sought knowledge—asking about lost histories, forbidden secrets. And then there were the strangest ones—letters from fools hoping he would perform miracles for them.

He ignored them all. 

One evening, as he sat in his office correcting assignments, an unexpected visitor arrived.

Professor Snape.

The man wasted no time. His voice was steady, his eyes dark with something unreadable. "You claimed you would teach everything you knew." A pause. "I want to know how to pull souls from beyond death— like the way you created Dementors."

Dante's quill stilled on the parchment. Slowly, he looked up, his silver eyes locking onto Snape's. "Did you lose someone important?" His voice was quiet, searching. "Do you want to bring them back?"

Snape's jaw tightened. "That's not important."

Dante sighed, shaking his head. "It's a bad idea to try bringing back the person you love." His tone softened, just slightly. "I can understand you. I know that pain."

Snape stiffened. Anger flared in his eyes, sharp and bitter. To him, Dante was an immortal, a being who had lived for ages beyond comprehension, alone, untouchable, and possessed unfathomable power and knowledge.

How could he possibly understand?

His voice was cold, cutting. "You don't know me. You can't understand me. You can't possibly know what I feel."

Dante's silver eyes remained steady as he looked at Snape. "You think I don't understand?" he said, his voice quiet, yet heavy with something deeper than mere words. "I have lived through it, more than you can imagine."

The room seemed to grow colder.

"In my second life, I was married. I had a child," Dante continued. "Back then, I had already figured out how to open the mind's eye, how to glimpse into the future. One day, I looked into my son's fate and I saw his death."

Snape's expression barely changed, but his fists clenched.

"From that moment on, my wife and I spent years scrambling for a way to save him. I planned for everything. I prepared for anything. If it meant giving up my life, I was willing."

Dante's voice didn't waver, but the air around him felt heavier.

"Frigg, my wife, was a genius in her own right. She created magic that burned away her own life in exchange for protecting our son. It was the same magic Lily Potter used to save Harry from Voldemort."

Snape stiffened at the mention of Lily, his eyes widening.

"Her magic worked," Dante continued, his eyes dark with memory. "But the cost, her life was nearing the end. She begged me to stay, to watch over our son, to keep him safe."

His fingers tapped idly against the desk, the only outward sign of emotion.

"I promised her." A bitter smile touched his lips. "But I didn't keep my word."

The confession hung in the air, suffocating.

"The moment I walked outside, I trusted my son with a close friend and left. I was desperate. I searched for a way to save her. That day, for the first time in my life, I attacked an innocent."

Snape's breath hitched.

"I found a nearby tribe. I tore through their souls…men, women, children. I experimented on them. I didn't care who they were, what life and dreams they had. I didn't care how much they screamed or begged. I didn't care how they suffered or died. All I wanted was to find a way to save her."

The way Dante spoke was devoid of emotion, yet that only made it worse. It was not boastful. Not regretful. Just fact.

"I slaughtered an entire tribe in the most painful way because of my selfishness," he admitted. "But I succeeded. I found a way."

He leaned back, his expression cracked if only slightly.

"When I returned home, my son was dead."

The words were spoken simply, but Snape could feel the weight behind them.

"An accident," he said, staring at nothing. "And when Frigg heard, she died immediately."

A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw, but he still said nothing.

"In my grief, I lost control." Dante exhaled, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "The first time. The last time. It was just an instant, but in that instant, everything died. Everyone I had known for decades. My family, my friends. My people. I killed them all."

Snape swallowed.

"After that, I decided I would control life and death itself. That I would bring them back, no matter the cost."

He let out a low, humorless chuckle.

"Three years ago, I finally spoke with my wife again. When I disappeared, I sought her out." He shook his head. "She was at peace, just knowing that I cared, it was enough for her."

He met Snape's gaze.

"She didn't want to return."

Snape's hands curled into fists.

"She didn't want me to continue down that path. The path that made me the worst thing happened to this world"

The two men stared at each other, silence stretching between them.

"How long have you mourned for this person?" Dante asked, tilting his head. "I spent thousands of years preparing, planning, hoping. In the end, all it did was cause harm."

His voice lowered.

"So believe me, Severus."

He met Snape's unreadable expression with quiet certainty.

"I know what you feel, more than you can ever believe. I lived with my obsession for thousands of years, it blinded, changed me… it made me the original evil in your history, the progenitor of dark arts"

The fire of anger that had burned in Snape's chest earlier had long since cooled. Now, as he looked at Dante, he saw not the detached, arrogant immortal that he believed he was. He had thought Dante was merely someone with an extreme, dangerous way of thinking, someone who played with life and death like a child toying with the fate of ants. But now, he understood.

Dante was much like him, driven by the same emotions.

His wife had died the same way Lily had, protecting her child, with the same magic at that. But as much as Snape had sworn his undying love for Lily, as much as he had let that love shape his entire existence, he now realized how pitifully small it was in comparison.

When Lily died, Snape had wept. He had drowned in his own misery, allowed grief to consume him, shackling himself to regret and self-hatred. He had offered his soul to Dumbledore's schemes, clinging to the belief that watching over Harry would somehow redeem his mistake, if even a little.

But Dante…Dante had not stopped at tears.

When fate took his family, he had rebelled against it. He had clawed at the very laws of existence, walked the earth for ages, torn through barriers no one else had ever dared to approach. He had refused to accept helplessness. Where Snape had surrendered himself to suffering, Dante had waged war against the very concept of death itself.

For the first time, Snape asked himself: If I saw Lily again, what would I say? Would she even want to return?

His fingers curled into a tight fist, trembling for a moment before he slowly let go. A sigh escaped him, low and weary.

Without a word, Snape turned on his heel and left. There was nothing to say.

Both of them understood. They suffered from the same pain.