Happy memories bring painful aftertastes

Leaning gently against the classroom wall, which was enchanted, Snape reached out and adjusted his wizard hat to prevent the brim from obstructing his vision.

He watched as Lucien raised his wand.

The wand traced a steady arc in the boy's hand, leaving faint silver marks in the air where the tip passed, like writing on paper with a pen.

Snape mentally gave the spellcasting action a score—not perfect, but close enough.

At the same time, Lucien's lips parted slightly, uttering the incantation.

The last syllable ends at the same time as the last stroke of the wand.

A silvery-white light suddenly shone from the tip of Lucien's staff.

The light was not dazzling; instead, it had a warm and gentle quality.

Snape narrowed his eyes. Even from half a classroom away, he could feel a faint warmth coming from that direction, like a ray of sunshine suddenly shining on him in winter.

It was like a power that touched the soul.

The next instant, silvery-white mist grew from the tip of the wand.

At first, it was just a thin thread, like a seedling just breaking through the soil, trembling as it poked its head out.

But the growth rate of this "seedling" was extremely astonishing—it expanded dozens of times in the blink of an eye, and thick mist gushed out from the tip of the staff, spreading in all directions.

Snape's brow twitched slightly.

He moved his fingers, and the magical runes on the wall seemed to receive a command, swelling up with a faint halo that then covered his body.

It was a transparent, almost invisible film that enveloped him from head to toe.

This way he won't come into contact with the fog.

The magical mist released by Lucien evokes happy and positive memories in those who come into contact with it, and most people would find it hard to resist such an experience.

Sweet candies, perfect test scores, the laughter of friends... who wouldn't mind being happy?

But Snape refused.

Or rather, they dare not.

He knew that if he came into contact with the mist again, he would see once more that fiery red hair, those emerald green eyes, and that gentle, sun-like smile...

Drawn by the silvery mist, they surged up from the depths of memory, as clear as if they had happened yesterday.

That was Snape's happiest memory—without a doubt.

My first meeting with Lily Evans.

That summer, sunlight filtered through the leaves onto the grass, and a little girl sat on a swing, turning her head to look at him.

There was no fear or disgust in her eyes, only pure curiosity and goodwill.

Those eyes illuminated Snape's life, a life filled with darkness and pain since he could remember.

But now Snape can only see that "memory".

That beam of light had long since died out.

The happiest memories can also bring the most painful recollections.

The silvery-white mist continued to spread, like a tide, engulfing the desks and chairs, the blackboard, and every inch of the classroom.

Snape watched as the mist drew closer and thicker, almost engulfing the barrier in front of him.

He lowered his eyes slightly.

"Is there still a problem--"

Before the words were even finished, the mist, which was about to collide with the barrier, suddenly stopped.

As if someone had pulled their tail hard, the surging mist trembled violently, struggled forward desperately, but could not move forward even half a step.

They stopped less than a foot in front of the barrier, tumbling and rolling as if they were firmly bound by something.

Snape's lips curled up in a barely perceptible smile.

Those dark eyes were fixed on the boy who was faintly visible in the mist.

His body trembled slightly, but the tip of the cane in his hand remained steady, without shifting at all.

Slowly, the fog began to recede.

First, the edges receded a few inches, then the entire area was enveloped in fog.

It was as if countless invisible hands were pulling outwards from the center, dragging back the spreading mist bit by bit.

With his arms crossed over his chest, Snape simply watched.

The volume of the fog continuously shrinks, compresses, and Transfiguration.

They no longer diffused loosely throughout the classroom as before, but became increasingly cohesive and dense, like a large lump of kneaded silvery-white dough.

Repeated expansion and stretching.

The mist eventually condensed into a hemisphere, and the silvery-white light completely enveloped Lucien's figure.