Memories And Old Enemies

The Great Hall slowly emptied as the feast concluded, students laughing and yawning as they made their way toward their dormitories. James Potter sat still for a few moments longer, his fingers tapping against the wooden table absentmindedly, eyes distant behind his glasses.

With a deep breath, he stood, straightened his cloak, and exited the Great Hall, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet, vast corridors of the castle. The flickering torches cast long shadows against the stone walls, and the familiar draft carried the scents of magic, dust, and old memories.

It had been years. Years since he'd stepped foot in these halls—not as a student, but as a man carrying far heavier burdens than any teenage prank or Quidditch match.

He remembered his friends, the pranks they pulled on students, sneaking around at night after curfew, doing mischievous things just to amuse each other. But now, most of those bonds were broken—some were in prison, some on the run, and some… were dead.

And most of all, he remembered her—the way she looked at him the first time, eyes annoyed as he pranked her friend. The days and nights they shared as prefects here. Those unforgettable memories tore at every fiber of his soul as he pictured her beautiful smile.

"Oh, Lily… my dear Lily…" he whispered, his voice cracking. "I came back to Hogwarts as a teacher—the dream you never got to see come true… You always wanted to be a professor, like McGonagall… But walking these halls without you—it feels like driving a dagger through my heart with every single step."

His eyes welled with tears as he stood there for a moment longer, lost in grief. Then, with a deep breath, he straightened his cloak, forcing himself forward. His footsteps echoed softly through the vast, silent corridors, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls. The familiar draft carried the scents of magic, dust, and old memories.

The path to his new Defense Against the Dark Arts office was eerily silent.

But as James turned the final corner leading to the office, he froze.

A lone figure stood there, cloaked in black, half-swallowed by the darkness. The unmistakable silhouette—sharp as a blade, unmoving like a statue.

Severus Snape.

James' jaw clenched. The years hadn't softened the sharp lines of Snape's face—nor the resentment burning in his dark, sunken eyes.

As James approached, Snape didn't move. Only his lips curled as he hissed,

"Potter…"

His voice was thick with disdain, soaked in years of bitterness and barely contained rage.

James tilted his head, the ghost of a smirk forming despite himself, old habits too ingrained.

"Good to see you too, Snivellus…"

The nickname, a relic of schoolyard cruelty, slipped from his tongue effortlessly. But tonight, there was no humor behind it—only the echo of old grudges.

Snape's eyes narrowed like twin blades. In one swift motion, he stepped forward, grabbing James by the collar, his grip tightening with surprising strength. His pale face loomed inches away, his voice trembling—not from fear, but from unfiltered hatred.

"I finally found you…" Snape growled. "You coward. You couldn't protect her. If I were you, I'd have taken my worthless life, you coward."

The words pierced James' chest like ice. His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Don't—" James' voice cracked, rising with emotion, "Don't you dare talk about her in front of me! You have no right to speak her name! Your dear Master killed her—and you were there too! Tell me… Did you ever beg your Master not to? Did you even try to spare her life? She was your friend."

Snape's grip faltered for a fraction of a second, his face twisting at the accusation. But the bitterness remained as sharp as ever.

"You and your precious 'bravery,'" Snape spat, shoving James back roughly. "You couldn't protect her, Potter. You failed her. You always did. You ran to the Dark Lord like some Muggle without a wand—helpless, worthless—and got squashed like a pathetic little insect."

James' wand was in his hand before he even realized it, the tip pointed straight at Snape's chest, glowing faintly with crackling energy. His voice was low, dangerous now.

"One more word—about her—and I'll hex you into St. Mungo's for a month."

Snape mirrored the motion, wand drawn, his own hand trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer magnitude of contained rage.

The corridor filled with the hum of magic as both stood locked, wands aimed, hatred palpable in the air. For a brief moment, it felt like time had rewound—two angry boys dueling under the shadow of youth and arrogance. Only now, the stakes were heavier, bloodier, real.

But before either could strike, a sharp, authoritative voice sliced through the tension.

"Gentlemen."

The voice carried such weight that both men instinctively froze.

Professor McGonagall stood at the end of the corridor, her eyes sharp as steel behind her square spectacles, her expression a perfect blend of disappointment and authority. Her tartan cloak fluttered slightly from her brisk approach, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"Put. Those. Wands. Away," she commanded, each word precise and heavy.

James lowered his wand after a tense heartbeat, his chest still heaving, his eyes never leaving Snape's.

Snape remained rigid for a moment longer, his pale hand quivering at his side, dark eyes still burning into James like daggers. His jaw tightened, his entire body trembling with rage barely held in check. Finally, he pocketed his wand with a slow, deliberate motion.

McGonagall's gaze sharpened.

"This childish behavior ends here. If either of you wishes to settle old grudges, you will not do so in my corridors. Next time I catch you both like this…" She paused, her eyes narrowing dangerously, "I'll remind you what real discipline looks like."

Snape didn't respond. His face was unreadable now—a cold, deadpan mask carved from years of regret and fury. But James saw it—the faintest tremble in his fingers, the shake of his shoulders betraying the storm beneath the surface.

Without another word, Snape turned, his robes billowing as he stormed down the corridor, disappearing into the shadows like smoke.

James exhaled, his heart still pounding, his hands shaking slightly from suppressed anger. He stared after Snape for a long moment, the echoes of the confrontation still ringing in his ears.

McGonagall's voice softened slightly as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Let it go, James," she whispered, weary but firm. "Hogwarts doesn't need this war rekindled… not again."

James said nothing, only nodding stiffly as he turned toward his office, the weight of the past pressing heavy on his shoulders once more.